Caption: Truer Words #2 – Whale

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


“I can’t believe they let whales like that even stay here, it’s so fucking disgusting. He could at least have the common decency and shame to put on a fucking shirt, so the rest of us don’t have to look at all of that fat. Probably gets off on it, flaunting it, knowing how much he’s grossing everyone else out. Goes back to his room and jacks off thinking about how much of a hairy slob he is.” Kevin groused a bit, looking at the chub who was sitting by the pool in one of the deck chairs, and then laid back on the chaise, ready to work on his tan. He wouldn’t let something like that ruin his vacation, at least. The last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep was someone whispering, almost in his ear:

“Truer words were never spoken.”


Kevin woke up a little while later, and felt…a little strange, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why, immediately. He hefted himself up a little, listening to the chaise underneath him creak slightly, but didn’t give it much thought. Thankfully he hadn’t slept too long, and wasn’t burnt to a crisp. He looked around, thankful that the fat pig from before was gone, and as he surveyed the crowd, he saw, well, one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen in his life.

Golden brown, heavily muscled, beautiful smile, tight ass bulging in those swim trunks. Kevin knew he had to say hello–he’d never been one to not shoot his shot, after all. He had…a little trouble getting up from where he’d been lying down, but couldn’t quite figure out why. He made his way over to his target, and only kind of noticed other people stepping out of his way, the looks he was getting from them, some disgust, some pity. He got to the object of his attraction, opened his mouth to say hello, only for the man to shoot him such a scowl that the words died on his lips, and the man passed him right by.

Not one to be deterred, he turned around, grabbed the guy’s wrist to pull him back, and saw the massive, hairy arm in disbelief, as the man whirled on him, and shook him off. 

“Who the fuck said you could touch me, pig?” the man said.

“I…I just, I wanted to say–”

“Please, I know what you want. You fat fucks are all the fucking same, think that we’re all fucking chasers, that we want to be anywhere near your disgusting body,” he said, and jabbed a finger into Kevin’s gut–a gut he swore hadn’t been there before. “Well the only guys who want to fuck you pity you, and I doubt you even get laid that much anyway. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Kevin, horrified at what had happened to his body, retreated to his room at the resort, and stared at himself in the mirror, his fat, hairy physique, and he was horrified. The words from the man kept reverberating through him, and he…he started to feel horny, thinking about how he’d been demeaned and humiliated, right there in front of everyone. He was a pig, a horny, dirty piggy, and…

He started snorting, shoving his hand down the front of his trunks and rubbed out a load from his puny cock in a matter of moments, and with it went all sense of shame and decency. Yeah, he was a pig. A whale. He loved food, he loved showing off his gluttony. He went right back down to the pool, trunks still wet with cum, and ordered some food while he relaxed, excited to gorge himself in front of everyone, and show them just how big of a whale he could become.

Caption: Truer Words #1: Hick

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


“Fuck, I hate it here, I don’t know why we always have to come visit my uncle’s stupid fucking farm. Whole towns just full of a fat, stupid hicks, probably a bunch of incestuous fuckers too, judging by how ugly they all are,” Nick muttered to himself in the guest room of his uncle’s house, just wanting to be back home with his friends.

“Truer words were never spoken…”

Wait, what was that?” Nick said, and felt an odd shiver run down his spine. He could have sworn that something had spoken, but he was alone, wasn’t he? Whatever, he might as well take a selfie and post it to Instagram, do something to show everyone how lame it was out here. He went into the bathroom and gave a bored pose in the mirror, and only when he looked at the pictures after, did he realize he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. He was wearing a set of overalls!

“What the fuck? I didn’t put this shit on,” he said, trying to get the clasps to unhook, but they wouldn’t budge. He didn’t even notice that he was beginning to grow cubbier, a beard filling in across his face, hairline receding as it turned from brown to grey. The room started to spin around him. He dropped his phone and tried to steady himself, and when the room finally stopped spinning, he looked around and he…wasn’t in the same bathroom as before. 

This one was…grungier, and smaller. He hauled himself up with the lip of the counter, and found himself staring at a new face–a bulbous ugly nose, scrunched eyes, balding hair nearly white and pulled back into a ponytail. He got his feet underneath him and stood up, now six inches shorter than before.

“Where in fuckin’ hell, this ain’t Unc’s place!” he said, his voice deeper and raspier, with an obvious rural twang, “What the hell happened tah me? I ain’t…some old redneck fuck!”

“Nick, where the fuck are ya?” Came a voice from outside the room, one he didn’t recognize. A moment later, another chubby fellow poked his head into the bathroom, “Come on Nick, we’re gonna be late bro,” he said.

“Nick’s head started spinning again, but this time, it was also growing thicker, and slower. This…this was Billy, his little brother, right? He tried to tell himself that he didn’t have a little brother, but…but that wasn’t right, of course he did. “Sorry Billy, just got distracted I guess.”

“No worries bro, I know ya ain’t the smartest fucker, but yer one of the cutest pigs in town,” he said with a wink, and pulled Nick into a kiss–a full kiss, with tongue, that left him panting a bit, his stubby cock hard in the front of his overalls. Unable to stop himself, he dropped to his knees, hauled out Billy’s cock and blew him. It didn’t take long, Billy could cum ten times a day, but never lasted longer than a minute. Nick guzzled down his brother’s cum, licked his mustache clean, and got up.

By afternoon, all memories of his prior life were forgotten for good–aside from a little corner of his dim mind, where the old Nick was trapped, well aware that he was caught in his own worst nightmare, but no one would hear him ever again.

Commission – Piggy Pizza

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


Part 1 – Staffing Solutions

It was the sudden rumble that woke Max up. It sounded like a stomach grumbling, but something about it was off. He realized that he hadn’t just heard the rumble, but he’d felt it through his hand, but his hand wasn’t…on his own stomach. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at the back of someone’s neck, and not a womanly neck, either. He recoiled away, nearly fell off the bed in the process, and stood up, looking down at Jeremy, his roommate–or at least, someone who looked mostly like Jeremy, there on his bed, naked.

The main difference was that this Jeremy looked to be fifty pounds heavier than the Jeremy from the night before, not that he could really remember what had happened the night before. They’d gotten home from football practice, completely starving. Jeremy had seen a new pizza place had opened up near campus, and suggested it for dinner. They’d ordered delivery, the food had arrived, and after that…well, he couldn’t recall much of anything. It was then that Max realized he’d been staring right at Jeremy’s uncovered, fat ass, and his cock was…hard. Real hard. Hard enough to climb back into bed, slide his cock right in there and–

He retreated from his room and into the bathroom, turned on the light, and it was the scream that woke up Jeremy. He rolled up out of bed, waddled his way to the bathroom, where he found Max gripping his own larger, hairier gut, horrified. “What the fuck happened to us? What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Did…did you get fatter?” Jeremy asked, then looked down, “Fuck, we’re…both fatter?”

“Do you remember anything from last night that was strange?”

“Just…that pizza bro, it was fucking good, but…I felt real weird afterward, and you were acting strange too, I…I don’t remember anything, though…” Jeremy said, blushing a bit, “Do…do you?”

“No, nothing.”

“Oh, ok, good.”

“It had to be the pizza. What was the name of that place again?”

“Piggy Pizza, it’s just a few blocks away from campus.”

“Come on, we need to go there, and figure out what the fuck was in that stuff, so we can go the hospital and fix it.”

Jeremy’s gut grumbled again, and he grabbed it with both hands. “Can…we have breakfast first?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you fucking think of eating at a time like this?”

Jeremy shrugged, and followed Max’s lead as they got dressed in whatever clothes they could find that mostly fit their changed bodies, got into Max’s car with a bit of a struggle, and drove the few blocks over to Piggy Pizza. They got out, the door said the place didn’t open until eleven, but there was clearly someone inside working away. They pounded on the door until the fellow came out from behind the counter and opened the door for them both. He was an older fellow, wearing a flour and sauce stained apron, easily six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds of beef, with a thick beard braided and tied off against his chest.  “Can I help you boys? I don’t open for lunch for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Yeah you can fucking help us, you can tell us what the fuck your pizza did to us last night!” Max said to him.

“Oh fuck, what smells so fucking good?” Jeremy said, his gut growling again, and he pushed past both of them and into the restaurant. The place was sizable with plenty of seating, and a lunch buffet off to one side, where a couple of pies were already resting, ready to be eaten. Jeremy stumbled over there, drooling, grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth with a moan of delight, while Max just stared at him, horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing man, don’t eat that shit!” Max said.

“Oh fuck it’s so fucking good though…”

Max went over and tried to pull Jeremy away, who just slapped at him until he backed off. He turned around, only to find the owner of the shop had locked the door behind them, and was grinning wide. “When I delivered those two pies to you two last night, I had a feeling you were just the couple of pigs I was looking for to help out in the shop.”

“What are you talking about?” Max said.

“Go on, I know you must be hungry. Those pizzas last night would have only scratched that appetite of yours, pig,” the man said, walked over, reached past Jeremy, and picked up a slice of pizza. It was so fresh, Max could still see the grease pooling on the surface, and he realized he was drooling. “Come on pig, let Boss help you out,” he said, pushed the pizza to his lips, and Max opened up and took a bite, moaning as his cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of the sweats he had squeezed into.

He felt his gut growl, and it heaved out as he swallowed, adding a few more pounds. He tried to pull away when he realized it, but Boss just pushed the slice into his mouth, more forceful this time, and Max couldn’t stop himself from taking bite after bite, begging through a full mouth for him to stop.

“I’ll stop pig, but only if you stop. All you have to do is not take another bite. Maybe I’ll even give you that body of yours back, would you like that? Wanna be muscular again? Smooth? All you have to do is stop.” Max tried, turned his head to the side, but he could feel his jaw struggling against him, twisting back, opening up, taking another massive bite, and the owner just laughed at him. “Guess that means you’re mine, pig.”

Slice after slice disappeared down his throat, and with each one, he only got worse. Fatter at first, and then he started getting even hairier. Boss started telling him about his life now, about who he was. Sure, he’d started college on a football scholarship, but that was a few years ago now. He was too lazy to keep up, and after a year, he’d added fifty pounds. He lost his scholarship, had to get a job delivering pizza, and only grew bigger. Now here he was, his late twenties, balding already, too hairy to work the kitchen for sanitary reasons, delivering pizzas for his boss. For his owner. The man shoved Max down onto his knees, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. He took one taste of his owner’s precum, and knew, somehow, this was what was in the pizza, this is what had been changing him. He tried to resist, but he sucked his new Boss dry, and when he came, and Max swallowed it all down, everything Boss had told him, that whole story, it became…real. He stumbled up, now close to 400 pounds himself, hair all over his body, head balding, beard down to his chest, sweaty and greasy and stinking. He knew he should hate it, but he didn’t–he groped his fat, reached under and found his cock and started milking it, grunting while he kissed his Boss, and they turned their attention to Jeremy, who was still stuffing himself silly at the buffet.

He was even fatter than Max now, close to 500 pounds. His eyes were terrified at what he was doing, but there was no stopping, not any more. “What do you think of your boyfriend, Jeremy?” Boss asked him, dragging his face around and showing him the hairy, sweaty pig that Max had become. “Wait…Max? What…what the fuck happened to you?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Max said, groping his fat frame, running his hands through his greasy fur, “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ horny…”

“I bet you are, watching this fat pig stuff himself always gets that cock of yours hard, but not as hard as this fat ass, right?” Boss said, gave Jeremy’s ass a slap, and they watched it inflate, growing wider than the rest of him, Max drooling again, but for a different reason. 

“Fuck, he’s got such a hot fuckin’ ass.”

“Come on pig, I know you’re still hungry for dessert,” Boss said, tore open the already weakened sweats on Jeremy’s body. With a grunt, Max got down on his knees, crawled forward and shoved his bearded face into Jeremy’s crack, eating at the sweaty, rank crack, Jeremy moaning in confusion, not understanding anything of what was happening to him. 

“I…what did you do to him?” Jeremy moaned, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t think too hard now, we all know you’re the dumbest fuck here, Jeremy. Too stupid to be a driver, and too fat at this point. Lucky for me you can operate an oven, with supervision. Still, you have a few good qualities, right? Well, a few things that disgust everyone else, but Max there sure loves them, like your fucking musk, and those rank ass farts of yours.” The mere suggestion was enough for Jeremy’s new ass to rip off a ripe one right into Max’s face, who moaned, his own cock drooling even more pre onto the floor below him.

“No, no that’s not, I was…big! I was a big, like, football guy…”

“No you weren’t, you stupid fuck. You dropped out of high school, and have been working here for years now. You met Max when he started working here, and you pigs moved in together, with my permission of course. I own your fat asses after all, neither of you thinks a fucking thing without my damn permission. But that asshole of yours is as hungry as dick as this mouth is for my pizza, and Max is a horny hairy freak, so it works out, doesn’t it?”

Jeremy tried to think, tried to remember, but all that came out was a loud fart from his hole, right into Max’s face, who just grunted in pleasure and dug in even deeper. Boss grabbed his head, shoved him down, and Jeremy sucked on his cock, already hard again after feeding a load to Max–but then, Boss could always produce a load for his dough, and his sauce, and his toppings. That was how he had the best pizza in town, after all, and when he saw someone he liked, well, he usually got them to work for him, one way or another. “Max, get up, I wanna see you fuck this fat pig while he swallows my load.”

“Yes Boss!” Max said, hefted himself up, dropped his gut on the small of Jeremy’s back, and worked his cock into Jeremy’s loosened hole. He drove in rough, panting and heaving, the air thick with the combined musk rolling off the three of them in the lobby of the restaurant, until Max came with a squeal, and Boss came too, Jeremy swallowing down a load and feeling everything solidify around him, just as it had around Max. 

The restaurant opened an hour late that day, since the two new employees had demolished the lunch buffet. Boss got them into their new uniforms–shorts that were a bit too tight on them both, a polo shirt with Piggy Pizza across the front, neither long enough to disguise their guts hanging out below, and a ball cap with a smiling pig on the front. Then, Boss secured a leather collar around both of his new pigs, reminding him that they were his personal property. Max also got a cage around his cock, and for Jeremy, a vibrating plug in his hole to keep him excited and motivated. If Max got good tips, Boss would unlock him and let him fuck his boyfriend at home that night, but if he didn’t, well, he’d just suffer, hard in his cage from Jeremy’s gas and unable to do anything about it. Neither of them complained, though. Why would they? They loved working at Piggy Pizza–it was the perfect place for a couple pigs like them, after all.


Part 2 – Franchise Opportunities

A year had flown by since Piggy Pizza had opened, and for Max, it had been a bit of a blur. Boss didn’t let his worker slaves have much in the way of time off, after all, and so he delivered pizzas from the time the shop opened for lunch until the evening, snacking on pizza along the way, of course, until they closed at one in the morning. Then, he would drive Jeremy home in his truck, they’d usually have a fuck session if he’d earned one and fall asleep, before getting up, throwing on their still dirty uniforms, and doing it all again. 

Boss took a particular interest in Jeremy over that year, feeding him almost constantly in the shop. Six months after they’d been conscripted, Jeremy had packed on another hundred pounds, and was pushing the scales at nearly 600. One evening, after a long stuffing, he couldn’t manage to get into the truck for the ride home–but Boss had a solution all ready for him. He’d made him a little sleeping area in the storeroom of the restaurant–Jeremy would be living there from now on. It would be more convenient. 

Of course, Max was still horny as hell, and so he’d rush over when he woke up, get his fuck in before his shift started, and Jeremy only grew larger and larger, and muskier and muskier, since he didn’t have a shower in the restaurant. Jeremy eventually couldn’t even keep up with the baking, but Boss had a new role for him already planned–he hooked Jeremy’s cock up to a milker, and started pumping cum out of him, a new blend that Boss had been encouraging inside him, one that he had a feeling would help them grow their customer base even more. It worked–Boss’s own cum was more potent, but Jeremy’s kept folks coming back for more, and more, and more pizza every day. Business was booming, and they had to pull in a few other guys from campus as delivery slaves for the business, with Max as their general supervisor. One night, while they were tag-teaming Jeremy, the rest of the staff home for the night, Boss told Max how proud of him he was. He was thinking about opening up another franchise soon, and he thought Max might be an idea manager for a new location–under Boss’s strict control of course.

Max was thrilled by the idea. He rode that high for the next few days, until it all came crashing down with a sudden drop, when he delivered a load of pizzas, laced with a bit of Jeremy’s special sauce, to a house he…almost recalled, but one he couldn’t place. He rang the doorbell, the door opened, and he quickly realized he was delivering pizzas to a frat house. A frat house he knew. It had been his frat, a lifetime ago now, before he’d met Boss and started working at PIggy Pizza. He prayed that no one would say anything, but after staring at him for a moment, the jock who had opened the door said, “Holy fuckin’ shit, you’re…Max Grainger! Oh my fucking god, what the fuck happened to you?”

Max’s face reddened. Boss’s magic sauce could twist reality, but there were always these little pockets left behind. “Look man, I don’t wanna talk about it. Have a good night.”

The jock called the rest of the guys to the door, and they laughed, watching the player who had been recruited as a possible star waddled back to his truck, ass crack exposed, now just a loser dropout pig. Max’s face was burning, and he grumbled all the way back to the shop, angry that he was even angry about it. He liked working for Boss! He was going to have his own franchise soon! And a new franchise, he supposed, would need some more labor, wouldn’t it? He grinned then, and when he went back into the shop, he told Boss what had happened, and his idea.

Boss was skeptical of Max’s plan, but decided to give him a chance. He fed Max a big load of his cum, and Max felt something happen to him, his balls swelling and tingling. Boss told him that he had the power to change men like he did now–not nearly as potent, but more than enough for what he had in mind, this evening. First though, he had a few more deliveries to make. It was mostly to regulars around town, those who had been especially susceptible to their special ingredients. As the men opened their doors and smelled Max, they all seemed especially interested in him somehow. Max had fucked around with most of them–after all, now that Jeremy was living at the shop, he had to get his fucks in somewhere, but tonight, he was saving his loads for something special. That didn’t make it any less difficult to turn down the men who would invite him in, try and sneak a sniff of his pits, tell him that he seemed real sexy tonight. In the end, they were all mostly satisfied to take their pizzas, leave him a substantial tip, and Max went on his way back to his truck, sniffing his own pits. Sure, they were rank, but no more than usual. Is this what it felt like being Boss all the time? If it was, he could get used to it.

It was close to one in the morning, the shop was closing up, and Max loaded up a hefty stack of eight pizzas Boss had waiting for him, for one final delivery. He pulled up back in front of the frat house, already leaking into his uniform shorts, and the more excited he got, the more musk he seemed to be putting out–and maybe it was a bit stronger than before. He hefted the stack of pizzas to the door, rang the doorbell, but no one answered. It took a few rings, and a hard pounding, before any of the frat boys inside actually took notice, and one of them came to answer the door. Max grinned. He was showing good progress, a solid gut, a good amount of hair on his chest, and he was half naked, with grease and cum smeared across his face. 

“Who the fuck are…oh fuck, you…smell real fucking good man,” the frat boy said, stumbled out onto the step, and shoved his face into Max’s pit, snorting in his stink.

“I got your second order of pizzas, why don’t you help me bring them inside, boy?” Max suggested.

He had to suggest it twice, and haul the young man’s chubby face out of his pit, but he finally got the hint, picked up half the boxes of pizza, and brought them inside, Max following him in and shutting the door behind him, looking at the party already in progress.

The pizzas were demolished, the room was demolished as well, and all of the frat brothers were scattered about the living room, on the furniture or the floor, in various states of fucking, sucking, licking and sniffing. None of them had gained less than thirty pounds, and some, like the one who’d opened the door, had gained more. But the one that Max was looking for wasn’t among them–the one who had laughed at him earlier, that was the one he had some special plans for. He took the pizzas one by one, opened up the boxes and laid them on the floor, calling for the little frat pigs. The smell of him, and the pizza, caught them and pulled them over, all of them grabbing for slices like greedy hogs and shoving them in their mouths, moaning and grunting in delight. That would keep them all busy, and growing, for a while longer. He saved one pie, and started looking through the house for the missing boy.

He found him after a few minutes, holed up in his room. Max could hear him on the phone with someone, trying to explain the situation–probably 911, but they kept dismissing it as a hoax. Why wouldn’t they, after all? He knocked on the door, the voice inside went quiet, and said, “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just me,” Max said, “Got your second delivery of pizzas here, but everyone downstairs was too busy to pay me. Why don’t you open up, boy, and we can settle your bill?”

“Fuck you! You fucking freak, what the fuck did you do to everyone?”

Max just chuckled, hauled off his shirt, took a piece of pizza out of the box, and rubbed it in his pits, soaking it in his stink. For good measure, he wiped some of his precum off on it too from the inside of his shorts, then shoved it under the door. 

“What the, fuck why the fuck does it fucking stink!” the voice said, “Oh fuck, it smells so fucking good, and I’m so fucking hungry…”

He didn’t say anything else for a minute, just the sound of someone scarfing on the other side, and then quiet, and a belch. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and open the door, boy?” Max said.

The lock clicked after a moment, and when it opened, he saw a rather zonked looking young man on the other side, grease smeared across his face, drooling slightly. Max pushed his way in, and fed him the rest of the pizza. His name, he found out, was Doug, but Max decided Dough would be a much better name for him. Dough pleaded with him through the first few slices, begged him to stop, but by the time half the extra large pie was gone, he was ravenous. It was only natural, then, for Max to haul out his cock, and give him something to wash all that pizza down with.

Max was so horny, that he came after just a few sucks, and the orgasm was long. He could feel it, all of the corruptive potential he was feeding down Dough’s throat, and when he’d finished, a very different sort of fellow was sitting on the floor. He hauled Dough up by the collar of the shirt that no longer fit on around his nearly 400 pound frame, shoved him in front of the mirror in the room, and he gaped at his new body.

Sure, the fat was a big change for him, but Max helped him notice everything else too. The male pattern baldness that had settled in when he was twenty-five, a few years after he’d dropped out of college, too fat and stupid to keep up. Of course, he was pushing forty now, and had lost most of the hair on his head, replaced by a thick, bushy beard starting to grey, and a forest of hair all over his body–not quite as much as Max, but still plenty.

“Fuck, look at you, you fucking loser,” Max whispered in his ear, “And you thought I was bad when I answered the door, now look at you, long past your prime, don’t even have a job, just spend your days and nights stuffing yourself silly with your friends downstairs, jacking off all the time, like a proper fucking pig.

Dough tried to deny it, but Max tore off his clothes and led him downstairs, where the rest of the boys of the house had finished the second round of pizzas, and were all in similar a similar shape–older, all of them out of college now, fatter, their lives as jocks quickly being forgotten in the haze of lust that followed. He shoved Dough into the middle of them, and they all fell on him, humiliating and insulting him, and Dough found himself more and more turned on by the humiliating, begging them for their loads. Max spent the rest of the night finding the ones with a bit more resistance, and feeding them from his tap, until they too were just happy pigs, eagerly settling into their new lives.

A couple months later, a new franchise of Piggy Pizza opened on the other side of town, with Max as the head manager. Dough took up residence in the back, this location’s sauce supply, just as Jeremy was at the home location. The rest of the boys in the house, after being interviewed by Boss, were all hired on as well–as drivers, and cooks, and cleaners, depending on their personal skill sets and kinks. Business was booming, and both Boss and Max couldn’t wait to see how big this town could get.

Caption: Rest Area Tales #4 – Busted

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.



No one wanted the job of checking in on the rest areas along the highway and busting the cruising that tended to happen there, so it got passed around from patrol to patrol. Today, it fell on Officers Miller and Peters. Neither of them were happy about it, were firmly straight, and just wanted to get it over with as quickly as they could.

Things were largely uneventful at the first few they stopped at. Miller would take the bathrooms and various shelters, while Peters would go into the woods and see what he could flush out. The most they found were a couple of truckers fucking in the woods who scattered when the cops showed up, and neither of them really wanted to spend their time booking anyone in, so they let them go. Then, they arrived at what they hoped would be their last one of the day. This one was a bit more off the beaten path, which meant it had a bit more of a reputation. They’d probably find someone here, and take them back to book them, at least to show they were doing the work.

Miller headed for the rest rooms, and Peters went around with a flashlight in the woods. Much to his surprise, he didn’t find anyone fucking in the forest. He headed back for the patrol car, but Miller wasn’t there. He usually finished first and so he headed for the bathrooms to see if he needed back up.

He went in, and froze–there sure as hell was some activity going on, and that activity was Miller on his knees in front of a burly bear of a man, smoking a cigar, one hand wrapped around Miller’s head while he happily sucked on the big man’s cock. “Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” he said, but before he could reach for his gun, the man blew a thick plume of cigar smoke in his face, which made Peters cough, his head spinning.

“There’s the other one, always travel in pairs,” the bear said, “Just means double the fun, right boy? Now, what to do with the two of you…I already got most of the cops coming through here addicted to cock, but you two look so cute together, I think I know what to do…”

He took a long drag off his cigar, and pushed a massive plume of smoke out, enough to fog up the room. When the air cleared a bit, Jamie Peters looked over and saw…saw his son on his knees blowing the hell of that sexy cigar bear’s cock. 

“Yeah, pull out your dick Daddy, watch this boy of yours blow my big cock,” the bear said, “I know you’ve been a regular here for decades, sneaking out behind your wife’s back until she found out. Never expected your boy here to start following you though, did ya? Turns out cock sucking runs in the family. Two muscular, straight acting guys like you spending all your free time on your knees, worshiping cock–and now, ya can do it together. Come on Daddy, I know what you really want…”

Jamie stepped forward, almost in a daze, and fell on his knees next to his son, and together they worshiped the bear’s massive cock, who rewarded the father son tag team with a load sprayed across them both. Pleased with the result, the bear left, and the father and son licked the cum from each other’s faces, their old lives already fading with the smoke around them. A couple more truckers came in, and they were happy to be of service, and when their bellies were full, they headed home, together, happy as could be.

Caption: Rest Area Tales #3 – The Woodsmen

Nate was heading home from a trip, and stopped at a rest area he hadn’t been to before. He wasn’t much for cruising usually, but he’d been feeling pretty horny, and when he saw the note scrawled on the side of the bathroom stall that said, “Cum join the Woodsmen” he figured that most of the action must take place in the rather dense woods around the rest stop. It couldn’t hurt to look around, so he found a little narrow trail running off away from the parking lot, and followed it. 

The deeper he went, the more he felt a strange sensation that he was being watched, but he didn’t see anyone else around him. A little unnerved, he was going to turn back and continue on when he caught sight of someone not too far off. He wasn’t his usual type of guy, looked like he was a trucker probably. Chubby, thick white beard, dick out and hard. Nate wasn’t looking to bottom so he kept going, and too late, noticed that the bear was following him. The older fellow shoved Nate up against a tree, tugged down the athletic shorts he had on, got down and started eating him out voraciously, snorting and grunting like some wild animal. 

He managed to tear himself away from the man after a few moments, hiking up his pants, looked around and saw that he was no longer alone. Rather, he was surrounded by men of all shapes and sizes, though almost all of them were furry–some so thickly that it did more to cover them than the shredded clothes clinging to their bodies. Horrified, he took off in the direction of the trail, or at least, where he thought the trail was, but the parking lot never materialized. He tumbled down a little ravine and landed in a muddy stream at the bottom, struggled his way out, only for another woodman to tackle him from above, pinning him down in the muck, more and more coming now, swarming around him. He could smell them now, a strange spicy musk, almost floral. It was invading his mind as the man’s cock slid into his hole, and Nate too began snorting and grunting in excitement, his rational mind trying to fight back, but he could tell it was too late.

He was a woodsman now too, just like the rest of him, and when the orgy that followed was finished, he thought about trying to find his way back out…but the voices in his mind, the scents of the woods, they drew him deeper in, and no one saw Nate again, aside from the men who wandered into the woods themselves, of course.

Caption: Rest Area Tales #2 – A Helping Hand

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


CW: Raunch and scat, read at your own risk.

“Hey bud, think ya could help a fellow out?”

“The door? Who the hell knows, these rest areas are all beat to shit.”

“See, the problem is, I really gotta piss, real fuckin’ bad, but I’m also hard as a damn rock–so hard I can’t get this big fuckin’ cock in the bowl. Come here, think ya could help me out?”

“That’s it, just give it some good strokes, just like that–but I really gotta go quick, maybe ya could, ya know, suck on it?”

“Come on, it won’t make ya gay or nothin, yer just helpin’ a bud out! Real quick, ya don’t even gotta swallow.”

“Yeah, see? Fer a guy who says he doesn’t like it, ya sure can take this big dick of mine real easy down that throat of yours.”

“Sorry ‘bout the smell–already dropped a few logs. That’s what got me so damn hard tah begin with, somethin’ ‘bout the smell of mah shit always drives me a bit wild. Judgin’ from the bulge down in those jeans of yers, looks like I ain’t the only one. Go one, haul it out, jack it off–I won’t tell no one.”

“Yeah, fuck, gettin’ real close, here it fuckin’ comes!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck, sorry bud, hosed you down with my piss too, didn’t mean to. But that’s what you get for pullin’ off. Don’t look like ya mind too much, look at how hard that cock a yers is. Anyway, thanks man, that’s real helpful, but maybe…ya could help me out with one more thing? Mind given my ass a wipe for me?”

“I know the toilet paper’s right there, but that single ply shit is so scratchy–I was thinkin’ somethin’ a little more wet, ‘n soft…”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket, really dig on up in there, ya fuckin’ pig. Fuck yeah, I can hear ya snortin’ back there, ya like my rank fuckin’ ass man? Sure sounds like it, bet yer gonna blow yer load all across the fuckin’ toilet, ain’t ya?”

“Fuck bud, my crack’s ain’t been that clean in months! Much appreciated–yer a real helper. Say, how about riding with me for a while? I could use a good toilet pig like you in my cab, wouldn’t have tah stop in run down places like this if I could just use that dirty mouth of yours.”

“On vacation? Family? Ya don’t look like the sort of fucker who’d deal with that shit–have a look in the mirror. Yeah–look at you, grungy, ugly, old pig like that, ya’d love tah help a guy like me out, now what do ya say?”

“I thought so–now come on, I got some cold bottles of piss for ya in the cab.” 

“Oh, I forgot to flush? Alright, but scarf that shit down quick, I don’t got all evenin’. We got a load tah deliver.”

Caption: Rest Area Tales #1 – The Hitchhiker Swap

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


Brett pulled into the rest area, needing a piss on his way home, climbed out of his car, and saw a guy heading in his direction. He was scruffy and shirtless, and when he got close, there was a real pungent musk rolling off him that almost made Brett climb back into his cab and drive another 40 miles to avoid him.

“Hey man, any chance I could get a ride from ya? I’m heading in your direction.”

Brett shook his head, “Sorry man, I don’t give rides.”

The guy thanked him and walked on, Brett holding his breath until he’d passed, and then went to the bathroom. On his way back though, his pocket felt light, and he realized he didn’t have his keys! He retraced his steps into the bathroom, but they weren’t in there. He didn’t understand how he could have lost them–it wasn’t like he dropped his pants or anything. He realized, with a sinking feeling, he might have locked them in his car. He headed back, but found something strange–the hitchhiker from before was sitting in the driver’s seat of his car. When he got closer, Brett could see that the man had his keys lying in his lap.

“Hey! That’s my car, get the fuck out!” Brett said, went to reach for the keys, only for the guy to grab his wrist and pull him into the car window, closer to his musky body. Brett gagged, but this time, it wasn’t as offensive as it had seemed before, and it made his head feel a bit…cloudy.

“Buddy, this is my car. I think you’re mistaken.”

“No, I…those are my keys, and–”

“Buddy, if you’re lookin’ to cruise, all you gotta do is ask, you don’t have to just reach in for my cock,” the stranger said, unzipped his jeans, and hauled out his cock. It…smelled different than the rest of him, and Brett found himself wanting to get closer, wanting to know how it smelled, intimately. The stranger popped open the door, the keys were…right there. He should grab them, but…but he went to town on the stranger’s cock instead, the musk driving deeper and deeper into his mind.

Of course this wasn’t his car, he didn’t have a car. He was just a hitchhiker of course. A horny, cock hungry hitchhiker. A horny, cock hungry hitchhiker who loved dirty men like this guy, loved worshiping their stinking bodies, doing anything they told him to do. The man came down his throat, and Brett swallowed it all down of course. 

“So what do you think, good enough to give me a ride?” Brett asked with a smirk, wiping a bit of cum from his lips and sucking it off his finger.

“Sorry man, I don’t give rides, but I got a little time. I know a cozy little spot not far off in the woods, where you can lick my body clean, and when you get my cock hard again, I’ll give ya proper fucking, how about that?

Brett thought that sounded just fine to him. An hour later, they emerged from the woods, cum running down the inside of Brett’s legs, and he watched the stranger climb into his car and drive off. There was a moment of panic inside him, but it calmed down in a moment. He started over on the trucker side, and it wasn’t long before he found a ride with one of them, going nowhere in particular. As long as they wanted to use his holes, he didn’t care where he ended up, anymore.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.


Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others. 

The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.

“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”

“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.

When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”

“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”

“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”

Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”

Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear. 

“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.

“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.

“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did. 

“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”

He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.

“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”

“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”

Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his  body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.

After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”

With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.

Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”

“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”

“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.

“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”

Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.

They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”

He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole. 

He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.

Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.

He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.

Caption: Work From Home Weight

Avery and Kent had made the decision to move in together just as the first lockdowns were beginning, and they soon found themselves stuck in a small apartment, both working from home. There had been some friction early on, that Avery could vaguely recall. It had seemed so important at the time, but now, a year later, he was finding it harder and harder to imagine a life without Kent with him. In particular, without the food that Kent fed him.

Avery had always been on the chubby side, and he’d never particularly liked it about himself. But working from home, he found that there wasn’t much else to do other than, well, eat, and Kent was more than happy to keep him fed from the moment he woke up to the moment they laid down, and Kent usually fucked Avery’s ass, both of them collapsing in a sweaty heap by the end of it. Still, it wasn’t…that much weight, was it? No, it was all perfectly normal, Avery told himself again, but then, why was he sweating so much, and so nervous about the email he’d just gotten?

The pandemic was tapering off, the bosses wanted folks back in the office, at least on a limited basis. Avery had asked to be given a remote position full time, but had just gotten a reply that he would need to be in the office at least three days a week. Kent came in, saw that Avery was looking upset, and asked him what the matter was, but Avery struggled to explain what, exactly, it was that had him so flustered.

“Ah, you know, I think I know what the matter is. Lift up the veil, little piggy.”

Avery gave a little grunt, and it was like he was seeing the world differently, remembering everything that felt so blurry before. How Kent had used the lockdown to try and force him to get bigger, while Avery had struggled against it, until…until Kent had done something to him, hypnotized him, and…and well, here he was. Over 400 pounds in about a year, it should have been impossible, but then, Kent had been working every trick in the book to get Avery as heavy as he could.

“You…no! How could you! I–” Avery said, but Kent walked over, shoved up his shirt, and started kneading his gut, making Avery moan in delight.

“How could I turn you into one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen?” Kent said, “Fuck, look at how fucking massive you are, and so sensitive…”

“No, I…why…of fuck, that feels so fucking good…” Avery muttered.

“Of course it does. You’re a fat fucking pig, Avery. You love being fat. You love how it feels, you love how you look. You couldn’t be happier with all of this. And now, next week, you’re going to the office, and all of those people are going to see you, Avery. They’re going to know that you’re a fat, greedy, gluttonous little piggy, and they’re gonna whisper about it, and all of that? It’s just going to make you hornier.”

Avery was grunting and snorting now, lost in the fantasy Kent was feeding him, and when he hauled him up and bent him over the desk and fucked him, Avery found himself pushing back, loving how his gut swayed and shuddered, how labored his breathing was, until he came first, right into his gunt. Kent filled him up soon after, and put him back in his chair. “That’s a good piggy. Now, drop the veil, little piggy.”

Avery’s eyes clouded over again, he gave Kent a kiss, feeling better after his chat with him, and got back to work on the computer. Kent gave a contented sigh, and left the room–he was almost there, just a little more conditioning to go. Then he could lift the veil for good, and he’d have the perfect gainer pig he’d always wanted.

Captions: Owned / Dirtier

Since I missed yesterday’s post, here’s a double feature!

Owned

“How long has it been since you were here, slave?”

“A…a month.”

“A month, Master,” he said, and gave the rubber clad man a smack on the ass, and left it there, running his fingers between his thighs, tracing the chastity cage locked on the outside of the rubber catsuit. “I will not have a slave disrespect me in public. We are lax at home on occasion, but I know you know your manners well.”

“Yes Master.”

“A month since you went home with me. Remember what a confident little shithead you were? Talking about how you were all top, never gonna bottom in your life? Now look at you. That big cock of yours locked away, hole loose and ready,” he said, and slid two of his fingers through the slit in the back of the rubber suit, pressing up against the slave’s hole, feeling him shudder at the touch. “You’re owned now, and once we go in there, everyone is going to know it. Everyone you’ve fucked. Everyone who wanted to fuck you. They’re gonna know that you’re my property. How does that make you feel?”

The slave didn’t respond right away, just let out a little moan.

“It makes you excited, doesn’t it?”

Another little moan, followed by, “Yes Master, it does.”

“How many men do you think I should let use your holes tonight?”

“As many as you want, Master.”

“Good, slave, you do learn quickly. The last slave I had, I couldn’t take him out in public for three months. I know you’re going to serve me well in there tonight, won’t you?”

“Yes Master.”

“And remember–always pride. Be proud that you realized who you are. Most of those men in there are too scared to accept it. But you are right where you want to be, isn’t that right?”

The slave nodded, and he followed his Master into the bar to begin his new life.


Dirtier

You hadn’t taken that old bitch seriously, of course. Who would have, really? Ranting and raving about some curse or something, while security was dragging her out of the bank where you worked, saying something about how if all you cared about was dirty money, then you might as well just keep getting dirtier.

But for the next week or so, you kept noticing things. Dirt kept appearing under your fingernails, no matter how well you cleaned them at night, and it wasn’t like you were doing anything to make them dirty in the first place. Then you noticed that, after you showered, you always still had a lingering musk around you. It wasn’t too bad at first, but by the next week, you got a couple of comments at work. You tried all of these different soaps and shampoos, but nothing helped, and by then, the dirt was starting to spread as well.

Then, it wasn’t just you, either. You went to bed in a set of clean sheets, and when you woke up the next morning, they were filthy. Stained, reeking of sweat and cum and piss, and worst of all, you didn’t mind it. It smelled good to you all of a sudden, and you couldn’t resist rolling over, grinding your cock into the sheets and adding another load to them. You showered after, of course, but it didn’t help. You could smell it lingering around you, that same grungy scent, and the more you noticed it, the hornier you were getting.

You tried to find that woman, but there was no sign of her anywhere, all of her bank records had just vanished. Your boss called you into his office, raked you over the coals for your slovenly appearance. You didn’t know where that beard had come from, or how your hair had gotten so long so quickly. You went home early, tried to shave it off and cut it away, but it would grow back faster than you could remove it, thicker and thicker each time. That day, you went to put on a suit, dreading going in to work again, but all of your suits had disappeared, replaced with grungy looking hi vis workwear and nothing else. 

But then, what else would you wear? In a stupor, you pulled on some of the filthy garments and went to work–but not at the bank. You were a construction worker, right? You spent the day trying to convince yourself otherwise, but couldn’t manage it. This just…felt right. You were scared, and too tired to fight it. Maybe if you just let it happen, it would stop. This wasn’t so bad, right? And for a while, your body didn’t get worse, at least, but your mind started growing filthier instead. Working around all of those other musky, masculine men, you found yourself caught in fantasy after fantasy, about how they would use your dirty body–and as you concocted each scenario, they came true. 

The foreman pissing on you in the portpotty. A father and son tag teaming your holes in the back of their pickup. Timmy, the fattest guy on the crew, sitting his grungy ass on your face while you jacked off your rank cock. You didn’t live in that nice house anymore. You lived in a studio apartment, never cleaned, never cared for. Sometimes, you would fight, try and remember who you’d been, but when you did, it would get worse somehow, always worse, but now, why can’t you find your way home?

You usually walked home, sometimes sucking cock in the alleys on your way to and from the construction site, but now, you just couldn’t find it. You ended up in an alley, and slept there, interrupted by a couple of cops walking their beat, who took a little break to fuck your nasty hole in the middle of the night. Come morning, you went back to the construction site, but you didn’t work there anymore. That didn’t stop all the men from using you of course, but you were too filthy even for that work now. You made your way back to your alley, still so damn horny, but things, at least, couldn’t get worse than this, right?