~~May 3rd~~

Timmy stood in the room, where Stanta had invited him to hold their weekly progress meeting, wondering what, exactly, this was concerning. It was rather unorthodox for them to meet in Stanta’s house, and not on the floor of the workshop, where production was ramping up, so they could discuss various bottlenecks and production issues on several new toy lines the elves had developed. But he’d insisted. Stanta wasn’t even in the room at the moment–he’d ushered Timmy in, and the left, puffing on his pipe, saying he’d forgotten something. It was…suspicious, to say the least.

Stanta returned a moment later, bearing a large animal crate with him–and there, in the crate, Timmy could clearly see the small pig which until a year and a half ago had been Marty. He kept his face as cold as he could, desperate to not let any tell-tale emotion seep through. He didn’t think Stanta would have been able to get any information from either pig of that strange urinal, but he couldn’t be certain of anything. “As you recall, back in January, I confiscated some…curiosities from the elves’ workshop,” Stanta said, “I can’t say I’ve had much luck discovering much about what had happened in there. That said, I can say with some certainty that the larger pig is likely my predecessor, and this little piggy here is an elf. Am I correct in my assessment?”

He knew he couldn’t lie, but that certainly didn’t mean he needed to provide the entire truth, either. “That’s…correct.” Stanta set the crate on the floor, a few feet from where Timmy was standing. He concentrated on Stanta instead. “Is there something you’d like to discuss about that?”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“Because it didn’t deem it relevant. The previous Santa was unable to serve, and I needed a replacement. Informing you at any stage of any of your predecessor’s…eventual fates would likely have deterred you from taking the position. No Santa lasts forever, and the only things which can dispose of immortals are…generally harsh. You can understand why I’d be reluctant to share that information with you.”

“That’s a rather cold calculation, Timmy,” Stanta said, “You do seem to have a penchant for sneaking behind people’s backs, and laying traps.” With that, Stanta pulled the love gun from small box he had on a table, and examined it. “This, for example. Given to my boy. Why in the world would an elf such as yourself give him something like this?”

Timmy wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d assumed John simply hadn’t worked up the courage to use the gun–he hadn’t imagined that Stanta would have gotten his hands on it instead.

Still, Stanta didn’t need an admission of guilt. “You know, I did learn a bit about who this little piggy is, from a friend. You had such…passion for him. Why don’t we melt that cold, manipulative heart, and divert your attention to something a bit more warm, eh?”

“No! Wait, just give me a chance to explain!” Timmy shouted, but Stanta had already leveled the gun at him, coating Timmy with it’s soft pink glow. Holding down the trigger, he dragged the beam over to the boar who had been Marty, connecting the two of them together. He held the beam solid for a moment, making sure Timmy’s feelings would be sufficiently intense, and then released the trigger, allowing Timmy to move and think again.

Well, try to think, at least. He had to do something, he couldn’t let Stanta get away with this, but those concerns were overwhelmed by something else–by Marty, by that pig. How could he have been so cold? Marty was still in there, and he’d tried to deny it so much, but he couldn’t anymore–he still loved him, even more than he had as a elf. With a whimper of need, he scrambled for the door to the crate, opened it, and dragged the pig out, trying to embrace it, but the pig seemed…uninterested.

“Oh goodness, I seem to have set the gun to ‘unrequited’, silly me,” Stanta said. “Also, I can assure you Marty there doesn’t have much interest in elves–I have a feeling that if you want that little pig to love you, it’s going to require a few…changes, Timmy. Still, I’m more than happy to help,” Stanta said, walking towards Timmy, where he was trying to kiss the pig, and the pig was trying to shove him off with his trotters.

“Please…” Timmy said, but even he wasn’t sure whether it was asking Stanta to give him his free will back, or asking him to change. In any case, Stanta took his plea as the second, and laid his hand on Timmy’s head. His body began to shift immediately, his slender frame piling on layer after layer of fat. Timmy felt his mind dulling, his rationality draining away and allowing his love to become a single-minded drive, as his feet and hands became trotters, his clothes shredding apart as he grew out of them, and with the last flickers of his mind, he realized something else. He didn’t look like the same kind of pig as Marty–while Marty was a hairy, muscular boar with a huge cock, Timmy was soft, hairless and flabby, with four rows of teats running down his belly. Worse, he felt his cock and balls shrink until they were just nubs, and a new, gaping pussy opened up below them. Marty took one sniff of Timmy’s new cunt, and could tell this sowboi was in heat–Timmy was more than happy to go onto all fours, and allow his new boar to mount him, driving in deep, the pleasure washing all of his other concerns away.