The elevator dinged and Oliver stepped out, dragging his kit along with him into the narrow apartment hallway. He was a bit late, but getting across town had been awful like always, his breathing a bit ragged, but then again, he was almost sixty, and his breath was ragged just from hauling himself out of bed. He ran a hand back over his head–thin tuft, bald head, sweaty grey hair-and then dragged his things towards apartment 607, where Kyle and Noah were waiting for him.
Oliver was a few things to different people. On the street, he looked like an older, slobbish guy, sporting a long wiry goatee and clothes had seemed a few decades out of style and fit on his portly frame. Around Hollywood, his reputation was golden, as one of the old guard make up artists. Movie monsters, science fiction epics, disease, age, beauty, ugly, he’d applied something to any actor who’d ever mattered in the business. Computers, after all, could only do so much–or at least that’s what people told him to his face to be nice, and what he told himself to feel relevant. But to a few young men and couples around the city, his reputation, spread by word of mouth, was a bit more complex. Pervert, perhaps, was a simple way of putting it. Fucksmithing, something apparently created by a strange webcomic one of his clients had shown him on one of those tablet things, that was closer. He’d always just thought of himself as an enabler of fantasies which were…difficult to see realized in the real world. Depending on what was being requested, and who was requesting it, the fees he charged could be anywhere from exorbitant to gratis, as long as he got to watch them fuck.
Kyle and Noah had been regular clients of his for a few years now, usually calling him every few months with a request. The fantasies were rather boring, but both of the boys were rather cute both in and out of his makeup, and his interests overlapped somewhat with theirs. As such, he charged them only for materials so long as he could observe, and both of them seemed to enjoy having the old man masturbate while they fucked in his makeup. He knocked on their door, and Noah answered–he wouldn’t be needing any makeup today, and he was already in costume–A simply draped toga designed to be easily lifted to expose his ass, and a pair of sandals on his feet. In look, he was really no Theseus–the blond hair and pale complexion was too Nordic to be anything close to mediterranean, and hardly toned enough to wrestle and kill anything so powerful as a minotaur. Then again, in this fantasy, Theseus wasn’t supposed to win, was he? Still, Oliver’s powers were limited. He’d offered to dye Noah’s hair, or give him a bit of a tan, when they’d consulted over the phone but Noah had turned him down–he was more focused on Kyle. “Hey–” Oliver said, “Kyle ready to go?”
“Yeah, he’s in the bedroom, waiting–he didn’t want to see me, but I thought I’d go ahead and get changed. What do you think?” He gave a twirl
Oliver shrugged, but threw him a smile at least. “You want to watch me make him up?”
“Not this time–surprise me!” Noah said, “I’ll be in the labyrinth when you two are ready.”
“It’ll be a while, just to warn you.”
“The waiting just makes it more exciting,” he said, and went off into a door off the hall, the playroom, which the two of them set as the stage for whatever myth they felt like re-enacting that day. He found the mythos angle rather boring, but at least their selections were at least…challenging for him, on occasion.
Oliver had become rather good at keeping his eyes from rolling after years spent in close proximity to actors, and headed down the hall to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Inside was Kyle, the relative top in the relationship, or at least, Oliver had yet to witness him on bottom. He was in better physical shape, a bit more tan as well. The same age as Noah–the two had met in college–but he seemed…pleasantly older than the flightier one. “Hey, how are you doing?” Kyle asked, “Traffic bad? You’re a bit late.”
“It’s LA, traffic’s always bad. You ready? It’ll take a little while today.”
Kyle shrugged, “That’s cool–I’m excited.”
“Well, it’s not as good as some of the minotaurs I’ve done before, but I don’t think you want to be in the chair for hours either, while I apply hair all over your body.”
Kyle laughed, “No, I think what we discussed will be plenty.”
The couple had a small vanity in the room which was good enough, though a bit low, forcing Oliver to squat a bit as he worked, which always gave him a crick in his back. “Alright, so I molded the snout for you in latex. It might seem a bit short, but it works better than a longer one as far as kissing and everything goes, trust me. We’ll get it on, a smaller brow piece and some ears, give your face a bit of a paint job, put on some accessories and we’ll be good.”
Kyle nodded, and Oliver got to work. The latex covered his whole nose, went up under his eyes, around his whole jaw and down to his neck. It was a bit on the short side, and quite boxy, but Kyle actually quite looked in the mirror. He saw what Oliver was talking about as well–any longer, and doing anything with his mouth would have looked like his bull snout was a quacking duck. After Oliver got the edges glued down, he fitted a heavy brow over Kyle’s eyes, giving him a more menacing look, and a couple of ears that were a bit longer and flopped over. After all of that, he got to painting, sticking to brushes. It didn’t have to be his best work, after all–it only had to on for a sex scene, after all. He darkened his skin tone with greys and browns a bit and added a few white splatters for impact, and then came the accessories–fake rings–a door knocker in his snout and a few smaller ones in his ears, and then Kyle got his pants off. This, apparently, had been a bit of a sticking point for the two of them. Noah had initially planned on having Kyle wear a strap on, so he could get the full experience of getting hammered by a bull, but Kyle hadn’t been very interested in just play fucking his boy friend with fourteen inches of rubber while his own cock did, and felt, nothing. In the end, then, he had his usual cock, but his balls would be massive. Oliver was a bit disappointed, to be honest–while Kyle was cute, he wasn’t all that impressively endowed. He had more than a few odd props, including the heavy silicone balls he slid up around Kyle’s own set, securing them with spirit gum, and sat back, a bit frustrated that it only made Kyle look smaller in the shaft. Still, he was only here to do make up, not to direct–so he finished the job, securing a couple of follow horns to his temples. Kyle was very happy with the result, and they set off for the playroom, where Noah had been waiting for close to two hours.
He just moaned, burrowing deeper into the pig’s shit chute with his tongue.
“Daddy! Get the door!”
He blinked, and sat back on his heels, trying to remember what was going on. He took a suck off his cigar, but realized it had burnt out while he’d been eating out the pig’s hole–how fucking long had he been at it?
*Knock* *Knock*
“Is anyone there?”
He stumbled up, a bit off balance, and stumbled towards the hall, hauled open the door. “The fuck do ya want?” he said, and the young woman who’d brought the two full carts of food up gasped at the sight of him, and backed up a step, at a loss for words.
“T-Thanks,” he said, and pulled the two carts inside, shutting the door behind him, feeling a bit embarrassed at the woman’s obvious disgust. Wondering what she’d seen, he slipped into the bathroom and turned on the light, only to shout at the sight. That wasn’t his face–he didn’t look like that! The beard he’d sprouted had lengthened, running down to his chest, and his hair had grown out long as well. They were both greasy and tangled, more grey than his original brown at this point–well, aside from the area around his mouth, which was slimy with the pig’s juices and his own slobber. His leather gear (was it even his? He’d always despised leather and the fake masculinity it seemed to inspire in the men who wore it) was no longer crisp and new as it had been earlier, when he’d found himself in it. The leather vest was well worn, and now bore a number of biker patches, his chaps and boots equally worn, and the jock–fuck, his jock was putrid yellow and crisp to the touch.
“Oh good choices all around, daddy,” the little pig had gotten off the bed and was inspecting what the woman had dropped off. “I bet you’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, right?”
“What the fuckin’ hell have ya done tah me, ya little fuck?” he exclaimed, pointing at his reflection in the mirror.
“You honestly didn’t expect a dirty, disgusting pig like me to want to play around with the cute little cub you were before, do you?” Carmichael said, grunting and chuckling to himself, “No–I only play with guys who are just as disgusting as I am.”
“No–No, I’m not fucking like you–this ain’t me! I ain’t this disgusting fucker! Change me back, right fuckin’ now, or I fuckin’ swear, I’ll–”
The pig interrupted him, shoving a cupcake in his daddy’s mouth, watching the older man’s eyes roll back in his head in pleasure, his larger gut growling with approval. “That’s what I thought. Come on now daddy–let’s get you fed.”
He laid the daddy down on the bed, propping his head up with a couple of pillows, and then pulled both carts up alongside them, before climbing up and straddling, grinding his ass against his daddy’s bulging jock, listening to him moan. “Be a good daddy, let the little piggy fatten you up, and maybe you’ll get to feel that cock in my hole tonight.”
Before he could respond, he shoved another cupcake into his maw, and the feeding began. It was slow going at first–the daddy was still fighting pretty hard. They took the occasional break to feed each other some smoke, to let the daddy’s hunger catch up, the pig’s pipe so much sweeter than the rough cigars he preferred smoking. The breaks weren’t necessary before too long, and the pig quickened the pace. Cupcakes, pudding, ice cream, doughnuts–all of it went into daddy’s gut–they could feel it heaving up between them until a certain point when it lost its firmness, and settled around him in a pile of soft flab. It was around that point, daddy started sobbing–pleading and begging with the pig to just let him go, refusing to eat another bite.
“Do you want to fuck my hole or not, daddy? Keep eating.”
“No, please, no more. I can’t do this anymore.”
“You can too–I believe in you! You can be the biggest, most vile daddy in the world, I know it. Now open up.”
But he stubbornly refused, the little pig letting off a squealing sigh. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this until later, but you’re just not cooperating. Still, this will help move things along.” He fished his piggy cock out, aimed for his daddy’s mouth over his flabby gut, and let loose a burst of piss which landed right in his face. The stench alone made his head spin–he licked his lips and got a taste of it, and groaned. The pig let loose a longer stream then, his daddy chasing the golden piss as the pig soaked him down, watching his daddy’s hair and beard grow longer, his body stinking and unwashed, the musk stronger than most men would be able to handle. The pig started stuffing his face again, helping him wash it down with more and more piss, watching him grow older and older still, his hair entirely white aside from where it had yellowed around his mouth from his cigars, teeth rotten and crooked, eyes hungry and desperate, losing their will to fight. It wasn’t too much longer before the carts were both empty, and while his daddy moaned, the little pig spent a while licking him clean, tasting his daddy’s filth while the older man smoked his cigars, trying to muster some resistance, but…but he wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, he was fighting against anymore. All he really wanted, now that he had stuffed himself, was a turn at that little pig’s dirty hole.
“Alright pig, I did mah part. Now you’s get bent over the bed, ‘n let daddy plow that nasty hole a yers.”
The elevator ride was silent. Carmichael was staring at the young man, one hand fiddling with the pipe and pouch of tobacco in his breast pocket. The young man was decisively staring anywhere other than at him, but he was sweating a bit under the older man’s stare. The old fuck was obviously a bottom, given how he’d acted down in the restaurant, but a part of him didn’t feel like he was the one in control of the situation, and wanted to abandon ship and run, but the hard cock in his shorts–fuck, he’d never been so disgusted by someone as much as this fuck, and he’d never known that disgust could be such a fucking aphrodisiac. He could give the pig a dirty rough plowing, and then send him on his way. He certainly wouldn’t be telling any of his friends about this, and he’d hook up with someone hotter later, so he could feel normal again.
“I never did get your name, sir.”
“You’re not getting it, pig. I don’t want to know you.”
“Then I suppose I will just have to call you daddy then.”
The cub blushed at the thought of this man at least thirty years his senior calling him daddy. What the fuck was he doing?
The elevator dinged, and they emerged on the cub’s floor. He led Carmichael down the hall to his room, opened it up, and went inside. “Alright pig–get naked, and get on the bed. No talking–I just want to get this over with.”
Carmichael let the door shut behind him, and chuckled, “No–here’s what we’ll do. You go ahead and call room service and order us some food. You can bill it to my room, 823. I don’t quite think I satisfied my sweet tooth yet, so focus on the desserts, daddy.”
“You fucking–” he sneered, “You’re still fucking hungry? No–this is a quick fuck, I’m not playing into your fucked up fantasies anymore. You want my dick? Get on the bed or get out.”
“My fantasies?” Carmichael said, moving quick for his size, pressing himself to the cub, feeling a shiver run through the young man, “I know how much you liked stuffing me down in that restaurant. Besides–it’s surprisingly easy to work up an appetite when you’re playing with a pig like me, so you might want some too. Now, call room service while I freshen up and get ready for you, daddy.”
The cub backed away, and walked over to the phone, unable to believe what he was doing. He wasn’t really doing this. He didn’t actually want to do this, did he? No! No, he…he didn’t, and yet…and yet he was thinking about what it was like downstairs, how much he’d fucking enjoyed watching the old fuck struggle to chew while he shoved food in his face…Fuck, maybe he did want this. It was just…curiosity, he told himself, waiting for room service to connect, looking at the menu, thinking about what would be fun to stuff in someone’s face.
Carmichael hadn’t stuck around to see if the cub called or not–he knew he would. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, pulling his piggy pipe out with a quivering hand, licking his lips. The little piggy was so eager to be out again, so eager to play. He took his time packing the pipe with his special tobacco–he wouldn’t want to ruin the moment with a poor draw. When he was satisfied, he lit the pipe, puffing gently, tasting that sweet smoke–he’d smoked this so many times, and yet this time felt…new, somehow. He took a deeper draw, his body reacting to the smoke, quivering and shifting in front of his eyes.
His body began to lose a bit of weight–never too much, he was still wonderfully plump–but enough to make moving a bit easier. His gut no longer sagged, but rested as a taut gut, a bit of muscle filling out his frame, giving him a huskier look with thick shoulders and an even thicker neck. His clothes, rather than becoming loose, shrank with him as he condensed until they were skin tight, the fabric picking up a bit of a shine under the bathroom lights. The color of the fabric darkened to a solid black, the shine increasing until he was clad all in rubber from sleeve to pant, and then the suit began to retract until all that remained was a skimpy, rubber singlet, the word “PIG” across the back in red letters, with an open crotch giving him easy access to both his piggy cock and ass. Fuck, that fucking cock!
It wasn’t human anymore–instead, emerging from the sheath, was a slimy, spiralling pig’s cock with two massive boar balls swinging beneath. His shoes had disappeared, but they wouldn’t have fit his new feet anyway, as they shifted into trotters, his footing a bit slick on the tile, but he adjusted easily enough, watching his face start to shift through the smoke of his pipe. Ears growing larger migrating up on his head a bit before flopping over. Nose and mouth pushing out into a short snout with two tusks on either side, and lastly, with a squeal, his tail pushed it’s way out above his ass. Just a fucking little pig, that’s all he fucking was–it was so fucking good to be free at last!
As the pig smoked and groped himself, the last changes swept over his body. What little hair he had on his body and head disappeared, leaving just a soft hide behind. His head was completely bald, and his mustache disappeared from the tip of his snout…but as the hair disappeared, his appearance youthened. The wrinkles disappearing around his eyes, his jowls pulling back in, moles and liver spots dimming and disappearing, leaving him a beautiful pink from head to toe. He was ready to play, and what a fucking good time this pig was going to have with that daddy tonight.
A commissioner requested an additional chapter to this story from earlier this year. Here’s where you can find part’s one, two, and three. Also, this chapter’s a bit out there–animal hybrids, and castration.
“I’m very disappointed, Mr. Grant. I’ve made you a very comfortable home here, you know. To have my generosity thrown back at me in my face, well…what do they say about the hand that feeds you?”
“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!”
“Now, I don’t know quite how you managed to untwist your way out of my programming, but I am still the master of this house, and you will still treat me with the respect I require.”
“I’m not treating you for shit! You fucked me up! I’m some old fucking man, and that…that thing fucks me fucking twice a day! No, I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to expose you, and you’re going to fucking jail.”
“Do you honestly believe that you’re the first one of my staff to have gotten their wits about and run off to your holy ‘authorities’? Please, I have an excellent relationship with the entire local government. I can assure you. even if you had gotten away without being caught, your feat would have amounted to nothing.”
“…”
“Silence? Fine. Still, we will have to punish you, I can assure you.”
“Edufuck me all you fucking want, I’ll just beat it again.”
“Oh, edification will be necessary, yes, but I think this situation calls for more…extreme measures. No, good night, Mr. Grant. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Mr. Grant smelled manure. It was a scent he’d grown accustomed to over the last few months, since when he first displeased the Master of Fitzroy Abbey, but not one he’d ever learned to enjoy. No, he hated it more with each day. But now, waking up slowly, it…comforted him. It smelled like home, somehow.
He was lying on straw, but why was he sleeping in the stable? Had he passed out? Slipped away for a nap? Master would be very unhappy with either possibility, and he didn’t want to upset master, no, not that–
He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it felt so…thick, all of a sudden. It wasn’t like Mr. Grant had ever been the smartest person, but before he’d been able to manage. Now, it felt like his thoughts were running through molasses. Had…had something happened to him again? He could remember a conversation, dimly. Master had been angry. He’d been angry too, but also…terrified. But what he’d done, he couldn’t recall at all. He opened his eyes, and where he was propped against the side of the stable, he had a clear view of his body, and that was what caused the scream which echoed across the grounds of the entire Abbey gardens.
His legs, what the fuck had happened to his legs! The terror cut through the static clogging his mind, and he ran his old hands over the furry flanks his ass and thighs had become, then down further, to his knee, the slender leg ending in a thick, solid brown hoof. He felt the whole thing with his hands, unable to believe it, but it was him, his body. The static was returning, and as it did, some of his shock and surprise faded as well. Had things been different? He couldn’t actually remember being different, so it was possible he’d always been this way, right? The one thing he definitely appreciated was his cock, the sheath running from the base of his heavy balls all the way up his slightly elongated torso, where the head of his cock began to emerge. He forced himself upright, finding it relatively easy to balance on the wide hooves, and with his hands, felt the shaft. He had to piss–and as soon as he’d thought it, the urine poured out of him in a torrent with no control at all–he barely managed to aim it at a corner, away from the straw where he’d been laying. The scent was strong, but not at all unpleasant, similar to the manure. He…liked it here actually…but didn’t he have work to do? Hadn’t he been…trying to get somewhere? The thoughts didn’t seem to connect up to anything, but he pushed open the door to the stable, and walked out, smelling the air. Something…else was in his nose, something…wonderful. Chopper. Chopper, he definitely knew, his new horse tail flicking at the thought, ass clenching.
Whistling a little tune, he took off, following the scent of his favorite horse. He smelled something else, but realized what–or rather, who–it was, too late. Master was waiting for him as well, with two burly servants of the house.
“Ah, Mr. Grant. I trust you’ve found your new accommodations acceptable? You’ll be staying here with the horses from now on, considering you’re mostly horse yourself now. You’re usual duties will be the same, though with that new brain of yours, I doubt you’ll have much time to think of escaping again. Still, there is one last thing I’d like to take care of. I did so love that tiny cock of yours, but gene manipulation…we can’t always have everything we want. Still, I think having you as a gelding will work out fine–calm you down a bit, make you more…pliable.”
The two men tackled Mr. Grant to the grubby floor of the stable, holding him down, allowing the master of the abbey to first, bind his huge balls with a series of bands, and once they’d turned a deep, blackish blue, to cut open the sack and extract both of his testicles, before sewing up the incision. Mr. Grant just stared, dumbfounded, but once they were gone he…felt better. Calmer. The panic in him died back a bit, and he got a stupid grin on his face. He was all too happy to let Chopper fuck his new hole–a wonderful new experience, since his wider frame could better take the huge shaft, and from them on, Mr. Grant settled into his new life, that of a grubby stable man gelding–and always ready for any of the stallions to mount him, if need be.
Hux climbed the stairs to his apartment, saw the package sitting on his doorstep, and his heart skipped a beat, his cheeks blushing red under his fur. Right there on the side of the damn box–”Little Critter Diaper Delivery”–he’d thought ordering them online would be more discreet, not less! As quick as he could, he fumbled his keys out and got the door unlocked, dragging in the large package with one paw as he stepped inside, and threw the door shut behind him. God, he hoped none of his neighbors had seen that–he was usually home from work before other people at the apartment complex, at least, so chances were his secret was still safe–hopefully.
It wasn’t something he was very comfortable with yet, but Hux…liked diapers. Liked wearing diapers. Liked pissing in them, liked…feeling like a big baby. Something about it turned him on damn much, even if the very idea of anyone knowing about his fetish was a bit humiliating. He’d stumbled across a diaper story a few years back, and his obsession had grown from there. He’d been wearing diapers on occasion for the past few months, usually for an afternoon or something, until he got tired of it and cleaned himself up, but the clerk at the store had recognized him the last time he was there to buy some, and he’d turned bright red and hauled ass out of there. He’d asked around some forums, about where he could order some quality diapers, and over and over, guys kept recommending “Little Critter Diaper Delivery,” saying that once they’d started wearing those, they’d never gone back to another brand. The users who suggested them were all regulars on the forum–he’d seen them online there all the time, so they probably were the ones to know. They added that they were great for long term wear, good for play with daddies–not necessarily things Hux was looking for…yet, but interesting to him all the same.
Now that the embarrassment was wearing off, the horniness was starting to grow. He went into the kitchen and found a knife he could use to cut the tape, opened up the box and found his order of twenty-four disposable XXL diapers. Thick diapers, he discovered as he pulled them out. He’d never bought ones that were this thick, and that actually worried him a bit. He liked cumming in diapers, mostly, but these looked like he wouldn’t even be able to feel his dick through the hefty fabric. They would be absorbent though…no wonder the guys online said they were good for long sessions. Still, what’s the worst that could happen, really? If they didn’t work, he could always just ship them back, right? He didn’t really want to go back to the store, but he’d gotten other recommendations on the forums he might try. He held them up to his waist, under his gut, giving them a bit of a stretch. They’d fit him at least–the one’s before were always a bit too small for a big boy like he was.
He stripped out of his work clothes, the khakis and his button down shirt from the dumb office job where he was working currently, tied on the hanky he liked to wear–it always made him feel like a pup, when he’d worn hankies like this all the time–and then laid out the first diaper he’d pulled out, sat down on it, and went about pulling it up around him, pulling the straps tight around him until it was snug around his whole crotch and ass, with a hole in the back for his fluffy tail. The forum was right–they were comfortable. Really comfortable in fact. Like he was sitting on a cloud, almost…so relaxing he could…could just…
It took him a few moments to realize the warmth around his crotch wasn’t just comfort–but piss. He felt like he should be freaking out a bit, but instead he laid back, feeling the warmth spread around him. He hadn’t really managed to get much piss out into the diapers before, and he’d certainly never let loose like this before! It was as good as he’d always thought it would feel, and he moaned a bit, thrusting his crotch into the air, his paws groping the fluffy diaper. Unfortunately, his earlier worry had been confirmed–he couldn’t feel his paws on his cock at all. Still…something felt good in there, almost like the wet fabric was massaging his cock somehow. He tried to push his hand down the waistband, but he must have pulled it tighter than he remembered–he couldn’t even fit his hand down there to jack off. As he tried, the sensation around his cock was intensifying–now he was certain something was going on–he sat up, the piss starting to grow a bit lukewarm, and again felt the outside of the diaper. His paws just felt fluff, but inside–it was like someone’s mouth and ass were toying with his cock simultaneously, quicker now, and with a jerk, clutching the front of the diaper, he shouted, “Fuck, I’m cumming!”
It was easily the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced, and as soon as it had begun to ebb, the diaper contracted around his cock again, sending him into another orgasm, even stronger than the last. The diaper refused to stop, milking as much cum out of his cock as it could with each orgasm, the next one beginning almost as soon as the last one ended. His paws, shaking, desperately tugged at the tabs on the sides of the diaper, but they refused to come unstuck. He couldn’t even feel the seams anymore, and another orgasm had him on his back, thrusting into the air, moaning and howling with pleasure, almost as a punishment for trying to escape.
It wasn’t long before the milking of his cock took on a different sensation, becoming less sensual and gentle, and rougher, harder–the fabric crushing against his cock and balls, squeezing and pulling them in strange, unfamiliar ways. It made his stomach ache, like he was seasick, but it didn’t stop him from cumming again and again. They were as intense as before, but growing shorter–less and less cum flowing into the now soggy, sagging diaper with each shot. For a while, he kept trying to get himself out of the diaper, but before long he’d rolled over onto his belly and was willingly thrusting into the diaper, drooling on the carpet, listening to the soaked fabric squelch beneath him, tail wagging too and fro in the air behind him.
Help–he had to get help. He can see his khakis on the floor a few feet away, and he crawls over…enjoying the sensation of the sagging diaper between his fat thighs that he cums from that sensation alone, his balls aching in their fabric cage. He fumbled through his contacts, terrified that someone was going to see him like this, but he…needed someone here with him. He couldn’t do this alone. He had a good friend who lived nearby, a coworker named Matt a bit older than he was, in his 30’s. They’d hung out regularly and he was cool with everything Hux had told him about–hopefully he’d be cool with this. He took his time, typing out a text as he panted, tongue hanging out, diaper nursing his cock gently, urging him on.
“Hey, could you come over please? I’m having a emergency, and need some help. ASAP!”
“Ethan! What the hell are you–” he said, but had the wind knocked out of him as Ethan tackled him to the floor…and Avery smelled him. God, he wanted him, he wanted him so badly, his body wanted him, but…but he did too. He wasn’t even fighting as Ethan rolled him over onto his belly, lined up that freakish cock and slipped it into his ass. The pleasure that hit him was massive, all of the pent up honrniness of the entire week crashing into him as surge after surge of pleasure, pleasure at finally being mounted, like he needed to be! He started to cum, at last, and while it felt amazing, it also hurt–his balls contracting so hard with each pulse of cum leaving him that they ached in his gut. Ethan didn’t notice–he just kept rutting, and while that sow had felt good, his brother’s ass felt amazing. No wonder Daddy liked boars better–he had a feeling he’d be riding his brother a whole lot more in the future, provided Daddy gave him permission.
Beneath him, Avery’s cock kept pulsing, a massive puddle of cum growing beneath him, and as it did, he felt his body…shifting. Odd sensations up and down his front, as three more rows of nipples appeared on his massive gut, all of them incredibly sensitive, more so than even his cock, but not as much as his ass had become. He felt so good, submitting like this. He liked to submit. He needed to submit. He was meant to be ridden, to be taken, to be controlled. With a final heave, Ethan slammed in deep and came inside Avery’s ass, his balls aching even worse, something strange happening in his groin, his body…shifting, leaving him both exhausted and satisfied, as his brother collapsed onto him, musky and sweaty…but there was another stench on him. Someone else, that same person he could almost remember.
“Fuck, could lay here all night, but let’s get you out of here before the whole campus sees us.”
Avery wanted to know where, he wanted to know what was going on, what had happened to his body, but his brother put on his overalls again, and let Avery out of the dorm naked, on his hands and knees, to a waiting truck. Avery could smell the person in the driver’s seat–it was a familiar scent, and he wanted to see who it was, but his brother forced him into the back bed, while Ethan rode in the cab, and they drove off in the dawn light.
Avery’s head had cleared a bit by the time they arrived at the pig farm–the chill of the morning air had helped ease some of the desire from him, and as much as he tried to explore his body on the ride…he found it rather difficult. His…arms seemed shorter, or he was simply so fat he couldn’t reach far enough down to reach his cock, much less his balls. They pulled up alongside the large barn, and Avery demanded an explanation, but Ethan just ordered him out of the truck, and led him into the barn, where the driver, Daddy, Avery assumed, had entered. The two of them forced him into a pen too small for him to turn around in, and the massive farmer came around in front. “Ya can go ahead ‘n remember me now.”
The scene at the bar returned to him, and Avery squealed, trying to escape from the pen, while both Ethan and Daddy squealed and snorted with laughter. “Ethan! Ethan, you have to stop this! Snap out of it!”
“Don’t mind the sow, little boar,” Daddy said, pulling Ethan close and giving him a sloppy kiss that Ethan eagerly returned, “He just hasn’t had a proper dicking yet, is all.”
“Can I do it Daddy? Please?” Ethan asked.
Daddy laughed, “No boy, we can’t have that–yer welcome tah his ass anytime ya like, though, n that fat snout a his too, a course. In fact, feed that brother a yers that big boar cock, while I introduce him tah his new sowhood.”
Avery tried to demand answers, but Ethan shoved his cock into his throat, forcing him to suck it, and then Daddy touched him where his balls should have been…but weren’t. Instead, he felt his rough, stubby fingers slip inside him, and he squealed with pleasure.
“Somebody like’s their new pussy, I see. Don’t worry, I’ll be fuckin’ ya plenty, little sow. Yer gonna have quite a few a mah litters, I think, how does that sound? Make that dick hard, thinking about me sowing my seed in yer new pigcunt?”
He forced himself inside Avery’s new pigcunt, and with that, he felt his entire resistance slip away, the soul sinking deep into his heart, and he accepted it. Welcomed it, actually. Eager to be fucked by his daddy…even excited that he could get pregnant with his piglets. And his brother, of course, with his own delicious boar cock, he thought, sucking and licking at the shaft in front of him. His brother might have to fuck sows for a living, but he knew that the hole he really wanted was Avery’s piggy ass. He felt the final changes sink in, his arms and legs shortening, hands and feet becoming trotters. His face was mostly human still, aside from floppy ears and a short snout, but Avery would be on all fours for the rest of his piggy life.
Ethan’s boar bristle filled in thicker, his face becoming more porcine than Avery’s, with a long snout and flat nose Daddy would eventually pierce with a thick ring. His feet changed into thick trotters, but he remained upright, rudimentary hands capable of wielding a few tools, but not much else, eyes dulling, no longer interested in anything beyond fucking and making his daddy boar happy. And the farmer looked down at them both, happy with the new additions to his farm, and knowing the rumours that would spread around the campus with their disappearance would remind the students who was really in charge around here.
Ethan squeezed into the booth, and the bartender immediately brought over a pitcher of beer and a platter of food. He was starving, even though he’d just eaten a few hours earlier, and stuffed his face with fries, guzzling beer right from the pitcher.
“Damn, lookin’ real fuckin’ good already, if I do say so mahself,” the farmer said, “How’s that brother a yers doin’? Been…smellin’ him much?”
“You…did this to us?….What the hell….is wrong with me…” Ethan managed to say through the food.
“Oh, I just gave you and yer asshole brother a new pair a souls is all. They’re eatin’ out yer old ones just like yer packin’ away those fries there.”
Ethan’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t stop himself from eating.
“Don’ trouble yerself none ‘bout it. Nothin’ ya can do about it now, besides enjoy it anyway. Still, I like ya boy, I like how ya smelled, and I definitely like how ya smellin’ now. Finish up those fries, ‘n let’s take a drive.”
The drive was delayed, because the farmer made Ethan make out with him for a bit in his truck, and then forced Ethan to suck his cock. He squealed at the sight, because it wasn’t human…but it smelled real good, and he was still hungry, and so he sucked at it until the farmer filled him up with a long squeal of pleasure, lolling for a bit. “Damn, hate drivin’ after a good cum like that–hard tah focus–” he huffed, started the truck, and drove off to the southwest, heading way out of town.
Ethan tried asking questions, but the farmer forbade him to speak after a couple, and so they rode in silence until they turned onto a gravel road, and pulled up next to a barn…and a scent caught Ethan off guard, his cock hardening in his pants. It was…kind of like that smell his brother had been putting out, but…stronger. The farmer watched as he let himself out, went into the barn, and found himself looking at a mass of pigs in a large pen.
“Go on, follow yer nose, stud…” the man said with a snort and a laugh, and Ethan followed it to a pen where one pig was off by itself–or rather, herself. “Been needin’ tah freshen up the gene pool a bit, ya see. Yer bro won’t be much help with that, but I think ya’ll fit the bill just fine…”
Ethan couldn’t stop himself from hauling is bulk over the pen, shucking off his pants, and driving his hard cock into the sow’s pussy, fucking away at her in the mud, hearing himself squealing and grunting as he rutted, but unable to stop himself. “Fuck…no! Please…” was all he managed, and then he gave in, snorting in time with his thrusts, as the farmer climbed in behind him.
“Course, I only really like the boars myself, like yer gonna be. Been kinda lonely around here lately, so I could use some company. Think ya’ll be sharin’ mah bed a whole lot, little boar–we’re gonna have lots a fun tahgether.” He came close pressing his bulk against Ethan’s back, pinning him deep in the sow, “Ya wanna feel daddy’s big cock in that boar hole a yers? Hell, of course ya do, even if ya don’t know it yet…”
The farmer’s cock was huge, and Ethan had never been fucked, but he was right–he did want it. He fucked the sow, and came deep, collapsing against her as the farmer rode his ass long and rough, and when he came as well, he dragged Ethan down into the mud below and rolled with him, Ethan lost in his daddy’s scent, listening to his daddy whisper in his ear, feeling his old self drift away even further, his new soul taking deeper root in his heart feeling himself and he embraced his new role as Daddy’s personal fuckboar.
Back on campus, Avery was growing more and more anxious. He usually wasn’t separated from his brother for this long, and the night was wearing longer and longer. It didn’t help that he was even hornier than usual, and his cock showed no sign of getting hard…and everytime he started to stroke it, his hand drifted lower, to his ass, but he’d pull it away before exploring anything, out of fear and shame. He tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He ended up stuffing his face with snacks be bought from a 24 hour convenience store, and sniffing one of his brother’s cumrags, disturbed by how much he needed the scent close to him.
He was still awake right before dawn, when Ethan finally returned. He wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d left in–instead, all he had on was a pair of overalls, and he was covered from face to foot with half-dried mud that reeked. “Christ Ethan!” Avery asked, “Where have you been?”
Ethan didn’t say anything–he just snorted the air and leered at Avery–a leer that reminded him of…someone, but he couldn’t remember who. All he knew was that it scared him half to death, and he got up off the couch and backed away from his advancing brother, who was letting the overalls fall as he walked, revealing a cock that…wasn’t right. It was bright pink, and seemed to twist somehow as it rise tight to Ethan’s furry belly, the pendulous balls slapping against his thighs as he stomped closer.
“Ethan…Ethan, where have you been? You’re freaking me out bro…”
“I’ve been with Daddy, learning how to be his little Fuckboar, but you’ll find out all about that later. He said…I get to fuck you first, and fuck, do you know how fucking good you smell? Get the fuck over here, I wanna fuck that damn hole of yours.”
Story commissioned by Karwood, based up on art drawn by Kuma. The art is down a bit, into the story–I don’t want to spoil it! Kuma is a super amazing furry artist, and the rest of his gallery can be found on Furaffinity right here. (If you don’t have an FA account, much of his art will probably be invisible to you–if you want to see if, you’ll have to create an account and enable adult image viewing in your user preferences.)
Blake should just give up, but that damn buck had been such a beauty. Eight pointer, would have looked fabulous on his wall, but he’d never quite managed to line up a clean shot all day. His main fear was that some other hunter might get something off first, but he liked this area because it was a bit deeper into the woods than a lot of guys liked to bother travelling, and so he didn’t really have to worry too much about other people around. He liked the solitude, the quiet–tracking the prey was almost as much fun as the adrenaline rush of the kill. But he’d lost it–he’d snapped a twig, and while the buck hadn’t been completely spooked by him, it had taken off at a good gait. If he made too much of a racket, then it really would have been gone. He’d managed to follow it by trail for about half a mile, but now he’d lost it. Looking around, he also realized he had a bigger problem–he…wasn’t quite sure where, exactly, he was.
He tried to get his bearings, but the dense canopy made it hard to orient himself, he pulled out his compass, and knew that if he just kept heading west, he’d hit the highway eventually. This part of the state had a few large patches of private property which he’d been hoping to avoid, but if he stumbled across anyone, at least they’d be able to get him back to civilization, right? So he set off, still angry at himself for getting so caught up in the pursuit that he’d let plenty of opportunities to get off a half-decent shot go by. Still, maybe it was for the best. He’d have loved a new trophy, sure, but give that big boy another season or two, and then he’d have a real magnificent head for his wall. The early fall was already starting to develop a chill, and he pulled his coat tighter around him, and checked his compass again. How far had he gone off trail, exactly? Blake wasn’t at all sure how far he’d hiked, and the buck had led him around in a few circles, but had he really gone in this deep? Certainly he didn’t recognize anything he was passing–even if he did find the highway, he’d still have a long trek back to his truck back along the road. It was already afternoon, judging by the light filtering down, and he dug out some food from his pocket to stave off his hunger.
The trees began to thin, letting in more light. Up ahead, he could see a clearing–that might help him better judge where he was exactly in the forest. As he came to the edge of the trees, he saw a field dominated by tall grass and a few shrubs, and there, a few hundred yards in the distance, he saw a couple of men talking. He started to signal them, but paused and took a closer look, One of the men was dressed in fairly typical hunting garb–his back was to Blake, and so he couldn’t see much of him–but the other guy was…naked? Or just shirtless? It was hard to tell through the grass. But as he watched, crouched in the trees, the naked guy started to…shift. It was difficult to describe what, exactly, was happening, but the rather thin young man’s face started to contort and push out into a muzzle, ears growing larger and floppy, and his skin was changing color…or rather, he thought as he watched, it was hair growing all over his body–on his back, in was reddish brown, and on his belly it was white. What in the world was he watching? In a matter of moments, the man was gone, replaced by what would seem to be a perfectly normal foxhound had he not witnessed…whatever in the world that had been.
The hound jumped up on the man, and he could hear barking from him and laughter from the man. The man turned around, and that was when he gasped, because the man wasn’t really a man at all, but some…strange abomination. It…was standing like a man–of all things it was even smoking a pipe!–but the face, it looked more like his old labrador retriever than a man. What in the world should he do? Run? Hide? Tell the police? He wasn’t even sure of what he’d just seen, and who would even believe him? He could hear the hound barking now, with more urgency. The strange man looked down at the hound, and then up, his eyes scanning the line of trees where Blake was hiding, and all at once, he realized he was both upwind from them, and that his gasp might have been more of a scream. The grass was waving now, obviously the foxhound was on the case, and searching him out. Did he really have a choice then? He stood up and ran back the way he’d come, heart pounding in his chest, not at all wanting to be caught by…by whoever, and whatever they were.
The forest was much easier to traverse when he wasn’t running in fear of his life. Roots kept rising up from the fallen leaves to trip him, and that damn dog wouldn’t stop baying behind him. It was so loud in the dense wood that he couldn’t accurately judge how far away it was from him. It could be right at his heels, or yards and yards away. He checked over his shoulder, and in the crashing and rustling of foliage that assured him he was still being pursued. He was trying to heft himself over a fallen tree, half rotted, when he heard another bay immediately behind him, a weight slammed into his back and sent him tumbling over the other side of the log, flipping heels over head and landing on his back, the hound alighting in front of him, turning and staring at him.
They just…looked at each other for the longest time, Blake in terror, and the hound with an intense curiosity, before the hound started to chop–short, clipped barks in pairs, signaling his master where he was, and that the prey had been cornered. Blake tried to scramble up, but the hound jumped on him, pinning him to the floor with a snarl–eyes curious, but not above using force if necessary. Moving as little as possible, he reached down, slipped the band off the hilt of his knife, and with one attempted fluid motion, pulled it out and swung for the hounds throat, but it hopped to the side, Blake scrambling to his feet, looking for an escape route. He didn’t get one step further. The master leapt up on the log behind him, and before Blake could turn around, the butt of the shotgun slammed into the side of his head, and he was out before he hit the ground.
He heard something between a sigh and a quiet whine, the thump of a tail against the ground.
“Oh would you stop giving me that look? I know you think he’s cute.”
Blake let out a groan. His head was throbbing. The last thing he could remember was the strange…dog man thing looming over him, and he tried to move–but his hands had been bound behind him, his feet and legs tied up similarly, and he’d been set up against the trunk of a tree. He opened his eyes, but he wasn’t sure where he was–the light had dimmed a bit further, but it was still sometime in the late afternoon or evening. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long. He looked over and he saw his attackers a few feet away. The one who still looked a bit like a person had set up a cooking stove, and something was simmering in a pot. It smelled strongly of earth and mulch, whatever it was. He tried to fiddle with his hands as quietly as he could, but the foxhound’s ears perked up, and he bounded over, planting a foot in his chest and letting a low growl escape his throat. Blake stopped moving, and the hound…smirked, and started licking his face. Blake tried to fend him off, but he kept licking for a moment, and then bounded back to his master, and nuzzled at something on the ground by the dogman’s boot.
“I already told you, no. We’re just going to send him on a trip, and dump him by the highway–it’s easier.”
The foxhound started baying then, over and over, even when the lab told him to hush. Blake just stayed still, feeling out his bonds, wondering if he’d get a chance to try and escape.
“God, you are just…fine, alright? If it’ll make you happy. But I’m gonna make it strong–I don’t need another halfy like you giving me a headache. Two of you would just be insufferable.”
The foxhound gave a sharp bark and jumped at the dogman, licking his face, nearly knocking the pipe from his mouth.
“Alright, alright! you know what I mean, I’m sorry.”
He picked up something off the ground, the thing the foxhound had nudged, and dropped it into the pot. Blake kept fidgeting, but these ropes were well tied–he wasn’t going to be able to slip them. His one chance then, might be to try and reason with whatever the hell these things were. “I…I won’t tell anyone, please, you can just let me go.”
“Oh I know,” the dogman said, letting loose a plume of smoke, “You aren’t the first hunter to wander onto my property.”
Blake watched him stir the pot for a moment. “What is that stuff anyway?”
“Mushroom broth. It’ll help with your head. Sorry about that, but I can’t be too careful with this one,” he gave the hound a pat on the rump, “He gets excited. Couldn’t have you hurting him, you know. Mycology has always been a hobby of mine–don’t worry, it ain’t poison. Anyway, that should do it.” He poured off the broth into an aluminum cup, and brought it over to where Blake was sitting, and held it under his nose. This close, the vapor and smell was much stronger…and made him feel a bit woozy all of a sudden. “Now, if I untie you, you’re going to be good, and do what I say, right?”
Blake nodded, not even really aware that he was. The dogman bent him forward and loosened the knots around his wrists. Blake rubbed some life back into them, and then accepted the hot cup from the man, who told him to drink all of it. The taste was pungent, and not at all delicious, but once he got a taste, he found drinking the whole thing wasn’t too much of a struggle. His head did stop throbbing. If anything, the pain felt…distant all of a sudden, like it was happening in some other body he was only somewhat attached to. In fact, his whole body felt that way, numb and not his own. His head lolled a bit, the cup rolling out of his hand, and the one sensation he felt at this point was an overwhelming, undeniable horniness.
“Well boy, you’re the one who wanted him so badly–why don’t you help him out?”
The foxhound walked over and used his teeth to open the fly of Blake’s pants, and then ripped open the front of his briefs. Blake, however, wasn’t sure anymore what was real, and what wasn’t. Everything felt so full of light all of a sudden. Squinting up at the beast looming over him, face wreathed in smoke, he thought he said, “Who are you? What did you just give me?” He didn’t get a reply, and so he wasn’t at all sure that the words had actually gotten free of his brain and mouth.
He felt the hound licking at his cock now, and he tried to push him away with his hands, but they felt like putty. He wasn’t even sure how to move them. He wasn’t even sure he had hands anymore at all. However, he knew that what he was seeing at his crotch had to be a hallucination–it looked like, instead of his usual human cock, it had been…replaced, and instead, he had a furry sheath, and thick red…something was pushing out of it. Whatever it was, the foxhound was licking it eagerly, and it did feel good.
“Ya know, boy? He is kinda cute, now that I get a better look at him,” the man said. The smoke was…everywhere now. He couldn’t get a look at anything, it was all too hazy. Something pushed it’s way against his mouth and he tried to resist. “Now now, be a good doggy and open up for master.”
It looked like a bright red mushroom, but it was so warm and slick. Blake opened his jaw slightly, disturbed by the sudden crack of bone and tightness of tendon, but he allowed the head inside his mouth. It looked like…like his own, new cock. Was he turning into mushrooms? Everything felt so strange, nothing in the world was making any sense. He wrenched himself away from the two dogmen, his heart pounding, and crawled away from them, skin burning, eyesight blurry, like the world was slowly being drained of color. He tried to speak, but the words came out as inhuman gibberish, but then the lab was beside him, running one heavy paw down his back…and it felt good.
“Who’s a good boy?” he asked.
That voice. Before it had sent chills and unease through him, the gruffness, the odd inflection of vowels forced through his odd snout. But hearing it now, it made him feel safe and happy and…calm. He arched his back a bit and leaned to the side, unaware that his legs were shortening and growing thinner, the tattered remains of his pants slipping off his ass as his knees left the ground, and he found himself standing on his hands and feet, and it was so comfortable, so…normal.
“Come on boy, daddy still has a bone for you…” the lab said. The voice lulled him in, and even though the world had turned to a swath of dull greens and blues, the cock in front of him gleamed. He licked the head, his tongue extending much further than it ever could before, and then he opened his jaws again and allowed the lab, no, allowed his…master to push it in deeper into his maw, to the beginning of his throat, while the other dog came up behind him, sniffed Blake’s ass for a moment, admiring the short tail already growing out at the base of his spine, and then wormed his way underneath Blake, forcing him off their master’s cock for a moment, and Blake found his cock pressing up against the hound’s own hole.
“He’s always loved having other mutts ride him, that’s how we met in the first place,” the lab said with a chuckle, the hound giving a short, indignant chop in response. “Go on then, you know what to do.”
Somehow, he did. It didn’t feel like he knew much anymore. So much of his mind seemed to have simplifed and smoothed out while he wasn’t paying attention. What he’d mistaken for euphoria had been more than just pleasure, it had been his cares, memories, goals, everything human, everything that had made him Blake, slowly dissolving away. There wasn’t much of him left now, enough to be aware that something had happened to him, that this was wrong, that he was no longer…a person. He looked down at his front legs, at the dark brown fur running the length, at his paws. Everything was as it should be, and yet nothing was right.
“I said fuck him boy,” the lab said, the said to himself, “God, I hope I didn’t make ya too stupid, or training you is gonna take ages.”
He slipped his cock inside, then deeper. It felt…amazing. The foxhound gave a long bay, as soon as Blake slipped in deep, humping a bit wildly, not quite sure how to slow down his instincts. His master’s cock appeared in front of him again, and he licked it, the foxhound beneath him gritting it’s fangs a bit at the size of Blake’s shaft, and then he was suddenly cumming, and he let loose a howl he could barely believe had come from his own throat, and a moment later, the lab shot, coating Blake’s face with his own seed. Blake licked it off, enjoying the taste, and then tried to extricate himself from the other dog’s hole, but for some reason it was difficult to remove, like something had inflated, keeping them tied together. With a pop, they finally managed to come apart, Blake landing on his back, and he was able to look down at himself, at his new body…and yet it was the only body he could recall having. In his heart he knew he was different, that he had been something different, a…a master, even. But that wasn’t what he was anymore.
“Well, now we went and wasted the evening–I hope you’re happy,” the lab said, looking down at the foxhound who was panting, eyes bright, Blake’s cum still dribbling from his hole. “Come on, let’s go home and kennel up our new friend here. The lab gave a whistle, Blake’s ears perked up, and he got back on all four feet and trotted off after his master. He didn’t know where they were going, but one thing he knew for certain, was that his Master knew best, and that he’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
Snorting and grunting uncontrollably now, he walked–though it felt more like crawling now–back to the stall, wormed his fat, hairy body between the fucker’s legs and started sucking on the dribbling cock, sucking down his cum. Despite his inhuman appearance, neither one of them seemed shocked when they saw him–if anything they were happy for the company, as the top finished his fuck, the bottom came, and both of them left Ethan in the stall to lick cum from the toilet seat where it had dribbled earlier, his head clearing a bit. That fucking magician! He’d called him pigheaded, and now this? No, this was enough, that fucker was going to put everything right, or…well, Ethan didn’t really know what he’d do, but he’d figure out something.
He was nervous about leaving the bathroom, but no one else seemed disturbed by his new appearance in the least. He wandered the club on all fours–occasionally overwhelmed by his need for cum enough to suck a load from a stranger who offered him a cock. Hell, he soon discovered he couldn’t turn down a cock even if he wanted to, but he finally found Max the magician again, over in a booth, sitting with the same bear from before–but he could see things weren’t quite going how the magician had planned it, the bear, now wise to Max’s tricks, was trying his very best to resist the magician’s wiles–so Ethan got under the table without him noticing, and bit the magician’s ankle. He kicked him in the snout but lost his focus, the bear made a break for it, but Max was faster, getting out of the booth and finally forcing him under with a direct gaze, as Ethan wiggled his way out from under the booth, defiance his eyes and cum on his chin and mustache.
“You are just–you don’t know when to quit, do you? Fuck it, this one’s not even worth it anymore–it’s only fun when they don’t know what’s going on,” Max said, looking at the bear in front of him, “Still, I think we can find a mutual use for him, don’t you?” he said, and turned his gaze back to Ethan–freezing the pig in place. “I was only going to have the pig thing last for tonight, you know. You’re the only one who sees yourself like that–everyone else just sees a fat bear crawling around, begging and snorting for cum like a fool, but I don’t think we should stop at illusion with you. As for this fucker–well, what’s a pig without a farmer to own him, eh?”
The bear the magician had been pursuing had come dressed in leather gear, looking like a biker–but the leather began wriggling all over his body, fading into a blue, his gear becoming a set of overalls, his shiny boots a couple of muddy waders. His body followed suit, his muscle bull body, well honed at the gym, dissolving into a fat apron which pushed out the overalls, his hair turning grey and thinning out, his body sweaty and muddy, smelling like a field of manure.
“Still, a pig farmer can’t very well raise a pretend pig, can he?” Max said, turning back and looking down at Ethan, “So how about we make that a bit more physical?”
The pain that ripped across his body was horrendous, but he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t do anything. What he’d felt in the bathroom, that had only been a phantom of this agony. As he passed out, he felt something close around his neck, heard a cruel, deep laugh, and then everything went black.
He woke the next morning in his pen. Of course, he didn’t know it was his pen, or even where he was–he’d slept the whole ride out of town, his new farmer master following the magician’s directions to their new home out in the country, and as soon as he’d arrived he’d forgotten everything about his old life–and knew he’d never go near the city again. No, he was happiest here, on his small farm with his pigs–especially his prize hog, Ethan.
He brought out his slop. Ethan trying to talk, but his permanent snout was more interested in eating than resisting, and his farmer–his master, climbed into the muddy pen while his hog ate and fucked his hole with his big cock…and Ethan felt his mind start draining away, as his cock started leaking cum into the mud. He looked beneath, where he saw his still human cock and balls, but his sack was changing, shrinking. With one final orgasm, his balls disappeared entirely, and from that moment on, Ethan really was nothing more than a hog–though a bit of a strange one at that. In fact, some parts of him looked outright human–particularly his now permanently soft cock, the odd mustache that formed under his snout, and the fact that it’s favorite food in the whole world was cum straight from his master–or any other man who happened by. For some reason, something about how the hog smelled, no man could resist feeding him his cum, and something about eating cum made the hog gain weight like nothing else. By summer, Ethan was close to six hundred pounds–and happy as could be in his new prison.
***Warning*** Here’s where things start getting really strange. You might just want to stop here if watersports, scat, anal vore, or snuff freak you out–which just to clarify, they probably should freak you out. Still, these are horror stories! You’ve been warned!!!
“Silly, silly little boy. Playing at being a grownup this whole time, but I remember you, oh fuck, do I remember you now,” Kyle said, as he stalked closer to him, “Weak, fat, terrified. My son was right to beat you up, you little shit!”
Spittle flew, smacking Barry in the face. He kept trying to move, trying to run, but his feet were glued to the ground, stuck in the mud, and he felt…shorter. Smaller and weaker than before, this monster bearing down on him, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing–he was…was weak. He was just…just a pig, just a boy, not a man at all…
His body was changing, and he was aware that it was his own loss of confidence causing it, but there was no stopping it, nothing he could do, because Kyle was right. ScoutMaster Hoffson was right, had been right about everything. He could feel his muscles diminishing as his fat spread all around him in every direction, rooting him into the ground even more, sinking into the mud which had begun bubbling around him. It…it would feel so…so good, to just stop. To stop fighting, to just…embrace this. He was too heavy to do anything, too heavy to fight anymore. His legs began to wobble, and finally collapsed beneath him, mud splattering out and up, sinking into his folds, cold against his balls and cock, and he could feel them shrivelling up, growing smaller and smaller, tucking themselves away into his fat where he’d never be able to reach them, where no one would be able to reach them, where they should just stay. He didn’t need them, he didn’t even want them.
Master Hoffson walked over, pushed him backwards into the mud and climbed on him, pinning him in the muck, his huge cock pushing itself into his soft gut, “Not even a pig–fuck no, just a hog. Worthless as a fucking man, no fucking balls at all–all you’re good for is eating and abusing, isn’t that right? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To eat? To drink? To serve? To be abused?”
Barry knew, in his head, that everything he was saying was a lie, that he didn’t–that he shouldn’t–want these things, but feeling his balls shrivel further and finally disappear, feeling his snout start drooling, he was…starving. Every hole of his was starving. Master stood up again, leaving him in the muck, walked around to his head and squatted down over Barry’s now porcine face, his hairy ass right over him, and Barry knew, what he needed. Knew what would satisfy his hunger, and he began licking at his Master’s pucker, feeling it loosen, and the shit start pouring over him, and he swallowed down as much of it as he could, the filth choking out any shame that remained in him, the desire for filth overwhelming him, dominating every last chunk of his small mind, feeling his own bladder release, piss cascading from his gunt and out over his fat thighs, shit spilling out into the mud beneath him, warm muck between his cheeks. Master Hoffson finished his load and allowed his pig to lick his crack clean, and then washed off his face with a blast of musky piss, marking him now, demonstrating to them both that this was not just any hog–but his hog. His toilet. His cumdump. And Barry no longer could conceive of wanting to be anything else.
He looked up and saw his Master had changed–no longer simply a beast, he had reclaimed his some of his humanity, even as Barry had lost his own. His cock was still slimy and inhuman, but his face had lost its snout, now merely angular and hyper-masculine, with a grin full of sharp, pointed teeth, a body coated with hair, bulging with muscle without a single trace of fat anywhere. To Barry, he was simply a god, everything he wasn’t. Everything he could never be. The only life he could imagine was one serving this god, of providing the only services he could now–as a hole. As a dump.
“Max, get the fuck up–you’re fine. No son of mine is going to let a pig control him, right?” Barry could barely lift up his head to see Max, where he’d been lying on the ground, hole wrecked, begin forcing himself up at his father’s command. “No, you’re a real man, a true beast, like me. Show this pig what he deserves–I want to see you destroy him.”
The feral anger in the bully’s eyes no longer filled Barry with fear–only with a crude desire. He wanted this beast to abuse and wreck him, wanted it more than anything. Max forced him to roll over, his body expanding with bulk, his mind filling with cruelty as his father filled him up, and he hammered his cock into Barry’s disgusting hole, and Barry squealed with pleasure, his cock forever soft, but his new ass now incredibly loose and sensitive to even the smallest probing, his fatty folds shaking and shivering with pleasure, but Max didn’t last long–after a minute and a half, he finally spasmed and exploded deep inside the pig’s filthy bowels, and tried to pull out, but Barry wasn’t satisfied. Barry wanted…more, and with a sudden motion, he clamped down his ass on Max’s cock, locking him in, even as Max, in a bit of a panic, started yanking at it, clawing at the pig’s ass, but Barry wasn’t done yet–Barry needed…more. He needed everything Max could give him, and he was going to take it, whether he wanted to give it to him or not.
Bracken's Corner 