The Pig Squad

Week One Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Look, I’ll be the first to admit that the squad had some issues, alright? But we weren’t any worse than any of the other squads in the state patrols, I can tell you that. Harrison could get a little rough with folks out on the highways. Everyone knows that Klein is a racist, though he can keep it in usually. Ricci does his best as sergeant, but his heart isn’t really in it. His dad was a cop, so he had to be too, you know? Sure, the lawsuits look bad, but most of them got settled easily enough. Hell, I’ll point you to five squads in this state with records worse than ours, but hell, one high profile chase goes wrong, and suddenly we have to do something about it. Something being, of course, this fucking psycho bullshit re-training.

I heard from Lewis that this is all because the quack doctor is some friend of the governor’s brother or something. Someone’s always greasing someone’s shaft, right? So the whole squad has to spend five fucking weeks off patrol, and instead we’re locked up in a classroom all fucking day long, with this old fuck prattling on and on at us, making us watch these boring ass movies about how we can work better as a team, how we can better serve the community, it’s all a bunch of horseshit. I’ll tell you this right now, after one week, I’ll gladly get the squad to shape up just so I don’t have to sit through this trash ever again.

And now, we have to keep a journal too, whatever. Something about helping the doctor assess the course’s effect over time. Well here doc, when you read this in a few weeks, here’s what I want you to know. You’re a fucking piece of shit quack, with no fucking idea what it takes to be a police officer. How about that for a baseline? Five weeks from now, we’ll all be back on our bikes, laughing about what a fucking waste of time this all was, and you’ll have your chunk of government money–that’s what this is all about I bet.

What else was there–oh right, the drugs. We have to take these pills too, apparently. Don’t know what they are, but they give them to us at the start of the day, and make sure we all take them. Harrison got found out when they tested our piss for it on Wednesday–he’d been hiding the pill under his tongue and spitting it out later. Had to have a “private” session with the doctor about that. More bullshit I think. At least they’re feeding us well–though without going to the gym, I look a little flabby. Wish they’d give us some time for physical activity at least–then this wouldn’t be quite so mind numbingly boring. We even had to watch a bunch of videos over the weekend at home–they were so dull I can’t remember a thing about them. Whatever–nothing else to fucking report this week, other than to say, go fuck yourself Doc, you fucking queer. As for me, I’m heading to the strip club with a couple of other guys from the squad. I know I could use a good fuck right about now, after a week of this shit. Just four more to go.

Week Two Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Alright, so I think something strange is going on with those drugs they’ve been giving us, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. They don’t give us a lot of private time–we always have the doctor or one of his various assistants watching us throughout these sessions, but the few times we’ve been able to talk to each other, we’re all reporting the same things. All of us are eating more. We just can’t help ourselves, and the fact that the doctor always has a full snack bar for these sessions isn’t helping. I’ll look down in the middle of one of his boring videos and discover I’ve demolished a massive load of candy and other snacks without even realizing it–and worse, I’m still fucking hungry, every time!

Fields said that he was taking a shower the other day, and when he looked down, a bunch of hair was clogging the drain. He’d just lost all of the hair off his body in a single shower, and apparently a bunch off his head as well. I hadn’t really thought about it until he said something, but I realized that I couldn’t recall the last day I’d needed to shave my face. I don’t grow a lot there, so I can usually get away with every other day, but I couldn’t think of when I’d shaved over the last week my chin and cheeks are perfectly smooth. When I checked the rest of my body, it was smooth too, and a lot of my muscular definition had been swallowed up in a thick layer of fat. My hair was even looking thin, and receding higher than it should have. It has to be those drugs. None of us want to take them, but when the doctor gives them to us, we can’t stop ourselves. I’ve…noticed that a lot, actually. The doctor gives us orders, and we all follow them, without even really thinking about it. It only got worse with the physical exam on Friday.

We all had to strip naked, together, and hell if it wasn’t obvious that something was happening to us. All of us were smooth as a button. Klein had lost his goatee entirely, and looked 50 pounds heavier. Hell, all of us looked 50 pounds heavier, if not a bit more. We were ushered into the doctor’s office, poked and prodded by his assistants, and then we had to answer all these…sex questions while we had electrodes hooked up to our cocks! It sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with police work, but while I…I wanted to say something, I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t do anything at all. Just answered his questions like some stupid dolt, and then they gave me a new uniform to wear for the rest of the re-training. We could wear our civilian clothes home at least, but we’d have to change in the locker room every day before the sessions started.

I wore it the next day. We all did. The shirts and breeches are so tight on all of us, with all of the new weight we’ve put on. It’s more like a dress uniform, but the tightness–the rigidness…it made my cock a bit excited. We even have to wear perfectly shined leather boots, gloves, and a hat while we sit in for sessions now. In it, I feel like I’m sweating so much, but during one session, I caught myself grabbing my crotch while the Doctor spoke, and looking around, I wasn’t the only one doing it.

I’ve heard rumors that a few guys are going to try and push back. I don’t know what they’re going to do exactly, none of them are guys I tend to run with–Klein, Harrison, a few others, Ricci probably, since he’s always one for bad decisions. I don’t know if they’re going to go to the chief, or if they’re going to try and take matters into their own hands…but I’m staying out of it. I…I just, it’s so hard to think now, that I’m sitting here at home. Last week I went out to the strip club, had a session with Sonja afterwards, and I couldn’t even get hard. She offered me a blue pill, and I just left. But now, I think it’s…smaller. My balls too. And I haven’t gotten hard thinking about a woman in…days? Just at these sessions, in my new uniform…fuck, what’s wrong with me? I need to fucking eat something, fuck this. Why am I even writing this down? I don’t want the doc to read this…

Week Three Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

I don’t know what to do. I feel like…I know that this is wrong, but…but fuck, sitting here, rubbing my gut, smoking one of my cigars, feeling my little dick get hard, it all just feels so right, all of a sudden.

I read what I wrote last week, and it feels so far away now. So much happened since I wrote it, but I…I just keep hearing Doc’s voice, and…and fuck, he makes me feel so good, thinking about him. I like feeling good, I just want all my brothers to feel good too, right? Why wouldn’t I? If we just relax, and follow the program, I can tell everything will be alright, but part of me is telling me I have to fight this. That this isn’t my body. That I don’t smoke cigars, that I don’t want to be fat, that the feeling of my leather gloves on my cock isn’t heaven on fucking earth. But I don’t think we can fight it. Hell, look at what happened to Klein and the others when they tried.

It was Tuesday. Wednesday? I don’t know, they all blend together. I saw Doc yesterday, I know that, and it was two, three days before? I was already dressed, in the main room, had taken my pills and gotten in my seat. A few guys on the squad were all missing at this point, the ones I knew had been planning something, and a couple others that didn’t surprise me. Most of the bad apples, you might say–the ones who were causing the bulk of the issues in the first place. A few minutes after I noticed that, the assistants (I call them that, but they’re guards, aren’t they? Keeping us there like that, controlling us) dragged them all in, kicking and flailing. Fuck, that was a sight. Doc came out, asked them why they were late, and Klein ripped into him, yelling and shouting, accusing him of all sorts of shit, trying to hypnotise us, warp our minds, fucking with our bodies. The rest of us just sat there. I was scared, honestly. I knew he was right…I think? I don’t know, I just feel so out of it.

Doc tells the assistants that they all need a special group sessions with him for the day, and the rest of us just rewatch some of the videos we’d already seen, while the assistants watch us. I try and focus on them this time, really hard, but by the end of the day, hell if I can remember what the videos said–though I knew they were ones I’d seen before, somehow. I knew that I…I knew what they’d said, even if I couldn’t say it, or think it. We change out of our uniforms at the end of the session, and the rebels are there, eyes…glassy. They’re smearing some weird cream on their crotches, vile smelling shit. Harrison bent over, and I swear I saw something in his ass. A plug or a dildo, who knows what. None of them said anything, and the next day, all of them were on time, fully dressed, took their pills like good hogs, and sat down.

Hogs–why did I just write that? Reading it makes me so fucking hard, why the fuck…I can’t think about that, I can’t handle this.

I know what I have to do. I just gotta cruise through. Make sure no one notices me. But then, yesterday, Doc holds three of us back. Wold, Fields, and I. We all go into his office, he…talked with us, about stuff. Then Wold and Fields left, and it was just the two of us.

Now, I’m scared. I’m scared, because this is the first time I can really remember something Doc said to me, clearly. He asked me why I’d never pursued a leadership position in the squad, and I told him the truth, that I didn’t want the trouble. That it was easier to just go with the flow, rather than try and push back against a bunch of shit that will never change. I learned years ago that you can fight the racists like Klein, or the fascists like Harrison, or the legacies like Ricci, but there’s always more of them that show up. Doc just nodded. Then he handed me a bunch of cigars and a set of videos. Told me to watch them this weekend, and smoke at least two cigars a day for the rest of training.

Everyone else was gone, when I’d left. I didn’t notice until I got home that I was still wearing my uniform–it was the first time I’d worn it outside of the training. I looked at myself in it, in my mirror, and I hardly recognize myself. Smooth face and head, fat body squeezed into the thick cloth and shiny leather. It made me leak. I’ve gotten through half the discs, I think. I don’t know what they’re doing to me, but thinking about Klein and Harrison, how stupid they’ve seemed for the last few days, thinking about that…plug in Harrison’s hole, fucking hogs. Need a good boss to tell them what to do. Yeah, plug their hogholes, make ‘em squeal, that’ll–

Fuck, what a fucking mess. Filled the front of my fucking breeches with a load, just thinking about those stupid hogs of mine. Fuck, why am I writing this? What is he doing to me now? And why the fuck do I keep farting so dang much?

Week Four Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

I broke him. Fuck, and it felt fucking good doing it, fuck.

This week was different. Instead of group sessions, Doc scheduled individual meetings with all of us. Mine was early on, which kind of surprised me, since I’d just had a personal session with him a few days before. He asked me how I’d liked the cigars that he’d given me. I’d smoked them all over the weekend–I hadn’t really been able to stop once I’d started them. They didn’t really hit me like the few cigarettes I’d had before. There was a bit of a nicotine rush of course, but mostly I felt…powerful, when I was smoking one. Powerful, and dominant, and I’d usually found myself thinking about my squad brothers, about how they looked in their uniforms, and more and more, how they might look out of them, kneeling in front of me, and…

Fuck, is this me? Has this always been me? I can’t really remember how I used to look, you know? I try. I look in the mirror, but I can’t picture myself with hair on my head. I can’t imagine what I’d look like if I managed to lose the weight I keep putting on somehow.

I told all that to the Doc. He just nodded, and then he asked me whether I’d noticed myself farting more. I blushed–I’d been passing gas the whole time I’d been sitting in his office, trying to keep them quiet, but more than a few had been at least a little noisy. I’d belched a few times as well, when I was trying to talk. I told him I didn’t know what was causing it, but assumed it was just how much I’d been eating lately, but he told me to relax. He was my closest confidant, after all–I could be myself around him, if I wanted to.

Well, apparently “being myself” meant leaning back, groping myself, sniffing my own farts while I told him all of my…disgusting fantasies I’d had about the other men in the squad. As horrified as I was, I couldn’t stop myself–and more than once, I came in the front of my uniform, and Doc just smiled at me in the oddest way. I don’t recall a lot after that. He spoke a lot, but as always, I just zoned out when he was speaking, though it had been a full hour when I finally realized what was happening. He told me that for the rest of the week, I would be leading workouts with the squad while he was having individual meetings. I asked him why Ricci wasn’t doing them–he was the squad’s sergeant after all. Doc told me not to worry about it. As I left, I remembered that he had been one of the guys involved in the little revolt, so the answer was obvious, in the end.

The next day, with a fresh supply of cigars, I started putting the rest of the pigs through their paces in the gym. It had been relatively unused in the training up until then, but now, all of us were sweating up a storm, and for all the weight we’d put on, I was surprised to find we were all…stronger. I could bench 200–I’d never been able to do that in my life, though I let a massive fart rip when I did. The rest of the guys were a bit…confused as to why I was put in charge, but I whipped them into shape well enough, and as more and more guys went to see the Doc, their attitude towards me changed more too.

I found Lewis in the locker room after a workout, rubbing his shiny boots against his tiny cock, moaning and grunting…and when he saw me, fully dressed in my own uniform, his jaw just about dropped. I…I don’t know why I did it. I ordered him to get down and lick mine clean. He was reluctant, but once he sniffed my farts, he went into a bit of a frenzy, eventually humping my boots, tongue hanging out, smooth flab coated in sweat until he came all over them, licked them up, and told me, “Thank you Sir, for letting me serve you.”

I was horrified. But that night, sniffing my farts and belches, all I could think about was how hot it had been, and how I wanted to do it again, as soon as I could. Other guys were picking up interests of their own. A few confessed to me that they’d started using dildos–it was the only way to get their little cocks to cum any more. Harrison needed to be fisted, apparently–the Doc had prescribed him some drugs to help him get stretched out enough so he’d be ready by the end of training, and I wondered what it would feel like, my fat fist shoved up his hole, making him beg for mercy. Some just wanted to smell me, my farts, my belches–they couldn’t get enough of it. By the end of the week, I had the whole squad eating out of the palm of my hand, and fuck if that wasn’t a powertrip. Then I realized I hadn’t seen Klein in a couple of days. I asked Doc, but he avoided the question–then, on Friday, during a video, he had me follow him instead–and he showed me where Klein was through some one way glass.

He was in a small room, staring at a screen flashing a seductive series of spirals into his face. He was clearly zonked out–eyes unfocused, drool rolling down his first and second chin. He was completely naked as well–and that was when I saw the result of that strange cream all of them had been using. Klein’s cock and balls were…gone. Just a piss hole in the middle of his crotch, and nothing else. “Hog”. I thought it again, and now I knew why I had thought it the first time. There were the pigs in the squad. Then there were the hogs like Klein, Harrison and Ricci–and then there was me, something else entirely. A pig too–but the head pig, I guess.

Doc turned off the screen, and after a couple of moments, Klein came back to himself, shouting and yelling, trying to get out of his restraints. Doc told me that this was a leadership test–Klein was ready and primed, all I had to do was get him in line, and show him how a hog ought to behave. I protested, but the assistants shoved me into the room, undid Klein’s restraints, and he charged at me.

I just…reacted. I was so much stronger than him, I just…knew I was, and I had him shoved up and pinned against the wall in a few moments, grinding my crotch into his ass, cigar tip warm against his cheek. It felt good. He deserved it. He had to be put in his fucking place. It didn’t take me long–just a few belches to knock him off balance, get him horny, then a blast from my ass, and he couldn’t stop himself–he dug in and started eating out my smelly hole–and fuck, it was the best feeling I’d ever had. Ten times better than an orgasm, as Klein’s thick tongue dug deep into my ass. By the time I was finished with him, he was well broken, face glazed with a few loads of my cum. He kept thanking me for letting him have his favorite snack–his Sergeant’s hole.

That’s right–I’m the squad sergeant now. It makes sense, I guess. I do have the biggest cock of the whole fucking bunch, even though mine’s just a couple of inches. Doc gave me the honor of letting me grow a mustache too this weekend, with a special cream–a thick, dark walrus over my lip–a sign of my authority and maturity. I feel it too–everything else is fading faster and faster. I don’t care if it goes, really. I’m ready. My squad is ready. We’re gonna be the best fucking motorcycle cops in the state, me and my brothers. I’ll make sure of that. And really, we have Doc to thank for all of it.

Week Five Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Fuck, I’m so damn proud of my squad of pigs! You know, when we started this training, I didn’t really know what to make of it, but looking back on it, and seeing how far all of my pigs and hogs have come, I really couldn’t be more proud. Fuck, just thinking about all of them at the retreat this weekend has my little pig cock all hard in my breeches again.

Doc announced my promotion, officially, on Monday. None of the pigs were surprised of course–it was just natural that I ought to lead the squad–after all, I’d like to see one of those pigs try and grow a mustache–much less get harder than an inch! The hogs couldn’t really care less–but then, the hogs aren’t really much for caring, or thinking really. The six of them usually sit in a little cluster, drooling and rocking back and forth, riding their plugs like good little hogs ought to do. Klein, Harrison, Ricci and the rest–they were good brothers, and they’d be good cops too, but like Doc said, the more some guys think, the more trouble you get. Best to just smooth them out all over–brains included.

We spent the rest of the week going over the new order of things. No more unnecessary stops, no more racial profiling, no more use of force. Mandatory community service events. We were gonna be good pigs, like Doc said, and do everything by the book. We were here to serve, after all. Service is the cornerstone of what pigs like us do–that’s what Doc says all the time. Serve like good little pigs, and everything will be just fine.

Then came the weekend, and the big retreat. As a reward for doing so well on our training, we were going to spend the whole weekend at a campground in the woods, that Doc had reserved just for the squad, the assistants, himself, and a few special guests that he wouldn’t even tell me about. We all got in our uniforms and piled into the bus. I had Klein next to me, and the fucking hog wouldn’t tear his snout from my pits the whole way there–at least, unless I was letting him suck my cock out the front of my breeches.

The retreat was a blast. It felt so good getting back to nature, and really just going wild. I knew some of the special guests there–the governor’s brother, for one, who grabbed the first pig he saw–Fields I think–shoved him down into the dirt, and started fucking his hole, while the pig squealed in excitement. There were some of the higher ups in the department, and even the chief of the Metropolitan Police Department. I had a session with him myself, since Doc told me he was going to be a bit reluctant. But once the chief got a whiff of my farts and my belches, he came around–eating out my dirty hole before fucking me with his big fuckin’ cock! Fuck that felt so damn good, I fuckin’ love gettin’ plowed. Doc told me I’d done a real good job on him, that the city would definitely be partnering with him for a round of training with their own troublesome cops. Doc rewarded me with a fuck–and damn, can that man fuck. Makin’ me squeal like a dirty animal, cock oozing load after load as he rams his big cock deep inside me, fuck, I’d do anything for him, I really would.

Harrison spent most of the days and nights in a set of stirrups, naked except for his boots, with one fist after another shoved deep in his hole. Ricci ended up in the toilets, guzzling piss. Fucker smelled like a urinal all the way back home on Sunday. Klein was pretty much always buried under one ass or another, though he usually found his way back to mine before too long. He says, “There ain’t no ass like yers Sarge! Tastiest fuckin’ crack there is.” Fuck, that dumb fuckin’ hog, I fuckin’ love him though. I love all my brothers, and I couldn’t be more proud of them, and how they’ve performed over the last five weeks. We’re gonna be the star squad this year, just you wait.

But the best part–that was the gift Doc gave me on Sunday. I know that what my squad needs most is to get fucked–hell, I doubt I’d be able to think if I went a few days without getting fucked myself. Only problem is my little two-incher can’t even get in any of the pigs–we’re all just too damn fat! Well Doc gave me the best gift–a fucking strapon. Big nine inch rubber cock I can put on, and ream all of my fuckin’ squad, right in a line. In fact, that’s what I did, when I got it–ordered them all to line up and salute, then had them bend over, and I fucked ‘em all, one after another, until I brought all of them to a squealing orgasm–even the dickless hogs. By that point, I was so horny that I begged Doc to fuck me, right there in front of my men, making them all watch, telling us all that he was the Master of all of us, that we were all just stupid pigs now, and we would do what we were told–and the person giving the orders was Doc. Fuck, I ain’t felt that satisfied in my whole damn life as I was on the ride home, Doc’s cum leaking out into the seat of my breeches with every fart, already excited for next years retreat that Doc promised us. Provided we’re good pigs of course. But of course we will be! What else could we be, anyway?

Three Month Assessment, From the Files of Doctor Leoncett

Our third trial of the training program, using a rather troublesome squad of motorcycle cops with the state police, concluded three months ago. In that time, the state police has seen a dramatic decrease in complaints leveled against members of the squad, both internally from other police members, and externally, from civilians. While it is still too soon to judge the long term stability of the program, the short term results are an unqualified success.

There have been some mentions made about the sudden change in appearance by the squad–especially the rapid weight gain and hair loss that is a result of the pharmacological treatment regimen. The same mentions were seen in the earlier studies as well, though the addition of the sergeant’s rather smelly means of suggestion has subdued some of the concern, helping them adjust to the new manner of the squad’s functioning going forward.

Morale is high. Cohesion is high. Sergeant Matthews was an excellent selection for the leadership role, and his quarterly review was exceptional, both from the squad below him, and from his higher ups in the chain of command.

Some side effects have been noted. The additional castration treatment given to the especially troublesome elements of the squad seemed to have an additional impact on their mental faculties. Even after three months, their average IQ hovers in the mid 70’s, while the baseline for the rest of the squad is closer to 90, as is our target. I’m not sure this is a detriment, but perhaps uncovering the mechanism causing this would give us a finer grade of control over the result, allowing us to tweak it as necessary. One subject, an Officer Harrison, did degrade further, closer to 50 or 60, and had to be retired from the force. I found a home for him, and he is living happily as a fist pig several states over, for a pair of lovely gentlemen, in exchange for another round of research funding.

Other projects are on the horizon as well. The governor’s brother continues to be an asset. Having the sergeant of the squad spend some time with the city chief of police during the retreat paid great dividends–I have been given oversight on the entire force’s training schedule come Fall. While the conversion of the entire force using the program would be too obvious, being able to select small groups of officers for specialized training and testing is an great opportunity for this project. The future is bright–with a few more contacts, we might even be ready to create a standardized program for nationwide rollout to departments across the country my as early as next year. And after that–well, with all of these pigs at my disposal, who will stop me then?

My Training Journal (Part 2)

Entry 14

Ok. I gotta talk about this. I mean, I can’t talk to anyone about this, because fuck, but i gotta put this down somewhere. Am I fucking crazy? Was that just really fucking crazy, what happened today? Because part of me feels so fucking good, and I just had Felix’s cock in my–

I can’t deal with that yet, I don’t want to think about it.

Fuck. How did that even happen, anyway? I mean. I was in the fucking zone, like always, working out, being a damn beast, as he likes to say. And I was feeling good! Damn good really. Really into it, lifting counting, my head just out of the damn zone or something

God, what the fuck am I even writing anymore, nothing is coming out like any sense at all.

I’m lying on the bench, pumping some iron, and he’s spotting me, and I remember seeing it, the tent in his shorts. I see it, but I don’t think much of it. I’ve seen guys get erections before, whatever, you know? It happens. But I’m looking at it, and then I’m *looking at it* and thinking about it, and I think I can smell it, or I can smell something, and it smells damn good, or I’m hungry or something, and I’m just…my eyes won’t fucking look away! And he fucking notices me looking at it, and I’m embarrassed as all fuck, of course, cause guys aren’t supposed to be looking at each other’s junk, and I apologize, and he asks me if I’m fucking gay! Just fucking asks me. I tell him no of course, and rack the weight, because I can’t keep focus on what I’m doing. He starts tell me that he’s gay, that he thinks it’s really hot, watching me work out, so he gets hard on occasion, and…and I feel like I should be freaking out when he tells me this, but it just seems fucking normal as any shit he might say. A guy I trust literally tells me he pops a boner thinking about me, and I’m like “Oh cool, whatevs”!

We keep going, but I can’t stop looking at it, thinking about it. He asks me if I want to see it…and I don’t not want to see it, I guess. I’m kinda fucking curious what’s making that huge damn bulge, you know? So he drops his shorts, and the thing is massive, like nine inches, and we just keep working out like nothing is up, and it’s inches from my damn face. We get through another few reps, the things leaking a bit on my forehead, but I can’t move, I can’t even wipe it off, and he asks if I want to suck it.

I said yes.

I fucking said yes, why the fuck did I say yes!

He said he wasn’t surprised, that I should feel submissive to him, since he’s my trainer, since he’s the one leading me and guiding me, that intimacy is just natural between men of our physical caliber, that there’s nothing we should be ashamed of. I have a huge cock buried down my throat so far I’m fucking gagging, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, he says!

He tells me to bend over the bench, and I do. He peels down my shorts, grips my ass (which is fucking bigger now, I can fucking tell) and starts kneading it, before shoving his face in and eating my sweaty crack like it’s a fucking pussy. I think I moaned. I fucking hope I didn’t moan. He fucked me and I let him. His whole cock was in my ass and he came and I came and then we fucking kept working out and now I want to either die or have him fuck me all over again, right fucking now, because fuck it felt good it felt so fucking good

Entry 26

Fuck yeah man, six fuckin weeks!!! Time for a status update on my big fuckin bod. Big dont even begin to describe it really but I dont really got a better word. Biceps are huge. Pecs are fuckin huge. Fuck, Felix gropes them like tits sometimes when hes balls deep in my hole, pinches these thick nips of mine makes me so damn hot for his cock every fuckin time. Waist is narrower I guess, my ass is big round and fuck perfect of course! Got abs too. Never had abs before, always had a bit of a gut but since we started cutting a week ago they just fuckin popped out man!

Course the rest of the stuff Im doing helps make me look like a sexy muscled out fuck too. Felix was so totally right (not that Felix is ever wrong you know i mean duh!) that all that hair on my body was looking dumb and trashy and messy. The pills and drugs have been helping of course. My hairs been falling out for weeks, from everywhere! Head, face, chest, legs, you name it. Started shaving too, all over. It takes forever but damn my skin feels so fuckin good when it’s done, all smooth and shit. Fuck, I get done shavin my crack and slip my fingers in there in fuck myself, thinkin about Felixs big cock and how much I want him inside me

All the fuckin time now, ya gotta believe me. I swear I get there ready to workout and we fuck. We do some cardio we fuck. We lift, we fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, gettin’ my nub hard as we fuckin speak thinkin about it. I tried to tell Felix it shouldn’t be this small (its like three inches or something and my balls are smaller too) but he just told me not to worry about it. That small cocks on big guys are really sexy to him, and if he thinks its sexy then I should agree with him of course! I mean, I stare at myself a lot (alot a lot, I mean, all the fuckin time) but thats the one thing that just bugs me still I guess. Still nothing to do about it! Anyway gotta do my homeowrk and then head over there for todays training, and this big dildo won’t fuck itself.

Rick took another drag off his cigarette in the alley behind the club. Tuesday, and a slow night even for a Tuesday, and another three hours before his shift was over. Hopefully someone in there would get drunk and rowdy, give him something to do. As boring as bouncing could be, when it was fun–well, it was fun. He thought about his little pet project back at home that he’d been working on for a couple of weeks now, and massaged his half hard cock through the denim of his jeans, when he heard some voices coming down the alley towards him.

“Dude, this is a gay bar though!”

“I fucking know that, but this is where he’s been going.”

“So wait, Max–big butch defensive line Max has been a closet fag this whole fuckin’ time?”

“Look, let’s just try and find him, alright?”

Rick watched the two kids from the local college some down the alley towards him. They were well built. Probably athletes, and at this time of year, most likely football. They were probably looking for his project. “Something I can help you boys with?” he said, “The alley’s off limits.”

The two football players were big–but neither of them were a match for Rick as he stood up from the steps, all six foot five and two hundred and seventy five pounds of muscle staring down at them both.

“Oh…fuck. Sorry man, it’s just…we got a bit turned around, and–hey…uh…do you work here? In the bar?”

“I’m a bouncer–why?”

“Well…a teammate of ours. His name’s Max. He was coming here off and on, and well, we haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks. Coach said he dropped out of college, but…well, he won’t even answer his phone, and his parents think he’s still at school. We’re worried something happened to him.”

The bouncer slipped a hand into his pocket where his phone was. “Huh…well, what’s the guy look like?”

“Well, he’s on the defensive line, so he’s kind of chubby. Redhead. Bushy beard.”

“He’s really loud, and he can get pretty rowdy when he gets drunk.”

Rick thought for a moment, and then shook his head, “Nope, can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that…hey, hold on, I’m getting a phone call.”

Rick pulled his phone out of his pocket, and the speaker was emitting a high pitched whine. The two students winced at the sound, but within thirty seconds, their eyes had gone blank, and both of them were swaying where they stood. “Now boys–what’s your names?”

“Alex.”

“Trevor.”

“Alright Alex and Trevor. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to forget all about Max–he did drop out. In fact, you both talked to him last week, and remember him telling you that, don’t you?”

Alex and Trevor nodded.

“Good. Now, I’d like both of you to give me your phone numbers please, so I can call you if I need anything.”

He entered their numbers into his phone, and then turned off the noise his phone was making. Both of the students shook their heads like they were waking up, Rick finished a fake phone call and hung up the phone. “Now, you boys wanted to know something?”

Alex and Trevor looked at each other, neither of them sure what they were doing in this alley with the huge bouncer, shook their heads and retreated, trying to figure out what had just happened. Rick chuckled–the meatheads were always so easy to fuck around with. His break was over, so he stamped out his cigarette and headed back into the club to finish his shift. It was as boring as he’d hoped it wouldn’t be. Finally, the club closed for the night, Rick climbed into his truck, stopped by the local pizza shop (it stayed open late just for him) picked up his five pizza standing order, and headed home.

He let himself in, setting down the pizzas by the door, and walked over to where Max was tied to a chair, eyes blank, earbuds stuffed in each ear, playing a loop of Rick’s homemade hypnosis tracks and subliminals, but he took a moment to admire his handy work, especially after seeing Alex and Trevor earlier. One of his first tasks had been to get rid of all the fucking hair on Max’s body–and now, after some special treatments, his body would be completely smooth for the rest of his life. Tonight was going to be special though–the mix he’d put on for Max to listen to had a new track he was excited to test out–finally, he pulled out the earbuds, and after a couple of minutes, Max shook his head in a daze, and looked up at Rick. The look was dread. Week one had been anger. Week two had been fear. But now, Max was learning to dread. Rick always liked that look–but he really liked what would happen in a few more weeks, when Max would start to enjoy it. When he’d look up at him eagerly, excited to find out how Rick had chosen to twist and warp his mind that day.

“How are you doing, slave? Hungry?” Rick asked.

“Yes–S–sir…”

“Still fighting that one, eh?”

“N–No sir, sorry sir…I’m not fighting anything sir.” Max had learned that resisting the hypnosis would only lead Rick to entrance him further, usually with some extra suggestion as punishment. Max had fought calling him Sir and Master at first–and so, as extra incentive, Rick had hypnotized him to feel someone squeeze down on his balls everytime he forgot. He’d figured it out pretty quickly after that.

“Well, I have dinner for you, pig, but first, I want to see how today’s files worked out. See, I thought of something special to do to you today, and I’m curious to see how it worked. So, shall we?” Rick reached down and grabbed a hold of Max’s limp cock, and Max got an odd look on his face, and then just stared at Rick.

“Well? How does it feel, pig?”

“I can’t…I don’t…what did you do to me sir? I can’t…it’s just…numb.”

“So, if I start stroking it, you mean you can’t feel any of this?” Rick said, as he toyed and stroked Max’s cock, but it stayed perfectly limp the entire time. “That’s good–very good. Just what I wanted.”

Max sniffled, holding back tears, unable to believe it. He couldn’t feel his cock at all–as far as he could tell, it’s like he didn’t even have one.

“Don’t worry pig, it’s not that I don’t want you to feel anything–I just want your attention focused somewhere else, is all,” Rick said, then reached up and ran his finger over Max’s nipple. It immediately hardened, and Max let out a sigh of pleasure. “See? A nipple pig–well, nipples and something else too.” Rick wormed a hand between the chair and Max’s ass, a finger sliding against his hole, and again Max gasped in pleasure. “Very nice, very nice indeed. I’m very happy.”

“Please…please sir, just let me go, I’m sorry…”

“Oh piggy,” Rick said, and set his hand on Max’ shaved head. Max shivered and groaned, feeling immediately submissive, his thoughts suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to serve his master. Rick unzipped his fly with his other hand, letting out his hard cock, and allowed Max to suck it. “Oh piggy, I will let you go, eventually. You’ll be your own man, although very different from the man you were. But that old, closeted Max will be gone, and instead you’ll be a horny, kinky pig bitch, begging for cock, happily tugging on your nipples all the time. But I have some news to share, pig. It’s my day off tomorrow, you know, so guess what? We’re going out on the town–you’re gonna be getting your first tattoos. Isn’t that exciting?”

Max wasn’t really listening. He was too focused on sucking his master’s cock, on serving him. The sensation of a hand on his shaved scalp–something about it made him so docile. He couldn’t help but obey whoever was palming his skull.

“But here’s what I’m really excited for. See, I’m so happy that file worked as well as it did, because I have plans for that cock of yours, pig. I’ve already made an appointment with the plastic surgeon even–we’re gonna cut this cock of yours down to size–by the time we’re done, it’s gonna be a one inch nub, permanently soft and numb. Not even a clit–cause you aren’t going to be feeling anything down there.”

Max could sense Master was getting close. His own cock was soft though–still, that didn’t matter. His cock was worthless after all. Why, he didn’t even need a cock, really. What good was a cock that couldn’t feel anything?

“And when we get to the office, if you ask me real nicely, I might ask the surgeon to go ahead and throw in a castration, turn you into a proper hog. Maybe put some steel balls in there instead to weigh down that sack of yours, keep you weak and docile for the rest of your life. Oh fuck yeah–you’re gonna fuckin’ beg me to take your balls–that’s gonna be so fuckin’ hot!”

Master was cumming, and Max sucked it all down. He was starving–he hadn’t eaten all day. Between his master’s hypnosis and his nightly binging, he was already packing on the pounds. Rick removed his hand, and Max felt some semblance of freedom return to him, but it was too late to spit out Master’s cum–not that he wanted to anyway…right? He…liked how cum tasted.

Rick stripped down to his underwear, and then pulled a chair over beside Max, and fed him all five pizzas, slice by slice, and as he did, he told Max about Alex and Trevor, and how they’d been looking for him in the alley. He wasn’t sure which one he’d start with once he was finished with Max–in fact, he might do them both together. He hadn’t made many tops lately–he kind of liked the idea of turning them into identical muscle twins. But before that, he’d be sure to invite them both over a few times so they can fuck Max at both ends for fun. Max didn’t want to think that was hot, but he did anyway.

Finally, the pizzas were gone, and Rick yawned. “Alright pig, it’s time for me to go to bed, and for you to listen some more. I have another new track for you tonight–I hope you’ll like it. I’m very excited to see how it works in the morning.”

Max begged him to not do it, but both of the earbuds were back in his ears, and in less then a minute, the pig was zoned out, listening to his master’s voice. Rick went over to his computer and adjusted the playlist, and then went to bed. He was going to have a nice day tomorrow, at least–he always liked giving these pigs their first tattoos. And with Max suddenly feeling pain as pleasure–he had a feeling Max would enjoy it quite a bit too.

The FAT Retreat (Part 4)

– Day 4 –

They woke up in the same position, the lights coming on in their room, and Max grunted and rolled away from Leon, who fumbled with his mask for a moment, forgetting what it was and why it was there, until the memory of what had happened the day before came roaring back over him, and he was able, for the first time since arriving at the retreat, to have a moment of clarity, to think about what had happened, and he just laid there, still, the mask on, trying to sort out fantasy, reality and his past.

He’d come here as a muscular man. He could remember that, a fucking stick on the verge of death, right? But that didn’t seem like it should be right. He hadn’t wanted to be fat, but why not? He’d been afraid, terrified really, but now he couldn’t even begin to comprehend that. He ripped the mask off his face and tried to sit up, but found it more difficult than before, when he’d gotten up from floor in the therapist’s office. Looking down at himself, he saw that his gut was bigger–actually bigger than it had been the day before. In fact, it wasn’t even really a gut anymore, it was an apron, and he sat on the side of the bed, hefting it up and down, feeling his heavy moobs, amazed at what had happened over the course of a night.

Max had headed straight for the toilet and with the first load of shit he dumped into the bowl, Leon felt the desire for Max well up in him again. Hefting himself up, he waddled over and got down in front of the trucker again, breathing deep of the stench wafting up from the bowl.

“Heh, looks like someone grew last night,” Max said and got up off the toilet, “Come on, I bet ya gotta go, after all you ate at dinner last night, and I hogged the toilet.”

Leon did have to go, but he couldn’t go with Max there, could he? He’d always been a bit piss shy, but he let Max help him up, and his roommate sat him down on the unflushed toilet, the stink of Max’s shit and piss wafting up around him, and he felt his cock harden up into his gut. Max came up, working both of Leon’s moobs in his dirty hands, rubbing his hairy gut in Leon’s face, and after he’d shat, he just sat there, Max’s hands working down lower, underneath his new apron, working Leon’s cock over with his hand until he came with a shudder.

“Go on boy, piss–need to wash my hand off with something.”

It took Leon a few minutes to work up to it, but he finally let his bladder loose all over Max’s hand, feeling him smear the piss around up in his new gunt and between his thighs, shivering from the trucker’s touch, and when he’d finished, Max licked his hand clean with relish, and then whipped out his cock.

“I didn’t piss this morning either yet–hold still.”

He sprayed his piss across Leon’s big belly, watching it dribble down, some of it into the toilet, some of it onto the floor, and then finished the rest off across Leon’s face, watching him shudder with lust, nearly cumming again all on his own, and Max leaned down and kissed him, licking the piss off of him, when the door slid open, the intercom letting them know it was time for breakfast.

Max helped Leon up off the toilet, and turning around he realized it was still unflushed from the night before, and now full of their moring shit and piss as well. He went to hit the lever but Max stopped him. “Leave it,” he said.

“What? Why?”

Max came close, fiddling with Leon’s fat nipples, “Think about how nice the room’ll smell when we come back later, stinking of out piss and shit. I know you got a dirty mind boy, we’re gonna have lots of fun tonight, just you wait.”

Leon didn’t want to like the idea, but he did–he liked it a lot. And so he left the room with Max, joining the throng of men as they headed for the mess hall, admiring Max’s ability to cut through the crowd with his stink, and happy with his immunity to it. In the mess hall, they worked together, both of them crowding out tables and then stuffing food into each other’s mouths, rubbing themselves and each other down as they did, Leon finishing up on his knees, sucking on Max’s cock while the older man stuffed himself. Still, the whole time, when Leon wasn’t enraptured with Max’s stench, he couldn’t stop exploring his new body. He was bigger–he was bigger, and that made him feel so good. No, more than good, it made him feel safe. The bigger he was the less fear he needed to carry with him, and beyond that, he was hot. He caught a few other guys looking at him, probably wondering what he was doing with a slob like Max, but while Leon was a bit curious what it might be like to have sex with someone else, he didn’t think he could be away from Max’s stinking body for that long.

Too soon for anyone’s liking, breakfast ended, and they all filed over to their doors. Max and Leon found they had been assigned to the same lab, and together they made the trek through the facility, arriving at a large lab outfitted with several gurneys, and Max and Leon found they were joined by other pairs of men, some of them obviously together, but others seemed to have never met before. They were all paired off and led to pairs of gurneys with a large piece of machinery between them, large enough that Leon and Max couldn’t see each other around it, and the lab technicians began strapping them down, before they inserted the needles. When Leon saw where they were putting them, it was no wonder they strapped him down first–they were inserting the needles into his balls, through the scrotum, and even though they applied an anesthetic, it still was uncomfortable, and he struggled, trying to get free. From Max’s protests, he assumed the techs were doing the same thing to him, and they eventually strapped masks over them both, the gas sedative calming them down and rendering them compliant as the machine between them came to life and began pumping.

Even so, Leon let out a groan as the crushing pain in his balls began. It felt like the machine was sucking the life out of him, and it was like someone has his balls in a vice and was slowly squeezing them into paste. He mumbled to the technicians, begging them not to take his balls away through the mask, and they reassured him:

“Calm down, subject 436–this isn’t a castration procedure, merely testosterone transference.”

Still, that did little to make him feel better, especially when he noticed his body hair starting to fall out. The technicians would occasionally go over his body, tugging at the hairs there, and it was his pubic bush that went first, and he watched them pull out huge clumps of hair, but the rest of his body was equally bare before too long, and he could tell that his face was changing, his stubble disappearing as his facial hair stopped growing altogether, leaving him perfectly smooth. He wasn’t sure whether it was the sedative or not, but he was also feeling…calmer. And his dick felt numb, and he knew that wasn’t the anesthetic. He could feel it, sure, but when the techs lifted it and inspected it, he didn’t get so much as a shiver of sexual arousal, and it felt…smaller almost. There were other changes, things he couldn’t quite see or feel, his jawline softening, his hips and ass swelling with more fat than before, his nipples growing larger and more sensitive.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there before the techs lifted his legs and put them in stirrups, revealing his ass, which they began probing with any number of tools, eventually piercing something in his ass, and he felt something start growing a bit painfully in there. It was his prostate, he realized, they were making it bigger, but it was more than that–he could feel them working in his ass, it was so much more sensitive suddenly–and with a gasp, he felt his balls contract painfully and let out a spurt of cum as they worked in his hole, and it happened again, not soon after, before they pulled out, apparently finished with their work. About an hour later, they switched off the machine, pulled the needles out and took off the mask, and Leon laid there, waiting to feel normal, but he didn’t feel normal at all–he felt so different. Calmer, more at ease.

When they took off his restraints, the first thing he did was reach down to feel his cock, and much to his horror, he realized that it had indeed shrunk–substantially in fact. He couldn’t see it, but it couldn’t have been more than two inches long, and it was flaccid the entire time he fiddled with it–he couldn’t get a response from it at all. His balls were just as unlucky, now about a quarter the size of what they had been, smaller than grapes, and then, a bit tentatively, he rolled on his side, and tested his hole, and gasped.

He’d just touched the ring, and the amount of pleasure he’d felt was astounding. He didn’t know what they’d done to him, but it was hundreds of times more powerful than his cock had been, and he slipped a finger in with a moan, revelling in the increased sensitivity, as he heard Max start cussing, demanding that the techs release him and let him up. Leon knew he should get up too, he could see other men in the lab getting up and heading off to lunch, but he couldn’t stop touching his ass. As the men filed past, he saw that all of them were either smoother or hairier than they had been when they’d walked in, but only one looked to have lost more testosterone than him, his cock not little more than a clit, and Leon couldn’t even see his balls at all.

Max finally was released, and he got up off the gurney and walked around to where Leon was, and when he saw his roommate, his jaw dropped. Max had already been fairly hairy, but after getting almost all of Leon’s testosterone production, he was one of the furriest men he’d ever seen, and he fucking reeked. The increased development hadn’t done Max’s musk any favors, and if anything it made Leon want him more, made him want Max to dominate him, to rule over him, to be his alpha, his master…

He came suddenly, although most of the sensation of his orgasm was in his ass now, his flaccid cock dribbling a bit of cum out, but he didn’t care about his cock really. He needed something up his hole, and looking at Max, he knew just what he needed. Max’s cock had grown substantially, close to ten inches, and his huge balls hung heavy below, almost churning visibly, cum leaking out of the head like a faucet. Leon noticed something new there as well–a thick, overhanging foreskin that hadn’t been there before, and he licked his lips, wondering what might build up in there by the end of the day, but he couldn’t wait that long, he needed something now. “F–Fuck me, please…” Leon moaned, his voice higher than before, “Shove that huge cock in my hole Max, come on, I need it…”

Max didn’t need to be asked twice–it was clear that he was horny as hell, and would be horny nearly every moment for the rest of his life, and he walked around and rammed his cock deep into Leon’s ass, and there was no resistance like he’d expected–it just slid in like it belonged there, and when the thick shaft started running up against Leon’s newly enlarged prostate, it ached with pleasure, making him clutch the side of the gurney in need, Max fucking him like an animal.

While Max fucked Leon, he was busy exploring his own body, feeling his massive amount of hair, his thick, wiry beard which had grown out the whole time during the procedure, his smooth dome where the hair on his head had fallen out, his thicker muscles, his cock, his balls–his huge fucking balls. He’d never felt this horny in his life, and he came quickly, flooding Leon’s ass with his cum, and then just kept fucking, cumming a second time moments later, and then a third time, each load nearly as big as the last, and the technicians just sat off to the side, watching, fooling with each other’s cocks and fat while enjoying the show.

Lunch was already half over by the time Max forced himself to stop fucking Leon’s hungry hole, and they both hurried down the hallways to the mess hall, devouring as much as they could in the time they had left, but both of them were distracted. Max had to stop every few minutes to jack off his huge cock, and Leon spent most of the meal with as many fingers as could reach buried up his ass. As much as the two of them wanted to keep fucking, it was a bit of a relief when they discovered that they were going to separated for the afternoon sessions, Max going to something vague called a Body Modification Session, and Leon was going to something called a “Personal Style and C.D./M.M. Session.” Still, they had one more rough fuck in the hallway, several fat men gathering around to watch, masturbating while keeping a healthy distance due to the stench rolling off of Max, before they split apart and headed their separate ways.

Leon walked down to the lab he’d been assigned, and found that he was in a smaller lab than he’d been in previously, and there was no one else in the room aside from a doctor and several scantily clad lab assistant cubs. “Ah, subject 436–welcome to your personal style / C.D. session. Now, if you could just lay down here, we’ll begin.”

This time, instead of a gurney, it was a chair that looked like it could be adjusted to a wide variety of positions. Still, he took his seat and waited for the assistants to strap down his arms and legs, and then, when his body was fully secure, they began attaching something to his head, a large constraint which he soon found made it impossible for him move his head or neck in any direction at all, though he could still speak. “So…uh…I get the personal style part, but what does C.D and M.M stand for?”

“Cognitive Disability and Mental Manipulation,” the doctor said, “In other words, making you stupid and messing with your head.”

Leon waited for a couple of beats, expecting the doctor and the assistants to start laughing at the obvious joke, but they weren’t laughing. And he had a feeling that they might not actually be joking. “Wait…you mean, you’re actually gonna make me…what, dumb? How in the hell are you going to do that?”

“Brain surgery. We usually like to reserve a large block of time for the C.D/M.M. process, but considering the fact you spent two days growing, we’ve had to combine a few steps in your program. Don’t worry, the neurosurgeon ought to be in soon, but we’ll get started with your styling in the meantime, with your tattoo work and hair removal.”

Leon tried to break out of the chair, but by then all of the restraints had been well secured, and he couldn’t move an inch in the chair. He couldn’t turn his head to see the doctor’s expression–and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this wasn’t a joke at all. The cubs started working around the room, gathering around what looked like a large, colorful blueprint up on the wall, and then they each picked up a tattoo gun and began work on Leon’s body, two on his arms and a third and fourth on his legs. As they worked, the doctor shaved off all of the hair on Leon’s head, and then took a small laser and swept it slowly over Leon’s scalp, burning the follicles out and leaving his head perfectly smooth. The combined pain of it all was terrible, and Leon spent the entire time screaming at them to stop, begging them to at least do only one thing at a time, when the door to the lab slid open, and another doctor came in. “So, has the patient been prepared?”

“Just finishing his hair removal, and then he’ll be all ready for you–I hope you don’t mind that we got started.”

“As long as his head and neck are frozen, I can work,” he said, and then approached Leon, “I would shake your hand, but you seem to be a bit busy at the moment, subject 436. Now, what we are going to do today is three things. First, some moderate cognitive erosion. Second, we will create a state of advanced dyslexia. Third, we will perform a pain pleasure swap. Now, we’ll go ahead and open up your skull and proceed with the operation. This will take some time–all night, most likely, so I’m afraid you’ll be missing dinner. Don’t worry though, we’ll keep you well fed.”

Leon started screaming as the doctor applied local anesthetic to his skull, and then began cutting into the bone with an electric saw, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t even paying attention to the work the cubs were doing as they meticulously worked on his tattoos, all of them adjusting his restraints to access every side of his limbs. It felt like the doctor was sawing into his head forever, and the only measure of time he had was the slow progress of the tattoos. The cubs had nearly finished both his entire arms to the shoulders by the time the neurosurgeon was ready to begin the operation, and he signaled the cubs to stop their work for the moment.

The doctor behind him started clinking some tools together, and then spoke to Leon. “Alright subject 436–while I work, I am going to be asking you some questions. I need you to answer them to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”

“Please–please just let me go, please don’t do this…”

The neurosurgeon sighed and turned to the first doctor, “I believe we might need Sedative T9 for this operation. Would you administer a dose please?”

The doctor nodded and injected something into Leon’s frozen neck–he screamed, but a moment later, stopped. He felt so calm suddenly, like everything that was happening to him was happening far away, and to someone else.

“Now, subject 436, will you answer my questions?”

“Yes, I can answer…” Leon replied, and he heard the neurosurgeon begin his work. Every ten or fifteen seconds, he would ask Leon a basic math question, beginning with multiplication and division. The first two or three he could answer, and then suddenly he found it difficult to formulate an answer. For two or three more, if he focused hard, he could come up with something he thought might be close to right, and then he just had to answer that he didn’t know.

“What is ten times ten?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“What is two times two?”

“I…I don’t know. Why are you asking me this?”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me, do you know how many states there are in the USA?”

Leon knew that he should know, but it was like the answer had disappeared from his head. “I…I don’t know.”

“Alright, and how many bases on a baseball diamond?”

“I don’t know that either…”

“Alright, let the record show that the subject’s quantitative skills have been severely curtailed. Now, subject 436–I’m going to give you three words. I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me when I ask for them, alright? The words are: house, boat, and bacon. Can you repeat them back to me?”

“House. Boat. Bacon.”

“Good, now keep those words in mind,” the surgeon said, and went back to work for half a minute. “Can you repeat those words back to me?”

“Horse. Bed. Bacon.”

“Good. Doctor, could you present the subject with the flash cards?”

The first doctor retrieved some cards and held the first one up in front of Leon’s face. “Please read the first card, subject 436.”

“The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” The doctor then hid the card, and after a moment the neurosurgeon asked him to repeat what had been on the card. “The quick…no…the quivering food jumped…jumped over the large hotdog?” Leon replied. His head hurt, like he had a massive headache. Why couldn’t he remember? He was so hungry, all he could think about was food.

“Let the record show that the subject’s short term memory has been moderately compromised. That’s very good subject 436–now, onto the second task.”

The surgeon worked for a few moments, and then signaled the doctor to reveal the flash card again, “Please read what’s on the card, subject 436.”

Leon stared at the card hard for a few seconds, “uh…The…the…I don’t know the second word. The…fix pumped onto the…the blank god? That’s not…that’s not right, is it?”

“Let the record show that advanced dyslexia has been induced in the subject,” the surgeon said. “You’re doing very good subject 436, one last task, and this will all be over.”

The surgeon went back to work, fiddling with Leon’s brain, and he could feel the serum he’d been given start to wear off. He could fight again, but what was the point? They’d destroyed his mind already, there was nothing he could do but sit there and cry in terror. Finally, the neurosurgeon signalled one of the cubs to come over with his tattoo gun. “Would you please continue your work for a few seconds? I’d like to test the subject’s pleasure response.”

The cub returned to the line work on Leon’s thigh, and as soon as the gun started, Leon shivered and moaned. It didn’t hurt–it didn’t hurt at all–in fact, it felt amazing. The cub stopped, and before Leon could help himself, he was begging, “No–no, keep going, do it some more, come on…”

“Good–a sufficient response. Just give me a few more minutes to increase the dopamine response to induce a strong, addictive reaction in the subject…”

It was a few more minutes of work, and then the surgeon announced that he was done, and the first doctor told the cubs to resume their work while he and the surgeon put Leon’s skull back together. Now, however, the sensation of the tattoo guns wasn’t one of pain–but instead of divine pleasure. Leon was grunting and moaning, his puny cock dribbling out cum from his tiny balls the entire time, and soon, he found himself wanting it, wanting them to push the guns in harder, wanting them to make it hurt worse. “Come on, is that the fucking best you can do, fucking drill those things into me!” he shouted, shivering the entire time from head to toe. The first doctor grew tired of Leon’s shouting, and shoved a feeding tube down his throat, and Leon was silent for the next several hours the doctors used to sew him back up. Between the tattoo guns and the feeding, Leon was in heaven, the cubs finishing his arms and legs on both sides, before they all moved onto his huge gut, one of them even tattooing his tiny cock and balls.

Behind him, the two doctors were piecing his scalp back together, and then the second doctor took some strange goo and began smearing it across the incisions. “The FAT team here prides itself on making sure our members receive the best medical care–don’t worry about any scarring subject 436–by morning, you won’t even know we were in here. Of course, the tattoos on your skull would disguise it anyway, so you wouldn’t even need to be concerned.”

Leon, nearly seizing with pleasure from the tattooing, could barely comprehend what the doctor was saying. His sentences were just too long–he’d nearly forgotten what he’d said first by the time he was at the end. He felt so full though, and when the bonds holding his head in place were finally removed, and he could look down at his new tattoos. Looking at the work, it seemed like the cubs were actually being sloppy on purpose. All down both legs were massive motifs of fattening foods, all being devoured by huge men with pig faces. He couldn’t see his cock and balls to know what they’d done there, but both arms were done in tacky redneck–confederate flags, eagles, trailers, beer cans–the works, but it was his gut that attracted the most attention, where words and phrases had been tattooed all over him, all of them humiliating–“Gainer,” “Fat Ass,” “Slob,” “Toilet Slave,” “Whore,” “Trailer Trash,” they went on and on, and when they flipped him over and started on his back, the doctor was kind enough to tell him what they were putting there–a silhouette of a hog’s back, including a pig tail above his ass, so everyone fucking him would know that they were ball’s deep in nothing more than a disgustingly obese sow. His face was given a similar treatment with subtler tattoos designed to accentuate the size of his cheeks and jowls, two tusks curling from his upper lip up his cheeks, and the outline of a pig snout around his nose–and the word PIG repeated four times: on his forehead, across the back of his neck and head, and on both sides over his ears.

Now that most of the tattooing was done, though, two of the cubs brought over a huge collection of metal and began piercing his body. One cub focused on his cock and balls, inserting so many rings, bars and studs that he could feel the weight hanging off of him, every peirce of a needle another jolt of pleasure through his system. The other cub put two thick doorknockers through the flesh behind his nipples, keeping his thick aureolas intact–those were by far the most painful and thrilling, and then he began on Leon’s face. A thick ring in his septum, and then countless rings in his ears, eyebrows and lips, and after the feeding tube had been removed, ten studs in his tongue which made speaking nearly impossible. As a final humiliation, the doctor brought out a set of dentist tools and began prying teeth from Leon’s mouth, seemingly at random, leaving him gap toothed and in so much painful pleasure he could barely move. It was then that he finally felt the stress of the session overwhelming him, and the room faded from view, his last blurred image of the doctor slipping his mask over his nose and mouth, and the stench of Max’s filthy body and the sickly smell of his fat gas sending him off to sleep, and distantly, the sound of a voice in his ears, whispering to him, telling him new truths for the next day. In short sentences and with much repetition–Leon was just a simpleton now after all, and there was no going back.

“Just focus on the beat, just…keep on walking,” Mikey told himself as he walked the block, keeping his hands in his pockets, glancing around nervously. The day was going fine, he could…just forget about how he’d woken up that morning, on the couch…

No, best to just not worry about it, best to just get through the day. Still, how could he forget them? The tattoos covering both of his arms, the fact that his body was completely devoid of hair? He’d been able to laugh that off with the guys at the station as a bar bet gone wrong, but the tattoos…how could he explain those? And worse…he was certain they were spreading. He couldn’t be sure considering he hadn’t taken his uniform off all day, but he could feel this strange itch all over him, and the back of his hands…Just focus on the job, he only had a few more hours of his shift left, and then he could sort this all out. It was almost the weekend, he could…go get them removed or something, and his hair would grow back eventually, it would all be fine.

He was passing a shop window, and looked at himself in the evening reflection, and he stopped. His face–what was wrong with his face? He had…piercings? A huge ring in his septum, rings in his lips, bars in his ears and eyebrows, gauges in his lobes. When had that happened? How long had he been walking around with his face like this? And his neck, he could see the tattoos crawling up there as well, and he ducked into an alley to try and figure out what to do. He couldn’t go back to the station looking like this, he couldn’t go anywhere looking like this–

“Well, well–here’s our little piggy, right where we left him yesterday,” a voice said, and Mikey spun around, finding the alley blocked by a gang of skinheads, and he remembered the day before, how they’d dragged him in here, the needle, the drop of ink–

“What–what did ya do tah me…” he said, his head thickening. He couldn’t stop staring at the ringleader’s…at Ringo’s cock outlined in his bleached jeans, licking his lips, feeling his short, heavily pierced cock try to harden in his tight rubber shorts.

Ringo didn’t answer, he just unzipped his fly and let his ten inch cock flop out, Mikey dropping to his knees with a grunt and swallowing it hole, the gang’s newest sexpig, eager to taste all of their cocks before heading back to the hideout–where they’d be fisting his piggy hole all night long.

Like, I can’t tell you how amazing it’s been to work with Master Trainer. I was crazy skeptical at first, I mean, who wouldn’t be? The training program is, like, hella extreme, but when I sat down with Master Trainer and I felt…um…so calm, and everything he said made, like, so much sense, I just signed right up.

I had no idea that I was going to have to sacrifice so much to get into shape, though. I mean, quitting my job, breaking up with my girlfriend–those were, like, understandable. After all, I needed so much more time to work out with Master Trainer, but the drugs hella scared me at first. Still, when I noticed the drop in my libido, it just made working out that much more important to me. I swear, I haven’t jacked it in, like, months now. My cock is so small–it looks amazing in my posing trunks. Sure, the side effects were strange, like my hair falling out, and my voice jumped, like, so high, but, Master trainer has a thing for muscle headed valley girl sluts. I’m so hot now though, and it’s all thanks to Master Trainer!

You wake up, and are momentarily hopeful. Please tell me I didn’t do it last night, please… but the cold, wet mattress tells a different story. You wet the bed again. Just like you have for the last two weeks. Every night, you tell yourself you won’t, but nothing helps. Resigned, you get up and go over to the mirror and see what else has changed in the night.

Ever since you started wetting the bed, your body has been changing as well, packing on weight especially, and a few days ago the last of your hair, beard and body hair fell out, leaving you perfectly smooth. Even worse, your cock has been slowly shrinking down to nothing, but no one else has noticed, like this is how you’ve always been.

You still have to go to work though, so you pull on some khakis and a massive shirt which have kept pace with your growth, but the pants are actually a bit roomy in the ass. You don’t think much of it and head for the door, when you find a box on your doorstep.

Wondering if it might be connected to your strange changes, you bring it inside, open it up, and find it packed full of puffy fabric, and a note–“Thought you might start needing these today, little boy,” You separate out one of the garments, and discover, to your disgust, that it’s a diaper.

Who in the hell sent me this, you wonder, and toss the garment back into the box. Suddenly, you feel a rumble in your stomach, and a second later the back of your khakis fills up with a huge load of shit. Your bladder releases as well, wetting the front of your pants with a dark stain. Your cheeks flush red at your complete lack of control, your eyes start to well up, and before you can stop, you’re crying uncontrollably, and the only thing you can think to do is pop your thumb in your mouth and start sucking on it.

Sucking helps calm you down enough to stop your sobbing, waddle into the bathroom, strip, clean yourself off, throw away your clothes, and then return to the living room. With trepidation, you take a diaper and pull it up around your groin, and arousal overcomes you. With your thumb back in your mouth, you rub your tiny cock through the fabric until you shoot a massive wad of cum into the absorbent pad.

When you try to change out of the now soiled diaper, you can’t figure out how to take it off–and being an hour late for work, you just pull on a new pair of slacks and leave, thumb still in your mouth. You worry that if you piss or shit yourself, you might be carrying it around for the whole day, but who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be better–but probably not.