Cabin Pressure (Part 4)

“You have a pretty hot mouth, I have to say.”

They’d been sitting quietly for a few minutes, Jeff trying to sort out his thoughts and his memories, feeling his body, trying to understand how it could feel both so…new and strange and yet familiar at the same time. He could barely fit in the seat assigned to him now, and Brian had raised the armrest between them, meaning their fat bodies were now in constant contact–something which scared jeff to death for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, and which also excited him to no end–feeling each breath of the hot fucking man beside him–he’d really…lucked out, right?

“Hello? Earth to piggy.”

Jeff blushed, “Sorry, sir, I’m…glad you enjoyed it. I…enjoyed it too.”

“I could tell. Bet you’d like me to get my cock in that ass of yours too, right?”

Jeff nodded, humiliated that the people sitting around them could hear what he’d just said to him. Why was he doing this? Letting this fat fuck do this to him? He…honestly wasn’t quite sure what had happened to him, but something was different–no, something was wrong. This was wrong, he was in the wrong body, this wasn’t who he was supposed to be, and he…he couldn’t remember who he’d been at all. Fragments–workout equipment. A woman. A…roommate. That was clear–the roommate. Kevin. He stopped thinking about himself, and focused on Kevin instead. He’d met him at…at college? In the gym–no, on the wrestling team! He’d had to have gone to college, if he’d met Kevin! And Tiffany! He’d just visited her, he…he was sure of it, even if he couldn’t remember it. That…that meant that this wasn’t him–he couldn’t remember everything, but he knew that much.

“How about, when we get off this plane, we head to the bathroom and I give that hole of yours a good plowing? How does that sound?” Brian said, leaning against him gently, exerting a bit of his pressure.

Jeff instinctively started to lean away, to pull back, but then he leaned back in, applying some pressure of his own. “No–no, I’m not going to let you do this to me anymore. I don’t know what the fuck you did, but you’re going to fucking change me back!”

“Did to you? I didn’t do anything to you, pig. This is just who you are!”

“No it fucking isn’t. I…know that. I don’t remember everything but…but I had a roommate I met in college–yeah, college! I know I went there. And I know I just…was just with a girl in Paris, that’s why I fucking went there. I…I forgot her name, but she was there, I know she was there. This is some fucked up fantasy of yours, and I don’t know how you did it, but I know your game.”

“Oh?” the man said, grinning wider, leaning harder, “More fight than I expected. Still, you’re so far gone, there’s nothing you can do but make things worse for yourself, if you keep this up.”

“Fuck you, you’re a fucking liar.”

The man shrugged. “Alright, then, Mr. Fry Cook. Tell me, how did an fast food dead-ender like you manage to afford a European vacation?”

Jeff tried to talk…but he didn’t have an answer. Where did he get the ticket? How did he even get to Europe? On one hand, intellectually, he knew the missing piece was there, but the girl, his roommate, it didn’t fit with everything else in his head…and something else, some other glimmer was forming, the man leaning harder, Jeff losing ground, feeling himself pressing against the side of the plane. “I…I couldn’t afford it, not on my own. I don’t have any savings,” he blurted out. It was…true. But it wasn’t right.

“Of course not. But the guy you were chatting with about those things you wanted, the mods. You couldn’t find anyone state side. And when he offered to pay for your ticket, in exchange for complete willingness as a test subject…well, what choice did you have?”

Jeff was shaking his head, trying to speak, but he couldn’t quite get in a full breath of air. He was feeling lightheaded, desperately trying to keep from passing out again, trying to keep Brian from changing him again, trying to keep himself from connecting the dots that he was being told to follow, because he didn’t want to see what was at the end there. “Please…” he croaked, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you fuck me, I’ll let you do whatever, please…”

“But I’m curious, Piggy. I’m curious about what you needed him to do. What were you so desperate for, that you were willing to let a stranger buy you a plane ticket to another continent, so he’d do it to you? What was so hard to find, what was so perverted, that you couldn’t find anyone closer to you, who would do what you needed so badly, that you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you? How long were you with him? How long were you his play thing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

“Yeah, he kept you pretty well drugged, didn’t he? In that dungeon of his, kept in that cage, while you rested in between sessions? Probably a bit hard to remember the details, but I know that you know what you wanted more than anything else. What you were willing to give up your freedom for months to have done to you.”

“I’m not…You’re wrong.”

“It’s only going to get worse, if you don’t just admit it.”

“I…it…tattoos?”

“Oh, I know he was a talented artist, and I know he was excited at a thought of a canvas your size, but that–you could get those anywhere. No, what you needed was much more…taboo…”

Jeff could feel the pricks across his body, ink appearing all over his skin. It still hurt, but Brian was right, there was something else. He…he knew what he was supposed to say, but there had to be something else, right? Not that…he didn’t…really want that, did he?

“Say it pig, say it hog. Say what you begged the filthy pervert you met in Paris to do to you. Tell me what you needed, to finally feel at home in your own, disgusting body.”

Jeff had been holding his breath, knotting up his tongue. He wasn’t going to say it, he wouldn’t. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out again, Brian chuckling, pressing harder, and Jeff dreamed again.

Cabin Pressure (Part 3)

Jeff looked around his office, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He should be on vacation, right? The offices around him were all empty, the air was stale and…and as he walked around, looking for an exit, he was beginning….to suspect that he didn’t work here at all. No, he didn’t know where he was, now that he thought about it–but he did work in an office, right? He’d…he’d gone to college, he’d majored in business, he worked as an accountant. The air was thinner all of a sudden, and he was feeling woozy, some sort of pressure pulling him to the floor, giving him a headache, and he could…feel his intellect being crushed. Jeff had never been that smart, but he was clever enough–but not only was his knowledge fading, but his edges were dulling as well. Everything seemed…simpler all of a sudden, and looking around at the alien office, he could see the walls…dissolving around him, reforming, until he was lying on filthy tile, not carpet, surrounded by a bank of cooking equipment–like…like in a fast food restaurant.

He managed to push back against the pressure, reassert himself, and as much as he didn’t want to find the place familiar–he knew it intimately. It was the fast food place where…where he worked. Where he’d worked for years, ever since he’d stupidly dropped out of high school, not that he could have gone to college with his shitty grades. He couldn’t even get a promotion, not without a GED, and he was too lazy to even bother getting that. So here he was, working the fryer, microwaving burgers, and…and taking orders.

At that thought, the pressure shoved him forward, towards the register. He was dressed in his uniform–4XL, and face to face with…with a young woman. Someone he should know…right? A name popped into his head from nowhere–Tiffany. She was pretty, she was his…girlfriend? But at that thought, her face looked at him, disgusted, like she had read his mind. No, someone like that would never be interested in a fat loser like him. The shame was burning through him, he couldn’t believe he’d even thought that. No, he couldn’t be interested in her, he wasn’t interested in her, he…he was…interested in…

The look of cruel disgust didn’t shift on Tiffany’s face, but the rest of her body did, growing larger, inflating, her dress becoming leather gear, her face growing a beard, his cock, fuck…fuck, his cock. Jeff was salivating, the pressure behind him, pushing him against the counter, bending him over as the man shoved his cock in Jeff’s mouth, and he saw a line form behind the man, and felt another line behind him, a stranger hauling down his uniform pants, fucking him roughly, like he deserved. Yeah, this is what a fat loser like him deserved, what he needed, what he craved. The man in front of him–he knew him now. A guy he’d hooked up with a few times around town–the man who held the key to the cage his cock was trapped in. Not that it was much of a cock–two inches when hard, and buried in his fat, but the man liked it locked all the same. After him, came the chubby manager of the restaurant, who had found out Jeff was a cocksucker, and he’d been servicing him ever since, the man threatening to fire him if he told anyone. The line continued. His father and stepfather, both of whom had abused him. Teachers. Strangers. Roommates. All of the men in his life he served, and at the end, a looming figure, familiar, pressing his gut into Jeff’s face, guiding his head lower with a hand–

Jeff opened his mouth and took Brian’s thick, seven inch cock into his well practiced throat, allowing him to slide in deep, down his throat. He hadn’t had a gag reflex in ages, and the sensation of being used roughly sent a tingle of pleasure through his jiggling body, like always. One hand twisted his meaty nipples and tugged on his fat moobs, the other slid down the back of his pants and toyed with the buttplug he wore almost constantly, puny cock aching in the confines of it’s extra small cage.

“How’s it taste, you fucking loser? You like eating my nasty cock?”

Jeff did like it–but then again, rough, abusive, fat men got Jeff’s hunger going like little else. Hell, he was so shameless at this point, that he’d beg men like this to abuse him–that’s why they were here, after all–Jeff had begged the man to feed him his cum, and when else was he going to have a chance to join the mile high club? He kept sucking, and the man fed him a load of cum after a couple of minutes. Someone was knocking on the door–had been knocking on the door. Brian zipped up and left, leaving Jeff on his knees, cum in his beard, looking up at an older, chubby gentleman in a business suit, staring down at him. “I’ll…suck you too, if you want,” he said, unable to believe his own audacity, or that the businessman–who’d briefly been pressed up against the wall by Brian, sneered and stepped inside.

“I hope you’re full service–because I have to piss first, and you’re in front of the toilet.”

Some other man, deep inside him, screamed, but Jeff had drank piss numerous times before. It took the man a few minutes to get past his nerves to actually piss in his mouth–Jeff helped put him at ease by telling him to pretend he was just an object–not a person at all. He drank the man’s bladder dry, and then sucked him off. The man blew after a minute, and slipped out, back to his seat. No one else was waiting, so Jeff went back down the aisle. Brian was waiting for him, and let Jeff slide back in by the window, his now 450 pound bulk mashed between the armrests, and Brian joined him again with a smile that told Jeff he wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

“Trash, get out of those clothes, and get over here. My nasty cock is waiting.”

“Please, don’t…call me that any more. I did what you asked, I gave you the money, please, just let me go…” the man said, He was dressed in an expensive suit tailored for a frame different than his current one–his gut pushed the buttons apart, but he had to keep pulling it up, the pants falling down around his ass. At the word ‘Trash,’ the man’s hair–already lank and greasy–had grown another inch, added more grey, his hairline receding further. “I don’t…want to do this…”

“Oh trust me, I appreciate the money–a few thousand will cover rent and drugs for a month–but why pass up a nasty fucker like you? Now come over here–you don’t want me calling you anything else, right?”

But the man was fighting all the same, trying to make his body move towards the door. “You fucking piece of disgusting filth, I said get over here, and suck my cock!”

The energy drained from the man’s eyes, as a wet patch appeared on the front of his pants. He was pissing, unable to stop himself, and kept pissing as he dropped his pants, stumbled over to the filthy young man, got down, and began sucking at his cock.

“Nobody gets away from me, you fucking pig,” the man winced, a tattoo appearing on his back, another on his arm. “You hear me pig? You fucking nasty whore?”

The man moaned, reaching around behind him and pushing a few of his fingers into his own loose hole, while his tormentor laughed. “That’s the spirit! You want me to fuck that hole of yours, bitch?”

“Oh god, I…please, fuck my nasty hole…”

He was more than happy to oblige him–and what the man didn’t know, was that as soon as the man shot his load deep into his guts, reality twisted around him, his previous life as a young, wealthy entrepreneur gone forever, his suit now just a bunch of rags thrown after him, as he was thrown out naked into the hallway, the young man still laughing the entire time.

Source: boxcardick

Medical Trials (Part 4)

~~~A Few Months Later~~~

Evan pushed the janitorial cart down the hall, and into the last cell on the hallway. The room was filthy, but he knew better than to ask questions about what might have happened in there–he could smell some cum, shit and piss, but there was more blood than anything else. He stripped the bed and shoved the still damp, but cool sheets into the laundry bag, and then started cleaning up the walls.

He’d been working in the Trinq labs as a janitor for…for as long as he could remember, which wasn’t really that long. He wasn’t exactly smart, and most everything failed to keep his interest, unless it had to do with his job, cum, or his boyfriend. He wiped down the mirror, looking at his face with disinterest. It still wasn’t quite…familiar to him, but that didn’t really matter. It was his face. How he felt about the face wasn’t important. How he felt wasn’t important. Feelings weren’t really…possible anymore anyway; all he ever really felt was calm detachment. It didn’t matter how he felt, all that mattered was that he did what he was told. He looked at himself anyway, through the red streaks. His head was perfectly smooth, just like the rest of his body. His hair had all fallen out–even his eyebrows–and none of it had grown back, not even months after his final injection. No longer strong and angular, his face was round and soft, cheeks puffed out and drooping, chins and jowls like pliable wax, eyes distant.

The rest of his body was similar. He’d shrunk substantially in the final round of tests, dropping from six foot three down to about five feet tall, even as he’d packed on fat. His weight had stabilized at 325 pounds, now that he was no longer receiving injections, but it hung off him in flaps and rolls, his grimy coveralls, grey with the Trinq logo on the breast, bulging and heaving with each movement. His balls were gone. They’d shrunk smaller and smaller until they simply ceased to exist, and his cock was less than an inch long, and completely numb to all sensation. He no longer felt like a man, really. He felt like something else entirely–genderless, perhaps, but not a woman either. Just a drone, or an object. Something unimportant. Something that existed to be used, like a tool.

He cleaned the room, hoping there might be a bit of cum he could eat, but while he could smell it, the blood was everywhere, leaving him disappointed and hungry. The room was clean in a few hours, and he checked his watch–his shift had ended fifteen minutes ago, so he wheeled the cart back to the janitorial area, threw the bloody sheets down the chute to the incinerator, got out of his jumpsuit and burned that as well, and back into his street clothes, before clocking out.

He left Trinq’s building, and walked to the bus stop. He’d grown used to the stares by now–everyone he passed could tell there was something wrong with him, that he wasn’t supposed to exist, that he didn’t fit into their usual categories. More than once, he’d been cornered by men and pummelled in alleys on the way home, but he didn’t mind that much. The longer men were around him, after all, the more likely they would feed him their cum. That was something he’d learned rather quickly–that something about him, either how he looked, or how he smelled, made men want to use him as a cumdump. He could imagine that might make a normal person feel humiliated, but Evan just felt something resembling gratitude. He liked being something that had a purpose–he liked being used.

There was no incident like that this evening, though he sat next to an older business man on the bus, and after a few minutes, the man pulled out his cock, and ordered Evan to suck it–he was happy to have a snack, at least. He got off at his stop, and walked the few blocks to where he lived with his boyfriend, Adam. But Adam wasn’t really a boyfriend, in the same way Evan wasn’t really a man any longer.

Adam worked as a police detective–in particular, he’d taken over the caseload of a certain Evan Timmons, who’d committed suicide earlier that year. He didn’t really work for the police, however. Or rather, he worked for the police, but he also worked for Trinq Inc.–burying cases, funnelling prisoners and inconvenient witnesses into experimental drug programs, destroying evidence. In return, Adam had been receiving samples of several new drug therapies from the company. He was already home when Evan arrived–he could smell him in the second bedroom of the apartment, which was where Evan slept in a cage, and where Adam worked out. Evan stripped out of his clothes and went and found his master, smelling him, hungry for his cum. Adam was naked as well, his extremely hirsute body matted with sweat, foot long cock half hard and leaking on the floor. Evan got down and began cleaning up–sweat, cum, piss, anything his master left behind as he continued his workout, not paying any attention to the thing following him around the room. Adam might have felt a twinge of guilt, at one point, but power and strength was more important to him now. In truth, Evan disgusted him, but also terrified him. Trinq’s executives had made it perfectly clear to him who Evan actually was–and that if Adam ever betrayed them, that he would suffer an even worse fate at their hands than the blob Officer Timmon’s had become. Trinq wasn’t about to let anyone stand in their way of power either, after all. They were going to change the world, whether people wanted them to, or not.

Hypno Me Please (Part 2)

Well? What do you think? What a difference a year makes, right?

Heh, it took two months of baby steps before I dared take him out for his first test drive–that is, before I made him take the first step down the path I’d been designing for him in my head, a path he would have never agreed to in his life. So what did I make him do? I made him cut his hair. He knew exactly what he was doing, as he went into the bathroom, powered up his razor and shaved off those beautiful locks–I watched on the cam of course, pleased beyond the belief, even if he was sobbing and furious by the end of it. I told him it made him look better, and he told me he’d never chat with me again–as if he could help it.

No, he found himself unable to resist replying to me, and if I sent a hypno file to him, he’d find himself unable to resist opening it up and watching it. He tried to tell me the files weren’t working–but the fact was, he simply hadn’t noticed what they were doing to him. He’d stopped going to the gym a month later, and look at him now–that new gut of his, those flabby arms. I’ve been considering making him gain…but I’ve had other priorities.

See–he’s starting to like it. He won’t admit it easily, but I’m wearing him down, bit by bit. Being forced to do public cam shows for anyone who wants to watch, those new tattoos of his–and the diapers of course. I made him wear them once as punishment, and his reaction was so extreme–he sobbed for hours–that I had to make them part of his wardrobe permanently. Yes, permanently. He knows he has to wear them, but what I don’t quite think he’s noticed is how much control he’s lost over the last few months–but when I make him go a month without them, and he pisses and shits himself at work–well, he’ll be begging to be back in them soon enough.

Still, I have a flight to catch. A little one year anniversary surprise–he gets to meet his master in person for the first time. We’re going to have so much fun for the next week, and for years to come. Oh yeah–years. What can I say? He’s worth the commitment, whether he wants it or not.

Pig Bros (Part 3)

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.”

Dale’s Story (Part 7)

Well the winner by a good margin was option number two with 35% of the vote, and the close runner up was option four with 27%, so why not combine them both together, right? So, WARNING: BESTIALITY AHEAD is what I’m trying to say.

“Well come on o’er here, Mick, ‘n let me git a good look at ya,” Dale said, waving the farmer over to where he was standing next to Bishop, or Piggy as he knew himself know, still helplessly chowing down on slop from the trough, horrified that someone had found him in this position.

“I don’–who the hell are you?” Mick asked, “How’d ya…know my name?” he walked over, not even aware that he was doing so until he was a few feet away from Dale–and he looked over his shoulder at where his shotgun was lying back by the barn entrance. “Yer on mah property, I want ya off.”

“Oh, we ain’t trespassin’, Master Mick–yer the one who invited us, after all. Piggy here wanted tah be yer new pigslave, ‘n we’re tryin’ him out, tah see if he’s good enough fer yer sty, ain’t that right?”

Mick’s mind was simple, and Dale found it rather…thrilling, how he could rewire the man’s head at to his merest whim. The farmer was a gentle guy, easy going–he had a shotgun, sure, but he’d never be able to really use it on anyone. No–he’d been more scared than anything, when he’d heard the noises in his barn, coming back from getting his hogs bedded down for the evening. So Dale started hardening him, giving him edges, cruel and abusive instincts, sadistic desires, and filling his mind with all sort of pervere, twisted fantasies. He resisted a bit, but the old Mick couldn’t stand for more than a moment against Dale’s mental onslaught, and when Mick looked down at Bishop again–it was hunger and lust and anger in his eyes that show through, as he kicked his new slave in the gut, yelling at him to eat faster, that he’ll never manage to be his pigslave with a sorry appetite like that. Mick started inspecting him then, unhappy with his scrawny the pig was, but he could fatten him up, if the thing had the spirit to handle him.

Dale crouched down next to Bishop’s face in the trough, and watched his brother plead with him for a moment, but he was already rewiring him as well. After all, this is what Bishop had wanted, right? Yeah, a master, a farmer, someone who could really help him become the pig he knew was deep inside him, that he’d always felt in there, that he’d always wanted to be. He wanted to be abused, humiliated, raped even, if that’s what it took, and even though these desires made him feel so ashamed, his cock was hard as a rock when Mick ran two dirty fingers down his crack and gave the piggy’s cunt a test–and Dale had an idea, or rather, Mick had his idea a moment later.

“I’m on the fence ‘bout it,” Mick said, “Could be a good ‘un, but I ain’t sure it really wants it. One way tah find out fer sure though. Get the hog’s hole warmed up fer a bit man, ‘n I’ll be back in a few.”

“Heh, ya heard the boss,” Dale said, unzipping his fly and dropping his pants, hefting his huge gut onto the small of Bishop’s back and shoving his rock hard cock in dry. Bishop groaned in pain, and Dale gave him a slap on the ass. “Don’t be worried ‘bout this, bro, be worried ‘bout who yer new master’s bringin’ back wit’ ‘em.”

Bishop had no idea what Dale might be referring to, until Mick returned with his prize winning boar leashed up. “Best way tah see if it’s got what it takes, is tah give it a taste a the real thing.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me!” Dale said, and made room for the boar. He gave the animal a mental prod, encouraging it on to mount Bishop, who cried out when he realized what was about to happen with him…but he wanted this. No, he didn’t want this, whatever his brother was doing to him he…he’d always thought about this, about being mounted like an animal, by an animal. A squeal escaped his mouth as the boar slid inside him, and the excitement of his fantasies coming true–his cock exploded all over the ground beneath him as he rutted with the boar, Mick letting out a laugh. “Hot damn, this thing ain’t a pig, it’s a god damn sow! Heh, bet we’d make some real nice progress if we went ‘n nutted the damn thing–then it’d put some wait on her hips real fast.”

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you, Master Mick-it’s your piggy now.”

“Heh–the leather daddies back in the big city ‘r gonna go fuckin’ nuts over it at the convention next year, I’ll tell ya that!”

“Well Bishop,” Dale said, “I think yer in perfectly capable hands now–maybe I’ll come check in on ya tahmorrow, ‘n see how yer comin’ along.”

Bishop tried to beg, tried to plead, but all he could do was oink and squeal and debase himself as the boar came to climax inside him, and his master shoved the animal to the side and took it’s place, raping his new pig’s sloppy pussy as rough and hard as the boar who’d just been inside him. Dale watched a moment, and then left the barn, satisfied–to an extent.

“Damn, Dale, that’s pretty fuckin’ twisted,” a familiar voice said behind him. He turned, and the stranger appeared out of the dark, smoking a cigar.

“Fucker deserved it.”

The stranger didn’t say anything, just let a stream of smoke into the evening air. “Well, ya still got plenty a time left–who else ya wanna get some revenge on, while ya got the chance?”

I’m not sure if we’ll revisit Bishop here or not–his story line seems to have wrapped itself up pretty well. Still, I’m sure a guy like Dale has a few other grudges he could take on, right?

His father–he’ll need some way to occupy himself now that both of his son’s are out of the house.
His bully from high school who still lives in town–he could use a few lessons in punishment.
A couple of Bishops friends–he’s sure to find them at George’s bar tonight, and he never did get to finish that drink with them.
The stranger himself–try and take control of him. It’s risky and might fail, but he’ll never know unless he tries, right?

So, who do you want Dale to target next?

Dale’s Story (Part 6)

Ha, well, it wasn’t quite what I was expecting to win, but option number four (pig farm) pretty much ran away with 34% of the vote. Option two (beers with friends) was in second place with 25%, so we’ll try to have Bishop meet back up with his friends at some point, beers or no. Let’s see where this goes first, however!

“Ya know what ya always called me, the name I hated the most a all?” Dale said, leaning in close to Bishop’s face, where his much younger brother was kneeling in front of him. He didn’t say anything, “Go on, guess. Ya called me it often enough that ya obviously knew how much I hated it. Go on.”

“P-Piggy?”

“Yeah, that thar’s the one! But do ya remember what ya’d always do as well?”

Bishop didn’t want to do it, but his mouth opened, under Dale’s control, and he started squealing, loudly. He’d always done that to chase Dale off–call him Piggy and squeal at him until he ran away crying. He kept trying to talk, trying to apologize or beg, but all his mouth would do is squeal, grunt and snort.

“Now, how’s ‘bout we go visit a piggy farm, Bishop? I think we could have some real fun there, don’t ya?”

Bishop shook his head, but couldn’t fight Dale’s control over him. He stood up and began stripping off his clothes, abandoning them in the office. He squealed and grunted in protest, and Dale just laughed.

“Ya ain’t gonna need those on the farm, piggy, ya’ll just git ‘em dirty,” Dale said, and examined his brother’s physique. He’d put on a bit of weight since graduating from high school, but he was still quite the stud–and as he was, he certainly got Dale’s cock hard in his fat, but Bishop didn’t deserve it, and he wouldn’t have that body for much longer, if Dale had anything to say about it. He led Bishop out of the office, caught his son’s fucking against the side of an old truck in the garage, and told them to finish closing up the shop without him, that he had an errand to run and he’d see them later. He forced Bishop into his truck, he climbed in with him, and drove out of town, keeping Bishop occupied licking and sucking at his fat until they arrived at one of the pig farms surrounding the town, and he forced Bishop out again. He covered himself up as best he could, embarrassed to be naked in the evening light, and thankfully no one was around to see him as he and Dale walked to the barn and went inside.

Bishop fell to the floor, and only after trying to get up a few times did he realize it was Dale, who’d removed his ability to walk upright, forcing him to crawl up to a massive trough along the wall, while Dale looked around, figuring out how to dispense the feed, and after finding it, he pulled the switch, and a thick, sloppy mash dropped into the trough in front of Bishop.

He fought as hard as he could for a moment, but drove his face into the muck and started eating it as quickly as he could. Dale stopped the flow once the trough was full, and then walked up and got down beside his brother, running his chubby hands over his naked back, down to his ass, slipping a couple greasy fingers inside him as he talked to him, influencing his mind.

“Yeah, that’s it Piggy–ya go tah town on that shit. That’s yer new name, by the way–the only thing ya’ll let people call ya from now on. Piggy–just hearin’ a guy say it, inside, yer gonna hate it, it’s gonna fill ya wit’ so much shame, but outside, you’ll grin, and that piggy cock a yers is gonna get a flutter. Ya’ll look like a piggy soon enough to, since we’re gonna make ya eat all the time, I think. Yeah, I can do that to ya–ya can feel that hunger now, can’t ya? The pleasure yer gettin’, fillin’ that gut a yers. Damn Piggy, got her cock hard ‘n everythin’ already, ‘n all ya’ve done i stuff that fat fuckin’ face a yers like a damn animal. Fuck, feel how full this gut a yers is? Damn piggy, yer gonna–”

He was interrupted by the barn door opening, and Dale looked behind them to where the farmer had just opened the door, shotgun in hand, staring, unbelieving, at the scene in front of him. Dale took control of him easily, and the older man set the shotgun down against the wall. From the look of him, he’d been in the mud with the pigs, the man’s rubber waders coated with muck. He wasn’t the cleanest fellow either, which was fine with him–and he had a feeling Bishop would enjoy him as well. But what does he do?

Alright, time for you to choose! Here’s a range of options, from a couple more normal ones to some…more extreme options. Again, they can be mixed and matched a bit, if two are more popular than the rest.

Dale convinces him to hire Bishop, and degrades Bishop’s mind and memories to match his new position in life.
He makes the farmer an aggressive leather master, and Bishop is his new pigslave in training.
Two pigs are better than one–he has the farmer join in with Bishop, and Dale enjoys them both.
Dale convinces him that Bishop is actually one of his sows in heat, and together they get a boar to mount him.
As an apology for trespassing, he offers Bishop’s services as a toilet and cumdump for the filthy farmer.

So, what would you all like to see happen next?

Job Revenge (Sketch)

This shit shouldn’t be legal in the goddamn 21st century, Jordan thought to himself, unable to believe he could be so stupid. Sure, some of the country thought it was a good idea to make sure people couldn’t be fired for being gay, but not here in the fucking Carolinas. Nope, here it was perfectly legal, and after his boss, Rodney, had overheard him the other day telling one of his coworkers, who wasn’t a social troglodyte, that he had a date with a hot guy that evening, he’d had a fucking grin on his face he hadn’t wiped off for a few days. It was no secret that Rodney hated Jordan–in part because everyone knew Jordan could do Rodney’s job better than him, but mostly because he was a little femme, and had always suspected Jordan might be “one of those disgusting faggots,” as he called them. And so, at the end of the day, Rodney had confronted him, and told him that Jordan had two weeks to wrap up his projects and get out.

That was yesterday, and news that he was being fired, and why he was being fired, had spread through the office like wildfire. Still, Jordan wasn’t about to give up without a fight, because what Rodney didn’t know, was that Jordan was descended from a line of witches. He’d never really dabbled much in it, not after seeing some of the crazy shit that had happened to his mother when he was younger, but for this…well, he needed this damn job! The job market wasn’t exactly getting better, after all, and he’d been hoping he could at least crawl his way up to management here before looking for better work with a bit of experience. So, he pulled out his grandmother’s grimoire, and started studying.

It wasn’t easy–it took him a week just to find a spell he thought would do the trick, gather all the ingredients for the curse, and then to make it. The whole time, Rodney had been insufferable. Gloating at every chance, calling him names, turning his coworkers against him–so yeah, he was angry. When he finally wrangled the spell together into a potion Rodney would need to drink, he finally had something to channel his anger into…and the potion didn’t turn out quite right. It was supposed to be a clear blue, but his was kind of a muddy purple. Still, he didn’t have time to do it over, right? If it didn’t work, then it didn’t work, but he had to at least try.

The easiest part was getting Rodney to drink it. He always brought lunch and kept it in the fridge, along with a thermos of coffee which he always forgot around the office all day long. He’d waste hours hunting it down when he was supposed to be doing something more pressing. Jordan waited for it to be abandoned, added the potion, and then had someone return it to him–so he wouldn’t suspect Jordan had done anything to it…but he kind of had. How could he resist, really? He’d slipped into the bathroom, and jacked off into the thermos as well. All it took was a sip, after all–so even if he could taste it, he’d have a bit more revenge.

The spell was supposed to have a suggestive effect on someone, where they would find themselves unable to resist the orders of the witch for a time after drinking the spell. How long of a time was unclear–apparently in varied based on the caster’s skill (minimal) and the subject’s willpower (also minimal, since Rodney could barely grasp the concept of a spreadsheet.) All he’d need was a few hours to…change Rodney’s mind about Jordan’s worth, and everything would be just fine.

He waited half an hour, and then decided to go check on Rodney–when he got to his office, he even saw him take a swig from the thermos, grimace, and then set it back down–perfect. That, supposedly, was all it should take! So he went ahead and stepped inside and shut the door behind him–but Rodney just glared at him. “Faggot, get the fuck out of here, unless you want to be packing up your shit today.”

“No Rodney, I think the two of us need to have a little chat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To talk to me?”

He saw Rodney start to retort, but an odd purple wave washed through his eyes, he shook his head, and said, “Uh…I mean, what…would you like to talk about?”

Jordan had planned this–planned what he was going to say, but he felt…something odd inside him. He felt so…angry all of a sudden. Angry and…horny as hell. This…wasn’t right, was it? The spell wasn’t supposed to affect him. But this…rush! “I think you…should apologize to me. For all the shit you’ve called me.”

The same wave of purple, the same wave through him of anger and horniness. “I’m…sorry,” Rodney said, gritting his teeth, trying to fight it.

“Sorry for what?”

“For…calling you a fag, and…queer and shit.” Rodney said, but something seemed strange about him. He looked…happy, like he’d just had a burst of pleasure. “What the hell is wrong with me?” He said, a bit quiet, “I…why did that feel so good?”

“Maybe because you like submitting to me. I think you do, Rodney, I think the idea of doing whatever I say turns you on.” The words were just tumbling out now, unbidden. Sure, he’d always kind of…fantasized about this, but what in the world was he doing?

“Oh fuck, it…kind of does, doesn’t it?”

“Get over here, and lick my shoes clean.”

He didn’t expect him to do it, but Rodney got up, a throbbing erection obvious in the front of his pants, and he walked over, got down, and started licking, and Jordan felt an uncharacteristic sneer turn up the corner of his mouth. He could have some fun with this, actually, and Rodney would as well, at least if he told him so.

I’m still taking votes for Part 5 of Dale’s Story. Help me decide what to do to his asshole brother!

FatOldHog: There, I fucking did it, are you happy?

DaddyLoveXXX: You’re not done yet Hog, you still have to eat it. That was the deal, remember?

DaddyLoveXXX: Yeah, that’s a good hog, slurp all that old cum of yours down. Go on Hog, tell me how it tasted–did you enjoy eating your own seed?

FatOldHog:

It was fucking disgusting.

DaddyLoveXXX: Oh really? I thought an old pig like you would enjoy a treat like that.”

FatOldHog:

Look, I did everything you said I had to do, alright? Please just change me back.

DaddyLoveXXX: No, if you remember, I told you I’d be willing to change you back after we’d both had our fun, isn’t that right? Well I still haven’t gotten off, you old hog, so if you really want me to change you back, you’re going to have to help me out.

FatOldHog:

No, this is fucking over!

DaddyLoveXXX: Now now, be careful! You wouldn’t want me changing that username of yours again, would you? Now play with those fat grandpa titties for me, show me how much you like showing yourself off.

DaddyLoveXXX: Come on now, that isn’t very sexy at all! Hold on…

DaddyLoveXXX:

Yeah, now you’re getting into the spirit Hog! Looking sexy, getting my cock hard. Why don’t you go find one of those toys you have, and then come back and we’ll play someone.

OldHogPervert: Toys? What…

OldHogPervert:

No–fuck you, no, I’m not putting anything in my ass!

DaddyLoveXXX:

Oh really?

DaddyLoveXXX:

I thought disgusting perverts like you put things in your ass all the time, though. In fact, I bet there’s something in that old hole of yours right now.

Plug_My_PiggyHole: Oh fuck, why does that feel so good?

DaddyLoveXXX: Because you’re a slutty daddy piggy, that’s why! Fuck, look at you go, ramming that thing in deep–it looks big enough to be a fist! I bet you’d rather have my cock in your ass though, isn’t that right?

DaddyLoveXXX:

Don’t just give me that little half nod–type it out. I want to see it.

Plug_My_PiggyHole:

I wish you were fucking my old piggy hole.

Plug_My_PiggyHole:

God, why did I just call it that?

DaddyLoveXXX:

Because that’s what it is!

DaddyLoveXXX:

Daddy, keep a hold of yourself–don’t you go making another mess now!

DaddyLoveXXX:

Fuck Hog, we’re going to have to keep you better under control, so you don’t keep cumming like that.

Locked_PiggyHole: What the fuck is this fucking thing? How do you get it off?

DaddyLoveXXX:

It doesn’t fucking come off daddy–you’re going to be wearing that new cage for a long, long time–fuck, here it comes!

DaddyLoveXXX:

Damn hog, that was a fun session. Glad you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.

Locked_PiggyHole:

Please, just change me back now…

DaddyLoveXXX:

Oh alright.

LinebackerPiggy: Wait–I’m young again, but I’m still fat! And my cock’s still in this damn cage! Change me all the way back!

DaddyLoveXXX:

No way! I don’t think your coach would be very happy with me for messing with his piggy linebacker slave, do you?

LinebackerPiggy:

No, you can’t do this to me, please!

DaddyLoveXXX has signed off.>

LinebackerPiggy:

Fucking get back on here!