The Doppelganger Conspiracy

This is my contribution to the Secret Santa Story Exchange over on Gay Spiral Stories this month! The two tags I received were…not my usual sort of thing, “teachers” and “robots”, but I’m honestly pretty pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy it!

“Coach, can I…talk to you about something?” Evan said as he stepped into Coach Harrison’s office. Football practice had ended half an hour ago, and Evan had dragged his feet getting undressed and showering while the rest of the team had left already, leaving him and the coach alone for the moment. 

“Sure Evan, what’s up?” Harrison said, looking up from his computer. The coach was in his mid forties, and kept himself in good athletic shape. He was well liked by the whole team, and in Evan’s opinion, was a good listener. Now, Evan just had to hope that the coach wouldn’t think he’s crazy.

Evan hesitated a moment, looking down at his sneakers, then up again. “Have you noticed something…off, about Rick and Phillip? Joshua too?”

Harrison cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t think so, you’re all playing great out on the field,” Harrison said, “I think we have a real shot at going to state this year, honestly.”

It was true. When the team had started practicing in late summer, they’d been good. Good, not great. But after about a month, some of the players had improved remarkably–specifically Rick, Phillip and Joshua, who were all seniors like Evan. They were almost too good to be high school players, but none of them would admit something had changed. “I just, something’s off about…how good they’ve gotten.”

Harrison sighed, “Look, Evan, if you’re worried that they’re upstaging you, don’t stress about it! You’re just as crucial to this team’s success as they are.”

“It’s not–I’m not jealous! It’s more than just…how good they got all of a sudden. Have…you met the new computer science teacher? Mr. Klein?” 

“Sure, what about him?”

“Does he seem normal to you?”

“Evan, what is this about exactly?”

This was the moment. How could Evan put to words the unease that had been building up in his gut over the last few months about his three friends? All of them all enrolled in Mr. Klein’s intro course to get an easy good grade in their senior year and immediately complained about how creepy the fellow was. How he was always sneaking looks at them, ogling them in class, making these lewd comments. Then, one by one, they’d gotten sick, were gone from school for three or four days, and when they came back, they were fine. Except none of them could recall complaining about Mr. Klein before. All of them were remarkably better at football, enough that their midtier school was expected to dominate the state championship. Little things, their eyes, their smell, their mannerisms, the way they only hung out with each other now, and no one else. It wasn’t right, something must have happened to them, but what? “I just, I think they’re…different, all of a sudden. I don’t know how I know, just…and I think Mr. Klein has something to do with it. Have any of them talked to you about anything? They don’t…talk to me really at all anymore, and they won’t even say why.”

Harrison leaned back in his chair, wearing the scowl he always had on when he was thinking deep about something. “Have…you told anyone else about this?”

A bit of hope flared in Evan’s chest. He believed him! “No, I haven’t, I…didn’t know who I could trust, and you know them, so I thought if anyone would have noticed something like me, it would be you. There is something off, isn’t there? What’s going on? It’s like they’ve all been replaced by clones, or robots!”

“I…have some suspicions. I’ve been taking some notes. Tell me what you think of these?” the coach said, and opened up a word document on the screen. Evan went over to look, only to find himself looking at a blank page. Before he could ask his coach what he meant, the older man leapt up from this chair, wrapped an arm around Evan’s neck, and had him in a choke hold from behind. Evan tried to fight him off, but all he succeeded in doing was kicking over the coach’s chair, his vision tunnelling and going black. He came to after a few moments, lying on the floor, and saw coach Harrison looming over him, drawing something from a vial into a syringe. Evan struggled weakly, but the coach plunged the needle into his neck, and after a few moments, darkness overwhelmed Evan again–a deep well of darkness, complete and total.



Evan woke up. It wasn’t quite like waking up, but that was what his head told him it was, and he had no way to contest it, so that’s what he called it. Waking up. But it wasn’t the gradual move from unconsciousness to awareness, it was like a switch. Everything wasn’t, then everything just was. He was awake, lying on a mattress naked, and there was Coach Harrison at the foot of the bed, staring at him, completely naked. “C-Coach? What’s going on? Where am I?” Evan said, trying to remember what had happened, but he couldn’t seem to recall anything from beyond the end of practice. He’d talked to him about something, hadn’t he? But what?

“Fuck, he said you’d smell better than the other models, let’s see, eh?” Harrison said, and the burly, hairy man climbed onto the bed with Evan. He tried to move, tried to do anything, but his limbs refused to respond. They felt heavy, like bricks attached to him, not like flesh. In fact, his whole body felt off, cold and hard and immobile, but that didn’t make any sense, none of this made any sense at all. Coach Harrison pushed up one of his arms, shoved his nose into Evan’s pit, took a long sniff, and then released the breath with a shuddering sigh. “Fuck, fuck! You’re fucking perfect, fucking…” he snorted up more of Evan’s smell, and he could smell it too now. It didn’t smell like his body usually did. It was deeper, earthier, thicker somehow. It didn’t smell entirely human. “Fuck boy, you’re gonna get coach so fucking hard, I hope you’re fucking ready,” Harrison said, pulling away from Evan’s pit and leering down at him.

“Coach, what’s going on? I don’t understand what’s wrong, why can’t I move.”

“Shut up, you stupid hunk of junk. Enter bottom mode, plus nullification.”

Something inside Evan’s body, something unfamiliar, whirled to life in his guts, or what should have been his guts. He could feel it churning though, like gears, like screws. It made him nauseous at first, and he kept expecting there to be pain, but there was only discomfort. Looking down, he saw something happening to his cock, the flesh separating into panels with metal visible inside. It telescoped, and proceeded to retract down into his groin until it was flush with his crotch, and then the flesh smoothed back over, leaving him with just a hairy patch, his nuts sucked back up inside his body as well. Coach reached down and grabbed hold of the blank patch–Evan felt nothing, not a mote of pleasure from the touch. Harrison gripped him tighter, making Evan wince–there was the pain, a familiar sense of pain, but somehow not entirely familiar to him, like it was tracing new paths through his body to his mind to be understood. The coach’s hand slid lower, between his thighs, parting them, to his hole. One finger grazed Evan’s ass, and he let loose a moan of surprise. His body–he could move now, but he didn’t seem to have full control. His asshole twitched, his legs spread wider, and he could feel, and hear, something wet down there as the coach slid a finger into Evan’s ass. “Coach, please…don’t…” he muttered, but he couldn’t get anything else intelligible out through the moans.

“Shut up. Good to know the lube pump is working up in there, good and slick already,” Harrison said, and forcefully rolled Evan over. “Get into position B.”

Evan didn’t know what that meant, but his body knew, somehow. His limbs moved him onto hands and knees, ass high, back arched, hole flexing. The sensation of gears and hydraulics inside his limbs made the nausea return, but there was no sense of organs inside him. What on earth was wrong with him? What was he? Harrison’s cock slid up and down his ass crack, and each time it caught on his hole, Evan shuddered and gasped, until the coach finally slid inside him. His ass gave no resistance at all, and there was no pain, only a deep pleasure, a satisfaction at being used and penetrated that sprang right to the forefront of his mind, told him how much he liked being fucked, how much he wanted to coach to use him. Harrison pulled him tight, and shoved his nose into one of Evan’s pits from behind. He could feel his coach’s cock throb and harden further. 

“Make that ass pulse for me, milk my cum out.”

Evan’s hole started throbbing and sucking at the coach’s cock. He couldn’t control it, he couldn’t even understand how he was doing it, the mechanics completely alien to him. His body, what was wrong with his body? He tried to sob, tried to scream, tried to crawl away, tried to beg, but all he could do was moan as his coach slid in and out of his pulsating asshole.

One side of the room was mirrored. Behind that mirror, looking on, was Evan. In horror, he watched as his coach fucked the android copy of himself that Mr. Klein had made of him over the last few days while he was unconscious, the android that had all of Evan’s memories and personality copied into it, the android that had no clear idea that it was in fact just a machine. A machine that Mr. Klein had crafted to pleasure other himself and his accomplices, like Coach Harrison. 

Of course, Harrison hadn’t been thrilled at the idea when Klein had mentioned it to him, but after a few brainwashing sessions, as after getting him addicted to the unique pheromone he could only get from the androids’ pits–from Rick, Phillip, Joshua, and now Evan–he’d been more than happy to help Mr. Klein execute his master plan. Knowing that the androids were sure to help the school’s team win the state championship didn’t hurt either. 

The real Evan, the Evan made of meat, he struggled in the bondage chair Mr. Klein had him strapped into, but it was no use. All he could do was look away as the coach roared and came deep in his doppelganger’s hole, only to lean in, snort up more of that artificial musk, and feel his still leaking cock return to full hardness in a matter of moments.

“It’s quite the powerful aphrodisiac,” Mr. Klein said, from where he was standing beside Evan, “I’ve seen him get eight or nine orgasms in during a single session. His nuts run dry around the sixth ejaculation, but your coach is a persistent fellow. He knows what he wants.”

“Is this what you fucking did to my friends, you fucking freak?” Evan said, “You fuck–god damn it, let me fucking go! You think no one will notice?”

“No one will notice. Even if they do, trust me, I’ll make sure they become just as committed to helping me with my plans as Coach Harrison there is,” Mr. Klein said, “This is just a beta test, after all. It won’t be long before I can replace important people. Business leaders. Congressman. Before long, I’ll have everything I ever wanted. No one will care about some high school that went to state this year–you won’t matter at all. You’re just my seed funding.”

“What?” Evan asked.

“You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to let you keep your mind, do you?” Mr. Klein said with a chuckle. “I have your memories and personality backed up, just in case the bot in there gets corrupted somehow. I don’t need you anymore, for anything. Of course, a body like yours,” the teacher said, running his hands over Evan’s toned body, down to his youthful cock and down his thighs, “Bodies like this are worth quite a lot. Some people still value flesh over artifice, for now at least. And since I can give you whatever mind I want…well, let’s just say you’re going to be a high value commodity, once I customize you. Of course, I wasn’t planning on converting another so soon–I don’t have a buyer for you yet. That doesn’t mean we can’t return you to factory settings, of course.”

Evan struggled as Mr. Klein lowered the helmet down onto his head, the same helmet that had copied and digitized his entire mind over the last few days. Erasing a mind, though, was much easier, and would be complete in a matter of hours. All that would remain of Evan, the original Evan at least, was a new basic protocol of a cock hungry slave, eager to obey and service any man–the perfect foundation for whatever his new owner would desire him to be. Evan begged  and pleaded for mercy, as they always did, then there was a bright flash inside the helmet, and the young man slumped over in the chair where he was strapped, his mind being wiped clean of anything troublesome. 

Mr. Klein walked over, put a hand under his limp chin, lifted him up and used his thumb to wipe a little drool from the corner of his new slave’s mouth. He looked over at the coach, about to unload into the android for the second time. He really should wait for the processing to complete before using his new toy, but watching the coach rough up at slutty robot, and listening to Evan’s pleading had gotten him plenty horny. He dropped his pants, pushed his cock into Evan’s slack mouth, and fucked his face roughly, feeling the mouth start to suck on him instinctually.

Maybe this one, Mr. Klein would keep for himself, as a personal pet. It had been a long time since he’d had one for himself. He’d gathered plenty of seed money at this point, and he had to admit, Evan was handsome. He could picture the young man now, shaved completely, crawling around on all fours, cock forgotten and locked away within a steel chastity cage, perhaps his nuts removed entirely. There were a few more extreme programs that Mr. Klein had been working on that he needed a guinea pig for–he could envision making Evan a complete masochist, only able to receive pleasure from painful stimuli. Making him beg his new master to tattoo him all over his body, pierce him, destroy him–and when he’d been all used up, he could always sell him off cheap to some biker gang that needed a gimp and fuckdoll to abuse.

Mr. Klein was so excited by the thought that he drove his cock in deep to the young throat and exploded, feeding his new slave the first load of many more to come. He pulled free, and smiled. For Mr. Klein, it seemed that Christmas had come a few months early.

Stud Service

WARNING: This one has some weird stuff in it. Furry, anthro, feral, bestiality, cock swapping, nullification. Consider yourself warned.

Jason found the entire story hard to believe, but desperation could be a potent reason to keep your ass planted in a chair, sipping tea while he listened to the strangest thing he’d ever heard. The farmer across from him was offering Jason a job, though it was unlike any job Jason had heard of before, and one that all of Jason’s better judgement urged him to call bullshit on and get the hell out. But what else did he have? Just desperation–and he could tell the farmer was desperate too. That was the main reason Jason was starting to believe him.

It was March. Jason had gotten out of prison a few years prior, his parole had ended, and he was left with nothing much to show for it. He scraped by with little jobs here and there–bouncing at strip clubs, seasonal work with farms around the countryside, the occasional drug running or dealing, but he didn’t want to fall back into that permanently. It had been looking like he didn’t have much of a choice, though, because once you’d been in prison, it was like the entire world was conspiring to put you back in there as soon as it could. So when he’d struck up a conversation at the bar this evening with Rick, the man who owned this farm, and he’d offered to talk to him about a possible job…Jason hadn’t really been in a position to turn him down.

But then Rick had started explaining what, exactly, he had in mind. See, Rick’s farm was in trouble. He had a variety of livestock–horses, cows, pigs, goats and chickens mostly–that he raised and that brought in a decent income, but after a string of bad luck–or sabotage–all of his studs had died, and the fees to bring in new ones were exorbitant. Well, Rick had a few tricks up his sleeve. Apparently, it had been cheaper to go out into the woods and make a deal with a witch there–though from the sound of it she wasn’t interested in currency–and in exchange, she had given him this set of enchanted rings.

This had been the most unbelievable part, but when Jason had challenged him on it, Rick had taken him out to the shed and shown him his new set of tools, for lack of a better word, and Jason hadn’t had much choice but to accept he was telling the truth. There, hanging on the wall, were four sets of genitals–a stallion, a bull, a goat, and a pig–all of them procured from various rival farms around the state. Jason had touched a couple, and they were warm, and alive. Now, apparently, what Rick needed was a host–and that was where Jason came in. 

Rick couldn’t do it himself–there were risks involved, apparently. But if Jason would agree to be his stud for the year, then he’d walk away with thirty percent of Rick’s income for the year–and have his room and board covered, of course. According to Rick, that would be close to 50,000 dollars if things went as well as he hoped they would. It was more money than Jason had seen in his entire life, and the idea that he could get a little breathing room was amazing–but that wasn’t quite the reason he said yes, in the end.

Jason hadn’t just gone home with the farmer because of the job offer. The bar they’d met at hadn’t been just a seedy trucker bar off the interstate. Whatever Rick had used to brew the tea hadn’t hurt either. Rick wasn’t the handsomest fellow–a bit on the short side, chubby, smoking his pungent pipe the entire time they’d been talking–but something about the way he touched Jason’s hand, pulling off his shirt, the feel of their tongues together–it was comfort that drew him in at last. Jason hadn’t been with a man since prison. He hadn’t been with a man like this since his last visit with his uncle, when he was eighteen. Something had a hold of him, and that night, in the farmer’s bed, smelling the mix of their sex with the grass and manure flowing in from the open window, Jason threw caution to the wind. It was crazy. But what was really wrong with crazy, at the end of the day? 50,000 dollars was too good to pass on, no matter what he had to do to get it. If all he had to do was…fuck some animals? Hell, it was better than running drugs and getting shot at, that was for sure. That, and Rick could be worth it too, maybe. Maybe there’d be a place for Jason here too, at the end of things.

So the plan, as Rick laid it out, was this. Mares first, in the first few weeks of April. Then, the cattle. Assuming everyone took, that would mean calves and foals in early Spring. After that, a few weeks as a goat to set up the Spring lambs, and then some time as a pig to get the sows pregnant in time for the state fair in the fall. Once the sows had given birth, Jason would knock them up again, and they’d have another round of piglets in the early Spring. For those winter months, Jason would just be himself, let the side effects wear off (Rick had not yet been clear on what the side effects were, exactly, but he assured Jason that they were temporary. If not, then the witch had promised she would help him deal with anything that lingered) and then, Jason would help him birth the mares and foals in the Spring, and get his portion of the profits.

There was just one catch–naturally–the witch’s payment. Rick would have fulfilled it himself, but he was infertile. Jason would have to be the one to give her what she wanted–a child, and while pussy wasn’t quite his thing, he’d managed before. If all he had to do was fuck some weird woman, then he could manage. Jason didn’t recall much of the encounter–they went into the woods, and things grew…strange. Impossible. There was a woman. Jason had…trouble, given the fact that he wasn’t quite sure she was entirely a woman, or entirely human, but with a little coaxing, or a little spell, he got hard enough to perform. Satisfied, she sent them on their way again, leaving Jason feeling rather…uneasy about the entire experience–but after a cup of tea and a trip to bed with Rick at the farm, it just felt like a dream, and he could set it behind him.

The first few weeks were spent working with Rick on general maintenance. The older fellow had been living out here on his own, running the moderately sized farm himself for so long, that quite a few areas had fallen into disrepair. It was satisfying work, and Jason enjoyed the chance to get closer to Rick. It wasn’t quite love brewing between them, or at least, Jason did his best to keep it from that. Love was dangerous. It compromised you. He’d allowed men to compromise him before, and it had never ended well. This was business, Jason told himself. Best to keep it that way. He did keep a little coal of hope fired though, in his chest. A little hope had never hurt anyone.

Then, it came time for the real work to begin. Jason didn’t really know what to expect. Rick handed him the cock ring he’d have to put on first–it looked more like two rings, really, but the two were so tightly sealed together he couldn’t pry them apart, no matter how hard he tried. The rings were metal, but they could stretch–or rather, they would expand, and then, once they were around the base of his cock, they constricted again. Not too tight, but a bit tighter than any cock ring he’d worn before. Rick muttered a few words, and then he gave a little tug on Jason’s cock, and the rings separated–Jason’s cock and balls coming off, and leaving just one ring stuck to his groin…somehow. He couldn’t feel Rick’s hand on his cock and balls as he set them down on the table, took the massive horse cock off the wall, and pressed the base of it to the ring still on Jason’s body. There was a slight pinch, and then he could feel it–all of it, the heft of the massive shaft and balls hanging off his body. Then, Rick gripped the double ring, stretched it out, and pulled it off of Jason’s body–leaving him with a massive horse cock where his human one had been moments before. After that, well, it wasn’t quite clear what happened to him, exactly.

It was the same sensation he’d felt when they’d gone into the witch’s woods together a few weeks before. The sense of the impossible all around him–expect now, it was inside him as well. Not…chaos exactly, it was more ordered than that. Nature was being undone, something beyond it was taking hold, and it made Jason feel nauseous as his body tried to fight it off, and failed.

He fell to his hands and knees, retching, but nothing would come up. His entire body was shuddering and shaking, muscles flexing, bones creaking. It grew more and more painful over the next several minutes, Jason caught in a delirium, until at last, some new equilibrium was established, and he found himself…remade. He was not a horse, and he was not a human. His cock, which had hung loose before, had grown a sheath that ran up the length of his abdomen, covered in sandy hair. His arms and legs were still covered in human skin, but had the proportions of those of a horse–his hands gone, and replaced with hooves–though his fingers could still be made out, even as they were sealed together. His face was human but stretched long, with a mouth full of horse teeth, his human hair running down his back and becoming a mane, with a short tail hanging off his new rump. He was horrified, tried to beg Rick to change him back, but the words that came out of his shifted mouth were garbled and unintelligible. Rick whispered a few sweet nothings, and helped him sip some of his tea.

All Jason felt, after drinking it, was horny.

Rick led him to the field where the mares were waiting, and all it took was a whiff of their sex before Jason mounted one and began fucking her while the farmer watched, pleased. As soon as he finished, he climbed off of her, and before he could try and regain control of himself, he smelled another mare, and mounted her as well. He managed three before he was too exhausted to continue, but by then…something had happened to him. Thinking was difficult–more difficult than it should be. The farmer led him into the stable, gave him some hay, which he happily ate, though the small bit of his humanity recoiled at the idea, the farmer telling him that everything was happening just like it should be, that after a couple of weeks, when he was sure all of the mares had taken, then he would change him back. Jason wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that anymore, his mind dulling more and more, until it couldn’t be quite sure of anything. What didn’t fade, was that sense of wrongness. The unnatural which had taken root in his body. It made him anxious, and only the tea Rick brough him would help settle him down.

The days after that, the horny tea wasn’t required–Jason happily followed the mares out into the fields, fucked a few more each day, and returned to the stable without a second thought. The farmer would hang out with him and talk to him, but to Jason, the words were mostly gibberish at this point. Finally, though, the day came to change him back. The farmer placed the rings around his cock and balls, removed his stallion cock, and put his human one back on–and then took the rings off.

Everything twisted again, but for Jason, it was not a sense of undoing. Rather, everything seemed to turn upside down yet again, but the result was somehow even more disconcerting. After a few minutes, he was lying on the dirty straw, panting and gasping, Rick holding him close, whispering words in his ear that Jason couldn’t comprehend, while he tried to recall what it was like having two feet, and two hands. Things came back to him, slowly. He could walk upright again the next day, and understand most of what Rick was saying to him, but it was difficult processing it, and his own speech was slow and slurred. He felt stupid in a way that he couldn’t explain, and none of this was helped by what he saw when he looked at himself in the mirror in the morning.

He wasn’t fully human again. He was mostly human, sure, enough to fool someone not looking too close. His hair had returned, but still ran a good way down the back of his neck and upper back. He was more muscular than he’d been before, but the muscles bulged rather oddly–his shoulders and thighs more developed than anything else, and his forearms were too slender. His hands were clumsy, his fingers shorter and capped with thick, black nails. His face was at least normal, mostly, but his front teeth were a bit too large. Rick helped keep him calm, along with his tea, and told Jason that all of this was to be expected, and also wasn’t permanent. His body would slowly return to normal, though the process could take a couple of months–it was why he’d planned on having Jason fully human for most of the winter, so he’d have a chance to sort himself out again. Jason was not happy to be told this when it was too late to do anything about it, but he knew he was, essentially, stuck now. He couldn’t very well leave–not looking like this. Rick offered him a raise–forty percent now–and Jason agreed, though he wasn’t happy about being lied to.

Rick did ask him, after a few days, what it had been like, and Jason did his best to recount what he could remember–but what he did remember was rather distant. Rick seemed especially interested in whether Jason could remember what Rick had said to him, and Jason couldn’t–he didn’t understand speech much at all. It was like his brain had shut off, running almost entirely on the instinct running from his cock. At the end of the week, when Rick told him it was time to work on the cattle, he was almost relieved–being some strange human bull would in some ways be easier than this…mostly human bullshit.

Once his cocks had been switched out, he found himself on all fours again, hands and feet replaced by hooves. His face was contorted with a bullish snout, though the top and sides of his head remained entirely human. His torso thickened and bulked out with more muscle, even more than when he’d been a stallion, and his thick bull cock was even more insatiable than his horse cock had been before. He spent all day in the meadows with the cows, mounting and breeding them, his mind lost in a dullness deeper than before. Rick visited him often, but a few days into his stud service, Jason noticed something…different about him. Different about the way he smelled. It was still human, but familiar in some…other way. Something in the water made him…sleepy, and he only dimly realized what was happening halfway through it, as Rick pushed Jason’s tail to the side and fucked his ass right there in the stall.

In their human bodies, Jason had, thus far, been the top. Rick was a bit older, and was not endowed with anything sizable or in reliable working order. It had been easier, really, for Jason to take the lead–and he’d rather enjoyed showing the shorter, fatter farmer just what kind of a stud he could be. But after that first fuck, Rick would fuck him every day, sometimes twice, his words unintelligible, but the underlying tone was…forceful. After the first week, Jason was surprised by Rick grabbing him by the snout, and putting a thick ring through his nose, the farmer sneering at him while he snorted and grunted in pain, and then he fucked him–harder and rougher than he had at any point before…but whatever was in the water, Jason found himself enjoying it more and more, submitting to this…man, even as he dominated the cows in the field during the day.

He remained a bull longer than he’d been a horse by about a week and a half, mostly because there were more cows on the farm to service. The day came, at last, for the bull cock to come off, and was replaced by Jason’s cock again, but like before, his form was not…entirely human. In fact, the lasting effects from his time as a stallion were still there as well–such as the mane, and the teeth–and some were enhanced by his time as a bull as well. He was larger, for one thing–close to six and a half feet tall, with more muscle everywhere. He had a difficult time standing fully upright, and his hips ached no matter what he did, his hands mostly useless now, with the fingers fused at the nails in several places. The mental fog was stronger this time as well, and while he couldn’t be…certain, Rick seemed a bit different as well. He looked a bit younger, and somewhat slimmer. The more dominant attitude he’d developed while Rick was a bull remained, and even though his cock wasn’t large, he still managed to fuck Jason regularly, and also started making odd demands, having him service him, dragging him around by the ring still cemented in his nose. Jason found himself…enjoying it. Being treated like an animal, like a slave. Crawling around was one of the few ways his warped body didn’t ache at the end of the day, and with Jason’s encouragement, that was how he moved through the house, at least until it was time for the goats.

This time, Jason ended up growing smaller, but it felt good having hooves again, being back on all fours, breeding the does in the fields. He was also rather proud of his new horns–rather fine ones that Rick liked to admire when they were back in the barn after a day’s work, when Rick would fuck his ass until Jason was screaming in a voice somewhere between a human and a goat. Again, Jason noticed that after a day, Rick changed–it was that same smell. He was bigger too, more muscular, and his cock was larger. Jason didn’t complain of course, and his animalistic mind didn’t really understand any of it clearly. He just wanted to fuck, or be fucked, all the time–sex was the single most important thing, driving everything else out of his mind until his humanity was just a distant memory. But there were only a few does on the farm, and after about a week, Rick returned him to his human form–but this time, it was…different.

The cock he found the next morning, after he’d regained some of his capacity to think, wasn’t the one he could remember having, vaguely, from before his time as a goat. It was smaller–much smaller, just three inches or so when hard. The hair around it was greying as well, and when Jason looked at himself in the mirror, he knew that something was very wrong–he was too short, too fat. He looked older, somehow, in ways that he couldn’t explain, but there was so much off about his body that it difficult to tell what was really different. Was the white haired goatee around his mouth from his time as a goat, or was it because he suddenly seemed twenty years older? There were his new horns to contend with, not particularly large, but they were obvious. His eyes hadn’t returned to their human color, and were still the yellow and black of a goat. His body was still bulky with muscle, but his frame had shrunk–whether because his last form, as a goat, was shorter, or because of his different genitals, he couldn’t tell. But Rick was different too–taller, broader of shoulder, most muscular. The grey in his hair was gone, and replaced not with the brown Jason swore he could recall him having, but instead a stark black. He tried to ask what was going on, but his voice hadn’t returned. The best he could do was bleat and shout, still like a goat, and Rick told him that was alright. He didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to think. He was just a stupid, horny animal after all, craving Rick’s big cock. A cock he…recognized, didn’t he? But why wouldn’t he? It was the same cock Rick had been fucking him with all Spring long, right? He’d try and puzzle it out more, but get lost along the way. Being human was hard, he decided. It was what he was supposed to be, of course, but he found himself anxiously anticipating his next round of stud work.

In the meantime, Rick’s rule grew stricter. He told him that an animal like him didn’t deserve to sleep in a proper bed, but should stay out in the barn where he really belonged–Rick kept him tied up by the ring still in his nose, all day long, visiting him a few times a day to fuck him, and talk to him, and taunt him with his big cock. The more distance he got from his time as a goat, the more his mind cleared–and he almost realized it, eventually. That the cock he had now wasn’t the one he’d had before, that Rick had…switched something on him, but as soon as Rick realized he was getting close to asking the right questions, it was time to breed some sows–and he gave Jason a new cock to keep him occupied for a few weeks.

His time as a pig was a frantic blur. There was a new hunger now, gnawing away at his mind. He needed to eat all the time, and Rick was more than happy to make sure his prize pig’s trough stayed full all day and night. The breeding of the sows felt more and more perfunctory to Jason as the days dragged on–all he could think about what Rick’s cock sliding into his piggy hole in the barn, fucking him while he squealed and grunted, or better yet, getting fucked while he was feasting on as much slop as he could shove down his gullet–but there was one thing that Rick didn’t quite count on–that pigs were much smarter than hoses, or bulls, or goats.

Confident that his hold over Jason was firm, Rick had grown lax in making sure the pigman in the barn was being fed his usual doses of the various teas he had procured from the witch over the last few months. The lustful tea, the subservient tea, the calming tea–together, they had all combined to mold Jason into a moaning animal, lusting after Rick’s cock–his perfect cock, now that he’d gone and stolen Jason’s member and cast aside his own. He hadn’t felt this strong in ages, and the longer he kept it on, the more he could see himself becoming Jason entirely–and he coveted it more than anything else in his life.

This hadn’t always been the plan–but ever since that first time he’d tried on Jason’s cock out of drunk curiosity, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else–and the witch had been plenty eager to use his new member as well, milking him of cum for her own twisted purposes, deep in the woods. Jason on the other hand, knew too much. He would have have a good life here, though, as an animal, a freakish sex animal for Rick’s private pleasure, too stupid to even realize that he’d lost all of his humanity in the process. But the usual mental stupor that usually came over Jason when he transformed didn’t come this time. And when the tea slowly flushed from his system, Jason found himself realizing, slowly, that Rick’s body was not the body he had had before–he was looking up at himself. 

Rick would taunt him, and while Jason couldn’t understand all of the words he was saying, he understood well enough, what was going to happen to him if he didn’t do something–he would never be getting his portion of the profits. He would never even get off this farm. Before too long, he’d be rendered too dumb to want anything more than his Master’s cock in his ass–and the worst part was that part of him, a part of him brainwashed too far to do anything about, wanted it too. He had to escape–he had to get help. But the only place he could go, the only person who could, perhaps, help him, was the witch.

And so, in the dead of night, when he was certain that Rick was asleep, he managed to get himself out of the pen where he was being kept–his awkward half-human form being useful for a few things at least–make his way out of the barn, and he disappeared into the woods. He couldn’t quite recall the exact location of the witch’s hut–but he could feel his way there. Feel the wrongness, the way nature twisted and warped the closer he got, the forest growing darker, gnarled, and heavy the deeper he went. He found the witch, nursing one child and obviously pregnant with another, and he pleaded with her, begged her, as best he could without a voice, for her to have mercy on him, and free him from this nightmare–all he wanted, was for all of this to go back to normal.

She got down and stroked his bristly back, cooing to him. “I’ll give you what you desire. If normal is what you crave, then so be it–normal is what you will be.”

Jason wasn’t sure what he felt, after that. After so many months of things twisting out of place, of his sense of reality warping further and further, of everything feeling like it was in flux–there was, at last, a hardening. The sense of nausea that had plagued him since he’d first replaced his cock with that of a stallion, began to settle. He was at peace, and the last thing he recalled, was letting out a heavy sigh and grunt, and passing out on the floor of the witch’s hut.

Then, he awoke in a stall, in the barn, and he knew, immediately, that things were…normal. That the state of flux he had existed in for most of the last year had faded, and passed beyond him. He knew, somehow, that he would never change again–and that filled him with a sense of relief he could barely describe–at least until he tried to stand up, and discovered the trotters where his hands should have been. They were the trotters he’d had when he’d been a pig–and he crawled over to the water trough in his pin, looked at himself, and groaned in horror. It wasn’t a human face looking back at him–or at least, not entirely. There were glimmers, here and there–mostly the eyes. But the rest of him…he was a pig. He had a piggish snout with a big metal ring in it. Floppy pig ears. A curly pig tail. His front legs ended in trotters, but his back ones ended in more human feet. His fat torso didn’t have the usual bristle of hair that he’d had before, but instead the curly body hair of a man running down his belly and back.

He tried to scream. He tried to speak. All he could do was squeal and grunt, until the commotion eventually drew Rick to come check on him, but he didn’t seem at all surprised as what he found there. Rick just proceeded to feed his favorite fuckbeast, and then plowed his ass and filled him with his first load of the day. It felt…so good, to Jason. Better than it had ever felt before, for reasons he couldn’t grasp. When Rick pulled out of him, all he could think about was how he needed more…a corrupt thought spreading through him, beginning to push out the rest of him that realized how deeply disturbed all of this was. But he had to focus on…on the cock.

Or rather, on Rick’s old cock. If he could get the rings, if he could get Rick’s old cock at least, maybe he could fight back, try and save himself, but when he looked down at himself–Jason began to sob instead. His groin was entirely empty. The pig cock he’d been wearing for the last few weeks was gone, and the ring that remained, even when switching cocks out, was gone as well. He realized, then, that there would be no escaping this–any of it. He’d asked for this to be normal, and in doing so, he’d asked it to go on forever–he’d asked to remain like this permanently. The witch, in her immeasurable cruelty, and given him exactly what he’d asked for, and Rick, from the glimmer in his eye as he gave Jason a kiss on the snout and a playful tug on the ring in his nose, seemed to know exactly what had happened to him.

“I’ll be back in a little, piggy,” Rick said, “the witch made a little adjustment to the rings’ magic, and so I shouldn’t have to go looking for another stud anytime soon–I’ll be able to wear them myself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want to feel me rip open that ass of yours with a big bull cock? Because that’s what I’m going to do next, I think. That’s what you deserve, for running off like that. But don’t worry, you won’t be going anywhere ever again. I can see you fading already, that little light in your eyes. She said you’d last long enough to realize what happened to you, but that once you did, you’d fade faster and faster, until it’s just the animal inside you left. The part of you I love the most. Don’t worry–I’ll take good care of you. You’re my favorite, after all. All of this was possible because of you, and I’ll show you how much I love you every day, my piggy–every single day.”

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?

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 7)

“You really are quite handsome you know, it’s a shame I can’t take you with me,” the imp said as he fucked Ken’s hole in the dark room, “but someone is going to have to stay here and take my place with all of these freaks. You won’t mind that though, will you?”

“No Sir!” Ken cried, “Just…just please, don’t stop fucking me, please…”

“Yes, that is a good idea, I would like a memento of some sort, after all. I wasn’t quite sure what, but I think I know exactly what I’d like to take with me.”

The imp pulled himself free of Ken’s hole, making the man gasp in need. He pulled something new out, a little bottle of something like lube, and started squirting it all over Ken’s body. “Rub that in for me, my little slave. This will help you be a bit more…flexible, and I don’t want to touch it myself.”

Ken did as he was commanded, and rubbed the strange substance all over his body–down to his feet and his toes, massaged it into his cock, all over his head and hair, even fingering himself with it, and coating the inside of his mouth–being sure to swallow a little too. It felt…gummy and rubbery at first, almost like a thick silicone lube, but it absorbed into his body, and after it did, his skin felt…strange. Hot for a moment, but then…well, he didn’t quite know how to describe the sensation at all. 

When the imp was sure it was dry, he decided to give it a test–he reached around the base of Ken’s cock and balls with his fingers, and started tightening them into a ring. It didn’t…hurt, really, but it was oddly uncomfortable. Ken could see his entire cock and balls pulling free of his body, just a strand of flesh connecting them–and then they came away in the imp’s hands. Ken could somehow still…feel them, which was even more disconcerting, as the imp turned his cock and balls over, gave his shaft a stroke, making Ken shudder in confusion. “Hmmm…I think I need one more thing though, if I’m going to keep fucking you. Roll over Slave.”

Ken did, one hand going to his now nullified crotch, confused by the smooth, rubbery skin there instead, wondering what exactly his Master was going to do to him now. The imp did the same thing around Ken’s asshole, pulling it off of his body entirely, and sticking it to the root of Ken’s cock and balls–then, while Ken rolled back over, the imp slid his cock into Ken’s rubbery hole, and he moaned in delight. He could feel the imp’s cock sliding deep into not just his ass, but inside his cock as well–it was…fuck, he’d never felt anything like it before in his life.

“There, that’s a nice gift for me, Slave. When I’m living your life for you, I’ll be sure to use your hole and cock often, to make sure you know I’m thinking about you in here. For now though, why don’t we make you fit in with this monstrous place a little more?” the imp cackled, and started working Ken’s body under his hands, pulling and twisting and stealing and stretching him into all sorts of new shapes, until he found one he liked most.

Ken’s head was forced into his body entirely, his arms twisted and warped until they were another set of arms and feet like the others. He could now only walk around on all fours–though slowly, because both sets of feet were pointed away from each other. Where his head had been, was now his mouth–his teeth pulled out like little rubber plugs, and his tongue grown to insane proportions. It hung from his gaping mouth now almost a foot, and was fully prehensile–and covered with drool.

For his other end, the imp had to improvise, and built a second hole out of his nose–two gaping, hairy cavities perfect for fucking–or whatever else the strange beasts of this place would use him for. The imp shifted one eye to each end, so he could mostly see where he was going–and then added an ample supply of hair all over his new form, making him look more like some hairy beast than the man he once was. Ken wanted to thank his master, but could no longer speak–so he ate out the imp’s hole with his long tongue while his Master fucked his new toy, making Ken shudder and grunt until his cock sprayed cum all over the floor–but then, it was time for the imp to leave.

Ken still wanders the halls, though he no longer has a name. He’s just another freak among many, always looking for bodies to service, relishing those moments when he feels the imp’s hands around his cock, his cock sliding into his hole–happy that he can still be of service to his Master.

An End

Alright, that one was a bit shorter, so we have time for one more! Here’s some options on spots to restart from, some are the same as last time, some are different! Here’s the bonus poll for Patrons too.

Percy the Dollman (Patron Request)

This week, we have a rather strange request for some extreme body modification and plastic surgery! Percy, a wealthy narcissist, runs across an obsessive plastic surgeon, and the results are, well, have to be seen to be believed, I suppose. If you support me at the $5 tier or higher, you can get access to this story, others like it, and the ability to submit requests yourself each month!

What Would I Do To You? #5 (Roidpig)

Today is the last day of this week of flash stories! Flash commissions will be open through the rest of the month, and likely into September. If you are interested, send me a message!

You’re in good shape, but not great shape. You like working out, go three times a week (though you skip, on occasion), but do you love it. I think you could do better, be more dedicated. You could be so much better with just a little assistance. Good thing I know just how to help–this stuff is potent though, and it’s best if we introduce it to your system gradually. I don’t tell you of course–you’ve told me what you think of those guys at the gym, the ones you’ve seen injecting each other. You just don’t understand how someone could be so obsessed with themselves, that they’d use drugs to change their bodies like that. Well, I’m obsessed with yours, so I guess you’ll find out what it’s like, one way or another. So to start with, just a couple of drops in your food at each meal–aren’t I nice, making sure you have breakfast before work? Packing you a lunch? Dinner for you when you get home? So considerate.

I see the effects before you even notice them. How restless you are, around the house. I suggest you go workout some of your energy, and you think that’s a great suggestion. You’re up to five days a week at the gym, and you’re feeling–and looking–great. I up the dosage, and then you start to notice some things feel…off. You have a hard time focusing at work–sitting behind a desk for hours on end, without doing anything? It just seems…impossible now, for some reason. You take longer breaks, and workout in the midday–it helps for now, but we’ll break you of that pesky job soon enough. You feel the same restlessness at home too–I suggest you invest in equipment for a home gym–think how much you can save overtime, by skipping the membership! You see my logic, and buy a treadmill, and a set of free weight equipment–you don’t…quite recall ordering the power rack, but you must have, right? It gets used a lot, in any case–you work out so much more, now that you live where your gym is–on occasion, when you can’t sleep, I can hear you on the bench, grunting in the middle of the night.

At some point, you begin to suspect something. Is it the hair growth? The ache in your teeth? The inability to focus? Your insatiable appetite? You accuse me–and to your surprise, I admit it. You’re furious, you want to strike me, but you resist, and just tell me to get out–I leave without argument–I know you’ll come around soon.

In less than a day, you call me. You demand to know what I put in your food–now that the withdrawal symptoms have set in. It hurts, doesn’t it? The ache in your muscles, from all that exercise? You can barely move, you’re starving, you want to die. I come home, and fix you up–but I think you’ve grown past the oral dose–I prep the needle, and make sure you see it. I make you beg me for it–and I inject it into your ass. The relief is immediate–and euphoric. There’s a reason you start off easy with this stuff–if you’d injected it without any tolerance built up…well, the results would have been interesting, but not the results we want, right? Or at least, the results you want now–after our chat. You just felt so good, after getting your injection, after all, it felt so good to agree with me, and do what I say, and believe what I want you to believe. How important it is to you to workout all the time, as much as you can. How sexy you look now. How you should be thanking me, for knowing just what to do with you. You do thank me–you suck my cock like a good little roidpig, and then you go workout, like I never even left.

It’s easier, now that you’re fully onboard. You get your injections twice a day, morning and night, and after each one, we have a good chat. You’re finding it harder to think after each one–you don’t know it it’s the drug, or if it’s me telling you how stupid you’re becoming. How helpless–how you have to depend on me for everything. You realize before too long that you holding down a job at an office is hopeless–you’re too stupid to do anything like that, after all. Best for you to focus on the important thing–working out, and pleasing me.

In a month, the results have accelerated. You’re much shorter now–five foot two, the last time we measured. It’s like, as your muscles grow, they are tugging on your bones, making them shorter, and thicker. All of you is thicker, not just with muscle (though there is plenty of muscle) but also with a thick roid gut–you love it when I rub it during our chats, feeling all that bristly hair growing in. You lost a tooth the other day–and that freaked you out, until I showed you the new one growing in under it. A week later, you have one tusk poking out the side of your mouth–but it’s brother comes in soon after.

It’s your cock and balls that worried you most, though. They’re so…small. The shorter you grow, the more they seem to shrink, like they’re withering away to nothing. You ask me what’s happening to them–well, you try to ask. You keep forgetting words, more and more these days. Grunting is just so much easier, and it gets the point across, usually. During our next chat, after one of your injections, I ask you why you even need them. You don’t fuck anything–who would want an ugly best like you to fuck them at all? No–you don’t need to worry about silly things like that–you just need to worry about working out, and being a good roidpig for me. That eases your concerns, and a few weeks later, when the husk of your cock falls off your body, you bring it to me like a trophy, full of pride, and ask me–I think–if you’ll grow another one, like your new teeth. Instead, I make you forget you ever had a cock–as far as you know, you’ve never had a cock, or balls–just a hairy crotch. Not like me. I have a cock, that’s what makes me so much better than a Roidpig like you. I’m smarter than you. I’m better looking than you. You’re a freak, but that’s alright–you like being a freak, don’t you?

I take you outside sometimes, on a leash, wearing a bright red wrestling singlet. The way people stare at you, four feet tall, wider than you are tall, lumbering about, snorting with your piggy snout and tusks, licking them while you stare at all the men’s bulges at your eye level, you hungry pig. We keep you well sated–you had to do some kind of work, right? Men pay handsomely to fuck a Roidpig like you, you make more as a whore than you ever did as a office grunt, and you’re so much happier now! We both are.

My Training Journal (Part 3)

Entry 55

Felix says I can write in you no more. He over here now helpin me move out cause i gotta go live with him now he says because i can’t go back to school cause i just a big dumb muscle slave. I guess hes write though i can’t think very hard anymore bout anythin other than working out and cocks and shit like that but I really like thinking about that stuff so maybe its ok!

I just wanted to tell you that im doin good on training and shit. I can ride Master’s fuck machine for a good hour now which is like super cool, makes me wanna jizz a bit but you know i cant. Not sure the last time i shoot but master says thats normal that i wont even wanna think about it soon because my worthless dick wont even be there much longer.

Fuck so much i wanna write but my head cant figure out how to word it. I’m gonna live with master for my own good from now on i suppose which is good. Hes helping me move out now. I dont  need much really just the clothes he gave me to wear (the rubber and lycra and all the stuff thats so fuckin sexy on my huge bod, but I told you about that!) Oh! Master says i cant go back to college but that he found a night school for me instead! With classes and games and dancing and professors and everything, just like a real school but for stupid fagwhores like me! Im super excited to see what its like though. Anyway dont miss me too much!!! Master says ill be ok and happy and stuff and hes never been wrong before so why would he be wrong now, right?

Entry 56

Guess I underestimated that musclefag a bit! It’s a damn good thing he never showed this to anyone, or I probably would have been up shit creek by now. Still, whatever-his-name (I just call him Bitch usually, or Fag sometimes) has been doing really well since he moved in with me a few months back–I’m sure he’d be real proud of himself if he had much capacity for self-reflection anymore, but all of that is pretty much gone. Just a drooling idiot at this point. Even if I hadn’t taken this thing away from him it wouldn’t have mattered–he can’t even write anymore, so why would he have a journal?

Heh, I say he, but I don’t know what Bitch would really count as anymore. It doesn’t have a cock anymore, after all, or a sack. Supposedly the balls just get sucked up and still produce a minimal amount of hormones designed to keep up its muscle mass, but looking at the crotch? You wouldn’t know what it is. You should see the looks it gets, walking down the street in those tight lycra pants, tight enough to crawl up the crack of his wide, wide ass (wider now that we’ve been working in some collagen injections) but on the front, just nothing. No bulge, not even an outline. People don’t know what the fuck it is, and Bitch is too oblivious to even realize it’s a freak of nature at this point. Its pecs are massive, way out of proportion, with huge nipples. Got them pierced, and as soon as I can it’ll be swinging doorknockers from them, which will make its routine at the clubs just that much stranger and sexier. Lips too, got them inflated nice and puffy, great for blowjobs now that its gag reflex is finally gone–that took forever with this one!

Just re-read that last entry he made! Fucking night school, what a dipshit. Didn’t have to keep up that gag for too long, once it settled into the routine. Dancing for patrons, getting shoved in a gloryhole booth for hours on end, and of course, private rentals with his favorite “professors” four or five nights of the week. It just needs a whole lot of tutoring, I suppose. Anyone who wants it for a night can have it, and the rich old fags at these places love the idea of some docile adonis worshiping them for hours on end, no cock of its own to compete with their needs. I got so many regular customers I have a waiting list two weeks long! I suppose what that really means, is that I need to grow the stable a bit, right? Well don’t worry–I got a new athlete all lined up already. A bit older this time, bit of a muscle daddy in his late 30’s looking to get bigger. Well, we can do that. Still, I think I need to diversify my product line a bit–keep the hair on this one, and a big huge cock. Might as well corner the bottom market too, right? I think so. I think I’ll even have him keep a journal too, since reading through this thing while Bitch sucks me off make me nut like nothing else. His first sessions tomorrow, and I can’t fucking wait.

ChatChange (Part 4)

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Master Ogar is gone sir

DaddySugarBear: I can see that. You were a very good pig, you made daddy cum quite a few times with that performance. Did you enjoy your punishment, pig?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Yes sir, but he didn’t want me sir

RbbrPissSkinPOS: He didn’t want me to be his slave

DaddySugarBear: And how do you feel about that, pig?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: I really liked serving him sir. I really liked the taste of his cum and piss, and he was fuckin brutal, the way he abused by holes sir, my ass is still leaking

RbbrPissSkinPOS: But why didn’t he want me sir? Wasn’t I good? I did everything he wanted, why didn’t he want me?

DaddySugarBear: Oh pig, maybe he just didn’t want to saddled with a worthless pig. You can’t really blame him, you know. I mean, I sure wouldn’t want you living with me, you’re fucking disgusting!

RbbrPissSkinPOS: I guess but I thought he liked me

DaddySugarBear: That’s why no one asks slaves to think.

DaddySugarBear: Still, we’ve had enough fun for the night, don’t you think pig? What do you say I go ahead and turn you back? Would you like to stop being a pig now? Go back to that dull, boring life of yours?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: No sir, I want to be Masters slave!!!

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Plz you can help me right? Make me a perfect pig for him? Make me so fucking sexy he wont be able to say no to me!

RbbrPissSkinPOS: I’ll do anything but I need him sir, I need a master like him. I’m worthless without him!

DaddySugarBear: Oh? Are you sure?

DaddySugarBear: If you really want to be a slave, then I certainly won’t change you back, not ever, no matter what you say. Is that really what you want?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Oh fuck sir more than anything!

DaddySugarBear: If you say so.

DaddySugarBear: Still, if you’re going to be Ogar’s slave, then I suppose we should ask Ogar what he would want in a slave, don’t you think?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Yes sir!

<<Initiate Group Chat.>>

<<Invite contact [OgarBkeDdySdtMstr].>>

<<[OgarBkeDdySdtMstr] has joined the conversation.>>

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: What the fuck do u want?

DaddySugarBear: This piece of skinhead shit has asked me to help him become worthy of becoming your slave. He says that you rejected his request earlier.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: Some request, that turd was fuckin sobbin could barely get a word out. Like Id wants some snivelling little cunt like that as a slave. Slaves take care of there masters not the other way round!

DaddySugarBear: Hmmm…I don’t think this worthless piece of shit is capable of taking care of anyone, much less a master.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: No shit! Why do u think I laughed in its face?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Plz sir! Im sorry sir but I want to serve you! Plz I’ll do anything!

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: I don’t need shit! Ogar dont need anyone, dont want anyone, specialy not some worthless skinhead bitch!

DaddySugarBear: Ah, so you’re a bit of a lone wolf! I must say that explains quite a bit. Well, I don’t think there’s anyway to resolve this, really, as you both currently stand. I suppose we’ll just have to have you two meet somewhere in the middle.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: I aint meeting nowhere! I’m done with that pig, I never wanna see that fuck again

DaddySugarBear: It was just a figure of speech.

OgarBkeDdySdtMstr: ???

DaddySugarBear: Oh nevermind. Hold on….

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

OgarPimpzPigz: Yeah? What do ya have in mind?

DaddySugarBear: Oh, I’m merely suggesting that you add this piece of skin shit to your stable, is all. Surely you have some clients who might be interested in someone with him peculiar nature.

OgarPimpzPigz: Well sure, but look at it, the thing can’t stop masturbating! He wouldn’t be able to fuckin focus on a client!

DaddySugarBear: Oh that’s a relatively easy fix.

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

NullPOSSkin: What the fuck!

DaddySugarBear: See? Now he won’t have anything to distract him anymore.

NullPOSSkin: Where’d my cock and balls go, what the fuck!

OgarPimpzPigz: Huh, that would solve the problem, actually. Still, I have urinals. I have skins. I have freaks. He’s gotta bring somethin new to the table, ya know? Somethin to set him apart!

DaddySugarBear: Well, what would your customers want?

OgarPimpzPigz: Ya know u keep callin it a pig, and this one guys been askin me to let me fatten one a my whores up. Willin to pay a fuckin truckload. Suppose he could be useful that way. sides, the pigs already got some cushin, wont be hard packin on some more.

NullPOSSkin: I dont want to be fat and I want my cock back!

DaddySugarBear: Now remember what you asked for. You said you wanted to be his slave.

OgarPimpzPigz: That thing is such a bitch. I dont want no slave that’ll give me back talk. Dont need to be smart–dont need so slave smarter than the pimp ya know?

DaddySugarBear: Oh, I can take care of that, don’t worry about it.

NullPOSSkin: Oh no you fuckin dont!

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: There that’s much better. Look at that thing now, it’ll be the perfect addition to your stable, I can assure you.

OgarPimpzPigz: Damn, that thing dont look like it has a thought in its head.

DaddySugarBear: That’s because it very nearly doesn’t. No brain left in that skull of its to cause you any trouble, just perfect, blind obedience to anyone it perceives as its superior, which I can guarantee you will be anyone it meets. It’s illiterate, so don’t give it any complicated commands. Simple sentences are best. It should be perfect for your needs.

OgarPimpzPigz: Well yeah, for now! But what happens when its big as a house? Once the guys done with it he aint gonna have a use for it n neither will I! Just a big worthless fat pig!

DaddySugarBear: Well, once it’s big enough that it can’t move, I would suggest installing it as a toilet. It’s so stupid it won’t know the difference. I’m sure you could sell it for a hefty price, or even rent it out, if you’d prefer.

DaddySugarBear: Now, there’s just a matter of my finder’s fee, and we can negotiate my cut of the profits. How much was this man going to pay you for such a whore?

OgarPimpzPigz: What the hell are ya talkin bout! I dont share my money with noone!

DaddySugarBear: Ogar, if you’d like to remain in the pimping profession, and not end up as a toilet pig yourself, I can assure you that my fee is a reasonable price to pay. Besides, I think we may have just happened upon a rather good venture! You bring me the requests from your clients, no matter how outlandish, and I can provide you a perfect whore to match. This whole chat has been quite fun, and I already feel like having another one sometime soon. What do you say, partners?

OgarPimpzPigz: Dont have much a choice do I?

DaddySugarBear: No, I suppose you don’t. Still, you should go pick up that pig before it hurts itself on something sharp by accident. We can hammer out the details later. Have a good night!

Always Take Care of Your Toys

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by Boreas

Inspired by a comic by Kuma

Kuma’s Comic: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (requires an account on FurAffinity with adult images unblocked in order to view)

Warning: Furry and inanimate themed story. It get’s a bit strange, but I bet you’ll all like it anyway.


“Come on, take your shirt off.”

“Ha, well you’re not wasting any–hey, hold on–ok, ok, you don’t have to rip it off me–hey watch the horns.”

“He, aww fuck yeah, here’s those titrings of yours,” Kuma said, tugging on the rings through Boreas’ nipples, “Looks damn good on you–so glad you finally got up the balls to come over and have some fun.”

The two big guys were on the couch in Kuma’s apartment, with the bear taking up most of the space. He had Boreas cornered against one side, one paw tweaking the bull’s nipple while he took a deep breath off his cigar, and then kissed the bullbear with the smoke, making him cough and sputter after a moment. “Take it easy man, I’m not a smoker.”

“We could change that, if you want,” Kuma said, grinning, his fangs showing slightly, “I got this special mask–you could smoke all night long in it–it’d be so damn hot. You’d be a cigar smoker for life.”

“Sounds…uh…fun?” Boreas said, his eyes flicking to the door. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected when he’d finally taken the bear up on his invitation to come over for a play session. Sure, their chats and role play had always been fun, but now that he was here, and now that Kuma was getting into it a bit deeper than the bullbear had expected, he was starting to get nervous. “No, you know what? I’m not really all that comfortable with this,” Boreas said, and he started trying to work his way out from under the bear, managing to slide through a gap and onto the floor with a thud, “Can we maybe take this a little slower?”

“Heh, someone getting cold feet? Come on, I don’t bite that hard, and I know you’ll love it. How about you just try it on?”

“No, look, I think…can we just hold up here? I know we talked about a lot…of stuff…” Boreas said, blushing a bit, “But uh…what exactly did you have in mind?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be my toy,” Kuma said, getting up off the couch and coming closer to Boreas, “You told me how hot it would be to come over here, not tell anyone where you were going and let me do whatever I wanted to you. I know that’s what you want, boy.” The bear came up, grabbed the front of Boreas’ khakis, and with a growl, ripped them open down the front, destroying his boxers as well, letting his’ cock flop out, and he looked down, noticing that the bullbear’ was blushing a bit. “Heh, with all that fur and big talk, I thought I’d be bigger.”

“Sh-Shut up!” Boreas said, and backed up a few paces. Sure, he didn’t have the largest cock, only about four inches, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be made fun of for it. “Look, I’m…I’m gonna go. I don’t like where this is going.”

“Oh no–you said you were going to be my toy, and I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy, one way or another.” Kuma said, smiling again, and this time Boreas noticed something else–the bear’s paw was glowing…green. He backed away, but missed the door and collided with a chair, tripping him up long enough for the glowing paw to grab his cock and balls in one hand and send a strange, electric jolt through them that made him cry out in surprise, tumble back over the chair and hit the ground with a thud hard enough to dislodge his cock and balls from his crotch, sending them flying over his face to land on the carpet behind him.

He blinked for a moment on the ground, wondering if he’d gotten a concussion. His legs were still up on the chair that he’d tripped over, and he could see that where his cock and balls had been was just…nothing. Just a hole, or really something more like a socket. And his fur…the fur around his groin looked different…well, he wouldn’t call it fur at all really. It was smooth and had a dull shine to it, and tentatively he reached down with one paw and touched it, realizing it was rubber. But he could…still feel his claw against the surface, and he could even dent it if he pushed hard enough, the sensation making him shiver.

“Heh, looks like you dropped something buddy,” Kuma said, walking past him and over to where his cock had flown when it had dislodged itself from the socket. He stooped down and picked it up, and Boreas let out a yelp–he could feel his cock in the bear’s paws from across the room, and he quickly rolled off the chair and stood up, a bit uneasily. “Finders keepers, I guess,” he said, running a claw down the shaft, watching the bullbear moan softly as he did, “Still, this thing is a bit too small to do much of anything with. Maybe we can find you a few other things to fit in that socket there? I’m seeing…something thick, over nine inches long. What if it was ribbed, or even studded? Dang, that’d be a fun ride.”

“What–what the fuck did you do!” the bullbear said, doing his best to be outraged when all he could really focus on was how…nice it felt, having the bear stroke his cock, “Give…give that back!”

“Oh?” Kuma said, and he started stroking the cock in his hands, fiddling with it’s balls, and Boreas tried not to collapse. The sensations were so much more intense, but looking at his cock and balls in Kuma’s hands, he could see that they were different–they were rubber too, like his groin. If he hadn’t known better, he’d just have assumed that they were a lifelike dildo, if he…couldn’t feel everything that the paws were doing to them. “Are you sure you want them back? It looks like you’re enjoying what I’m doing quite a bit. Do you really want me to stop?”

“I…I don’t…” he stammered back. Kuma was stroking his cock faster now, and Boreas felt his knees crumple and he hit the floor as cum started spurting from his rubber cockhead, shooting a few feet and hitting the wall where it ran down to the carpet and ran down slowly while the bear laughed, Boreas trying to catch his breath and he pushed himself back up to standing on his hooves and teetering a bit, grabbing onto the chair for support. Kuma was looking at the bullbear’s cock and balls, the later of which had shrunk quite a bit after shooting out that massive load, and the bear started squeezing them in his paw, milking the last bit of cum out of the shaft, watching the bullbear cringe in pain.

“Looks like you’re all empty man–too bad,” Kuma said, “Wonder if we can fill ‘em back up?”

“Please, no–just…just give it back, please.”

“Heh, if you say so,” Kuma said, “Catch!”

He lobbed the cock towards Boreas, who noticed too late that his cock and balls were shrouded in the same ill green aura Kuma’s paws had exuded when he’d touched his cock. Still, it was his cock and balls! He couldn’t just let them fall to the ground. He caught them in his paws and felt the same shock rip through his hands that he’d felt in his cock, and he watched his hands puff up suddenly and harden into rubber mitts incapable of holding anything, and he fumbled with his cock for a moment before it tumbled to the ground anyway, and he stared at his rubber paws in terror, watching the rubber showly work it’s way up his arms, his fur flattening into the same smooth rubber of his crotch, and he realized he needed to get out of here, and fast. He turned around and hurried to the front door, but all he could do was squeak against it as he tried to unlock the deadbolt and work the knob before his arms turned completely rigid, freezing in place as his shoulders and chest turned to rubber, and he stumbled back, still desperately trying to move his arms and unable to comprehend why they wouldn’t respond.

He could still move his head and his neck–the rubberization seemed mostly interested in working it’s way downwards, through his chest and past his nipples, his rings staying put, and then down past his ass and to his legs. Wherever the rubber went, soon after his skin changed it quickly lost it’s pliability, becoming hard and rigid in whatever position he happened to be in. He tried to get away, but his legs were turning to hard rubber faster than he could move, and he fell forward to the ground, his body giving out a squeak of air as it decompressed from the impact and then inflated again. It was the strangest sensation, feeling the air rush out of his mouth before sucking back into him. He could sense his hollowness, actually. He felt…empty. It didn’t feel right at all, he should be full of…of something other than air–than a vacuum–but what exactly he needed was eluding him. He just felt so strange, and he tried to crawl down the hallway, away from Kuma for a couple of moments, but his hooves had already frozen and he was trapped, contorted on the floor, his entire body rubber aside from his head, his body empty, and he heard a laugh behind him.

“Looks good–how does it feel, Boreas?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ha, you mean, ‘fuck me,’ don’t you? You don’t even have a cock to fuck with,” Kuma said, coming up behind him and slipping two fingers into his ass, pushing their way down the short rubber channel and into the emptiness of his body, and Boreas gave a short inhale of pleasure. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t you just feel so empty though? We’ll see if we can help with that. Still, how about we warm you up a bit?”

Boreas couldn’t see what Kuma was doing, but he heard him take a deep drag off his cigar and then get down behind him, where he put his lips against the rubber hole and exhaled hot smoke into the bullbear’s body. It really was warm, and he shivered and moaned, his cock pulsing and leaking out a small remnant of his cum where it lay back on the floor, forgotten by them both. Kuma filled him up with lungful after lungful of smoke, and before long it started coming out of his mouth at the other side in wisps as he shuddered and moaned, feeling Kuma’s long tongue probing up his ass, but he needed more than smoke inside of him, it was like some unknown hunger was eating away at him, and it was frustrating him that he couldn’t understand it.

“Heh, well that’s enough of that. How about we move you into a…more accomodating position, eh?” Kuma said, his hands glowing again. Underneath them, the hard rubber of Breas’ new body turned pliable again, and the bear started bending the arms and legs into a new position, leaving Boreas on his rubber paws and knees, head facing forward, and as a final touch, Kuma grabbed his long bull tail, bent it back and attached the tuft to the small of his back. “There–now you even have a handle,” Kuma said, “Now, how about we take this into the bedroom? I’m horny, but I don’t think you’re quite the toy I’m looking for yet.”

He grabbed him by the tail loop and lifted him up off the ground, and he felt a sense of vertigo as Kuma carried him down the hall and into the bedroom. He was so powerless all of a sudden–he couldn’t move, he didn’t even have a body anymore. Still, that was…that was good, right? He didn’t need a body, he was just a toy, just…just a toy for Kuma to use. He did like being used. He’d always…always fantasized about being just a dumb toy, just a hunk of rubber…Boreas shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept sneaking their way into his head, making him hornier, intensifying the hunger he still didn’t understand, the need to be filled which was beginning to panic him. He had to be filled, he needed something. If he was empty for much longer, it was going to drive him crazy.

Kuma set the toy down on the floor of his bedroom, and then looked around, thinking, “Oh, of course! Your cock and balls, how could I have forgotten.” He left the room for a moment and came back with Boreas’ cock and balls in his hand, or rather, his cock. His sack had shriveled up, now completely empty, and hung down like an empty balloon. “Hmm, looks like you’re all empty–guess we should fill you back up, eh?” Kuma walked over to his closet and dug around for a few moments before he pulled out some sort of pump attached to a large, clear tank which Boreas could only assume was either milk or semen, and he didn’t really like either option. “Lucky for you, I have quite a few guys I like to play with who are…well, let’s say that they have a bit of an addiction problem when it comes to my cum. I like to keep plenty on hand for when one of them drops by, needing some assistance. Still, let’s see what we can do here…” Kuma said, fiddling with the root of Boreas’ cock, before fitting it over the nozzle of the hose connected to the tank of cum, and then Kuma flipped a switch, the machine started up, and Boreas watched his balls inflate, filling up with Kuma’s rank cum from the machine. He set them down on the bed, and the bullbear had a hard time tearing his eyes away from them, watching them fill up fuller and fuller…

“Please, Kuma…Come on, just let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I swear, but…but I’m so…so empty, please just…I don’t…just let me–” Boreas said, but before he could finish, the bear ran a green glowing claw around his lips and then down his neck, rubberizing his throat into a smooth chute, his lips pursed and ready to take a cock.

“That’s better–toys don’t need to talk after all. Now, while that’s filling up, how about we get you dressed? I did have some gear I wanted to see you in tonight, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

Kuma dug around in his closet some more, and all the bullbear could do was watch his balls slowly fill up. They were quickly outpacing his cock, making it look even smaller next to them, as they passed the size of an orange, and then a grapefruit, and then a small melon–each. They looked so full–he’d like to be as full as they were. Sloshing with cum, bulging with it, packed full of it. That’s what he needed–he needed cum. He needed to be brimming with it, all of him, and now that he knew what he needed, it was almost worse, and he found himself growing desperate as Kuma ripped away the rest of his pants and then started putting the leather gear on him, a harness across his chest, leather bands on his arms and legs, and lastly a collar with a heavy cowbell hanging from it. Then, he did something strange, and took four large objects that looked like metal staples, and with a glowing hand, inserted them into the top of his rubber paws and the bottom of his hooves.

“There. That way, if I want you strung up, we won’t have a problem,” Kuma said, testing the connection. “Now, how are those balls of yours doing?” He walked over and turned off the pump, and looked down, where Boreas’ balls were each larger than a watermelon, and pulled the nozzle out of the root, and hefted them up, the heavy sack dragging down heavily and nearly translucent. “Now, how about we get you fed, rubber bear? You look awfully empty…”

Boreas was almost screaming in his head at this point. Terror at his situation had slowly been replaced by hunger and anger at his emptiness, and everything would be alright if he could just be full again. He shivered as the bear slotted his own cock into his mouth, feeling the head push through the nozzle in the back of his mouth and down the chute, and then he started squeezing the balls in his paws, holding them up, pumping his cum down the rubber throat and into the hollow cavity, watching the bullbear’s eyes roll back in pleasure. Still, after a few squeezes, it was obvious that Kuma was getting a bit tired of it, and so he pushed a glowing finger against his rubber nose, and the mouth started buzzing and sucking on his own cock, drawing the cum into him, where it rolled down the inside of his chest, pooling in both of his paws, and he could taste it, he could taste the cum and it tasted so good, and it was filling him up, and it was everything he’d ever wanted.

Slowly, Boreas’ realized that he hadn’t blinked it what felt like ages. In fact, he couldn’t blink–his eyes had been replaced with glass beads now, the rest of his face now empty rubber like the rest of his body, but that would be fixed soon. Kuma would fill him up. Kuma would be good to him–he took care of his toys. He wouldn’t let him stay empty for long. He would fill him up with his cum, and he would be a good toy, and let his master do whatever he wanted to him. He wouldn’t think, he wouldn’t talk, he would just suck, and stay perfectly still, and obey.

Kuma let the balls go, and they dropped to the floor, dragging Boreas’ face down with them, creasing his neck, but the connection held and the mouth kept sucking it all down. Satisfied, he walked around behind his new toy, running his paw along the surface of his rubber body before coming to his ass. “Hmm…how about we make you a cock sucker at both ends, Boreas?” Kuma said, and touched the base of Boreas’ tail, and he felt his ass start sucking and vibrating like his throat was, and a moment later, Kuma slipped his hard cock into his ass and started fucking his toy roughly, denting in the rubber with each thrust. Boreas could feel the cum slosh about inside his body as the bear fucked him, and his cock responded, cumming down his throat, filling him up as fast as his rubber mouth could suck, the cum overflowing his arms, filling his gut like a small lake before slipping back and down into his hind legs, pooling in his knees and down to his feet.

Kuma shifted position and climbed up on Boreas’ back, his cock still planted deep in the bull bear’s vibrating hole, and he let out a deep grunt around his cigar. “Oh fuck yeah bitch, you’re so much more useful this way.”

He was useful, wasn’t he? Boreas knew Kuma was right, he’d always been so useless before. Hell, how much cum would he have been able to hold before? Not this much, certainly. And he was always talking and thinking before. A toy didn’t need to think, a toy just had to be there for it’s master to use. Yeah, he was much more useful as a cumdump, as sex toy for Kuma to use how he saw fit, and Boreas hoped he would be useful for a long time yet.

Kuma was bucking harder on Boreas’ back, and he was deflating a bit under the weight of the bear, sagging down a bit under him, but Kuma was almost finished, pumping a fresh load of cum into Boreas’ half full cavity, and Boreas could feel it splatter hard against the top of his chest, all the way across his body, and he was so happy. So happy that his master was using him like he’d been made to be used. Kuma climbed back down off of Boreas, and turned off the toy’s sucking ass, before walking around, bopping the rubber bull bear’s nose to turn off his mouth as well. He’d sucked down enough of the cum that the balls had become light enough that the rubber could hold them up, but they weren’t empty yet, and worse, he wasn’t full yet! He wasn’t even halfway full yet! He needed more, he needed it all! But he couldn’t talk, he just stayed there, and Kuma pulled out the cock and laughed. “Don’t worry cumdump–I’m gonna have some friends come over tomorrow, and we’ll get you so full you might explode. Still, I’m spent. How about we put you away for the night? Still, how about I fill you up with something else first? Something you’ll love just as much as my old cum I bet.”

He slipped his cock into the rubber mouth, and after a moment he started pissing into his toy, and the taste was overwhelming. It was almost better than the stale old cum that he’d already feasted on, and when the two mixed in his body, he could taste the foul combination, and it made him so happy to know he was just a waste receptacle for his master. He wanted to be full more than anything, he wanted to burst open, he wanted to explode. Through his glassy eyes he could see his cock leaking a bit of Kuma’s old cum onto the bed, and he screamed in his dull mind. That was his! He needed that, but his master didn’t notice, and the toy couldn’t do anything about it, watching as it dribbled out. Still, it felt good, and there would always be more. His master would keep him well fed–he was sure of that. He’d be full to bursting in no time at all.

The bear finished up and pulled out, and then hefted Boreas up by the tail, the toy now quite a bit heavier than before, and Kuma could hear his cum and piss sloshing around inside of him as he hefted him over to a sling next to the bed. He disconnected the leather bed, and then hooked the four chains up to the hooks he’d imbedded in the toy’s’ paws and hooves, and then rebent his joints so he looked like he was hanging with his arms and legs straight, his neck bent back so his mouth was accessible from the other side.

Boreas felt all of the cum and piss inside of him slide down the inner walls of his cavity, pooling in his empty head and against his back. He liked having his master’s cum in his head–it was so much better having cum and piss in there than brains. Lastly, Kuma picked up the rubber cock and balls and slotted it back into it’s proper socket, the heavy, grapefruit sized balls still taut with Kuma’s fluids and hanging heavy, and the bear let out a chuckle, pawing his cock. “Hell, gotta say, looking at you like that…maybe just one more fuck tonight.”

Kuma turned on Boreas’ sucking asshole again and fucked him, swinging the heavy rubber toy up and down on his massive cock, Boreas delighting in the sensation of his owner’s fluids sloshing about inside of him as he got fucked, and he loved the feeling of his cock leaking his master’s cum out the head of his rubber cock, feeling it run down his smooth belly and dribble onto the carpet beneath him. Just a dirty toy, for dirty play, and he couldn’t wait until the rest of Kuma’s friends came over tomorrow. He was a good toy after all, and he loved being used. It was the only thing he wanted, actually, and the only thing he’d ever want again.

Into the Night of God – Part 3


If the first two parts of this were too much for you to handle, don’t read this one. Just don’t. Or rather, read it expecting a horror story–not erotica. Contains amputation, genital nullification, mental death, scat, and bestiality.

Commissioned by Anonymous

Part 3 – The Night

Bruin whines in his crate, but I don’t do anything with him yet. I’m not sure what to do with him yet, to be honest–I had apparently misjudged the weight of the connection they must have formed during the day in the hospital, to allow something like this to happen. Rather, that was a lie. I know what I have to do to him, but I would like there to be some other option. There isn’t though, and it’s all the damn doctor’s fault. I could have been merciful. He could have been happy here, serving and worshiping me, but he clung like a rat to a life that I’d forbidden. He defied me, with that damn journal of his–I should have burned it when I’d had the chance. Still,confidence breeds foolishness–I will be more careful when adding to my flock in the future.

I pour myself another shot of whisky, and take a drag off my smoke. My calm blend tonight, even though it makes my limbs heavy–I need to take the edge off my mind, and file off the anger for a moment. There will be other times for anger, but not now–I have to be calm for what’s coming, if I lose control…well, then I’ll be out a pig. This will require careful work, and I can’t let that fuck mess things up anymore than he has already. Still, he was quite the actor–looking through these new entries in his book, he’s been out from under my mental control for a little over a month now, regaining his thoughts bit by bit, pushing back against me. His mental fortitude is impressive–I introduced him to the donkey a few weeks ago, and Jack does not have a small dick. Still, maybe he really does like it? It doesn’t matter now, still, I find I’m curious anyway.

I pour another shot and flip through the diary again, looking at his thought process, at his plan. It could have worked, if he’d picked a better time, if he’d studied me better, but he’d panicked and run too soon. Grabbing Bruin and getting in the truck, planning on making a break for it–what a fool. Still, I’d stopped them easily enough, even if I’d had to shoot out two of my tires. I’m gonna have to fix those tomorrow–I hate car work. He’s just been one big headache since I’d met him, since that fucker had run over my last dog. I know I lost control, I know I went to far, burning him like that. Still, it hasn’t been a complete waste, even if it had taken me months to clean it all up. I can’t help that I lose control sometimes–I just can’t handle the extent of my wrath. Still, I’m feeling good and calm now. I’m under control, I’m feeling mellow, and I think it’s time.

I’ll deal with Bruin tomorrow and the rest of the week, while the pig heals. I’ll just have to destroy him, as much as I hate doing that. It makes for a dumb ass dog, but his loyalty–an animal is worthless without that. I can’t have him care for anyone else. I’m the important one, Me! I’m his master, how fucking dare he, feeling for anyone else, especially some fucking rich ass twinky doctor like that! I hate him, I’m gonna kill him, I’m gonna make him wish he’d never been born I’m–

Breathe. Deep breaths, keep calm, it will all be sorted out in time. I nearly lost it there, but I can’t postpone this any longer, he needs to be dealt with. He needs to learn his lesson, he needs to understand that I’m the one he has to answer to for his wrongs. That I’m God here, that it’s my judgement, my farm, my world that he’s in now, and my word is law.

I step out into the cold night–but Spring will be here before too long, I imagine. It has been a long winter, but Bruin and the Doc at least kept me busy, and I suppose the Doc will keep me busy this summer too. He’s in the barn, bound up on the cross I keep there for play when I want a change of setting. It’s even darker in there, and I turn on the lights, watch him blink awake, and he’s angry. He’s yelling, but I say nothing. I have to make this quick, before I lose it, before I just decide to just gut him and end it, but he deserves worse than that, he deserves true punishment, but it will be slow, and he will regret defying me.

Right hand first, with the hedge clippers. Thumb, and every finger cut off at the root. He screams, understanding–or beginning to–what he’s done to himself. Then the second hand like the first. I could take the whole hand as punishment for theft, but I take both his feet instead, saw them off below the ankle. He’s begging now–pleading with me, the fool. God’s don’t respond to the pleas of mortals, God’s don’t care about their subjects. What a delusional fuck.

Two more operations. I dig into his mouth with a bloody hand, drag out his tongue and snip off half, stopping the bleeding as quick as I can, and then the final cut, I remove his balls and cock with a single snip, and then tend to his bleeding and wounds. I wonder if I should just let him die, but that’s too easy for him, for the defyer, for the pig. He’s sobbing now, he’s already hopeless. Good, but as a final measure, I douse his cock and balls on the ground where they lay in gasoline and light them on fire, before leaving, shutting out the lights, the flame his only light–for the moment. Now, I must let him heal before we continue.

I focus on Bruin for the next few days as I planned, and it is good practice for what I will eventually do to the pig as well. It is a hybrid I have rarely used because it is exceptionally strong–it destroys the mind, rather than enhancing it. For the tribes, any who used it were generally left as nothing more than drooling fools, rendered more like animals than anything else. It was supposed that strong spirits dwelt in these particular leaves, the spirits of animals, and that they would overwhelm anyone with a weak spirit. In fact, they simply degrade an individual’s mental faculties so far that they can barely reason, behaving more on instinct than anything, but the hypnotic state that it induces is strong enough that it can overcome anything, even love.

I administer it to Bruin through the gasmask. His remaining humanity disappears quickly, and before I realize my object, I begin to replace it with anger and hatred. I pour my own dire emotions into him, I make him hate the pig, I make Bruin loathe him, I make him trust only me, his Master, his God, the Divine. I stop before I lose too much of his mind, but he’s far stupider–just an angry brute, a guard dog, a hunting dog. When I let him loose in the fields after this, I often find him later in the day, his mouth caked in the blood of some rabbit he chased and disemboweled during the day. He makes me so proud. I love that beast, and he now, truly, only loves me.

I bring this new Bruin before the pig as he heals, as well. I show him what he made me do to our pup–my pup. I show him how Bruin hates him. In the barn Bruin leaps at him, leash taut, leaping for his throat, ready to kill him should I release the lead. The look on the pig’s face–terror, but also regret and sorrow. He understands. He understands that this was his fault, that he made me do this, that this is all part of his punishment, in the end. He is healing well, though. My healing blends have closed his wounds, and they are scarring well. I mind his crotch–well, it’s crotch, now. I mind it to make sure it can still piss through a small hole, but otherwise it is just a flat, round scar–nothing left of it’s manhood, as it should be.

I fuck and fist it, and it still finds it pleasurable. It still realizes it belongs to me, that I control it. I love knowing that the act of pleasing me still brings a stupid grin to its face. On occasion, I regret what I have done, but I must remain steadfast. It had to be done, it had to be punished, I cannot allow myself to be defied. There is more to be done, more work to do, and it will begin soon. I start him with the smoke. The pig’s mind is far, far sharper than Bruin’s, it will take much longer to unravel, but I will enjoy watching it happen. It struggles against the gasmask at first, coughs from the smoke, but as soon as he has sucked it all down and gone limp, I pull it away and begin introducing it’s new habits and desires. Especially it’s hunger. It will be central to him, his stomach his new mind. The next day, I test him, and put him in a stall with a trough, and begin pouring in the slop.

The pig fights it for a few moments, but cannot resist for long. It devours as much as it can, and quickly, it realizes that he cannot stop. The trough never empties, I make sure of that, and even though the pig grows fuller than it has ever been before, it continues eating non-stop, until it collapses from exhaustion and faints. I wait until it wakes again after close to an hour, and sure enough, it continues eating–the compulsion is far too strong for it to fight. I have already won, and he doesn’t even realize it. He still fights the compulsion, still believes it has will, that it can defy it’s Lord God.

I clean up after the pig for now. I want it to grow accustomed to its new appetite. At first, it can only eat in two hour blocks, but soon its stomach has stretched large enough that it can continue eating for nearly three times as long. It no longer fights against the compulsion, the hunger has only grown stronger. I have smoked him two more times, reinforcing it’s need to eat, but I hold back. I don’t want to destroy it’s mind entirely, not yet, I want it to realize what it will become, I want it to accept it, to accept it’s complete submission to my will.

I’ve been taking care of the pig’s waste so far, scooping it out along with the rest of the hog manure, but I decide it’s time the pig starts managing it’s own matters. I smoke it again, and this time, the hunger becomes paired with a need for filth. I expect this one will take more work to ingrain within his psyche, but that’s alright–I have all the time in the world. Spring is now nearly giving way to summer, and I’m minding the pig less. I’m working on several new hybridizations, and I have my own crops to maintain. Bruin is as good a guard dog as any, and only grows more loyal to me by the day. Still, one day he got into the barn by accident, and I had to drag him off the pig before he killed it–still, it gave the hog a much needed, and much enjoyed–fright, for me at least.

The pig doesn’t want me to know what it’s been doing, I can tell. It’s doing it’s best to hide it, but I can see–the streaks of shit across it’s growing body, and finally I catch it in the act. I look in the stall, and there it is, rolling in it’s own massive pile of filth, grunting and snorting as it does, and before it can do anything about it, I’m straddling it, my cock down it’s throat, and I piss gallons into it’s guts, and it loves it. I can tell. It gives me a chance to see it’s growth too. As much as I detest chemicals, the additives and hormones in the slop have been working marvelously. The pig’s muscles have withered, and it’s packing on fat faster than anything I’ve seen. I fist it’s filthy hole next, and then force it to lick it the filth off my arm. I want it to realize that I did this. That I’ve known what it’s been doing all along, that it has no secrets from me, not anymore. The last place it can hide, it’s mind–not even that will last, but it doesn’t realize that yet. It will soon though.

The need and compulsion for filth grows, as I increase the frequency of it’s smoke sessions. The first signs of mental loss are showing–the pig will “blank out” as I call it, and run on instinct alone for minutes at a time. It’s new obsessions dominate it, and I watch it wake up from these mental time gaps, it’s face in a pile of hog manure from the pig in the next stall, and it’s horrified, but it can’t stop. Before long, I don’t even have to clean up after the pigs–the hog does all the work for me before I can get to it. Still though, it eats. I feed it too, my own shit. It fought the first time, but now it’s excited–it craves it. I bring it Bruin’s as well, and make sure it knows where it came from as it chews it down.

I begin pressing deeper into the pig’s mind, destroying it forcefully. I remove its memories–its past. It can no longer remember a time when it wasn’t a pig on my farm, when I didn’t own it, mind, body and soul. The blanks last longer now–hours at a time. But he is fighting me still. He still believes he can win if he tries hard enough. But you can’t win against God, you can’t defy me and expect a chance to defy me again. Still, I taunt it, on occasion. I bring it out of the barn. I leave it by the side of the road, and I step back. I give it the choice, I give it the chance to leave. I tell it that I won’t follow, that it can crawl into town if it wants, or wait for some passerby to find it and rescue it. I know that my commandments are too strong for such a weak pig to resist them, but it fights them anyway. It gets a few hundred yards down the road before it’s fat body, too tired and exhausted to make the trek, overloads its feeble mind. It blanks, and the pig inside draws it back to the barn to feed, to degrade itself for my pleasure.

How must it feel, when it loses consciousness on the road, and winds up back in it’s stall, eating, or licking the holes of it’s fellow pigs? I’m sure it’s beginning to realize what’s happening to its mind. It probably assumes that I bring it back though, that I stop it. I wonder when it will see the truth–that deep down, it wants to be here. That the animal I’ve crafted within it is winning. That before long, there will be no doctor–just a pig. A fat fucking pig covered in filth, devouring shit and piss, desperate to be fucked and fisted by me, it’s Lord and Master–it’s God. Sometimes, when it collapses, exhausted from eating, I listen to it sob. That’s how I know he’s still in there, how I know he’s losing, but hasn’t lost yet. Still, I should make it more tempting, I should corrupt it even further now.

Another session of smoke, but this time–pleasure. How much pleasure it gets from it’s filthy life. How content it is here. Now, when it devours the pig’s manure, I watch it shudder with delight. It can no longer cum, certainly, but it can orgasm. I watch as the pleasure overwhelms his disgust, I watch the doctor begin to rationalize its own descent into darkness. “This isn’t so bad,” it is thinking, “I am fed, I am cared for, I am happy. It could be worse.” But could it? Could it really be worse? Have I not been creative enough? Have I not punished it enough? The pig has fallen so far that he can no longer recall what he was, what it’s life could have been. His world is shrinking. I define the world, and the pig’s place within it, and he can do nothing but nod gleefully and accept it. Then, I give him pleasure for his service and piety. A pig’s pleasure, but pleasure all the same, to him.

I smoke him every day now, he is getting close to the final night of the mind. He struggles to understand me now. I speak to him often, but he usually just stares at me blankly, unable to comprehend language and words that should be familiar to him. He tries so hard though, to understand me, to comprehend the word of the Lord, but his brain can no longer grasp it, and he will inevitably blank out, and wander off to search out whatever filth it can find to satiate it’s never ending hunger. How must it think, when it is aware of itself? In images? In feelings? It’s language is disappearing, things must seem so simple now. Eat. Filth. Fist. Piss. Happy. Sad. Pain. Nothing else, anymore, aside from a few stubborn remnants.

It spends entire days, now, in the instinctual darkness. My mindless pig, obsessed with filth and devouring anything in front of it. It is clear that in it’s rare moments of relative lucidity, it struggles to piece together anything like a rational thought. I wonder if it still has any capacity to hate it’s life? It doesn’t seem to. At this point, it’s thoughts must be of how lucky it is to have a life which gives it so much pleasure. That, or simply confusion. Its mind struggling to do something–anything–with these higher order thoughts which were once so second nature, but which serve no purpose in the world I have made for it to exist in. I am with it nearly constantly now. I want to see it, that moment when the light goes out forever, when it’s mind finally shuts off, when it can no longer recognize itself as a self. I decide, finally, that I will give it a moment so pleasurable, so full of instinctual bliss, that it will give me the moment I have been waiting for for so long now.

I give it a pile of fresh sludge and slop, and it squeals with delight, hurling itself into it, eating it, covering itself with it, and then in comes the stallion. It has never ridden a cock this large, but it is eager to try, and It is soon impaled on it, the horse thrusting it into the pile of muck, and I can see the massive waves of pleasure rippling through it’s obese body, but the eyes, I watch the eyes. In them, there is a flame, it flares wildly. It can’t comprehend this situation, it has discovered bliss, it has witnessed the divine in it’s pleasure, has entered heaven, and then it dies. The pig continues, but it is an empty vessel now. It has known my wrath, and it has known my bliss. Night has fallen, and dawn will never come.