Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 2)

Tim had heard of empty nest syndrome, that parents could have a rough time when their kids go off to college, but after spending half of winter break with his dad, he couldn’t stomach anymore of this ‘new leaf’ as Brian called it. The house was filthy, all his dad wore anymore was filthy biker gear, he stuffed himself silly, drank from the time he woke up to the time he passed out, and he’d be gone for these long stretches–sometimes overnight, and he’d come back reeking of sex. Tim tried to sit him down and talk about the changes he’d seen, but his dad didn’t want to hear it. Instead…well, Tim had gotten the sense that his father was wanting him to drop out and move back home–and that, well, his father wanted to have sex with him. That was made quite clear on the last night he’d stayed there, when his drunken father had burst into his room in the night, buck ass naked, backed up to the bed and asked his son to fuck him. Tim had left that morning, and planned on not coming back–ever if he could help it–or at least until his father sorted his shit out.

Thankfully, he’d moved off campus into a little house he rented with a few friends instead of the dorms, which were still closed, so at least he had somewhere to go. He hadn’t been there for a few days, before he got a package in the mail from some company called Arctos, paid for by his father, from something called Second Life Thrift. He opened it up, mostly out of morbid curiosity, and found that there were a bunch of clothes inside, all of it absolutely filthy–just as nasty as his dad’s new clothes were, if not worse. He sealed the box back up, intending to throw them out, but instead, the box ended up pushed into the back of the closet, where Tim forgot about it rather quickly, as the next semester got rolling. He got the occasional call from his dad those first few weeks he was back at school, but he ignored them, listening to the occasional voicemail, which wanted to know if he was enjoying the gift he’d sent, wanting to know why he wouldn’t talk to him, wanting to know why he didn’t want to fuck him. It was disgusting. Finally, he blocked the number, and started making arrangements to stay at school for the summer–because one thing was certain, there was no way he was going to be living with his dad ever again.

Back home, Brian couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He had been certain that once his son got a good look at his new persona, he’d jump at the chance to ditch school and be a biker slut like him, but Tim hadn’t seemed the least bit interested. That night when he’d tried to force himself on Tim in his room had been a gamble, and one that hadn’t paid off at all. He’d gone back to the Arctos site, scrolling through some of the lots, wondering what he could send to his son that might give him a little bit of a boost, make him more amenable to the life his dad was offering him, when he’d stumbled on a familiar face–or at least, a face that was familiar to the ghost that had merged with him.

It was Jerry–a trucker that the ghost had been with, off and on, for close to thirty years. Occasionally, their lives would bring them close for a while, and the ghost had always loved getting fucked by Jerry’s massive ten inch cock, even if the trucker hadn’t had much in the way of Brian’s. He spent his time, when he wasn’t driving, focused on his weight lifting, and even when he was nearing sixty years old, he’d been a massive muscle beast, covered with hair–fuck, Brian could almost smell him now, even after all of this time. So why not send his son a gift, and give his old fuck buddy a new chance at life? It was too good an opportunity to be true.

So Brian waited, figuring his son wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of the clothes for too long. After all, it had only taken him a few days to fall almost entirely under the sway of his own ghost, back when he’d gotten his first box. He called his son, but got no answer–over and over again. Why wasn’t he picking up? Surely something must have happened by now, right? In the end, he took an extended trip on his hog to the college, and snooped around, only to discover that his son was…well, completely normal! Nothing about him seemed to have changed at all. How in the world could that even be possible? He snuck around the house for a bit, and eventually spotted the ghost of his old friend, hanging out in Tim’s room, looking a bit lost. He motioned Jerry outside, though it took him a little while to convince him that he could, in fact, see him, and asked Jerry what was going on–why wasn’t he trying to get Terry to wear his clothes?

Jerry told him that he’d been trying, but nothing seemed to work–he just couldn’t get inside the kids head. It had taken all of his energy just to keep him from throwing everything out, and sending Jerry to the dump with the rest of the garbage. It didn’t help that, even as a ghost, Jerry wasn’t the most clever of apparitions. Once brute force had failed, he’d mostly just settled into the room, vaguely haunting the place, waiting for something to happen, growing hornier and hornier, since he couldn’t seem to get any release as a spectre.

Apparently, Brian realized, his son was going to be a harder nut to crack than he’d expected. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised, right? After all, Jerry and Tim couldn’t be more opposed if he’d tried–which was one reason he’d chosen him, but the lack of common ground meant there was nothing for the ghost to tempt him with. Brian went back to the dingy motel room he was renting, and thought about what to do next–and eventually ended up back on the Arctos website, where he saw that their product offerings were much more robust than just some second hand clothes. In fact, as he scrolled through the various pages of products, he realized that all he’d need were a few little things to give his son a push in the right direction, and his buddy’s ghost would be able to take care of the rest.


Tim was feeling rundown. School was ramping up, and he was feeling a bit lost in his Freshman year, and that weird visit with his dad hadn’t helped things much at all. He was…worried about him, but what could he do? His dad was an only child so there wasn’t much in the way of family to contact to try and intervene. He didn’t have much in the way of friends. He was at a loss, and having a hard enough time juggling his own school work to try and solve his father’s problems for him. He turned off the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the front door of the house he shared with two friends, Eric and Max, who were both pre-med students like him. There, beside the door, was a package with his name on the label, but he couldn’t recall ordering anything recently. It probably wasn’t anything exciting. He went inside, set down his bag, then went back out and brought in the small package, which was surprisingly heavy, and sounded like there were a few metal…somethings clanking inside. Max was in the kitchen eating a sandwich–and Tim eyed the disaster area with a scowl. He supposed he was just as guilty, but none of them had really had time to clean the place up much since school had gotten so busy for them, but not having a kitchen was bugging him. He was so tired of takeout!

He knifed open the tape, and found a collection of small drink cans inside, with a note folded on top. He opened it up and read:

Greetings!

You’ve been selected by a previous Arctos customer to try one of our sample products! Arctos is a lifestyle brand for men who aren’t afraid to embrace their manliness, and enjoy the company and taste of men like them. The fellow who sent this to you has great taste, and we’re certain that when you get a taste of our products, you’ll understand just what kind of quality and craftsmanship goes into all of our products–you too, will be an Arctos customer for life!

Tim pulled one of the cans out of the box, and found that it was a protein shake, or a meal replacement shake, or both? It wasn’t quite clear from the label. The only thing it promised was that he’d have more energy (something he could use for sure), build more mass (something he couldn’t care less about), and unleash the jock within (dumb marketing bullshit, more like). He had a seven day supply, one set of shakes for breakfasts, and one set of shakes for dinner in the evening. 

He looked at the kitchen again, and then back at the can. Well, what did he really have to lose? It was just a shake after all. He hadn’t had any dinner plans anyway, and if he didn’t have to eat anything else, it was kind of convenient. He popped open one of the night shakes, took a sip–it wasn’t too bad–and carried the box back to his room, where he stashed them in the little fridge he usually used to hold his soda, but was empty at the moment.

He finished the shake, tossed the can in the trash, and sat down to get started on his homework, but after half an hour or so, the shake just felt like it was settling in his gut like lead, making him sleepy. He tried to concentrate on the chapter he needed to read before tomorrow, but it was no use, he was just reading the same paragraph over and over, making no real progress. He’d been up until three in the morning the last few days, and up again at eight to get to his nine o’clock lecture–his exhaustion was just catching up with him, and he was using the shake as an excuse. He struggled along for a few more hours, finding a bit of a rhythm and finishing half the chapter. He got ready for bed, figuring he’d just read the rest in the morning before class, setting his alarm for seven.  

He woke up starving, stumbled over to the fridge, pulled out one of the morning cans, and knocked it back, following it up with a satisfied belch–something he usually would have never done in his life, but at least it stopped the ache in his gut. Tim tried to recall what he’d been dreaming about, but whatever it was, it must have been sexy–he’d just had his first wet dream in ages over it. Pushing that aside, he tried to finish the chapter–but now he had the opposite problem. The can was right–he did have energy, so much that he could barely stay in his seat. He got to class without finishing the reading, and sitting still through the hour and a half lecture was torturous, even though he usually loved this class. All of his classes were like that though, and finally he just skipped his last one, mostly because he was hungry. He went to the dining hall, piled a tray high with food, ate all of it somehow, and then went back to his house, but the jitters didn’t stop. He ended up just walking around the neighborhood for a while, faster and faster, even jogging at times, because that was the only time his head seemed to calm down. He swore he wouldn’t have another shake, but even after a big dinner, he was…starving, he couldn’t settle down. He relented, drank down one of the night shakes, and in less than an hour he was sleeping, snoring heaving, cock tenting his sheets.

On the third day, Tim relented and went to the gym in the morning, just planning on running on a treadmill for half an hour, to burn off some steam. The next time he checked the clock, it was one in the afternoon, his body was screaming, and he realized he’d put himself through a massive workout, despite having never lifted a weight in his life. This…didn’t concern him, somehow. He ate a big lunch–he needed plenty of fuel for his growing body, after all–and went for a jog in the afternoon, returning home in the evening, and realizing he hadn’t gone to a single class all day, and he hadn’t done any of his reading since first drinking the shakes. But something just…told him not to worry about it. He tried to read, but got bored, and ended up just jacking off instead, looking at himself in the mirror in his room, how much…bigger he’d gotten, after his day in the gym, thinking about how much larger he could get. 

By the fifth day, Tim would have outgrown all of his clothes–if any of his old clothes had remained in his room. He burst out of his room after his morning shake, wearing a tank top stretched tight across his pecs, a pair of mesh shorts, and headed to the gym for his morning workout–and didn’t really bat an eye when he ended up at rugby practice that evening. The fact that he’d missed his classes didn’t faze him or his coaches. After all, a jock like him just had to worry about an easy fine arts major–he was there for sports, not to study. He went out to a bar with some of his friends, getting in with a fake ID, brought one home with him, and fucked his ass in his room before drinking his night shake and passing out again. 

On the seventh day, there was a knock on the door, and Tim was surprised to find his father standing on the step, his motorcycle parked on the lawn next to the driveway. “Hey son! I was on a long ride, and thought I’d stop by and give my favorite boy a visit,” he said, pulled Tim in for a hug–and while Tim knew he should be furious for his dad for what happened over winter break, when he smelled him, there was something about him that was suddenly…alluring. Sure, he reeked like he always did now, of booze and cigar smoke and rank musk, but there was something…else in the mix that Tim couldn’t identify. “Come on Tim, you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” Brian said–it was less a question, and more of an order.

“Of…of course dad, come on in…” Tim said, and let Brian into the house. His two housemates were at one of their classes, so they had the house to themselves for the next few hours. Brian took a moment to look his new and improved son over in the living room, and had to say he was quite impressed with the results from those protein shakes he’d had sent to him. Gone was the scrawny, short bookish boy that had gone off to college–Tim was now a bit over six feet, and close to 240 pounds of solid mass, thick pecs, a solid muscle gut beneath them, and from the bulge in the front of the shorts he was wearing, he seemed to be packing a bit more down there as well–but that could wait for a bit. First things first, was to help Tim and Jerry get acquainted at last.

“Dang son, nice little pad ya got here,” Brian said, and started looking through the place, “Where’s your room at?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs, first door on the left.”

Brian heaved his big body up to the next floor, and Tim followed him, still trying to get close enough to figure out why he smelled so nice. “So…uh, dad, any other reason you wanted to come by? I…I mean, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“What, a dad can’t come spend some time with his strapping, hot-as-fuck son?”

Tim blushed at the rather…sexual compliment, recalled the last time, how his dad had tried to get him to fuck him back home, and wondered why he hadn’t. Things had gotten so fuzzy lately though, and he didn’t always do things that made sense, he supposed. The last week in particular had been really weird, and now his dad just shows up out of the blue? Brian entered Tim’s room, went right for the closet, dug around and hauled out the package Tim had received earlier, which he’d mostly forgotten about. Then again, over the last few nights, he’d been having these…dreams, and now, looking at the box, it was almost…deja vu.

“What, ya never even opened it?” Brian asked.

“I…I don’t even remember what’s in there,” Tim said.

“Some clothes I bought for ya, off the internet. I thought ya’d love em. Go on son, take a look.”

So Tim starting digging around in the box, and pulling out the contents, laying it out around him. There were a bunch of tanktops, or t-shirts with the sleeves hacked off, some trucker hats, some jockstraps, cut-off jean shorts, thick wool socks, some steel toe boots, and a few cans of dip. All of the clothes were heavily stained and looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages–that, and they reeked of sweat and musk, grease and exhaust too. But looking around at them, he found that he wasn’t…that disgusted by the gear, less so than he would have expected. Little did he know, thought Brian could see behind him, that the ghost of Jerry had his fingers shoved into Tim’s head, tongue sticking out, working on manipulating the young man as best he could. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Tim,” Brian said, got down beside him, and pulled his son into his pit, where he’d sprayed the special deodorant from Arctos, one designed to make men much more agreeable to his demands, We’re gonna dress you up in this gear, and then you’re gonna fuck your dad’s hole, real good. Then, I think I’m gonna crash on your couch for a while–you’d like to spend some quality time with your dad, wouldn’t you?”

Tim nodded in a stupor, between the ghost working him over and the compelling musk of his father, and together, they got him dressed up in some of Jerry’s best gear, and then he fucked his father’s dirty hole for half an hour, certain, somehow, that he’d done this all before. When Eric and Max got back a few hours later, they found Brian and Tim on the couch watching TV, Tim still dressed in the gear from the box, but with the addition of a lip of chewing tobacco shoved in his mouth, spitting into an empty protein shake can. The two clean, nerdy housemates were put off at first, but Brian was able to smooth things over with them both–by evening, they were all happy to let Brian crash on the couch for a while, especially Tim, who found himself thinking more and more about how hot it had been to fuck his dad’s hole. He couldn’t resist, in fact–he dragged his dad back into his room after dinner, and fucked him again, loud and rough, while the two roommates tried to focus on their school work–but as far as Brian was concerned, the two of them wouldn’t have to worry about things like that for much longer.


Brian had arrived in late February, and both March and April passed in a blur for Tim. The protein shakes kept arriving from Arctos, and he kept drinking them. His routine was much easier now. It didn’t take much urging from his dad to convince him to drop out in March–they both knew well enough that Tim wasn’t smart enough to keep up with college, even the easy courses for stupid jocks like him. He got a membership at a little gym near the house, and started spending most of his time there. He’d wake up in the morning, down a shake from Arctos, and then jog to the gym for his daily workout, which usually lasted four or five hours. Then he’d jog home, and spend the rest of the afternoon with his dad. Sometimes they’d go for a ride–Brian had surprised him with a bike of his own (one that Brian had “convinced” a rather rude biker to give him) and go fuck off in the woods for a while. Other times they’d stay home, and fuck around there instead.

While Tim was out each morning, Brian would find other ways to occupy himself. For the first few weeks, he turned Eric and Max into his own personal projects, testing out a few other arctos products on them both. Before too long, they had dropped out of school as well, a pair of grungy, chubby, stupid pigs with tiny dicks, hungry for Tim’s cock as much as Brian was. After all, he couldn’t afford to give Tim a chance to really think about what was going on, and Jerry’s ghost needed the stimulation. His stamina had always been off the charts, and Brian wanted to make sure the ghost of his friend always had a hole available where he could drop a load. The landlord was another issue, after he came around and saw that the house was turning into a literal sty. With a little manipulation, they came to a new agreement. He’d keep paying the mortgage and utilities, but wouldn’t expect rent in cash anymore–instead, he’d get to enjoy full access to all the cameras he was going to install in the house to catch all the pigs in action, and then spend the rest of his time jacking off, watching them all go at it, day and night.

Somehow, Arctos just knew when to send the second collection of items from Jerry’s lot, and this second load was the final set. He’d lived his life on the road, in his truck, and so hadn’t had much in the way of earthly attachments. In any case, he figured it was time to introduce Jerry and Tim properly. He sent Eric and Max off to spend some time with the landlord–he’d recently gotten divorced, and he was thrilled to have the two pigs in his house, where he could watch them rut in real time. That gave him a few days with Tim, alone, to help him get acquainted with his ghost. He didn’t think he’d run into much trouble, but he had a few surprises up his sleeve, just in case.

Tim was still sleeping off their bender from the night before–in addition to his new dip habit, which had grown more and more severe over the last few months, he’d also taken to hard liquor as well, the cheaper and stronger the better, which had added to his hard gut, even as the rest of him swelled with muscle. Brian went in and gave his son a shake, and then a kiss, and told him he had a surprise for him, when he was up. Tim roused himself, stumbled into the bathroom to take care of business, then into the kitchen for his morning shake. Once he had that in him, and a lip full of dip, he went out to the living room where his dad had a couple more boxes like the one he’d sent him before. He opened up the boxes, and found them full of more clothes–more work gear, really. Some flannel shirts, all well worn and stained with dip spit, grungy hi-vis vests and jackets, more hats, some overalls and coveralls coated with engine oil and grease. Tim was happy with them–though he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with all of it, or why all of it seemed so…familiar to him. He looked up at his dad, beaming, and shot up from the couch when he saw someone else standing there too.

“Now son, don’t be alarmed, this is Jerry–he’s a friend of mine. He’s been helping you out for the last few months, and now it’s time the two of you got properly acquainted,” Brian said, motioning to the ghost standing beside him, “Jerry died a few years back, you see–a bad accident, but now he gets a second chance, thanks to you.”

“You…what the fuck are you talking about?” Tim asked, backing away. The pale figure was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, head shaved and with a beard reaching down to his waist. He was naked, and his cock–fuck, it had to be nearly a foot long, and it was mostly soft. “Why the fuck can…ghosts aren’t real, dad!”

“I woulda said the same thing a few months ago, but trust me, this is gonna be great for us both, I promise.”

“You…you did this, all of this, didn’t you?” Tim said, “You…sent those shakes, and…and the clothes! What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Look, I just needed to loosen you up a bit, so you’d understand, that’s all!”

He looked at the ghost, who hadn’t said anything yet, and then back at his dad. “So…so what now?”

“Now, well, now you and Jerry just gotta merge, is all.”

“No fucking way. I’m not letting that fucking thing in me.”

“Aww, come on, I ain’t that bad,” Jerry said, looking a bit sheepish, “I got a big dick, ‘n I fuck real good.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, dad, we’re fucking done–for real this time,” Tim said, stripping out of his clothes, and throwing everything into the boxes, “and you can take all of this shit with you!”

“Sorry son, but you don’t get a say in this,” Brian said, and gave Jerry a nod. The massive ghost stomped over, and while Tim expected him to pass right through him, the apparition grabbed hold of him, and wrestled him to the ground. “I was gonna save this for after the two of you were together, but I’m not surprised you need a little more tenderizing,” Brian said, and pulled out a sizable dildo from a bag he’d had on the coffee table. “I’ve heard these asslickers are fucking amazing, and I ordered this one custom, just for you.”

“Keep that fuckin’ thing away from me! I’m no fuckin’ bottom,” Tim shouted at his dad.

“”Sorry son, but I promise you this, this is the last cock you’ll ever take–don’t worry about that,” Brian said, and lubed up the dildo. He pressed the head to Tim’s tight hole, and watched as it slid right in, despite Tim’s cursing and resistance. The dildo had looked like a candy, almost, and when it slipped inside, he was surprised to taste…sugar on his tongue for a moment, until the outer layer dissolved away, and the first magical layer of the dildo was revealed. The sugary taste turned bitter, and then rank, the outside of the dildo now colored a rather vile mix of green and brown, something between camo and a shit stain. It tasted like someone had shoved a months worn jock into his mouth, and then he smelled something–and realized it was him.

Now, Tim hadn’t really been the cleanest fellow over the last few months, but he usually showered once a day, before putting his filthy clothes back on. It was one habit his dirtier father hadn’t been able to break him of, but he had a feeling this would take care of it. He watched as the layers of grime on the asslicker were worn off, and appeared on his son’s body, dirt and sweat and salt and grease and dipspit. “Aww fuck yeah son, now you’re smelling better, don’t you think?”

Tim tried to disagree, but let off a little moan instead, as the dildo pulsed inside him, and he found the smell wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought. He…kind of liked it, actually. The ghost relaxed a bit, now that Tim wasn’t fighting him, and slid his fingers into the young man’s mind, warping him further, pushing his excitement to the extremes. “Fuck yeah man, we’re gonna be so fucking filthy together, just you fucking wait,” Jerry said to him, and Tim…saw things, memories, maybe, disgusting scenes from Jerry’s life, with and without Brian, and all of them were thrilling. 

He didn’t notice the next layer appear on the dildo, which was now quite a bit smaller. This one was silvery, and as it was absorbed by Tim’s body, he started to get older, the hair on his head receding, while everything that remained turned grey. His gut sagged a bit, his muscles shrank slightly, but after a few minutes, he looked to be about the same age as his dad, and then, by the time the layer was gone, he was even older–pushing sixty, about the same age Jerry had been when he died. 

The dildo was smaller now, just a plug really, and Brian felt it wiggle out of his hand and disappear up Tim’s hole. He gasped, feeling it squirm up his body, growing smaller, until it reached his skull, giving him a massive headache as it drilled into his brain, mashing it up, Tim drooling dipspit on the carpet as he grew dumber and dumber, feeling his cock swelling larger and larger until it exploded underneath him, expelling most of his intellect and sense with it, leaving him with a cock twice the size, and a brain not really capable of much at all. “Fuck, I…what the fuck happened tah my head?” he slurred.

Jerry could tell this was his opportunity, climbed on top of the older, filthy Tim, and shoved his massive cock into his now well loosened hole. But where Brian had merged with his ghost rather gracefully, after two thrusts Jerry was simply sucked inside Tim’s ass, and he began to writhe on the floor, Brian standing over him, watching as the final changes swept over his son, and now lover. He grew more, another few inches, until he matched Jerry’s ghost in height, and every bit of muscle he’d lost growing older he put back, with interest. A thick pelt of silvery white hair grew all over his chest, down over his belly, shoulders and arms, and tattoos began to swim up to the service of his skin, the same sleazy, redneck ink that had always turned Brian on before. A massive beard sprouted from Tim’s face, wiry and stained brown from the spit that usually drooled into it, and then Tim shuddered, his own mashed mind melding with Jerry, mixed all up together, and when he looked up and saw Brian looming over him, he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was his dad, or…or someone he’d known long ago.

Brian helped him up and showed him his new body in the mirror, and Tim growled in excitement, seeing his old, muscular frame, filthy, clothes stretched tight over his muscle, fresh dark spit coating his lips, and he started stroking his cock, both of them watching it grow to the full fourteen inches it was now–even longer than it had been when he’d been Jerry, before. “Fuck Pa, can I fuck that nasty hole a yers already?” Tim asked.

“Pretty sure yer the daddy now,” Brian said, and bent over the counter, “Go on man, I’ve missed that cock a yers so much, fuck yer biker son’s hole already.”

First things first, Tim got down behind him, and ate him out, tasting Brian’s rank crack for a few minutes, until his cock was aching and throbbing with excitement, and then he rammed it in. It was so large, even the well practiced Brian moaned in pain as it slid into him, but Tim only fucked at one speed–as brutally as he could. Not many bottoms could handle him, which is why he’d kept coming back to Brian, after all. Well now, they were together again, for another couple of lifetimes. He came deep, holding him close, thrilled to have a second chance with his lover from a past life–and now, with Arctos, they could have a life unlike anything they’d ever imagined before.

Patreon Suggested Story – Swine Flu

My suggestion box is open each month for Patrons! Here’s one from last month, and here’s a link to this month’s suggestion box if you’d like to contribute an idea. There’s an additional suggested story from last month as well, if you missed it. You can find it here.


Each year, Henry and Clark liked to get away from their wives and kids and reconnect out in the wilderness somewhere for a week or so. It was something they’d done as brothers ever since they were teenagers, and now that they were approaching 40, they wouldn’t give up their little trip away from everyone else for anything. Their parents hadn’t always been there for them, and so they’d been each other’s biggest support network, and even their wives joked that there was no way they could tear the two of them apart. This year, they’d decided to try something a bit different–a rafting trip down a river, where they’d start up in the mountains and ride the current of the river down to the valley, where their wives would pick them up at the end of the week. With their gear packed and route planned, all that was left to do was to rent their vessel–their wives dropped them off at their starting point–a small little town whose economy revolved around campers and backpackers in the area, and they made their way to the little shop that rented out the rafts.

The older man at the desk sorted out their reservation, but the whole time he was there, he kept sneezing, and while Henry handled the paperwork and the deposit for the rental, Clark hung back a bit. It wasn’t just that he seemed sick–though he was clearly unwell, from the sweat beading on his brow, the runny nose, the snorting–it was…well, when the guy pulled off his hat, a clump of hair fell off onto the ground beside him, and his clothes looked to be a few sizes too small for him, like he’d gained weight suddenly, and hadn’t had a chance to find something else to wear. When Henry was done, and they’d left the shop, Clark commented on the guy’s appearance, and Henry shrugged. Apparently, half the town had come down with it over the last couple of days, some flu of some sort. Clark hoped that neither of them would catch it–nothing could ruin a trip like a cold.

All was good for the first day. They spent some time reminiscing, talking about their kids, about the world, and just some nice silence on the river, enjoying each other’s company. It was on the second day, as they were having a snack in the raft, that Henry sneezed for the first time, but passed it off as allergies. By evening, when they stopped to make camp, he was coming down with a fever and shakes, and was ravenously hungry. He devoured most of the meal that Clark made for them both, and then a good helping of their snacks for the next day as well. Henry bundled up in the tent, suddenly cold, but Clark decided to sleep out under the stars. If the flu was worse that Henry thought, then at least one of them needed to be well enough to go get help, if necessary.

The next morning, despite insisting that he felt fine, it was clear that something was very, very wrong with Henry. He had, somehow, gained close to fifty pounds overnight. He was still sweating, and when Clark went to touch his forehead, he found that his brother’s hair had receded, and there was hair everywhere in the tent. It didn’t take much for him to convince Henry to stay at camp while he went to go get help. There was a ranger station not too far off from where they had set up camp, with a trail leading to it. If no one was there, it wasn’t too much further to a little town where he could call for help too, if he didn’t get reception along the way.

Clark packed a light bag for himself, made sure that Henry had food to eat since he was still starving, and set off to go get help. The ranger station was only a couple of miles up, but the trail wasn’t well marked. He was worried that he was lost and going in circles, when he spotted the little cabin tucked away, with a jeep parked beside it on a dirt road. That meant someone had to be there. He climbed up the steps and knocked on the door, but no one answered–even though he could hear someone inside. Or was that someones? There was a lot of grunting, but seemed to be two distinct voices. He opened the door, and there in the middle of the floor were two…men. Or at least, two people that were probably men once. They were naked, their bodies naked and glistening with sweat. The one on the bottom was completely hairless, and probably two hundred pounds heavier than the more muscular man fucking him, who had a coating of boar bristle running down his back, arms and thighs.

He turned at the sound of the door, and his face–what the fuck had happened to his face? His mouth and nose had pushed out into something like a snout, with two short tusks pushing their way out on either side of his mouth. He snorted, hauled his cock out of the fat one, and started towards Henry, his hard, inhuman, and very large cock pointed right at him and drooling cum in a steady stream on the floor. “Fuckin’ horny!” the beast said, and made a grab for Clark, who ducked back out of the way and ran–but not before he saw the shredded ranger uniform still clinging to the man’s body. He didn’t pursue Clark far, but went back in and resumed fucking the other pigman. 

What the fuck was happening? Clark checked the jeep, but it was locked. He wasn’t about to risk getting the keys out of the cabin, not with those two things in there. Instead, he kept going, following the road to town, which was only a couple of miles further on. There, things were much the same. No sign of women anywhere, just these monstrous pigmen, not one of them smaller than five hundred pounds, all of them fucking one another, unless they were stuffing their faces with anything they could find. He saw a few less severe cases, and all of them looked to be sick with the flu–the same flu that had stuck his brother down back at their camp. One, he watched get fucked by one of the massive, boarish fellows, and right before Clark’s eyes, he ballooned out into a soft, simple minded hog. From then on, the only thing that he seemed interested in was getting fucked, or stuffing his body with anything he could get his hands on. Clark kept his distance, and retreated back down the dirt road–hoping he could get back to his brother in time.

He slept a bit in the forest, fitfully, and didn’t make it back until dawn. There, he found Henry in the tent, wrenching in pain, face contorted, somewhere between human and beast. Clark tried to help him, tried to tell him what he’d seen, but Henry just grabbed him, tore off his clothes, and fucked him there by the side of the river. Clark begged him not to, at first, but after the first load coated his guts, the strange swine flu working through his system, Clark found that he was having a hard time thinking about, well, anything. All he could focus on was getting more dick in him, more hot boar dick, and the two brothers spent the next few days in a near constant sexual fervor by the river, until their growling bellies dragged them back to town, and then down into the cities. The world wasn’t prepared for this epidemic, and it wasn’t long before pigs took over and ruled the Earth.

Frat Daddy – Interlude #2 (Mike)

Mike had thus far avoided any of Frat Daddy’s direct attention, and he counted himself thankful, because keeping up with just the new rules of the frat house was proving challenging enough. The worst part, though, was the showers. Or really, the lack of them. Mike was on the football team, along with a few other guys in the house, and between only showering three times a week, not being allowed to use much soap at all, and just being an active guy, trying to workout and burn through the massive calorie diet Daddy had them all on, he reeked–and he hated it. Mike had always prided himself on his cleanliness and style, always smelling and looking good for the girls on campus–none of who would give him a second look now.

None of this had escaped Ethan’s attention though–especially when he found contraband in Mike’s drawer during a surprise check. It was a can of deodorant (unscented even, because he knew any scent would have given him away in the house) and Daddy had him turn around, and threatened to shove the aerosol can up his hole, if he ever found something like this in the house again. Instead, he just gave him ten solid paddlings with the metal cylinder, and left the house with it. When Friday rolled around, and it was again time to gather up and find out who Daddy would have spend the weekend with him, Mike was surprised when Daddy chose him. 

The week before, Carter had come back and he’d been…different. More assertive. Bigger too, somehow. He’d been vague about his time with Daddy, but said it had been something very special, and that he couldn’t wait to go back and see him again sometime. In fact, Carter looked outright despondent that he hadn’t been selected, while Mike was trying to figure out, why him? If it was a reward, why pick him after finding contraband in his room? If it was a punishment…he didn’t really want to think too hard about that, actually. There was only one bright spot, he thought, as he followed Daddy through the tunnel and over to his home, and that was, maybe, he could get that little can back from him. It was risky, sure…but maybe, if he could just talk to him, he’d understand, right?

Daddy cooked him dinner, which was off putting. He hadn’t had much in the way of real food, aside from the occasional dining hall visits, since anything consumed outside of the house didn’t actually count towards their daily goal, and the shakes were so damn filling. Daddy was quiet–not like he was angry, but like he was trying to give Mike some space to think. It was enough for Mike to reconsider him for a moment, that maybe he was something more than just the taskmaster he had taken him to be. Daddy asked him about football, and about the coach in particular, if he’d said anything to the boys about their uniform, their diet, or the fact they were forbidden to shower after practice. From there, talk drifted to the topic of hygiene. Mike tried to, gently, suggest that maybe the boys could be allowed to shower more–at least after practice, but Daddy didn’t seem interested in changing his mind. What he did say, was that if Mike still felt that way after this weekend, then he might consider it. It wasn’t much, but a bit of hope was better than nothing. When Mike asked him what they were doing this weekend, Daddy was honest–the house needed some work, especially outside in the garden, ahead of winter. As part of his punishment, Mike would be helping him. That seemed fair to Mike–and he imagined that Daddy could have inflicted much harsher punishments if he so chose. Daddy showed him to his room, and then left–he’d get him up in the morning.

But Mike had a hard time sleeping, for a number of reasons. He was horny, for one thing, but that had become a rather constant feature of his life, since he didn’t exactly enjoy having sex with his brothers, and women were off limits. In fact, Mike hadn’t fucked anyone in the last week–as hard as it was to resist after a cigar. It wasn’t required, so why do it? That, though, brought up another reason sleeping was difficult. He’d taken to consuming one of his required cigars in the evening, and he hadn’t today–so much to his displeasure, he was jonesing a bit for nicotine. The room was also quite hot–hotter than it should have been, especially this late in October. He’d kicked off all the sheets, and was still soaked in sweat. He tried to open the window, it wouldn’t budge. In the end, he got up, tried to door, and much to his surprise, it wasn’t locked–though why he’d expected it to be…he didn’t know. Maybe he could find that can of deodorant at least–if he didn’t have to smell himself, he’d sleep a bit better. If not that, a cigar–Daddy would understand, he was sure. He’d seen a humidor downstairs in the lounge–might as well go there first, for an alibi.

After fetching a cigar–the smallest he could find, since he didn’t want to be up all night, he made his way back upstairs, and found himself outside Daddy’s room–he could tell from the snoring. He pushed open the door, which was ajar, and it was just as sweltering as his own room, not that it was bothering Daddy at all. Sure enough, there, on the dresser, was the little can of deodorant. Just grab it, slip out, spray it on, put it back, and he’d be good for the weekend at least. But instead, as he crossed the side of the room as quietly as he could–he smelled something else. Looking down, he realized what it was, he was standing right on some of Daddy’s well worn underwear, and he could smell it, the cum, the piss, the sweat, all of it wafting up to him, and he didn’t understand what he did, or why, but he bent down, picked them up, and retreated to his own room where he closed the door, lit his cigar, and spent the next hour with the underwear pressed to his nose, moaning and groaning and jacking off, always on edge, unable to cum, until at last, he passed out, the butt of the cigar balance on the side table, still smoldering. 

Outside the room, Ethan was crouched, looking through the door that Mike thought had been shut tight, but no doors were closed to Daddy. He hadn’t been sure that Mike would take the bait–but the deodorant would have been a fine surprise for the boy too–just a different sort of surprise. For now, he would go with this plan–the weekend was still long, after all, and Mike was a tough nut, he could already tell.


The pounding on the door jostled Mike awake. “Come on boy! Get a move on,” a voice said from the other side of the door, and it took Mike a moment to place it, before he remembered where he was. It was Daddy of course. He sat up, saw the cigar on the side table, and remembered everything else that had happened last night, and his stomach turned. The underwear! He looked around for it on the bed, but it wasn’t anywhere–and then he looked down, and saw that he…was wearing it.

His stomach turned a bit, at the sheer thought of wearing someone else’s underwear–especially one as dirty and…and why were they still wet? He tried to take them off, only to discover they refused to budge from around his waist. In a rising panic, he stood up, almost called to Daddy…but then he’d have to admit that he took them, and admit what he did the night before, which he could barely even reckon with himself. Instead, he put on the clothes that had appeared on a chair by the door–a pair of old 501 levis that fit surprisingly well, a wife beater, socks, and a pair of work boots. They were all used as well, they all smelled of a vague musk, but what choice did he have? He’d just have to get through the weekend and be done with it. He thought again about that can on the dresser, but Daddy pounded on the door again, ordering him out. Mike emerged, followed Daddy downstairs and they had breakfast, followed by a cigar, as Daddy outlined the tasks for the day.

Daddy had some general work to do winterizing the house and the backyard. Mike would be spending the day mowing the lawn, organizing the shed, and a few other general tasks, should he be a good boy and finish all of those quickly. The morning chill burnt off quickly, and Mike found himself mowing the lawn in a heat that felt more like August than Fall–it was unnatural, and he found himself working up a sweat almost immediately. The lawn was connected seamlessly to the frat house’s front lawn, and Daddy told him to mow that as well. Quite a few of his brothers could see him through the windows, and Mike grumbled a bit, knowing that the rest of them would know that he was Daddy’s chore boy this weekend. At least he could smoke a cigar while he was mowing, though that did nothing to ease his horniness. Every erection he sprouted as he walked, he knew it was rubbing up against Daddy’s dirty underwear, and he found it hard to know how he really felt about that. Disgusted? Excited? Both? He mowed faster so he could at least be done with it, and when he was finished, he went back and found Daddy in the backyard, as soaked in sweat as he was.

They had a quick break for lunch, and sat out on the porch to eat it. Each time Daddy raised his arm to take a swig from his beer, Mike would get a whiff of his pits, and the same emotions would roil through him all over again. He was certain this was Daddy’s plan all along, turn him into some…musky boy or whatever he had it mind, like how Carter had come back, and suddenly he was twisting tits and smacking asses as he fucked everyone, and…and what in the world was happening to them all? This wasn’t normal, right? He had to remember that. He had to keep telling himself that.

They finished lunch, and returned to work. Mike spent the afternoon in the shed, organizing and sorting Daddy’s tools, and the tin roof turned it into an oven. Soon, all he could smell was his own musk, or was it Daddy’s? He couldn’t tell anymore, but it was making his cock ache, but he refused to give in. He stayed focused on his task, and finished it without making a fool of himself. If he could demonstrate self-control, if he could show Daddy that he didn’t need to be dirty to be a good boy…then maybe he really would listen to him. He hoped he would, at least. 

With their chores finished, and their bodies plenty sore, they went in, and Daddy cooked another sizable dinner. Once they’d eaten, Daddy poured them both some bourbon and they sat back out on the porch with their cigars, this time on the swinging bench, Daddy’s arm around Mike’s shoulder, his pit inches from the boy’s face. “Well boy, you did some nice work today, I have to admit. Good boys deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Daddy’s arm contracted around his shoulders and pulled him closer, while his other hand groped his boy’s crotch. Mike was very hard–it felt like he’d been hard all day long at this point. The urge to lean in and just…smell Daddy’s pit was nearly overwhelming, but one little lapse, and he’d have lost. He was so focused on not giving in, that he forgot what Daddy would find when he undid the button fly of his jeans–and Daddy chuckled. “Well boy, now where did you get those?”

Mike tried to pull away from him, but Daddy tugged him even closer.

“Looks like someone snuck into Daddy’s room, and made off with a pair of underwear, you little thief. To think, all this time, saying you can’t handle the smell of the other boys in the house, and the first chance you get, you steal a pair of my dirty, cumstained, stinking underwear so you can wear them yourself.”

“That’s not…I didn’t…”

“Sure seems like you enjoy it boy,” Daddy said, groping harder and rougher, and then he pressed his fingers to Mike’s nose. He snorted in reflex, and then moaned, the smell of his own musk mixing with Daddy’s more than he could really take. “What does it smell like, boy? Does it smell like hard work? Smell like hardworking, burly, hairy men? You like men like that, don’t you? Like Daddy? Don’t you want to be a stinking man like that? Dominating all of the men around you with your pits, with your crotch, with your feet?”

“No,” Mike said, and managed to push himself away, and stand up. “No–I know what you’re doing, but I’m not like you, I’m not! I’m not just…just going to let you do this to me, to all of us.”

“Boy, sit your ass back down, right now,” Daddy said, but Mike ran inside, and headed for the stairs. The first place he stopped was the bathroom, so he could get in the shower–but he discovered that there simply wasn’t one there. 

“Boy, think about what you’re doing right now, you’re about to make a mistake.”

“Shut up!” Mike cried, “I’m not some fucking boy–I know what I’m doing, and what I want, and it isn’t this!”

He went into Daddy’s master bedroom, but again, somehow, the shower in the attached bathroom he was certain should be there was just…gone. He turned, saw the little can on the dresser, and made a beeline for it. He might not be clean, but at least he wouldn’t stink!

He popped off the cap, and Daddy stepped into the room, hands down, looking…not angry, like Mike had expected of him, but a bit…concerned. “Boy, you don’t understand what you’re about to do. I know it’s hard, but I just need you to trust me, and you’ll understand that what I’m offering you is about more than this. That if you don’t work past this, one way or another, you won’t–”

“Shut up! I’m sick and tired of your rules, and your lectures, and your fucking stink!” he said, and proceeded to spray himself from head to foot–but as soon as the mist struck his nose, he knew something was wrong. This…wasn’t unscented anymore. It smelled…foul. Fuck, it fucking reeked so…so fucking much, and the next thing Mike really remembered clearly, he had crawled across the floor, grunting and snorting, and shoved his nose into Daddy’s crotch, snorting up all the musk there, hungry for it, aching for it.

“I tried to warn you pig, but some boys need to learn the hard way, no matter what,” Daddy said, and dropped his own jeans, so Mike could shove his nose into his dirty underwear, sniffing and grunting and squealing until he shot a load in the filthy pair of underwear he had on still. Mike was desperately trying to regain control of himself, but he could feel that he was changing further, his gut sagging lower, his body coated with sweat and grime like he hadn’t had a shower in ages. Daddy stripped down, got on the bed, and let the pig climb up with him, licking him clean, worshipping every inch of his body, every slight difference in musk registered and relished by his more sensitive nose, until Daddy had had enough with the licking, shoved the pig down on his belly, and pounded his hole, making the pig squeal and shoot another load all over the sheets beneath him. After that, Daddy kicked the pig out of bed. Mike crawled around, sniffing for a while, and eventually curled up in a pile of dirty laundry, and was soon snoring away.


Sunday morning came, and all that registered to Mike at first, was a headache, like he had spent all night huffing paint. He made his way to the bathroom, splashed a bit of water on his face, took care of his business, stumbled out, but Daddy must have woken up already. Mike went downstairs, carefully, since the world was still spinning a bit rapidly, and found Daddy cooking a delicious smelling breakfast. His memories of the night before were…hazy. He could remember the fight, somewhat, and he felt…bad, but he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“There you are, pig,” Daddy said, with a grin, “sleep well?”

“I…I feel like I got hit by a train, Daddy,” Mike said, and sat down at the table.

“I tried to warn you, boy, but you didn’t want to listen.”

“Well I’m sick of listening! I’m sick of you telling us what to do. We’re adults, you know! We’re–” before Mike could get anything else out, Daddy had walked over, shoved his face into his pit, and everything else disappeared–there was just that wonderful, filthy stench, and with a grunt, Mike was licking and sucking at his pit with pure delight, until Daddy pulled away, and Mike came back to himself, horrified. “How…why did I do that?”

“You’re a pig.”

“But the spray, I thought it wore off.”

“It might wear off, eventually. But until then, anytime you smell another fellows musk–you’re going to turn into one hundred percent grade A muskpig.”

“You…you can’t be serious.”

“I most certainly am. It’ll get worse, too. You’ll get fatter, the more it happens. Dirtier. It’ll start wearing off on you. Showers, for you, are optional from now on–if you can stand to take them. You might even start to like it. You might forget you ever wanted to be a man at all, boy. You might just leave here a pig, and never look back.”

Mike sat in silence, while Daddy finished cooking, and set the meal in front of him. Was he hungry because he was legitimately starving, or was he hungry because the pig was urging him on? He ate anyway, trying to hold back, trying to find the line, but it eluded him. “For what I said, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You meant it,” Daddy said, and looked him in the eye, “When you really understand what you did wrong–then apologize. Until then, well, we’ll see.”

After breakfast, Mike returned to the house. The boys all asked him how it had been, if the chores had been a punishment, or something else. Mike didn’t really know what to tell any of them. Later, Carter found him, alone, and sat beside him–and just put his arm around him. Mike knew it was commiseration, but it took all of his will to not leap into Carter’s pit and suck it clean.

“Daddy’s a real bastard, isn’t he?” Carter said, “But fuck, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“He is a bastard, that’s for sure,” Mike replied, and left it at that.

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?

New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 12 – Finale)

Martin heard the Sergeant wake up and start shouting for him to free him, but that was the last thing Martin had in mind for him. He was in the Sergeant’s supply room, looking at the massive amount of BDSM gear on on the shelves, hanging in the closets, and tucked into drawers, but he didn’t know what he was doing exactly, with any of it. He should just run, shouldn’t he? But the resolutions that had been made for him wouldn’t allow him to run away, of course. What was he going to do then?

As he was looking around, at a loss, he saw a small golden envelope lying on a table, next to a strange looking helmet. The helmet Martin recognized. The Sergeant had used it on him a few times down here, both as a means of conditioning him to obey him, and as a way to toy with his mind during a session. It was a VR system designed to play hypnotic visuals and tracks that the subject would be unable to resist. He picked up the envelope, tore it open, and read the contents:

Well, it seems that you’ve hit a bit of a wrinkle in your year, Martin. Now, it isn’t too late, you know. You can still go out there, free the Sergeant, and accept your punishment. If you do so, things will continue as they would have–after a year in training with the Sergeant, you would have been returned to your old life, generally, though with a physique you could have only dreamed of a few months ago. However, if you do not wish to free him, then there is only one thing for you to do. We have taken the liberty of loading an appropriate file into the helmet–don’t bother trying to pull it out or change it. If you do, you’ll find yourself wearing it instead. If what you really want is revenge–then place it on his head, and we will give you the revenge you so desire. Beware though–revenge can come with costs of its own.

It was the middle of summer. Six more months of this nightmare, before he could go back to his old life, and try and put it back together? It wasn’t like those six months would be easy either–the Sergeant was not the forgiving sort, and his punishments were…severe. For a betrayal like this, Martin didn’t even want to imagine what the Sergeant might do to him. He picked up the helmet, eyed the slot where the disc went to play the hypno program. What could be on it? He didn’t have any idea, but whatever it was, it had to be better than six months of torture, right?

He went back out into the dungeon where the Sergeant was still sitting in the chair, and when he saw the helmet in Martin’s hand, the Sergeant looked shocked, and then outraged, demanding that Martin let him up this instant. Before he could doubt himself, he dropped the helmet over the Sergeant’s head, hit the play button, and after a few minutes of protest, the Sergeant went quiet as the programming washed over him.

Martin didn’t know how long the program would last. The helmet was very effective–but it could still be hours, depending on what the company had in mind for the Sergeant. He didn’t want to leave him though–so he sat there and waited. That made him anxious, so he passed the time with some exercising, mostly pushups and pull ups around the room, until he heard a grunt come from inside the helmet, signalling that the Sergeant was coming out of his trance.

He walked over, and saw another envelope taped to the back of the helmet, which had appeared at some point out of thin air. Martin pulled it off, and opened it up.

Revenge it is! We can work with that. However, we will need to provide you with a few new resolutions, Martin.

I resolve to take the Sergeant’s place here. I will style myself as closely to him as I can, wear his clothes, adopt his haircut and his vocal style. I will exercise everyday, following his exact routines, and maintain a physique just like his. I will forget my own name, and only know myself as Sergeant from now on, even in my own mind.

I resolve that I will no longer find muscular bodies attractive. From now on, I will only be attracted to fat, obese men.

I resolve to keep this man as my personal pigslave for the rest of my life. His mental faculties are now closer to beast than to man, and so I will have to feed him from a trough and care for him like a pet pig. I will love him dearly, and I will have my pig fuck my hole at least twice a day.

I resolve to work for New You Resolutions from now on as a feeder and trainer. I will take men in and fatten them up into the sorts of obese men I desire, as required by my employer.

Welcome to the team Sergeant! We hope you find these new conditions acceptable–not that you have a choice, of course.

He tore the helmet off his pig, who was grunting and snorting, and looking around a bit crazed and confused. He could speak–sort of. Anything more than short sentences was difficult, and he usually got out more grunts, squeals and snorts than words anyway. The new Sergeant, however, could only think about one thing–he dragged the pig over to the trough that appeared along the wall, went upstairs for the pig’s slop, dumped it in, and watched the muscular man shove his face in and scarf it down as quickly as he could.

While the pig ate, he went upstairs and got dressed in his new clothes. They were loose on him, of course, but after another few months in the gym, he would fit into them like a glove, just as his predecessor had. Inside, he was horrified. This wasn’t what he’d wanted at all! He looked at himself in the mirror, and found himself disgusted–he was so…ripped. He didn’t want this sort of body at all, but he was trapped in it now, for good. He went back downstairs, and his pig had finished eating, his musclegut bulging from the massive meal. The pig could barely move, but that didn’t stop him from mounting the Sergeant and fucking him with his piggy cock, grunting and squealing the entire time while the Sergeant cried, disgusted with himself in ways he could barely explain. 

Six months later, the new Sergeant was ready–the spitting image of the old one, though brown haired instead of strawberry blonde, green eyed instead of brown. His pet pig was always naked, and always at the Sergeant’s side. The pig was weighing in at 350 pounds now, and the Sergeant was so proud of his massive beast, and how far he’d come in six months. It was January now, and he’d just heard from New You that his first client would be arriving in a few days for a four month fattening. The Sergeant sighed, and looked at his muscled body in the mirror. For the rest of his life, he’d be giving men that which he could never have. All he wanted now for himself, was to be fat–but he’d never have that again. He’d just have to fatten his pig instead, and every man that crossed his path. It would be enough, probably, right?


That’s it for this interactive! I’m taking a couple of weeks to focus on commissions, and I’ll be posting those as I finish them. I’ll have a new interactive starting up sometime in March!

Business as Usual

An open ended, multipart story following the various tales of a business that has been taken over by a new CEO. However, the men working there soon discover that with new leadership, it is going to be anything but business as usual for them.

Last updated: 10/21/2019 – Part 3 is now public!

Click the button below to see the table of contents, and read the story!

Continue reading “Business as Usual”

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 5)

“I know you probably won’t appreciate this, pig, but let me tell you–from my own experience, it will be better this way,” the imp said, and jumped back up to the ceiling, pulled a lever, and a few moments later, the taste and consistency of the mash flowing into his mouth…changed. The taste was vile–musky and rank and dirty and…and delicious. He panicked, trying to keep from swallowing the filth, but the tube forced itself deeper into him, and he had to choice as it was pumped directly into his guts. 

“See, that first Halloween, no one…destroyed me. I had to survive here, my mind witnessing everything in this darkness, all year long. It was horrifying. No one should have to go through what I did. This is better. Better to just be what you’re going to be, don’t you think? Give in, never have to worry about that old life of yours? Just let yourself be the dirty, shameful, disgusting pig you were meant to be, from the moment you stepped in here.”

Ken was still struggling, but he could feel it. The filth was…warping him. He could distingish some of the flavors now–piss from the urinals, cum from the dumps, mud and muck from the floors washed down the drains, the tang of shit even, at the back of his throat. He wasn’t getting fatter, but something else was happening, he could…smell himself, and it was the same heady musky of the filth being pumped into him. He stank of a toilet, and a filthy sock, and a cumsoaked armpit, all at the same time, and…and he loved it. His mind was fading, shifting. He was oinking and squealing, his cock leaking all over the floor beneath him. The surface of his latex clad body was changing as well, the rubber growing…moist. Not with sweat, but with some vile, slick scum–a goo seeping ring out from his rubber pores and sliding down his skin and onto the floor under him.

“Don’t worry piggy–all you have to do is cum, and the hose will release you. The sooner you embrace it, the more of a mind you’ll have left–so I suggest you start working that piggy cock into that fat of yours quickly. I, however, have a party to leave–and a new lease on life. Enjoy it–maybe I’ll pay you a visit next year.”

The imp was gone, leaving the pig all alone in the cage, swallowing down the muck, grinding his cock mindlessly between his gut and the floor for a few minutes until he came, squealing in delight at the mess he was making, at the filthy mess he was. He wasn’t…the same, as he squeezed out of the cage. The muck he’d been dropping wasn’t just…coming from him, it was him, he was made of that same filth, his pig face slumping and drooling off him as he walked, reforming again as he lost bits of himself to the floor, in a trail of black slime as he crawled into the room, sniffing and snorting for filth he could devour, hungrier than he could have ever imagined being in his life.

“Hello? Hello!”

He looked up at the sound of a voice, as a young man, somehow still in his black attire from the party, stumbled around the corner. He was missing his clothes tag, took one look at the nightmarish rubber pig in front of him, and froze. Before he could do anything, however, Ken was on him, his gooey body sticking to the man’s flesh as he screamed, dragging him down, eating away at his clothes, while Ken’s cock, the last firm thing left on his body, starting probing for the man’s hole. He was screaming, so Ken covered his mouth in goo, the substance hardening quickly, the man’s mouth now covered by a patch of black rubber that melded seamlessly with his skin, only able to breathe through his nose.

“So…hungry…” Ken grunted in the man’s ear, as he fucked him, and as he did, his body began to lose…shape, flowing down around the man, engulfing him slowly into Ken’s own form. The man’s body, warped by the filth, was beginning to lose firmness as he was sucked into the pig, Ken’s cock drilling deeper and deeper until it forced it’s way out the other side of the man’s body, through his own cock, the man shuddering in something like an orgasm as he felt the monster’s filth begin to dissolve and eat away at his body, absorbing him into the pig as a new part of him, his mind locked away with Ken’s, forever trapped inside this monstrous, rubber beast eager to devour anything in sight.

Then, it was four o’clock, and the lights shut off. Trapped in the dark, with only the other monsters for company. Until next year at least–and by this, this pig would be starving.

–An Ending–

Alright, let’s go back and pick up the story somewhere else! Here’s some options. A few are new, and one is a popular path that didn’t get picked from this last little chunk. The bonus poll for Patrons is over here as well!

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 4)

Ken pressed against the bars of the cage, trying to force the bars to grow back out, but they refused to budge. He was left with maybe a few inches of clearance on all sides of him, and there wasn’t a door to be seen anywhere, on any side of the bars. Ken squealed for help as best he could, but he couldn’t form words with his rubber pig face at all–and the imp just sat there, looking smug, like he was certain that he’d won.

“You might want to be a bit quieter piggy. I know you want someone to help you, but in this place, all you’re going to find is someone looking to fuck a hole like yours–and I can assure you, there are not many men around who you would want to fuck you right now, in your predicament. So why don’t you calm down, and just accept it? You lost, I won. Now I get what I want.”

It was the first words that the imp had spoken, that Ken had heard all night, and he was surprised the creature could even talk, especially as ugly and monstrous as it was. It’s voice was certainly ugly though–high pitched and screechy, though easy enough to understand. None of the other monsters he’d passed in the halls had seemed to have this much…presence of mind.

“Been two years. Two long fucking years, since a few of those monsters got hold of me one Halloween, and warped me into this fucking thing. Can’t tell you how fucking hard it’s been, holding onto myself all this fucking time here, don’t think I could make it another year. But I got lucky with you–caught you early enough to snag your tag. Now all I have to do is make sure you can’t make it back out to contest it–and I’m home free.”

Ken realized, at last, what the imp’s plan was all along. He wanted the tag…so he could leave. He was going to leave Ken here in this nightmare to rot, and this fucking imp was going to go out and claim Ken’s life as his own! Ken redoubled his efforts against the cage, angrily butting his head against it, swinging from side to side, but it refused to budge–all it did was exhaust him. 

“Now now, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your body. You were so handsome, you know. Before…well, before you went all piggy. Maybe I’ll come back next year–I know my way around this place now, and check in on you. See if you managed to hold up as well as I have. I don’t think so, honestly–you seem pretty thick to me–though you could be thicker, couldn’t you?”

The imp laughed, and launched himself up to the ceiling. Ken looked up and saw a bunch of pipes up there around the ceiling, and the imp grabbed one, and dragged a hose back down with him. “Alright piggy–I don’t think you quite look the part yet, do you? Aren’t pigs supposed to be fatter?”

It was true–while the suit had warped his body, it hadn’t really changed his basic shape. Ken tried to shrink back into the cage, but there was nowhere to go–the imp pushed the hose against his mouth, and the thing came alive–forcing open Ken’s snout and filling his snout, latching on and refusing to come off. Something churned overhead and a thick slop started flowing down the hose–Ken’s only choice was to swallow as quickly as he could, or choke.

So he swallowed–and the more he swallowed, the easier it was to swallow, and as his belly grew more and more full, the…better he felt. The imp went around behind him, toying with his ass and his piggy cock, telling him what a good little piggy he was being, eating his slop. Slowly, weight began to show on his body–especially his gut, which began to distend–first firm, and then growing softer, his arms and legs losing definition and growing flabby, his ass growing wider too. He had two chins under his snout now, and he would have happily kept eating mindlessly if he hadn’t looked up at the wall, and seen the clock that told him it was almost three in the morning. He’d eaten the night away–he only had one hour left before he was trapped here forever. But he couldn’t stop eating–even after everything he’d eaten, he was hungry–so fucking hungry. 

“Well Pig, it’s been fun this evening, but I’d better be on my way,” the imp said. “Still, don’t think I don’t have one more surprise for you before I leave–consider it a token of my gratitude, for giving me your life.”


Here’s the choices for this branch! All of these are endings of various natures–after this, we’ll go back and pick up another thread. The patron only version is over here as well!

Suggested Story: The Mad Veterinarian

I have a new story up for Patrons, based on a couple suggestions from last month and this month, dedicated to a certain someone. If you’d like to read it, check it out here! The suggestion box is still open by the way, and a bit bare this month, so if you’re a patron and want to see something from me, now’s the time to ask. Here’s a short preview of the story, to whet your appetites.


There were, it turned out, some things that massive amounts of money couldn’t buy. Albert was in his mid fifties, and his heart was failing him. Albert was rich, but he had a problem–he had a congenital defect that meant he couldn’t get a transplant–no matter how much he paid the doctors to tell him otherwise. He was struggling along as best he could, on medications and a pacemaker, but at his weight and age…the prognosis did not look good. But Albert hadn’t become a rich man by giving up–and he certainly wasn’t about to give up on this now, not with his very life at stake.

He turned to the black market instead, but again, he found himself thwarted by his own body’s weaknesses. Even shady surgeons wouldn’t touch him–it was simply too risky. That, in the end, is what led him here, to this little veterinarian clinic out in the middle of nowhere. It turned out that there was a possible solution to his problem–at least, an experimental one. Doctors had been testing out replacing human hearts with pig hearts as transplants, but the trials were in the very early stages. Still, where there was medicine, and money, certain hoops could be jumped through, and this vet came highly recommended–as highly recommended as one could come off the black market.

The conditions had been strict. Albert had to come alone, and he could tell no one where he was going. If he survived the procedure, and all was well, in three weeks he’d return to his life, all the better. If not…well, this was the only chance, wasn’t there? The clinic was run by a single doctor, who served the entire county–Dr. Pontiac. He was a muscular fellow, hairy with a large beard, and a rather stern face. He gave Albert his exam, and told him they were good to go–he would do the surgery that night.

Albert had expected a little more prep time, but Dr. Pontiac insisted. He’d just had a carcass come in, perfect shape for what was necessary, presently on ice. It was now, or he would have to wait days, or possibly weeks–and Dr. Pontiac assured Albert that he might not have weeks in his current state. So Albert was stripped down, taken into the operating room of the little veterinary hospital. He could hear the sounds of animals all around him, as Dr. Pontiac and his assistant prepared him for his surgery. Then the mask was over his face, and the last thing he saw before he went under, was Dr. Pontiac smiling down at him, assuring him that when he woke up, he would feel like a brand new animal.


Read the rest on my Patreon here!