Rick and The Beast (Part 2)

Another three texts, all from The Beast. Rick ignored them like usual, but he sounded more pissed off than usual. It had been two weeks since he’d been raped at that party, and The Beast had texted him almost non-stop since, demanding that Rick come over and let him plow his hole, or meet him around campus to suck his cock. Rick was so stressed out that he was failing half his courses. He couldn’t report it–who would believe him? And even if they believed him, Jim was a god to this school–if people found out he’d accused him of not only raping him, but of being gay…no, that just wasn’t a possibility. It didn’t help that his obsession with the jock Jim had given him was only growing stronger. The only way he could get a load out was with it stuffed in his mouth or pressed to his nose, and he always imagined the most vile, exciting fantasies. But the texts had turned into threats lately. He did everything he could to avoid The Beast, and anyone else, and in particular had started eating very late at night, or skipping meals altogether, to avoid the crowd of students. That night, when he was sitting alone, and a hulking figure started crossing the room towards him, he realized this had been an error of judgement. He started packing up his stuff, but before he could escape, Jim had slid into the booth, where Rick was seated, pinning him to the wall.

“Let me see your phone, fuckpig,” The Beast said, and when Rick did nothing, he rummaged through Rick’s pockets until he found it, made him unlock it, and checked the text messages. “You have been getting them, you fucker!” he said, “I thought you might have given me the wrong number, but you’ve been fucking ignoring me. People don’t fucking ignore me, pig.”

“Please, I’m sorry, but I don’t…”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t do,” The Beast said, throwing up an arm. The stench of his pit washed over Rick, but he felt that same feeling he’d felt in the hallway, the same feeling when he picked up the jock in his room, his heart in his throat beating fast, his cock hardening, “Lick it.”

Rick already had his tongue out before The Beast gave the order, burying his face in that stinking armpit, thirsty for his sweat. He felt like he was drunk again, even though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since that party.

“Now open up your laptop there, unlock it for me, and then get under the table. We’ve got a couple of hours to waste, and I don’t want to get bored.”

Rick did as he asked, and then crawled under the table. It was a tight fit for him, but he saw The Beast already had his cock hanging out for him.

“Edge me, pig. If I cum, I break your laptop. If I get soft, I break your face–got it?”

The task proved harder than he’d expected. The Beast’s cock ran on a hair trigger, and while he was generous enough to warn Rick that he was getting close, balancing him on the edge took all of his concentration…but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed running his tongue under The Beast’s foreskin. He liked sucking on the head, the feel of it pushing down his throat, the taste of his balls and precum. He had his own cock out and was jacking it off under the table, and while The Beast never came, he shot three loads over the next two hours, until the kitchen closed and the last of the staff had left the building.

By that point, the stench had settled over Rick’s mind like a fog–he would have done anything The Beast told him to do at that point. They got up, The Beast telling him he’d be punished for cumming without permission later, and went around behind the building. The beast stacked up a couple of milk crates and told Rick to sit on them, and then said, “Now pig, as punishment for not responding, we’re going to have a little feeding session. Fresh food’s too good for a pig like you though, so you’re going to be eating trash.”

The kitchen had already tossed the extra product from that day, and it was still tepid from the warming trays. Rick tried not to vomit–The Beast told him that if he vomited, he’d make him eat it all back up. Eventually he got used to it, and when The Beast thought he’d suffered enough, Rick’s gut taut with thrown out food, he told him to get on his hands and knees, and he fucked his ass in the alley. Between the pain of his ass and his stuffed gut, he wanted to just die, but instead, he shot another load of cum onto the pavement beneath him, when The Beast’s massive cock slammed into his prostate.

“God damn it, pig fucker…” The Beast said, after he came and pulled out, “Lick up that fucking nasty cum of yours right fucking now.”

Not that, anything but that, and yet he was scooting back, his tongue scraping the cum up from the asphalt. Why was he doing this? Why was he letting The Beast do this to him? While he licked, he felt The Beast grab his cock and balls, fit something over them, and then heard the click of a padlock.

“As punishment for cumming without my permission, we’re just going to keep you locked up from now on. If you start acting like a good piggy, and respond to my texts, and don’t refuse a single meet up for the next month, I’ll let you shoot once. Oh, and one more thing pig–”

The Beast stood up, aimed his cock at Rick, and unleashed a torrent of piss.

“You’re mine. Got it? Fucking mine.”

He soaked every inch of his clothes down to the skin, and then put away his cock and left without another word, leaving Rick shivering in the cold, wondering how any of this could get any worse.

(To be continued at some later date???)

Patreon Commission: A Pig and His Sty

“Those fuckers…” Barry said, tracking mud across the floor of his friends’ farmhouse as he made his way to their bathroom for a shower. Jerry and Mac had a fondness for pranks, and he could still hear them laughing outside by the pig sty, where the two of them had grabbed Barry, chucked him over the low wooden fence and into the mud on the other side. He was covered, head to toe, and after shouting at them, they’d suggested he just calm down and go inside for a shower.

He turned on the water, and then started stripping off his muddy clothes. How in the hell had he gotten as much mud under his clothes as on them? He didn’t even know what he could wear–both Jerry and Mac were big farm boys–he’d never be able to fit into anything of theirs. He could worry about that later though–first he just had to get some of this damn mud off of him.

The water had heated up, he stepped inside and felt the mud start to sluff off him as he wiped it away. He focused on his head for while, trying to get all the mud out of his short hair and off his face, and then looked down at his body, and saw that while some of the mud had just come away with the water, large patches of remained behind all over his body. He grabbed the soap, lathered it up between his hands and started washing at the large splotches, and then grabbed the brush and attacked the mud as hard as he could, but for some reason it wasn’t coming off at all.

He inspected the splotches a bit closer, picking at the mud with his fingernail, but realized he wasn’t picking at dirt, he was looking at his own skin. Somehow, large patches of his body had turned the same dark brown as the sty’s mud. He climbed out of the shower to get a better look at himself in the mirror, but it had steamed up. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom, heading for Jerry’s room where he knew there was a large mirror on the wall. As he walked, the towel kept wanting to come undone, and then it couldn’t quite fit around him at all, and Barry was left clutching it around him as best he could.

Luckily Jerry wasn’t in his room, and he gave up on the towel, standing in front of the mirror naked–but more shocking than the splotches of brown all over his body and face was the fact that between getting out of the shower and entering Jerry’s bedroom, he had somehow gained close to 200 pounds. No wonder the towel hadn’t been able to reach around his body–his flat stomach had grown past gut and turned into a full blown apron that sagged down and covered his entire crotch. He grabbed the fat with his hands, confirming that it was indeed his, and screamed.

He lumbered out of the bedroom, still naked. He had to find Jerry and Mac, he had to figure out what was happening to him. He was out of breath by the time he stumbled out onto the porch, hot, heaving for breath, and snorting loudly with every other breath of air. He stepped out into the midsummer sunlight, his skin burning and itching. He had to cool down, he couldn’t get enough air. He had to get away from the sun. Forgetting aboutJerry and Mac, he instead wandered around the farmhouse until he spotted the muddy sty, and breathed a sigh of relief. The mud would be cool, he’d feel better in the sty.

It took him a few minutes to figure out how to get past the fence. He couldn’t get the gate to work, or rather, his hands seemed too clumsy to get the latch to open, so he ended up hefting himself over, tumbling off and into the cool mud with a loud thunk. The impact knocked the breath out of him, but he was in the mud again, the cool mud. Snorting and grunting, he rolled around a few times, coating himself all over, already feeling cooler in the summer sun.

“Well look at that, bro. Looks like our friend loved the sty so much he got back in all on his own!”

Barry looked up and saw Jerry and Mac on the other side of the fence, leering at him. He rolled over and tried to stand up, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be working right, and looking down, he realized why. He already was standing up, on all fours. The rest of his body was still human, but his arms, legs and haunches had all morphed into pig legs, his hands replaced by solid trotters. He looked up, terrified and tried to speak, but even though his mouth and throat were human, the only sounds that came out were a series of grunts, oinks and squeals.

Jerry and Mac just laughed, and started stripping off their clothes, before climbing in naked. Barry led them on a chase around the sty, the two brothers laughing, their cocks hard, until Mac finally tackled him to into the mud, and slipped his muddy cock into Barry’s ass. As soon as he did, Barry felt a pleasurable calm wash over him, and when Jerry came around to his face and presented his cock, he swallowed it and suckled happily, feeling his own cock and balls start to pulse in the mud. Jerry reached under him, and said as he fucked, “Looks like he’s enjoying himself–his new piggy cock is rock hard!”

Barry had no idea what they meant by that, but he didn’t want them to stop. Jerry shot first, milking his cock into Barry ass, and Mac shot second, coating his face with cum, that Barry found himself licking up hungrily. Then they rolled him over, but his gut was so large now that he couldn’t see his crotch at all. While Mac teased him, Jerry ran inside for a mirror.

“Dang Barry, you sure seem to be enjoying yourself. Jerry ‘n I, we were just gonna keep you as a pig part time, but from the way you’re muckin’ up, I think you might be hangin’ around a lot more than that.”

Barry tried to talk again, and found that, if he concentrated, he could just barely make out words that could be understood. mac made him repeat himself a couple of times, just to tease him. Barry wanted to know why.

“Oh Barry, so naive. Friends, Barry? We’re lovers, and we’ve had our eye on you for a while now,” Jerry returned with a small mirror and hopped the fence, careful to keep the glass from the mud. They positioned it so Barry could see his new sheath, heavy bulging balls, and the bright pink, corkscrew cock emerging from it, and he squealed in terror. “Now Barry, calm down–you fuckin’ love it,” Mac said, and went back to milking the pig’s cock. “Now give us a load, Barry. Shoot, and then you’ll understand.”

Barry fought, but his new arms and legs could only do so much, especially once Jerry pinned him down. Mac rubbed, sucked, stroked, and Barry finally gave out a high squeal, shooting a huge load up onto his gut, and when he did, he…what had he been doing? The orgasm was still ripping through him, dulling his mind, and he rolled over into the mud, settling down, snorting and grunting contentedly, as his master’s laughed and climbed out of the sty, leaving Barry to his new, muddy, life.

“Get in there, fucking get in there, pig.”

The door is open, but before I can step in, he gives me a hard shove into the unknown. Still wearing the hood someone forced onto me at the bar, I stumble forward, trip over something, and manage to break my fall on the hard floor, badly, with my wrists.

“Dumb fucker, fuck.”

He clomps over as I roll onto my stomach, but before I can push myself up, he lands on top of me. He’s heavy, a huge gut pressing into the small of my back. He fumbles with his fly and let’s his cock out, so he can grind it against my ass. I grind back. He reaches under me, undoes the fly of my jeans and yanks down my pants, runs his cock up and down my crack between the straps of my jock. One hand on the back of my head, shoving my hooded face against the floor, he works the head of his cock into my ass.

I wonder if I should say anything. Would I turn him off, if I speak? I have no idea who this man is or where we are. Should I be scared? He doesn’t speak as he fucks me, and I stay silent. He cums relatively fast inside me, and I wonder if he’s finished, but when I reach up to take the hood off, he yanks my hands back down.

“Not yet…Not finished yet,” he pants, stands up, and yanks me up. I fumble with my pants for a moment, but end up just stepping out of them and my shoes, and he drags me along, through a doorway, and pushes me against a low ledge. I stumble over it, and hear the hollow thud of a bathtub. He shoves me to my knees, and then he starts spraying me with piss. I open my mouth, he lets me drink, I let it run down through my goatee. “Yellow pig, yeah. Fuckin’ hot,” he mutters. The flow stops after a couple of final pulses, and I hear nothing else. I wait for him to heft me up, or face fuck me, or anything, I’m ready for all of it, and yet nothing comes. Tentatively, waiting for him to lash out, I reach up and remove the hood, and find myself in my own bathtub, soaked with a strangers piss, and he is nowhere to be found.

Disoriented, I get up. Did I tell him where I lived? Did…was it someone I knew? I’d never told anyone at Pigtown where I live, and I’d never invited anyone over to my place before who’d want to do all of that to me. I leave the bathroom, cum running down the inside of my thigh. The apartment door is still open to the hallway, and I hurry over to shut it before anyone walks past and sees me. The clock says it’s nearly six in the morning, and dawn is just creeping through my east facing window. Somehow I’d been out all night, but it had only felt like a few hours.

I sit for a few moments, and then go shower myself off, and get dressed for work. I leave the piss soaked jock on under my slacks–I enjoy the memory, and it will be dry by the time I reach the office. I grab my backpack, and let myself out, locking the door behind me. The elevator is out, I take the stairs, but on the second flight, I stop and stare at the man coming up towards me from the flight below. The cigar in the corner of his mouth like a flare of light, he streams smoke from his nose that curls through his huge red beard. He has on a leather vest, and nothing else, his thick cock hanging soft above a hefty sack covered with red hairs. Is that him? Is that the man? Will he fuck me again? Piss on me again? I hope so, come and get me, I’m your pig–

“I’m your pig,” I gasp out loud, and my neighbor, Charlie stares at me from two steps down.

“Excuse me?”

I look down at him, the older irish man who lives two doors down from me. Divorced, angry, smokes cigarettes. Always has a fine coating of red stubble across his round face. I’d suggested he’d grow a beard before, but he’d never seemed interested. And now this? What had I even seen?

“S–Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

“About pigs?”

I blushed, but couldn’t get past him on the stairway easily to escape.

“You look terrible. Were you up all night or something?”

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well.”

He looked back down, sniffing. “I think some homeless are pissing in the stairwell–it stinks in here.”

“Yeah, it’s probably that.”

He’s quiet, and stares at me for a few moments, until I clear my throat, tell him I’m late and need to catch my bus. Charlie makes me push my way past him to get down the stairs, and I can feel him watching me as I leave.

I run the conversation through my mind all day at work, wondering what it could have possibly meant. If it could have possibly meant more than was said. He was straight, wasn’t he? Then again, who was really straight? I’d thought I was straight, after all, but Pigtown had shown me the truth. The day went poorly, I returned home. I had to pass his apartment on the way to mine, and I smelled smoke, cigar smoke, inside, even though I had never seen him so much as touch a cigar.

It took me a couple of days to work up the nerve to ask him. I would walk over and knock on his door when I knew he wasn’t home, just to practice. Finally, I knocked when he was; he answered.

“Hey, would you…like to get a drink with me this weekend sometime?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, cigarette hanging from his lips. A cinder of ash tumbled to the floor, I thought about getting down and eating it, but stopped myself. “I don’t go out much,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what else to add. I scratched the back of my head, but didn’t accept his excuse. “I like to go out, you see, but I don’t have many friends, so it’s usually just me by myself. You drink, don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but–” he paused and sighed, “I guess…hell, why not, right?”

I smiled, relieved. “How about Friday night? I know a great place.”

He shrugged, and then glared, “This isn’t some faggot shit, is it? You making a pass on me?”

I assured him that I certainly wasn’t, that I was just a straight guy, as straight as him, just looking for a straight drinking buddy for some straight drinking, no homo at all. He reluctantly agreed to meet at eight, and shut the door. I had a feeling that if Pigtown could do what it had done to me in a few visits, Charlie would be a new man before too long too–just the kind of man I’d imagined.

It was just one of those chat services–one of those fads that was a flash in the pan a few years ago–but Derek had always found them a bit fascinating. Sure, most of the time it was just dudes jacking off, but if you just kept at it, sometimes you stumbled on someone interesting. He’d made a number of good friends this way, all over the world–it was a good way of getting out of this small college town he lived in. Aside from the college, it was just a blue collar place full of grubby workers employed at the various factories outside of town, and he couldn’t wait to graduate and get the hell out for good.

It had been a mistake to stay here for the summer, because once the college cleared out, he was all alone, and so his internet contacts had proved more important than usual. But he’d found an apartment he’d liked, and without a subletter, his choice was to either find something in the fall when class started, or stick it out. At least his job bar-backing at a local pup paid the bills, but it was his night off and with nothing to do, he was jumping through various cock jackers online, until the “Next” button suddenly stopped functioning.

He was trapped looking at some nasty fucker, shaved head, wearing some grubby coveralls, groping his cock and smoking a cigar, nose billowing out smoke. Without seeing him type anything on the keyboard behind him, a cryptic message appeared in the chat box, followed by two more.

>> Do’t fthen hems fr y

>> Y’reon kn it,prmis

>> Ben pigste bs

And then, the screen went blank, and the feed moved onto the next cock, but Derek was so weirded out he closed the window and just tried his best to forget about what he’d seen, and go to bed. Out his bedroom window, however, he thought he saw someone across the street, just outside the street lamp light, but when he got a better look, all he saw was a dissipating haze of smoke.

***

For the next few days, Derek was certain he was being followed. He hadn’t gone on the chat site since, but every time he walked to and from work, especially coming home in the early hours of the night, he would walk as fast as he could, sometimes breaking into a jog, just to avoid his imagination.

The bar he worked at disregarded the state’s no smoking policy–and so it was a common hang out for various roughnecks, many of whom smoked cigars there. They had all largely ignored him, but now he kept noticing them staring at him, often unabashedly. Some even looked at him…like they wanted to fuck him. He’d had a suspicion that the bar catered to the small gay population of the town, but that was the first time he’d felt uncomfortable. Even the bartender–a smoker himself–was treating him different, but when Derek confronted him, he gave a series of excuses and hurried off to do something else.

Before long, he was certain that someone was tailing him everywhere he went. In the bar, he would see glimpses of a man in the shadows, smoking a cigar, face invisible through the haze, but by the time Derek had noticed, the space was suddenly empty. The man appeared in alleys as he walked home, follow him down the streets during the day. He called the police, but not only did they refuse to do anything about it, as soon as he’d told them what was happening, they simply ignored him when he called about the man. He became paranoid, quit his job, and locked himself in his apartment, and his attention turned to conspiracy.

In the chatlog of the site, he’d managed to retrieve the three strange messages the figure had sent him at the beginning of all of this insanity, and he began running them through every translation filter he could find. He asked paranormal experts, he posted on forums big and small, but no one could help him, get any traction of what was happening to him. And then, after a week of isolation, he smelled the smoke coming from his bedroom closet.

The man stepped out before Derek could bar him inside. He said nothing, grabbed Derek by the face and exhaled a huge amount of smoke directly into his lungs. Derek stumbled back, but his body suddenly was numb, and wouldn’t work properly. Paralyzed, he tumbled to the ground on his back, frozen, struggling for breath.

The man came over, holding his cigar in one hand, and he slipped it between Derek’s lips. Suddenly, he could breathe again, but it was the smoke he needed, not air. He needed the smoke in him, craved it, lived on it. His body was still frozen, but the man got down on his knees by his head, and they shared a long series of smoky kisses, passing it back and forth between them for hours, Derek’s terror slowly replaced by lust, and then even hints of love.

The man stayed with him for several weeks, and neither of them left the apartment. They had work to do, work to do with smoke, work to do on Derek. Pig work. Learning how to suck cock and take dick up his ass. Learning how good piss tasted. Learning to be a slob, ruining his body, giving him a heavy gut and aging him into his fifties, where he should be, who he wanted to be. There was a hole in Derek’s life when the man left, almost like he’d never even been there. The college’s new semester started up, but Derek was now a machinist at a factory outside of town, hanging out at the bar, sucking dick in the dim corners of the back rooms, occasionally certain he’d seen his master, the man he loved, the man the whole town loved, in the darkness, but all he ever found was wisps of sweet smoke he’d drink in hungrily.

He still loved his chat sites, but now he was just another masturbating pervert. He loved seeing people disgusted at him, at his body, at his thick, ugly cigars. He loved chatting with other filthy fuckers, bringing them to orgasm, talking about their favorite hook ups. He built a whole new circle of friends, sex addicts like him, until one day his computer froze, and a man appeared on the screen like a dim, fuzzy memory. He started typing:

>> Don’t fight, when he comes for you

>> You’re gonna fuckin love it, promise

>> Being a pigs the best

Commission: Making a Happy Pig

Commissioned by Anonymous

**Friday**

“Pipe or Cigar?”

Axel had one in each hand. Both of them were far larger than Rusty had been expecting for his first time. The cigar was at least a 60 gauge, and the pipe bowl looked large enough to hold a baby’s fist with wiggle room. “Those…those are both really big.”

“Smallest I got. Even if I had smaller, you wouldn’t be using them. Now choose, or I choose for you.”

Rusty looked from one to the other, and after a moment, took the pipe from Axel’s hand.

“Good boy, now let me show you how to get it lit. They’re a bit complicated, but it’ll feel perfectly natural for you soon enough.” Axel sat Rusty down on the couch, and they spent a few minutes talking about how to light a pipe. After a few false starts, Rusty finally managed to get it lit, though it almost went out after his first fit of coughing.

“Shit’s strong.”

“You’ll get used to it. Take less in, and don’t breathe too deep. I’ll be back.”

Axel went into the kitchen, and emerged after a few minutes with a case of cheap beer under one arm, which he set down on the table. He ripped open the cardboard and took a can out, popped the tab, and handed it to Rusty.

“Chug it.”

Rusty looked at the can. “Seriously?”

“Chug it, or leave. You asked for this, don’t forget.”

Rusty held the pipe in one hand, and chugged the beer slowly, Axel urging him on, getting a bit hard as he watched some run from the corner’s of Rusty’s lips down his chin and neck. Rusty wanted to be a pig, but he was only really husky at the moment. Axel, his friend, had offered to help him go all the way. Now, however, Rusty was starting to have second thoughts. After chugging five more beers, however, all he was really feeling was a heavy buzz. Once Axel stripped off his shirt, letting Rusty run his hands over his friend’s big, furry gut, he felt less nervous and more horny. The smoke had him giddy as well–he finished the first bowl and then packed a second on his own with Axel watching, puffing on a massive cigar. Naked together on the couch, they swapped smoke and finished the entire case of beer, before Axel helped Rusty stumble into the bedroom. He was too drunk to remember much of what happened. Axel made him keep smoking, as he fucked him doggy style on the bed, and then, when he’d finished, he sat Rusty up and started rubbing his cock. He was so drunk, it took Axel a while to get Rusty off, but he didn’t mind, he spent several minutes telling him how hot he looked with that pipe in his mouth, reeking of beer. Rusty finally let out a loud moan and shot his load, but as he did, he was struck by an odd sensation, like his head was caught in a vice for a moment, his vision squashed and then expansive, but then everything came clear again. He was too drunk, is all–he needed to sleep it off. Axel took the pipe from his slack mouth and tapped the ash out into the ashtray on the side table, and then helped Rusty under the covers for the night.

**Saturday**

Rusty had never felt so hungover in his entire life. Still unsure of where he was, he rolled over, away from the morning light (or afternoon? He wasn’t sure at all) in the window towards the night stand. There was a beer can there–thankfully is was half full. Even warm and flat, it felt good when it hit his gut. Eyes shut, he rolled up on the edge of the bed, and got his pipe going by feel. It felt so familiar to him, which was strange. After all, he’d only learned how to smoke one the night before, but it ended up perfectly tamped with a flame and draw far more even than he’d managed the night before–at least he was starting to feel human again. He gave his gut a rub, feeling his cock jump at the sensation, and realized there was much more mass there than there should be.

He looked down, and saw that a bulbous beer gut had sprouted out from his midsection. It was tight and full, and the rest of him seemed to have filled out somewhat, but this wasn’t right. What in the hell had Axel done to him? He got up unsteadily. He might be sober but he felt drunk still. There was another can on the dresser with some beer in it; he guzzled that down too and let off a deep belch, before wandering down the hall towards the sounds of a busy kitchen.

Judging by the spread, it was brunch time. On the table were heaping mounds of eggs, pancakes, thick slabs of ham, a pile of bacon, but also fried chicken and steak, massive biscuits, and a thick white gravy for everything. There was only one chair, with a bucket beside it filled with ice and cans of beer.

“About time you got up,” Axel said from the stove. He was cooking naked, and Rusty just stared at his fat friend for a moment, admiring him. “Get eating–we don’t have all day to fill you up.”

“Wait though.” Rusty said, “Something…something’s different. Different than yesterday. I…my gut is bigger, and…I know how to smoke a pipe now.”

“I showed you how to smoke yesterday.”

“I know–that’s my point. I shouldn’t…know how to do it, from one day, right?”

Axel didn’t answer. He walked over to Rusty, grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the table, sat him down, popped open a beer and handed it to him. “Drink it.”

Rusty didn’t feel very comfortable drinking before noon, but found himself guzzling it back anyway. Axel opened a second, and then a third–he drank those down too. He was feeling better now, actually. He’d just needed his morning beers is all.

“Now, tuck in like a good pig,” Axel said, and started piling food on Rusty’s plate. He was famished–had they even eaten anything yesterday? It was all a blur of smoke and beer and fucking. He cleaned the first plate and filled up a second without needing to be told. Axel finished cooking the last of the meal, brought over a few sweet desserts, and then started toying with Rusty as he ate, telling him how good it feels to stuff himself, how much he liked being a fat pig, plying him with more and more beer. Whenever Rusty tried to stop, saying he was too full, Axel would encourage him to smoke and play with his gut and tits and trade smoke with him. After a few minutes later, Rusty would have find room for more. Rusty’s head was reeling. He was too drunk, he’d had too much to smoke. He couldn’t keep a handle on what was happening. Axel brought forward the cake he’d made, threw the silverware in the sink; Rusty dug in with his hands while Axel reached under his taut gut and started jacking his cock, urging him onward. Halfway through, he gave a spasm–shooting his load across the seat and onto the floor under the table. The world crunched together and apart again, but when his vision cleared, he was hungry again. With a final burst, he devoured the rest of the cake and only then sat back in the chair, smoking his pipe, drinking a victory beer, Axel rubbing and kneading his huge gut and man boobs which he had suddenly grown.

Rusty stared down at himself for several minutes, trying to piece what he was seeing together with his drunk mind, while Axel got a towel and wiped food off his huge body. He couldn’t be that big. It was impossible. He was too drunk, he was hallucinating, he was imagining it. But as he explored the soft flab with his own hands, he became increasingly convinced. It was real. It hadn’t been there when he’d sat down, but it was there now. Axel was telling him how hot he looked, how sexy his huge body was, but Rusty was disgusted with himself. He’d wanted to be bigger. He’d told Axel he’d wanted to be bigger, but this was too much, this was out of control. He stumbled up and pushed Axel away.

“No…no, I don’t know what’s going on, but this is fucked up, what are you doin’ to me?” he was slurring his words. His car was outside, but he couldn’t drive like this. Still, he had to get out, he had to get away. He stumbled towards the hallway, but Axel blocked him, and pushed him up against the wall, gut to gut, holding him there.

“Calm down man, it’s all fine. It really is.”

“This? This isn’t fine, this is crazy.”

“I know it’s fast, but you love it, I know you do. Just fuckin’ relax man, you’re too uptight.”

Rusty was mumbling panicked nonsense. Axel started rubbing his huge body, and he let out a sigh, feeling his cock start hardening again. After a minute, he was grinding back against Axel, unable to stop himself.

“See? I know you want this. You’re just too smart for your own good. You need to think less. Let me worry about things–all you need to think about is getting bigger, getting drunker, and doing everything I tell you to do.”

Rusty tried to protest, but couldn’t make his words say what he was thinking. Axel had his hand around his cock, and was milking him again, whispering things to him, telling him he was a good pig, but he’d be so much happier if he was dumb. Dumb and obedient and carefree. Too close, he was cumming again, the world spinning around him, his head in a vice. When he finally stopped spasming, his head felt so much thicker. He let off a loud belch, and laughed at himself. He looked at Axel, a bit confused.

‘What…what was I doin’ again? I forgot.”

“You were gonna blow me, you fat pig.”

That didn’t seem quite right, but Rusty got down on his knees, feeling his huge gut resting on the tile floor, and took Axel’s cock to the hilt, sucking on him for a few minutes until he came, and he drank down all the cum like a good pig. Yeah, he was a good pig, a happy pig.

Axel helped him up and pulled him into the living room, and sat him down on the couch. The sensation of all of his flab spilling out around him was both somehow very new, but also so familiar, like he’d been this way forever, but had simply forgotten.

“Now, I have a few scenes from my favorite videos I’d like us to watch, pig,” Axel said, and put in the DVD. “I think they’re going to clear some things up for you.”

The first porno scene started, every scene revolved around this fat pig being used by a variety of bears. He was tattooed everywhere, and Axel told Rusty how hot he’d be if he was a slut like that chub. If he too had tattoos all over his body, even had them in places where he’d never be able to hide them in public–graphic, sexual, humiliating tattoos that would show everyone that he was a complete pig at a single glance. The next scene had another fat bear, but this one had a body completely covered with fur, with a beard that reached down to the top of his massive apron. He was decked out in leather gear, and several bears took turns plowing his ass and mouth while the pig laid back in a sling. The third clip had a filthy looking fat chub sitting in a bathtub, while a long series of men pissed and came on him, the man rubbing it into his hairy body, revelling in the men’s filth. More clips came, and Rusty couldn’t tear his eyes away. When Axel wasn’t narrating them, he was taking trips to the kitchen, bringing Rusty more beer and snacks, filling his pipe, feeding him smoke from his own cigars, and making certain that Rusty came at least once during every single clip that came on the TV.

Hours passed, and by the end of the video, which had looped several times, Rusty was so drunk that he couldn’t stand up, and he was too heavy for Axel to lift. He’d passed out during the final clip, and was snoring heavily. Axel examined his work, and satisfied with the progress, went to bed–certain that he’d be up before the pig on Sunday morning, when they could seal the deal together.

**Sunday**

Rusty woke up slowly, his head pounding. Fuck, he needed a beer, and he needed one now. He fumbled around next to him, feeling a pile of cans there, but none had anything in them. A smoke then. His pipe he could reach, and he filled it as quick as he could, taking a deep breath of harsh smoke, feeling it push the headache back a bit. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out where he was and what was going on, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. All he really wanted was food, a fuck, and a beer. Then he finally managed to open his eyes, look down at his hairy, stinking, tattooed body, and let out a scream.

Axel stuck his head in from the kitchen, and saw Rusty was trying to claw his way out of his own body. He grabbed a beer, pushed it into the pig’s hand, and he drank it all back in a single gulp without even thinking about it. With the edge of terror blunted, he heaved himself up, pushing Axel away when he tried to help, and stumbled into the bathroom, flipping on the light so he could get a better look at himself.

He was huge. He must be topping 400 pounds, and every inch of his body, from the neck down, was covered in ink, all of it having something to do with sex. His head was shaved, but he’d grown in a beard which, if it wasn’t a filthy tangled mass clustered around his three chins, probably could have reached his belly button–or it could have, if his belly button wasn’t somewhere around his groin. He was taking in so much smoke he was getting light headed. Axel came in and told him to calm down–his presence was reassuring, and Rusty managed to keep a hold of himself, but barely.

“What…what have you done to me?”

“This is what you wanted, and you know it.”

“I…I didn’t…I mean…”

Axel turned Rusty’s head to the side, and gave him a long, smoky kiss.

“This is what you wanted, try not to worry about whether or not you should want it, and just enjoy yourself.”

Axel reached around and started probing Rusty’s ass with a couple of fingers, listening to him moan. He leaned over the counter and spread his fat, inked legs wide, letting Axel slide his dick into him. It fit perfectly inside him, and Rusty’s cock started leaking immediately.

“You’re mine, you know,” Axel said as he fucked the pig.

“Y–Yeah…yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

“You like being my slave–it’s all a fat, nasty pig like you could have ever wanted.”

“Fuck–fuck yeah, fuck me…fuck me, sir.”

“That’s right pig, I’m your sir.”

“Yes sir, oh fuck, yes sir!”

He was cumming. He was cumming, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw a wide leather collar had appeared around his neck, and his worries had all disappeared with it. He was Axel’s pig–his master would take care of him. He didn’t have to worry about a thing. His master shot a load up his ass, and made him lick up the cum he’d shot across the front of the counter. While he was down there, his master fed him the morning piss he’d saved up as well, and then they went into the kitchen for breakfast. As he stuffed his face, a realization dawned to Rusty–he was happy. Truly happy, perhaps for the first time in his life. Axel saw the happiness on his pig’s bearded face, and smiled too.

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***

“I just think you’ll be happier, that’s all. Such an unhappy little boy,” the man ran his rubber gloved hand up Paul’s chest, past his neck, and grabbed his jaw. Paul shook and whimpered, the rubber making his cock hard, the tattoos shifting and spreading across his chest a bit further, before he regained control of himself. The rubber on his skin, it was so inviting. He wondered, in a brief fit, whether the master might have a suit of rubber he could wear. Except maybe his cock could be out, his nasty piggy cock, and he could grunt and snort and sweat…

His hands were unsecured, and he reached down to touch himself, running a hand along his own shaft, shivering uncontrollably, eyes rolling back in pleasure. The tattoos spread across his pecs, swirls of jagged barbs, and halted there. The master leaned in, ran his tongue up the side of Paul’s face, his huge, heavily waxed mustache coase on his skin.

“You’ll be such a good pig. A good, old, nasty pig just like the rest of us.”

Paul couldn’t stop himself. He was so horny. Maybe if he jacked off, maybe if he came, maybe the voice would stop. The voice was getting louder, shouting at him in his head, drowning out everything else. His free hand pulled on his nipple, feeling the piercing there. So sensitive, he was leaking. He snorted through his nose, shook his head, and yanked his hands away, trying to pull back from the master, but the old man pulled the chain connected to his head harness tight, keeping him in place.

“You are a fighter though, I’ll give you that. I like fight in a pig. Gives ‘em will. Keeps everyone in line, once you realize what’s inside you. What is inside you, boy? Do you know? Have you ever explored yourself?”

Holding the chain tight, his jaw yanked up towards the ceiling, the master reached down and began probing Paul’s asshole with a thick, gloved hand. He whimpered, one hand creeping back around the shaft of his cock. Horny, so horny still. Such…such a horny pig…yeah…

The master licked his finger wet, and slid it in. It wasn’t wet enough, and it hurt, but there was…something in there. Something deep in there, something nice. Paul let out a groan of pleasure, eyes crossed and dulling, his cock growing in his hand. Such a big piggy cock, eight fuckin’ inches, yeah. But still, his hole, his fuckin’ piggy hole, two fingers, now three, but it was still deeper, the master had to go deeper, but how could he tell him? He rocked back on his heels, trying to push against the master’s hand, tell him what he wanted. The scruffy beard he had was pulling in, as a grey handlebar sprouted around his mouth, growing long. His hair turning grey, a mohawk pushing up against the strap securing his head. Gauges in his ears. Such a good pig.

It took master’s whole hand in his ass to find it, his pleasure, his joy, his pigness. Paul grunted and snorted as the master fisted his hole, jacking his cock, cumming over and over again, spraying his cum across the floor. It smelled delicious, and when the master pulled out his fist and saw Paul’s dim piggy eyes looking back at him hungrily, he knew he was ready. He yanked against the straps as the master freed him, but only so he could get to the cum on the floor. He licked it up, and then began licking the master’s boots. His pigcock was hard again already, always hard, always ready.

The master introduced him to the rest of the hogs. One was in the sling, getting pounded by another, whose fat tit was being suckled. Paul stepped up behind the fucker and drove his hard cock right in his ass, the master making him lick the slime of his own hole off his gloved hands. “Such good pigs you all are. Now play nice, Paul. I’m off to the bar. I wonder if that friend of yours we left behind is still there. What was his name, Jerry? Do you think Jerry has a pig in him, Paul?

Paul nodded, but he hadn’t actually understood what the master said. It was best to be agreeable.

“I think so too. Now, I’ll be back you old pigs. Keep on fucking, and we can all play when I get back.”

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

“Dude, this is a gay bar though!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a bouncer–why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alex.”

“Trevor.”

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

Alex and Trevor nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes–S–sir…”

“Still fighting that one, eh?”

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

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

“Well? How does it feel, pig?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can hear him in his room, jacking off again. I don’t really want to get involved–I mean, what father wants to talk to his son about masturbation? But it seems like it’s all he’s been doing lately, and I think he’s stopped showering too. It’s so strange. I mean, he’s going through a rebellious phase, sure. There’s that tattoo he got with his friends a few months ago, but he’s just a senior eager to get out from under his parents. I was the same way, after all. Still, how can I not worry about him? Besides, he’s so loud, I’m worried the neighbors might hear, especially the freak next door. In fact, Ben’s room shares a wall with him, doesn’t it?

***

Ben had his hand down in his filthy jockstrap that he hadn’t changed for a week, and through the wall, he could hear his perverse neighbor whispering through the small hole he’d drilled through the wall, the one Ben had covered up with his dresser to make sure his dad didn’t find it.

“You smell good jock pig, fuck yeah. You like how you reek, don’t you?”

“F–Fuck…”

Ben shot his load up onto his stomach and rubbed it in there, groaning loudly. He hoped that his dad hadn’t heard him, but he couldn’t stop from making these humiliating groans any longer, licking the rest of his tacky cum off his fingers.

“Got something for you piggy, come on piggy, I know you want it.”

Ben got up and shoved the dresser to one side, and the pervert’s crusty, uncut cock popped through the hole. Ben was on his knees with it down his throat as fast as he could move. Piss came first, faster than he could swallow, and it ran down the front of him, where he rubbed it into his skin, grunting, his cock hard again already, the old man’s cock growing hard, and he sucked until he got a reward of sour old cum, and then he pushed the dresser back and tried to keep from smelling his filthy pits and getting started all over again.

***

I’m getting really worried now–it’s only getting worse, and now he’s gone most of the day too. I’ve been getting calls that he’s missing school, but he doesn’t listen to me anymore. In fact, it seems like he doesn’t listen to anything I have to say, like he’s a zombie when he’s here. In his room, he jacks off and snorts and grunts, and then he leaves and doesn’t come back for hours. I don’t want to invade his privacy, but I have to find out what’s going on–just a quick investigation while he’s gone won’t hurt, right?

I don’t find anything, but what the hell is that pervy neighbor doing next door? It sounds like he’s fucking someone, but who in the hell would have sex with someone as nasty as him? I don’t feel real good all of a sudden though…there’s this…smell in here, but what…what is it?

Dirty laundry everywhere…it smells…fuck. So fucking sweaty, damn…and kind of like cum. A bit stiff…too, makes me want to gag, but it smells kind of good. What the fuck am I even thinking, and why am I hard? This is ridiculous. Can’t stop though, smells so fucking good…fuck yeah, oh fuck just one quick jack, that’s all.

***

“Who’s my nasty jock pig?”

“Me sir,” Ben moaned, his filthy neighbor’s cock buried deep in his filthy ass.

“Who’s my piss drinking, ass licking piggy?”

“Oh fuck, me sir!”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” he spanked Ben’s ass, the jock groaning and unloading a fifth load from his balls into the grungy carpet beneath him. The pig had no control anymore–one sniff of his filthy master’s pits was enough to have him cumming sometimes.

The perv was speeding up now, getting close himself. He unloaded into his pig’s loose hole, and then pulled out, watching his cum dribble down Ben’s crusty ass crack. “Fuckin’ sexy pig.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Now get going–I’m done for now.”

Ben stood up and left his master’s apartment, slipping back into his father’s apartment next door, returning to his room, one hand wiping his master’s cum out of his crack and licking it up, when he saw his father naked on his bed, surrounded by his filthy laundry, his cum rag shirt pressed against his nose as he jacked off, body sweaty.

Ben went to the hole in the wall, “Master, my father’s pigging out sir, what should I do?”

“Oh really? How about you feed him my cum from your nasty hole, pig?”

“Oh fuck sir, I’d love to do that…” Ben got up on the bed and squatted over his father’s face, and unable to stop himself, his father ate the pervert’s filthy cum from his son’s hole. Unable to fathom what was happening, but unable to stop for the life of him.

***

Oh fuck, look at them go! My pig son’s so fuckin’ hot, especially now that he’s working out almost constantly. Fuckin’ ripped, and master just reams his ass with that fist of his. Wish it wasn’t so hard to jack my cock, but I’m just a fat pig, gotta keep eating, so fuckin’ hungry. Master wants me at least 400 pounds here soon, and I’m gettin’ so close. So fuckin’ nasty, fuck.

Gotta piss, yeah, pissin’ my son’s nasty jockstrap. Smells so good, I’ll suck it out of the carpet later, I don’t wanna miss this. Love watching master fist my pig son, almost as much as I love feeling his fist up my fat ass, maybe Ben will fist me when he comes home, fuck that’d be hot.

Master says he’s gonna start training me to be a proper toilet pig soon, gonna have me eating my son’s filthy shit before too long. Can’t fucking wait to be honest, I already love having my tongue buried up filthy shit chutes, tastes so fucking good. I’m gonna be such a good toilet for master and my pig son, fuck yeah. Where’s my fuckin’ dildo? Wanna cum, gettin’ fuckin’ close, gotta get fucked to cum though, such a fuckin’ pig. Yeah, that’s it, nine inches stuffed up in me, fuck! Fuck I’m fuckin’ cumming, such a nasty fuckin’ pig, fuck, fuckin’ love being a pig, love my master, I love my fuckin’ pig son so fuckin’ much, fuck yeah…

Mitchell Davis had been an eccentric. Rich as the rest of the neighborhood, certainly, and yet, nothing was ever simple with him. Single, for one thing–gay for another. He could have been tolerated if only he’d fallen into the straight white patterns of the wealthy around him. Instead, he’d holed himself up in the large mansion and become a recluse, until his death. Rumors had circulated quickly, how he’d been found down in the basement, a…gas mask over his head, naked, the other end attached to a large balloon. Self-asphyxiation? suicide? That’s what the neighborhood called it, preferring the easy story.

For Howard Margus, he saw the death as an opportunity. He had, once, before Mitchell’s eccentricities had cloistered him entirely within the mansion, been inside and seen the rarities within: priceless art, antique furniture, an entire library of first editions, a life’s dividends he’d coveted for years now. When it came time for the estate sale, he wrote a check for everything within the house. The neighbors thought he was insane, but indeed, the house was a treasure trove, and he had six months to pick it clean and sell the remainder before it had to be emptied and sold on the market.

If Howard had one vice, it was for pipes. He’d always regarded them as a sign of his wealth, and when he discovered that Mitchell had collected several scores of them, he decided to sample each of them, to decide which ones he might like for himself. It was the forty-fifth piped he smoked, which had been the one found between the legs of the dead Mitchell Davis in the basement dungeon, and when Mitchell lit the pipe, he choked on the smoke. He’d put in his favorite tobacco, so why did it taste so rough? It was like the tobacco he’d smoked before he’d known better, it was like rubbing your tongue up the backside of some hairy beast of a man, before you get down and start licking and sucking at his rancid hole, getting ready to fuck, getting ready to rut.

He stumbled into the wall, his clothing so tight, so…conservative? Prudish? He shouldn’t be wearing this, he should…he should be wearing leather…leather and rubber and fucking yes fucking he should be fucking! He ripped his way into his slacks and began jacking his cock, shooting the first load into his underwear. Stripping the rest of the way, he sucked his own cum from the fabric, snorting and grunting, sucking down the smoke greedily until the bowl burned to ash, and the urges dissipated.

Unable to believe what he’d just done, and thankful he’d been alone at the time–the workers he’d hired to sort through Mitchell Davis’ collection were scattered through the mansion at the moment. But the pipe…the pipe was…could he hear it? He could hear something. He threw the pipe across the room, but he could still hear it, it was inside him, something had crawled inside of him, into his head, and it was getting louder. He shut it out for the rest of the afternoon, but after the worker’s had left for the day, he stumbled upon a massive closet filled with leather and rubber, and the voice surged back. Somehow…somehow the pipe was back in his mouth. He was naked, but the leather against his bare skin, it was so fucking–! He could no longer provide words for the sensations ripping through him at the level of pure instinct. The voice was so loud now, and he could feel something happening to him, something in his body, but it didn’t matter, what mattered was perversion. What mattered was fucking, but he had no one to fuck! He had to settle for a night of constant masturbation, the pipe remaining lit the entire night, until Howard woke the next morning, collapsed in the basement dungeon, wearing grimy, cum soaked leathers, padlocks pierced through his nipples with no key in sight, a collar and chain wrapped tightly around his neck (he could feel the bruises but why did he want more of them?) and tattoos? He’d never had tattoos!

The voice told him that of course he’d had tattoos. A filthy, perverse pig like him has to have tattoos. He ran a hand through his beard, now three inches long, coarse and wiry, and the glove against his face…his gloves against his body, tugging on his fucking nipples, stretching his sack. He’d seen a ball stretcher down here somewhere, he needed these fuckers hanging to his knees! The pipe had lit again, pouring out smoke, a sharp pain in the head of his cock, and he yanked on the PA, huffing and panting and so close to cumming.

“Mr. Margus?” a voice called. The voice of someone to fuck! Oh, he was going to fuck so hard, fuck another pig, make a pig, a pig for him! “Are you down there? The guys are here–so we’re just going to get started, alright?”

“S–Sure, *snort* Fuck!” Howard cried.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Yeah, sir, fuck yeah, fuckin’ Sir to you, fuck…” Howard muttered, “Get…get down here, I need some help with something.”

The man started down the stairs, and caught the first whiff of smoke as he descended. His cock was hard by the time he hit the concrete floor, but then the leather hood was shoved over his head, across his face. He couldn’t breathe! He fought, and felt Howard’s hard cock thrusting against his jeans. How was the old fucker so strong? He collapsed, and Howard pulled the hood away, checking to make sure he was unconscious, but not dead. Just how he wanted him! He wanted to fuck but work to do first. Work to get the pig ready, work for pigs to do today–lots of work indeed.

wesleybracken:

Sketch #9 – Mark and Jerry

Mark furrowed his brow, not entirely sure what to make of the email he’d just received from his boss down the hall. Part of it he could understand, but about halfway through it all just sort of…became a bunch of gibberish. Looking it over again, he didn’t want to have talk to him about it. Jerry had been acting strange all day, and he’d seemed a bit meaner than usual lately, and Jerry already hated Mark—he’d rather hire someone younger to replace him for half the wage, but Mark was too good and Jerry knew it. Any sign of weakness could become an excuse.

Still, he did need to know what in the hell Jerry was talking about. He got up, and brought up the email on his phone as he walked down to Jerry’s office, knocked on the door and stepped in before he could hear Jerry warn him not to. He gaped at the sight of his boss, naked aside from a pair of filthy looking, oversized underwear, tattoos coating his body that Mark had never seen, and was he jacking off?

“Get out! Get out, you fucker!”

Mark got out. He got out and he left work and he headed home before the shit could hit the fan, but something wasn’t right, a smell he couldn’t get out of his head, a buzzing at the base of his skull. He arrived home and immediately lit up a cigar—it was an old habit, but one that kept his nerves under control all the same—but this wasn’t the usual brand he smoked, was it? It was sharper and foul and…and…

Mark groaned and started rubbing his cock in his pants, his suit was changing, morphing around him into a pair of overalls that started out clean, but quickly became grubbier and full of holes, his beard whitening and growing long and tangled, his head balding aside from a thin horseshoe, but all he could think of was Jerry, that brief glance he’d gotten at the office, he couldn’t even remember what his face had looked like, but he wanted that filthy cock. He fumbled with his phone, snapped a pic of his dirty old cock and sent it to his boss.

horny wanna cum over

It was a few anxious minutes that he waited, until he got a reply.

still at office, cum fuck me daddy

Mark grabbed a couple extra cigars and climbed in his old, beatup truck. He had a boy to pick up, and they were going to have a wild night together.

He stepped out of the elevator and found a bear fucking a young, chubby cub on the carpet right in front of them.

“Fuck dad, you’re cock is so fucking big, I hope my cock is as big as yours when I grow up.”

“Well, if you want to get bigger, yer gonna have tah eat a whole lotta protein son,” the bear panted, biting and licking at the boy’s neck. “Good thing daddy’s got plenty tah feed ya.”

Mark was really fucking turned on watching them, but he had another date with Jerry. All through the office he could hear the hoots and hollers of rednecks fucking each other’s brains out, and in his boss’ office he found Jerry still in his chair, and he was even filthier than Mark remembered. Tattooed from head to toe, he reeked from across the small room, it was humid with his sweat and musk. He wasn’t alone–some overly buff brute with a shaved head and vacant eyes had his nose suffed in Jerry’s armpit, snorting and licking, jacking his cock wildly, his hairless muscles covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Fuck boy, yer even hotter ‘n I remember,” Mark said.

“Shut up ‘n fuck my filthy hole,” Jerry groaned, putting his legs up on the armrests of the chair.

Mark already had his cock hanging out of his crotchless overalls, and he worked it into the hole. It felt loose and sticky–he wasn’t the first in, but he didn’t care.

“I always hated you most of all, Mark,” Jerry said, and Mark immediately felt his balls tense up and shoot a huge load into Jerry’s ass. He couldn’t stop fucking though, he had lost all control of himself suddenly. "Fuckin’ hated you so much.“ Another massive orgasm, it nearly crippled him but he had to fuck, had to fill the hole up, had to keep going. Jerry was in his head now, he could feel him there, and he came a third time, his balls shooting dry now, blue with pain, he couldn’t think straight, and finally Jerry let him pull out. But his cock was small now, and his balls had shriveled up.

"Bet you’re hungry Mark. Come on piggy, I got some food for you right here,” Jerry said, and let loose a wet fart, cum leaking out of his hole. Mark just stared at it, knees collapsing, crawling forward, lapping up the sweaty, shitty crack, eating his cum out of his boss’ hole, eating all of the cum out of his hole.

“Gonna be my cumpig Mark, fuckin’ hate you, always fuckin’ hated you. Hey, Devon,” he added looking at the muscle brute beside him who had been the office intern, “You hate Mark too now. Fuck Mark’s nasty pighole, fuck it rough, and make him scream, big boy.”