pig – Page 19 – Bracken's Corner

Troy’s Shopping Trip

(Based on an idea and photo submitted by kenai88.)

It was going to be a killer party tonight, Troy thought as he parked his car towards the back of the lot, got out, and headed for the supermarket. Of course, it wasn’t going to anything like the slaughter on Saturday, when his college rugby team faced their cross town rivals in their first match. Rivals was really too kind a word–their team was awful, and Troy’s was vicious. In fact, a few years back they’d made a secret pledge to always wound one of the players in the game. Last year, their captain and the son of their coach had to be carried off with a broken leg–apparently he’d gotten so fat while recovering that he’d never play again. And then, as Troy headed for the doors, who should step out but that very coach and father, pushing an empty shopping cart.

He tried to play it cool and ignore him, and thankfully it didn’t seem like he recognized him. Instead, the older man just offered him his cart, and Troy took it to be gracious, thankful the guy hadn’t screamed at him. He’d been certain that his son’s injury had been no accident, and while Troy hadn’t been the one to do it, he’d been the one to suggest him as a target. Still, what’s done is done, right? The snacks were closest, and Troy parked the cart in the middle of the aisle and started grabbing bags in twos and threes off the shelves and dumping them into the cart, making sure to grab the favorites of each person on the team. When he was satisfied, he headed back to the cart–only to discover that it was empty.

Had someone taken it? He looked up and down the aisle, but there was no one there–just him and an empty cart. Fuck, he was thirsty all of a sudden. His mouth felt like he’d taken an entire shaker of salt and dumped it down his throat. Unable to help himself, he let out a big belch and patted his gut, feeling it jiggle a bit.

Wait, gut?

He looked down at himself, and tried to figure out what had happened. One part of his head was telling him that he should look like this, and another part was screaming in terror. He was fat! He hadn’t been fat when he’d come in here, had he? He groped his gut, feeling it’s heft, and underneath he felt his cock start to harden, and he blushed. Playing with his fat always seemed to get him hard, but it wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. He reached under and readjusted the front of his shorts, and tried to figure out what he had been doing. He was thirsty–better head for the pop and the beer–he could get the snacks later.

Something about his body felt strange today, like he wasn’t used to taking up this much space. He went to the pop and started loading two liter bottles of several varieties into the cart, but again, when he turned around to survey what he’d put in, the cart was completely empty.

Another belch–this one massively loud. God, he was such a pig, and he secretly loved it…didn’t he? He looked down at himself, and the same terror struck him–he wasn’t just fat now–he was fucking obese. His shirt could barely cover the gut overflowing past the waistband of his shorts, and his second and third chins wouldn’t let him get that good of a look. Fuck, he was hot though. Hot fucking fatass pig, fuck yeah. He checked up and down the aisles, but he was alone. He gave his huge apron a shake, feeling it reverberate around him, and he shuddered. His cock was hard, but he had another problem–he had to piss like a fucking racehorse. He hadn’t even had anything to drink lately either, but apparently his bladder disagreed. Still, he might as well go now before he had a full cart to deal with, and he lumbered off to the back of the store and the bathroom there, leaving his empty cart outside it.

He stepped inside, and found someone there washing his hands–the coach of the rugby team across town. How did he even know that? He didn’t play rugby. All he did was lounge around all day, stuffing his face and jacking off like a nasty pig–fuck! He was so fucking horny now. The coach finished washing his hands and turned around to look at Troy, sneering. “Lose some weight, you nasty fucker,” he said, and left the bathroom. The words somehow managed to shame Troy and turn him on at the same time. He was a nasty obese pig, and he loved the looks he got, he loved how much people were disgusted by him. He stepped up to the urinal, aiming blind, and pissed what felt like several gallons, before wrapping one chubby hand around the shaft and jacking off into the urinal, grunting as he did. “Fucking nasty pig, fuck yeah,” he said to himself, “Massive, nasty fat fucker, fuck *grunt*,” and he came, accidentally coating the underside of his apron, but it felt good there, being such a fucking slob felt great. He left it and hiked up his shorts, only to realize someone was in the stall and had heard every word that he’d just said. He left quickly, embarrassed to death, licking the cum off his hand absentmindedly.

Outside, the position of his cart had shifted, but he didn’t think much of it. He went and grabbed some beer since it was near the bathroom, vaguely fearful for some reason that it would disappear when his back was turned, but nothing happened. The same with the snacks and the pop, and he finally checked out his massive cart and headed out into the parking lot, but as he was loading the food into the back of his SUV, he saw the man from the bathroom leaning against a truck, away from the storefront, his cock hard and jutting from his jeans.

Troy drooled. He could totally use a cock right now, drinking down a load of cum would feel so damn good. “Sooooeeeyyy!” The man shouted, shaking his cock and staring Troy down. He couldn’t just…just suck him off in the parking lot, could he? It turned out that he totally could. He waddled over and dropped to his knees, feeling his bulk settle around him, and swallowed the man’s cock down into his gullet. “Yeah, how’s that taste you fucking pig?”

It tasted amazing. Troy didn’t know why he’d never sucked a dick before, but he kept glancing around, sucking fast, eager to get the man to swallow before someone could see him. He wasn’t fast enough–an older man walked back and saw what they were doing and froze. Troy wanted to die, knowing someone had seen him like this.

“Pig’s got a hot mouth,” the coach said, “Want to fuck it after me?”

The man glanced around nervously, and then walked over to the truck, set down his groceries, and waited. The coach finished quickly, hauling his cock out and spraying his cum across Troy’s fat face.

“Your turn man.”

Troy wanted to object, but what could he say? The man pulled his cock out of his jeans and Troy swallowed it down as well, and then the coach got down next to him, slid a hand down the back of his pants and began fingering his hole. It felt so good, and Troy began grunting uncontrollably, cumming in the front of his shorts before the stranger came down his throat. His ordeal over, he heaved himself up, only remembering halfway home that his face was covered with spunk. He wiped it up with his hands, licked it up, and then jacked off again at a stoplight.

That night, the rugby team didn’t seem to know what the huge fat man was doing there, but they all knew him somehow. Troy sat at the bar, shirtless in the hot, humid house of dancing men, watching their guts balloon as they devoured his snacks, soda, and beer. Thirty pizzas arrived which no one ordered, but they were demolished by morning, eaten up by the huge group of gainer pigs who had replaced the rugby team in the campus house.

wesleybracken:

“I just don’t see why all of this information is necessary.”

“I assure you, Mr. Kilward, that we use all of the information on those forms in the hiring process.”

“Well yeah, but isn’t it just, a little too…personal?”

“If you’d like to leave, no one is stopping you.”

Zach looked at the door, and then at the interviewer across the desk. He really needed this job, but sexual interests? Number of previous sexual partners? When do you feel the most sexy? He didn’t want to answer any of this.

“Here, I’ll tell you what,” the interviewer said, “Go ahead and leave blank any questions you don’t feel comfortable answering, alright, and we can fill them in later.”

That sounded fair to Zach, and so he hurried through the forms, generally leaving the more probing questions blank, before handing the papers back to the interviewer, who started putting the information into his computer.

“Hmm, well, it looks like you left out the number of previous sexual partners you’ve had, Mr. Kilward, I’m just going to ballpark it, and say…1700.”

“What? 1700, but—” Zach said, but his head was suddenly crushed with memories of hundreds of sexual encounters he had somehow forgotten.

“Yes, and I think you made a mistake here, under sexual orientation. You marked ‘straight,’ but you seem 100 percent gay to me.”

Men, all of them men. How many men had he been with? What was happening?

“Hmm…preferred position? I think, ‘bottom.’ Oh and I love this one—‘When do I feel the most sexy?’ Hmm… that’s a hard one, but if I hazarded a guess, I’d have to say, ‘When I’m humiliating myself, acting like a fat pig and begging men to use my like the fat slutty cumdump I am.’”

“No, no what are you doing? Please, please stop!” Zach said, but let out a loud snort of pleasure when the interviewer reached over the desk, pinched his nipples through the shirt and gave them a twist.

“Tell me what you want little piggy, don’t be shy.”

“Oh fuck, can…can I suck your cock *grunt* please sir, I haven’t had a drop of cum in hours and I’m so hungry…”

“Then get under my desk and suck me off bitch, but take it slow—you left so many blanks, it’s going to take me hours to fill it out for you.”

Zach tried to resist for a moment, but who was he fooling? He got down on his hands and knees and squeezed his way into the small space underneath the desk, his bulk not fitting very comfortably, but he didn’t care much at all when he saw the interviewer let his cock out of his fly, and he started licking at the head, hornier than he could remember being ever in his life.

“So Zach? What should we fill out first, do you think? Let’s see, there’s this whole section on medical history here, maybe we should look here. Now, weight and height…just keep sucking piggy, I’ve got some work to do here.”

Zach sucked happily, distantly aware that as he did his body was shifting in ways that he couldn’t explain, but which felt completely natural. After half an hour of sucking, the interviewer stopped writing, reached under the desk and wrapped his hands around the back of Zach’s head, ramming his cock deep into his throat. He expected to gag on it, but it slid down his throat so easily. He reached under his gut to try and touch his cock, but for some reason he couldn’t. He could feel his cock there somewhere, but he was so big. Cum erupted down his throat and he swallowed it down hungrily, grunting and snorting as he did, and the interviewer rolled his chair back, allowing Zach to crawl out.

The Zach that emerged was very different from the one who crawled under. Now in his fifties, his head had balded entirely, but his body was covered with massive amounts of hair, along with a thick beard reaching to his huge moobs. He’d lost over a foot in height, standing just over five feet, but was even larger, the fat rolling off of him, making him pant and sweat as he stood there, hornier than ever, yanking at his too tight collar, trying to pull his polo down over his huge gut.

“Let’s get those off of you, I have a new uniform for you to wear anyway,” the interviewer said, and stripped Zach down. Then he pulled out the leather and chains, boots and fist mitts first before shackling his Zach’s feet and hands together, a leather hood, and then the interviewer circled around him and started slipping a finger into Zach’s ass.

“Shall we continue the interview, you fucking pig? I have a special chair for you here,” the interviewer said, and showed Zach a simple stool with a thick, ten inch dildo stuck on it. “Your ass is hungry, right? That enlarged prostate and sloppy bladder of yours desperate to be fucked?”

Zach couldn’t stop himself, and he started working the dildo into his old ass. As soon as the tip hit his prostate, he felt his cock spurt into his fat pad. He didn’t know what it was–cum or piss–but it had felt wonderful, and he kept fucking himself, only barely listening to what the interviewer was saying now.

“I made a few alterations to your work and education history. After all, a sex pig like you doesn’t need a college degree, or even a high school diploma.”

“Trashman? Nah…hmm….I think janitor. Yeah, a janitor at a gay bath house, that filthy one downtown.”

“Must have been hard, finding work with all those tattoos on your face, but hey, you have to let the slut shine, right piggy?”

“Zach, what a dumb name. Your name’s Crud now, bitch. And no fucking last name for you–you don’t need a fucking family being embarrassed by you.”

Piss, he was dribbling piss–he could smell it. Hell it leaking down his huge legs and onto the floor, his nostrils flaring at the scent. Crud wanted to get down, lick it up, but he had to fuck himself first, he was such a fucking whore.

“Still, we’re going to find you some steady work, just trust me. How would you like some slave work? It doesn’t pay well, but you can have all the cum and piss you’ve ever wanted. A rough, filthy biker gang is looking for a pig like you–how’d you feel about meeting them, and seeing if it’s a good fit?”

“Oh fuck, I’d love that sir, thank you!” Crud said, and he felt the tingle of his tiny cock which had been building finally release, and a piddle of cum spurted out along with the piss leaking from his worthless cock.

“Oh yes, I think you’ll be perfect for the job. First though, let’s see if that worthless hole can take both of my fists, and then you’re going to have to suck the piss from this carpet. I have another interview in three hours, and if I can smell one whiff of piss, I’ll take your balls.

Crud pulled himself up off the stool and immediately got down and started sucking at the damp carpet, while the interviewer started working one gloved fist into his slutty ass. He’d get it perfectly clean–he was a great pig. He was so happy the agency had found him a slave job! It’s just what he’d always wanted.

Source: paintchipsforpyromancers

The Smoker Tapes (Part 4)

[Pictured: Above, Eric and his favorite jockstrap. Below, the man who lives in the apartment.]

***

Eric: I’m just here for my things.

Eric: What is that?

The Smoker: That’s a pipe. What did you think it would be?

Eric: No, no this isn’t fucking happening, this isn’t–fuck!

The Smoker: Why don’t you have a seat, Eric?

Eric: No, I’m not staying here. I’m not going to sit here, and listen to this, I’m…I’m just going to grab my things and leave.

The Smoker: Here, take a seat here for a couple of minutes, and just calm down.

The Smoker: There, isn’t that better Eric?

Eric: Wait…How…how do you know my name? I never gave you my name. I gave you a fake name, even.

The Smoker: You don’t have any secrets from me Eric, not right now. Why, I even know about that yellow jockstrap you keep in the back of your dresser. The one you only pull out when you’re really horny? The one you try to throw out once a month or so, but you never manage to make it happen?

Eric: How–I don’t….

The Smoker: How’d you get that jockstrap again? You bought it online, right? A private sale? Well use by the previous owner, his handle was PissCumPiggy I think, said he’d worn it for six months, he’d jacked off into it three times a day, pissed through it the entire time too. Quite a steal, at thirty bucks. That’s what? A dime a cum shot?

Eric: I’ve never told anyone about that, there’s no way you can possibly know about that!

Eric: That’s…how…

The Smoker: I knew you wouldn’t bring it along, so I slipped in yesterday while you were at work and grabbed it.

Eric: But…

The Smoker: Goodness, it is rank. And damp too…have you been adding to it? Oh why am I asking, of course you have. Like you could resist.

Eric: I’m getting out of here, I’m done with this. This is crazy.

The Smoker: You’ve left your things behind again.

Eric: I don’t fucking care! I’m done with these fucking games, I’m fucking done!

The Smoker: This will all go much smoother if you just admit to yourself why you’re here, Eric. You aren’t here for a story. You aren’t here out of some journalistic curiosity. You aren’t here because you’re interested in the truth. You’re here because you want what I can offer you. You’re here because I have this pipe here on the table, and I know you want it to be yours. It can make you the man you’ve always wanted to be, right here and right now.

Eric: This is a fucking joke, it’s just a fucking prank, isn’t it?

<Silence.>

Eric: It’s…it’s not a joke, is it. It’s…all of it…

The Smoker: I told you I would offer you a demonstration, Eric.

Eric: Yeah, on the fucker who lives here!

The Smoker: Here’s the copy of lease, if you’d like to see it. Or, what the lease could look like. It just needs a signature.

Eric: But…but my names on all of these!

The Smoker: I hope you don’t mind the decoration–I was just trying to think of what kind of place a nasty, raunchy pig like you’re going to be soon would want to live. Run down, greasy, dirty laundry all over the place, ashtrays brimming. I even put a pipe rack in the bedroom for you, since you’re going to have your own pipe collection soon enough. A sling too, so all the guys you bring home can have easy access to that slutty ass of yours.

Eric: Please–please this is just a mistake. I’m sorry, I–we can just destroy the tape, alright? No one has to know.

The Smoker: Goodness, look how hard you are. Are you leaking even? You are…look at that stain growing there. I guess I got a few things right at least.

Eric: Please, I don’t want this, I don’t.

The Smoker: You do want this, don’t lie to me, Don’t think I can’t tell you’re lying.

Eric: I don’t want to want this.

The Smoker: Now that! That’s the truth. You don’t want to want this. But you do want it, don’t you? You’ve always resented your intellect. Your perfect track into the bland middle class, its suburban boredom. You’ve tried to sabotage yourself, I know. Coming out at work to your homophobic boss, but that didn’t get you fired like you’d hoped–you were just banished to the style section, and now here you are, chasing me. And now that we’ve found each other, maybe you should sit down here and take a look at this pipe here, that I picked out just for you.

Eric: Don’t make me do this.

The Smoker: I’ve been very precise. I can’t make you do anything without your consent, Eric. Now why don’t you at least come over here and pick it up. That can’t do you any harm.

Eric: It…it feels really…It feels so right…

The Smoker: I do know how to pick them. Would you like me to fill it for you? It doesn’t have the right heft unless it has a packed bowl.

The Smoker: There, now hold it. Feels good, doesn’t it? Put it in your mouth–yeah, fuck that looks hot on that face. Would look even better with a big, bushy, grey beard.

Eric: I’ve always…I’ve always wanted one, but it never came in right.

The Smoker: Well, you could have a huge one. Thick, all the way down to your chest. Wiry and grey, crusty with cum and spit, your mustache yellow from the decades you’ve spent with briar between your lips.

Eric: Don’t…stay away….

The Smoker: Yeah, imagine how dirty you could be. No more desk jobs, just a union laborer, thirty dollars an hour, plenty of money to waste.

Eric: Fuck…

The Smoker: You could retire in two or three years. Big fat pension Spend the rest of your life hooking up, drinking piss by the gallon, stuffing your fat gut full of food and cum and whisky, smoking like a chimney until the day you die.

Eric: Please…

<Silence.>

The Smoker: “Please” what? Please, yes? Please no? I know what you want. I know what you want to want, even. So say it. Fucking say it already.

Eric: Yes. Please. Please, fucking light it up, before I think about it, please.

Eric: Fuck, that…that shit’s fuckin’ dank…man…

The Smoker: That’s the way you like it though, raw and nasty.

Eric: Fuck yeah, feel…fuckin’ strange though.

The Smoker: Shut up pig, feed me some of that smoke.

The Smoker: Fucking look at you already. Look at that fuckin’ beard! And I love a big belly on a man. Let’s get this shit off of you. You don’t wear office shit.

Eric: Fuck….fuck no…why the fuck ‘m I wearin’ this shit anyway?

The Smoker: Don’t fucking worry about it. I got your favorite jock though.

Eric: Fuck yeah, I love this thing!

Eric: Had it for years now, fuckin’ nasty as fuck.

The Smoker: Put it on, pig.

The Smoker: Looks like it’s meant to be on you.

Eric: Course it is. Get o’er here, I’m not done with that hot mouth a yers.

Unknown Speaker: Go on, you nasty son of a bitch. Piss yourself, fuck yeah.

Unknown: Fuck, oh fuck yeah, so fuckin’ nasty…

Eric: Fuckin’ put it in me! Shove that cock up my filthy shit chute, I’m fuckin’ horny as fuck.

The Smoker: Yeah, look at you, you old fucking pig. Look at that sloppy fuckin’ hole. So fuckin’ loose, I can slip my fingers up in there, no fuckin’ problem.

Eric: Come on, gimme yer cock man, ram it up my piggy hole, make it hurt, motherfucker!

<Grunts, a loud groan.>

Eric: Oh fuck yeah, fuck me rough, fuck me hard…

The Smoker: Fuckin’ sloppy in here. I’m not the first guy who’s fucked you today, am I?

Eric: Fuck no, some guy cruised me at the construction site, he plowed me in an alley behind a dumpster on my lunch.

The Smoker: You’re such a fuckin’ whore.

Eric: Fuck yeah! Been a whore ever since I was suckin’ cock in the department store bathrooms when I was a teenager! Fuckin’ love cum, nothin’ better.

The Smoker: Fuck…fuck, getting close…

The Smoker: Who’s my new pig whore?

Eric: I am!

The Smoker: Who’s my pisss swillin’, pipe smokin’ bitch pig!

Eric: Me, fuckin’ fill me up, come on!

The Smoker: F–Fuck!, Fuck, you feel that? Breeding you piggy.

Eric: Give it to me fucker, pump me full of yer fuckin’ seed…

Eric: Fuckin’ let me clean it, I love a scummy cock, fuck…

The Smoker: Well you sure scummed this one–fuck, you don’t kid around do you, pig? Yeah, look at you take that down your throat, no trouble at all.

Eric: Tasty as fuck…

The Smoker: So, what do you think? Eric’s happy now, just a sexy fuckin’ pipe smoking pervert. How about you? Do you want me to help you be happy? Then come find me, I’m ready for you. Just keep an eye out for The Smoker.

***END TRANSCRIPT***

Reunions (Part 5)

[Pictured: Zach, the morning after his first night staying in Brent’s apartment.]

The reunion lasted a month that year. At the end of it, Aaron separated Brent from his uncle Mick–a harder task than he’d expected, piled Brent into the pickup and drove him back across the state. Brent, eyes glazed, kept nosing over and licking at his Cousin Aaron’s spent cock through the filthy, cumstiff denim of his overalls, until they arrived in front of a rundown apartment building where Aaron had arranged a room for Brent to live in. He was family after all, and Brent was a man now. It was time he had a place of his own, not a life in a college dorm. Aaron carried him upstairs and inside, where he gave him a bath, one last fuck, and laid him down to sleep it off. He left a couple thousand dollars and a note on the nightstand, then climbed back into the truck and sped off again.

Brent slept for nearly two days straight, and when he finally did wake up, it was with the sensation that the past month must have been a dream, but the knowledge that it most certainly wasn’t. He saw the note and cash next to him, and puzzled over what was written there. The words were all in his head still, but he had to search for them.

Money for bills. If this is what you want, keep at it, but you’ll always have a home with us. See you next summer.

Love,

Master Mitch, Cousin Aaron and Dad

There was some lasting damage. Brent’s hair never did grow back in, his scalp now smooth for life. Over the summer, he grew out a goatee, preferring to have some hair on his face than none at all. He’d gained close to one hundred pounds that month, and couldn’t shed it for the life of him. Some of the piercings would come out but the septum ring was impossible to remove–it was jointless, and nothing he tried could cut it away. The tattoos faded over time, but his memories didn’t. He’d lost his assistantship after going missing for a month, but he returned to class in the fall, desperate to pick up where he’d left off, trying not to think about the reunion, trying not to think about Aaron, and Mitch, and his Dad’s thick, raunchy cock.

The horniness was, at times, unbearable. Money kept arriving from his family, which allowed him to live alone in the apartment with a substantial amount left over for him to spend as he wanted. He splurged on food, and gained another twenty pounds by December, the 250 on his short frame giving him a firm beach ball that he waddled in front of him everywhere he went. On the worst nights, he was reduced to climbing into the bathtub and soaking himself down with his own piss, grunting and snorting, fucking himself with the largest dildos he could buy, cumming over and over again, but he held out. This life grew to something close to normal for him. The urges grew less intense over time–he found that if he skipped showering his normal musk would keep his lust satisfied enough that he would only go whole hog every couple of months.

The spring of his junior year came and went, and after his finals Aaron arrived to take him to the reunion. Brent didn’t resist–he was all too happy to be back in his leather gear, Master Mick leading him around the camp on his leash, drinking down his uncles’ and cousins’ piss, fucked at both ends, stuffed with food all the time, everyone’s favorite pig on the compound. A month later, it was back to his life, but now he found himself missing his family. It was lonely here, without them. He told himself that this was for the best, that he had to make something of himself, but he couldn’t escape his family anymore. He would be dragged back in every year whether he liked it or not, so why keep at it? Why make something of himself that he couldn’t be?

He slipped badly, that fall. There was construction happening all over campus, and this one roughneck, fuck, he had Brent drooling, and Brent’s attention drew them together, even though the worker insisted to himself that he was still straight, even while he had his cock buried in Brent’s ass. He fucked the pig back behind the student union building by the dumpsters every day, and the pig was all too happy to clean off his scummy cock afterwards. Brent found his fantasies overwhelming them both, before long. Zach, his new master, stopped showering and moved into Aaron’s apartment. He quit his job and they became staples at the city’s leather and biker bars. The entire apartment was soon trashed, as they fucked day and night. Brent tried to end it a few times, but he’d already ceded too much will and control to this stranger in a desperate bid to end the loneliness. He stopped pretending in January, and refused to enroll for his final semester.

They spiralled deeper down, and six months later, when Aaron arrived, he found Brent sucking Zach’s cock in the filthy living room. He was covered with tattoos now, his piggy cock locked up in chastity. Without any stimulation, his brain was turning to mush, but he didn’t need to think. His family could think for him. Zach, shaped by wild fantasies, was now six and a half feet tall, over 400 pounds of bulk, and stank like an outhouse. He smoked cigars and chewed tobacco at a near constant rate, Brent serving as both ashtray and spittoon. “You must be a long lost cousin of mine,” Aaron said to Zach.

“Am I? I don’ remember, fuck pig, suck it–fuck yeah…”

Aaron led Zach and Brent down to the truck, Aaron riding in the bed in a kennel bought for him before they left town, Zach next to Aaron, who filled him in on his new life, and Brent felt the cool air of the highway blow the last remnants of himself apart.

Reunions (Part 4)

[Pictured: Uncle Mitch training his nephew in the garage.]

A few miles away from the family compound, Brent finally spoke up.

“What did they do to you?”

“They didn’t do anythin’ to me. I did it to myself.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you, you…you know what Brent? Fuck you. You don’t want anyone to be happy, and you can’t be happy for anyone. You’re such a whiny fuckin’ faggot.”

“Then why in the fuck did you come get me! I didn’t want to fucking come anyway.”

“Cause we’re family—”

“We aren’t fucking family, you just…I mean, you can’t just, make up family.”

“I’m not making it up, fucker. Yer such an asshole, you know that?”

Brent sulked for a moment, still clutching his bag and not at all sure what he was going to do now. They drove down the gravel drive and Aaron parked next to the trucks already there, and Brent saw Jed and Butch were hanging out, watching people arrive.

“Hey Jed! How’s it hangin’ man?” Aaron shouted as he stepped out of the truck, and Brent looked back in time to see Aaron grab his uncle’s crotch in one hand, shove their big bellies together and lock lips, and he looked on, horrified. Jed was caught completely off guard, but he didn’t push Aaron away—in fact he blushed, and leaned in a bit, so that when Aaron pulled back abruptly Jed fell forward a step to keep his balance and licked his lips.

“Brent, get the fuck out of the truck, come over here and say hello to your uncle.”

Brent was frozen now. He couldn’t get out there, he didn’t know what was going on, he just wanted to go home. Aaron waited a moment for him, and then tromped around the truck, opened the passenger door and dragged him out onto the ground. “Ya little shithead, show some fuckin’ respect for family for once in your goddamn life.”

“Aww, leave the faggot alone,” Jed said, coming around to Aaron and giving his belly a rub, “He just doesn’t get it, and he never will. Now come on Aaron, how about you and I…you know…”

“Latter Jed, promise, but I gotta get this fucker situated before he runs off and hides in the barn like usual.”

Aaron dragged him and his bag over to the pasture proper, Aaron explaining along the way that Trent and him had decided it was high time that Brent joined the rest of the Taylor men, and quit sleeping with the boys like a damn coward. Brent asked if he was going to be sleeping with Aaron, and he laughed. Aaron was bunking with Brent’s dad in the farmhouse—Brent was going to be sleeping with Mitch—his second or third cousin twice removed, who Brent met shortly, a short, thin and very musky redneck at least fifteen years his senior, already reeking of whisky, and he pulled Brent into an uncomfortable hug which lasted several beats too long. Brent immediately decided he would never be sleeping here, even if that meant he stayed awake all week long.

Unlike previous years, the reunion hit full capacity early—the pasture seething with barechested, heavy gutted men by the first day. It was a particularly hot summer, the stench of redneck was overwhelming, but every time Brent tried to worm away from the throng, Aaron was there dragging him back into the thick of it. He fought him at first, but after a particularly fierce backhand broke his nose and left him streaming blood all over his shirt, he relented—allowing Aaron to ply him with other things instead. Against his will, Aaron and three other cousins forced him into a kegstand—he wound up blackout drunk, and woke in his tent in the early morning, wrapped in the arms of Mitch, the older man’s hard cock leaking against Brent’s bare leg, his ass raw and aching. This did not disturb him. For a moment, he pushed back into the smell of his cousin, until he woke up and realized what must have happened.

Disgusted and terrified, he struggled out of Mitch’s grasp and scrambled out into the camp, totally naked, and found himself surrounded by the sounds of sex in every direction. Aaron was up and waiting for him, also naked, hard and starring Brent down across the camp, but he made no effort to approach him—he only wanted to remind him who was really in change here. Brent looked down and realized he was hard too—and still quite drunk from the evening, and he wrapped his hand around the shaft, Aaron grinning at him.

The terror and panic overwhelmed him again. He spun and raced out of the camp, unable to let go of his cock, away from Aaron, hearing men surge out of their tents after him, his old friend leading the charge, and they caught hold of him before he could reach the wooded edge of the clearing, dragging him back, kicking and shouting and screaming and dumping him at Aaron’s feet.

“Please—please stop, why are you doing this to me?”

“Shut the fuck up, faggot, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me? What about all of you? You’ve all gone insane!”

Aaron bent down and picked the struggling Brent up under the armpits, kicking and writhing, and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, you stupid faggot, I fuckin’ love you to shit,” Aaron said in his ear, and then started kissing Brent, sucking on his unwilling face, and Brent felt that same sloth he’d felt in the tent. He was still drunk, he was tired and exhausted, and Aaron was warm and sweaty, almost the same temperature as the night air, and he was hard and horny, grinding his cock into Aaron’s gut mindlessly now, kissing back, when without warning Aaron dropped him to the ground.

“Better. Now how about you and Mitch finish getting acquainted? I think he’s going to have to keep you on a shorter lead though, since you have a tendency to run off.”

Brent got up, wiping Aaron’s slobber from his face and tromped off. He knew where to go, but had no idea where he was going. The men watched him round the farmhouse and head towards the side door of the garage, and they all returned to their earlier fucking, now simply coalescing into a large orgy at the center of the pasture, Aaron in the center, his cock buried down Jed’s throat.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Brent felt his mind clear. He turned to leave, to run as far away as he could but a leather hood came down over his entire face, blinding him. He struggled with his attacker, hearing Mitch laugh as he dragged him into the middle of the garage. sawhorses had become slings, wrenches and hammers were now paddles and dildos. “Gonna break you in real good, yeah,” Mitch panted, “Gonna break you in piggy, gonna make me a hot fuckin’ piggy by the end of the week, yeah…”

His mind was clouded again. He fought against it, but he couldn’t get enough air in through the small holes near his nose. The collar Mick forced onto him, while only supple leather, was so heavy Brent collapsed to his knees, and when Mick tugged the leash he felt compelled to crawl after him. A zipper releasing his mouth, something pressed to his lips—something gritty, the toe of a boot. Lick the boot, lick it all, lick it for Aaron, for Mitch, for Dad lick it, lick it good like a good little piggy…

***

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Pig woke with a start, and tried to roll up, but found himself constrained in his own steel cage. “What the fuck!” he shouted, but the words were muffled by something stuck over his mouth, some sort of mask which was tied behind his head. He tried to rip it off, but before he could, his visitor had stepped in front of him, and with a wave of his hand, froze Pig in place.

“Calm down. Don’t remove your gear. Obey my commands,” he said, and with a second wave Pig was free to move again, but he couldn’t even touch his face now.

“What the fuck is this, what are you doing?” he said.

“Well, you see, I do love a good pig fuck, but you…well, you just aren’t pig enough for me yet. Still, we’re going to fix that, don’t you worry, just few final touches…” he said, and with a wave of energy a circle of candles sprung to life around the cage, and the man began to chant in some sort of language Pig neither recognized or liked to hear.

Still, he managed to look at the little bit of clothing he still had on–some gloves and boots, a chain collar with a padlock and a pink bow around his neck, a round snout like mask and a headband with some floppy ears on them. As the visitor chanted however, he felt the gear start to squirm, and with a searing pain, it all began to adhere to his body. No, not just adhere to his body, his body was changing inside the cage as the chant grew in intensity, the changes racing through him faster than he could even comprehend, all of them painful beyond belief, the words wrapping their way around him, binding themselves to him, and with a final shout it was done, the lights shot sparks, the candles burst into blue flame and extinguished themselves, plunging them both into darkness.

It was tighter in the cage. Pig didn’t fit in it anymore, it felt like the life was being crushed out of him. He heard the door swing open and with a grunt, he tumbled out, heavy and soft, and started crawling away, but he hadn’t gotten very far before small balls of magical light erupted around the room, and he found himself facing himself in a mirror, and he squealed in terror. He wasn’t human anymore, well, not entirely, His face looked more pig than man, and his hands, they had hardened into trotters, the same with his feet, and he was enormously fat…and horny. Horny for his master, horny for master’s cock in his pussy.

“What a beautiful little sow,” the visitor said, walking up behind Pig. Where his balls had been there was now a wet slit, his cock now shriveled into an inch long clit, and the visitor slid several fingers in, feeling the sow start grunting, bucking back, hungry for his cock. “Heh, don’t forget that you’re the one who said no limits.”

“W–What? Where am I?”

“Shhh…It’s ok, you’re safe here with me.”

“What the, let me go! What the fuck is this shit, are you a faggot or something? And…and what the hell are you wearing! That shit looks fucking gross, and I can fucking smell you across the room.”

“Well, you see, I saw you at the bar last night, and you were so cute, I just couldn’t resist bringing you home with me. In fact, you were quite agreeable the whole time, but I do love a struggle. Still, you’ll be plenty happy here in a few months.”

“A few…a few months! You freak–Help! Somebody help!”

“The nearest neighbors are miles away Clyde, it’s just you and me.”

“What are you–stay the fuck away from me!”

“Mmm…I do love stubble. And it’s so thick! I bet your beard will look amazing when it’s all grown in and ragged. Not sure if I’ll keep your head shaved though–we’ll have to see.”

“Oh my god, you fucking reek man, what the fuck–have you ever taken a shower?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, you know. Go to sleep, piggy…Can you hear me, pig?”

“…Yes, master…”

“Pig, it would feel so good if, right now, you pissed yourself, right here where you’re sitting, and it would feel even better if you shit as well. Can you do that for me?…Oh yes, that’s good, look at that stain, and I can smell that shit already, that’s very good pig, you’re a very, very good pig, it feels good, doesn’t it? It feels good shitting and pissing yourself?”

“Yes master, it feels very good…”

“Now, I want you to remember how good this feels, and when you wake up, even though you’re disgusted with yourself, you’ll still feel aroused by how much of a dirty pig you’ve been. Now, wake up piggy.”

“W–what? I…what…”

“Look at that, what a dirty guy you are, pissing and shitting yourself in my house.”

“I didn’t, I mean–no, don’t–”

“I do love the feeling of warm shit, don’t you Carl? Look how hard that cock of yours is. I think someone likes being dirty. Now I have to piss, so open wide Carl–and you’ll even get to taste my filthy jock while I’m at it. Yes, you’re going to be staying here for a long time I think, but you’ll learn how much you love it soon enough.”

Jay and Tim were big guys, and they weren’t afraid to show it off, at the beach or anywhere else. Part of the reason they weren’t concerned, was because if anybody made fun of them…well, there were usually consequences. Ever since they’d ended up on the strange side of a curse back in college, anytime someone insulted them, well, the words tended to rebound back on the insulter in the worst way possible.

They were lounging on the beach, enjoying each other’s large company with a hand on each other’s guts, when they heard a high pitched whistle followed by a loud “Soooey!” Jay looked over and saw a group of jocks laughing their ass off, and the middle one, a big burly guy with a good amount of stubble, shouted “Sooooey!” again, and “Hey piggy piggy!”

“I’d be quiet and apologize if I were you,” Jay shouted at him across the beach.

“Jay, you’re such an asshole,” Tim muttered.

“Oh yeah? Or what, you’ll cry like a big baby?” the jock shouted and laughed, but Jay just smirked as the jock’s swimsuit shimmered and turned into a thick padded diaper, and the jock’s friends stopped laughing and just stared, until he noticed and shouted a loud, “What the fuck!”

“Told you…” Jay said, chuckling, and watched the jock stomp over to them across the beach, but he froze on the way over, probably because he realized he was pissing or shitting his diapers–or both.

A bit more anxious now, he hurried over to where Jay was laying and said, “What the fuck *grunt* did you do?”

Jay was looking at the jock as he walked, or rather, began waddling over, his form filling in with fat. “I did warn you,” he said, “Though I gotta say, you look damn fine with a couple extra hundred pounds.”

The jock, or the guy who was a jock, looked down at himself and nearly had a heart attack when he say how fat he was.

“Jay, come on, give the guy a break,” Tim said, “He’s just an idiot kid.”

“Alright–here’s the deal piggy,” Jay said, “You have to do everything I say for the next twenty four hours, and you’ll get your body back. And you’d better be nice, or else I might not change you back at all.”

“Shut the *snort* up you stupid faggot! Now tell me…tell me what ya did to me, *grunt* why my head feel so *oink” funny…”

“I think I’m going to take my little piggy up to the hotel room for a little while,” Jay said, and Tim sighed.

“Just clean up after him–I don’t want a bit mess when I get up there in a few hours.”

“Yes dear,” Jay said, rolling his eyes, and twiddling the pig jock’s fat nipple, “Come on piglet, I got just the hood for you to wear for the next day.”

“*grunt* You’re…fuckin’ hot…” the jock said and then stumbled off after the chub for a day of fun he’d never forget.

“Gosh, I sure do love these chances we have to visit together, don’t you?” Ray says.

You moan in response, and shove your dirty jockstrap deeper into your mouth, sucking your piss and dried cum from it while you stroke your cock.

“We have so much more time too, now that you’ve quit that silly job you insisted on going to the past few weeks, but you don’t want to go to work now, do you? You like this so much better, just lounging around, jacking off all day, in your filthy clothing…”

You try to say something through your jockstrap, but Ray can’t understand you, and he takes it as assent. You don’t disagree with him very much anymore–most of your brain is mush by this point, so he doubts you have many thoughts going on in there at all really. Still, he liked it more when you were disagreeable, he liked pinning you down to the carpet, and shoving your face into his armpits or his ripe crotch, feeling you struggle, relishing that moment when his stench finally shut your brain down and you turned into his pig again, the pig who would do anything for his filth, beg Ray for his cum and piss and rank asscrack.

And then, when you’d wake up again, slowly, only recalling bits of what you’d done–you were horrified, but Ray always made sure you knew that every time you fell back into your piggy space there was less of you that made it back alive. That your brain died, bit by bit, every time you became disagreeable. You couldn’t stop fighting though, and now you’re just a pig, barely capable of speech at all, but you don’t need to speak really. You just spend your days wallowing in your own filth, waiting for Ray to come visit, like he visits everyone on the block, all of his piggies, in all of their own houses, their personal filthy sties. A suburban barn full of filthy animals for Ray’s personal enjoyment.

They were having another crazy party across the cul-de-sac, those fucking faggots over there, I fucking hated them. So yeah, I called the cops on them, and I watched the officer arrive from my window and go up to the door, figuring everything would be settled, but a few minutes later the party started up again, louder than before, and I heard a knock on my door. I got up and answered it, and found the cop on the other side of the door–except he wasn’t quite the same cop. He was chuffing on a massive cigar, and looked to be quite a bit burlier and hairy than I’d thought he’d been across the street. “Sir, I’ve been receiving reports that you’re a complete faggot pervert in hiding–I’m here you administer your punishment,” the cop said, and shoved me back into the house, and slammed the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not–” I tried to say, but the officer took the cigar from his mouth and shoved it into my mouth, plugging it shut, and then ripped my shirt off my body, and did the same with my pants. I tried to pull the cigar from my mouth, but it had somehow grown so large that it stretched my jaw to the limit, my teeth digging into the tobacco, forcing me to draw almost all of my breath as smoke. I immediately felt woozy, and while I tried to fight the cop off, he shoved me over onto my hands and knees and started working his nightstick into my ass.

Fuck, my cock was so hard, knowing this hot cop was violating me in my own living room, and he started regaling me with a litany of all of my perverse acts that he was punishing me for. They started innocently enough, some public indecency and drunkeness where I’d jacked off and urinated in public, but slowly grew more sinister. How I’d gotten lewd and obscene tattoos all over my body. How I’d cruise cubs in public spaces before begging them to come home, abuse me and fuck my lights out. How I went from gay bar to gay bar, keeling in the bathrooms as a urinal and cumdump, until my belly was taut and bloated with beer piss. How I could take two fists up my loose cunt, and had to keep it plugged at all time. How I was obsessed with sex, leather and men, unable to think about anything else, forced to earn money by selling my mouth and ass in back alleys and at house parties like my hot neighbors liked to throw most nights.

The cop finished me off with his ten inch cock, and I begged him to fuck me rough and hard, and he was even nice enough to fill my sloppy hole with a load of piss after he came, and plugged me up with the four inch diameter plug I wore almost constantly now. He deemed me sufficiently punished, dropped a couple wrinkled twenties by my head and left, and I hefted myself up, discarding the butt of my huge cigar and lighting another one, admiring my freaky, hairy and tattooed body in a mirror, before throwing on some leather gear and hurrying across the street, feeling the officer’s piss leaking out my hole and down my legs as I went, eager to join in with the party I couldn’t believe I was missing.