Thanks again to the awesome guy who adopted this story! Also, commissions are still open for anyone looking for a personalized story of their own this holiday.
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Dean looked at the post again, unable to believe he was actually thinking about doing this. Once again, he told himself that guys like him weren’t supposed to think about stuff like this. He was young, hot, popular–he should just be out partying, finding girls and fucking the daylights out of them, and sure, he’d done his fair share of all that.
But Dean was bi–not that he dared tell anyone ever. He’d hooked up with a few guys anonymously, doing his best to shield his identity, but the vanilla stuff was never enough for him–he wanted something else. Something a bit kinkier. He’d stumbled on the websites by accident at first–BDSM forums, collections of bondage photos, blogs about gear and techniques. All of it turned him on way more than any girl he’d ever met, and while he’d always hoped the desires would fade over time, they never did. Eventually, he’d decided that if he just tried it out once, then maybe his curiosity would be satisfied and he could get on with his life, but making that first step was difficult. He’d chatted with a few guys, but could never work up the courage to actually meet up, but now…
The post went up a few days ago, and ever since Dean had seen it, he hadn’t been able to avoid thinking about it. The poster, named Free_ThePig had posted an ad on a forum Dean frequented looking for hookups, and the post had seemed tailor-made for Dean’s predicament. Not only was he in his area, he was specifically looking for guys new to the bondage scene, promising that he would take a novice and turn them into a bondage veteran in just one night long session. However, what turned Dean on even more was the picture Free_ThePig had posted with the ad.
It was a picture ripped from Dean’s fantasies–an older daddy wrapping him up in leather, dominating him and leaving him hard in a position of total submission. He’d lost count of how many times he’d shot his load looking at the ad and picture. Still, it was starting to feel like he would never have to guts to actually follow up on the post, but he couldn’t live with this split persona anymore. He wouldn’t be able to take it for much longer, and he had to get on with his life. This would be his best chance to get it out of his system, so he sent the guy a private message, telling him he might be interested in meeting. Dean had expected at least a short conversation about what to expect, but all he’d gotten in return was an address, a date, and a time–a few days away–and that was all.
He replied, asking for details but got nothing. He told himself he wouldn’t go many, many times over the next few days. Then he looked up the address, but only because he was curious. He cancelled the plans he’d already made for the night, telling himself he was too tired to party, and then finally came clean with himself. Who was he kidding, he was going to go–he’d always planned on going, so he dressed simply–in jeans and a T-shirt–got in his car and swallowing his fear, drove out of town. The address which had been sent to him was quite a ways out of town, the suburbs slowly giving way to farms and vineyards, and when he pulled into the driveway, he found himself on a winding gravel road leading to a old but well cared for farmhouse. It looked so innocent–he wondered if he’d gotten the address wrong. He kind of hoped he had–it would be easier that way, giving himself an excuse to back out gracefully. He went up, knocked on the door, and he heard some heavy steps coming to the door, and then there he was, the man from the picture, dressed in well worn blue jeans, a leather vest, cowboy hat and boots and nothing else. “Yer late. Git in here, pig.”
The curtness of the man’s comment threw Dean for a bit of a loop, and he didn’t know how to respond. This isn’t what he’d wanted–he’d wanted someone safe, someone who would respect his limits, and this man…he could already sense that there were no limits in there. He took a step back, trying to find some excuse caught in his throat, when the man, demonstrating no patience, grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt and yanked him inside, tearing the fabric in the process and almost tripping him on the front step. “What gives, man?” Dean said, unable to quell the tremor of fear, and was shocked with the man slapped him across the face and then pinned him up against the wall, staring Dean in the face. Getting this close to the man, it felt like he was staring down into Dean’s soul–and he really didn’t want to know what the man was looking for. He noticed that he was chewing something in his mouth, and when the man was satisfied, he turned to the side and spit a stream of dark spit onto the filthy, stained floor, and Dean’s stomach churned. What was he chewing? Tobacco? Did people even do that anymore?
“Look, I think this was a mistake, I’m just gonna go–”
“Don’ speak. Strip. Ya don’ git clothes tahnight, pig,” the man said, shutting the door behind them.
“I’m not…I’m not a pig. Look this was a mistake, just let me go, alright?”
The man said nothing–just walked up, grabbed the tear in Dean’s shirt and ripped it right down the front, before grabbing a knife and cutting off his pants as well. Naked, Dean realized he wasn’t going anywhere, not anymore, and the realization he was trapped here with a crazy redneck bear suddenly set in, as the man brandished the knife at him. “I wasn’t plannin’ on any pain play wit ya, pig, but if ya don’ shape the fuck up, yer gonna go home bleedin’. That what ya want? Cause I can do that–ya’d look hot wit a few scars…” He said, stepping closer with the knife, and backing Dean into a corner. “So tell me–that what ya want?”
“N–No…”
“No what?” he said, pushing the knife up against Dean’s skin, making him flinch.
“No! No…Sir…” Dean whimpered. Looking down at the knife in terror…and also seeing his cock. His hard cock. He blushed, suddenly ashamed that this terror had him so horny. This shouldn’t be affecting him like this–breathing heavily, he noticed a scent on the air, something earthy and a bit dank, but as soon as he’d thought he’d noticed it, it was gone.
“Not the quickest learner, by a long shot,” the man said, mostly to himself. “Well, let’s git ya dressed like a real pig–that will do ya wonders. Follow me–head down. Say nothin’,” he said and walked off.
Dean glanced at the door, knowing he could get out–but then his feet were walking after the master. Why? Why was he doing this to himself? Curiosity? Lust? Something…something else? Still, he was walking into a small side room, decorated in wood and leather, where the bear hauled out some gear and started roughly dressing Dean in chaps, boots, fistmitts and a leather harness cinched tight against his chest. The smell was stronger in here, and the leather stank of it. Something about the smell was making his mind shift. He’d fantasized about something like this hundreds of times, and now that it was actually happening…maybe he should just let go, and enjoy himself. Revel in that side he’d never given himself permission to explore or experience. Without noticing, he gave a quiet snort, something which could have easily been mistaken for a sniffle or a sneeze, but the man–the Master–smiled slightly.
“Now,” the master said, “Here are the rules fer the evenin’. It’s obvious yer new tah this–I don’t care that ya are. Yer gonna to learn as we go, pig. Tonight, ya ain’t human. Tonight, yer a slave, a pig, somethin’ fer mah amusement and pleasure. Yer desires don’ matter. Ya do what I say, when I say it, no matter what. Ya understand, pig?”
“Yes…Yes sir.”
“Good–then let’s git started. First things first, let’s get ya restrained–can’t have a pig roamin’ round like a person now, can we?” the Master said, and quicker than Dean imagined, he’d hauled out a selection of leather bands and straps, and started binding together his limbs, arms strapped to his chest, legs bound together, and then he shoved Dean down onto his knees. The smell was stronger now, Dean taking in great, snorting, inhales through his nose, not even caring about the grunts he was making. He was right at the level of the Master’s cock, and he could see the outline of it in his jeans. He was hungry for it, so hungry.
“please sir, *grunt* can I suck it sir? Please?” he begged, but all he got was another slap to the face.
“Bad pig! What did I tell ya bout speaking? Gonna have tah fix that…” he said, and pulled a tin of Copenhagen out of his back pocket. He pulled out a big wad of tobacco with one hand, forced open Dean’s mouth with the other, and packed it in, following it up with a gag. “That’ll keep ya quieter, I bet.”
Dean started to whine, begging the master with his eyes to take it out, but the Master grabbed a hood and pulled it down over his head, cinching it tight, before shoving him down onto his face. “I think ya need some alone time tah think bout how yer gonna to be a good pig ‘n follow the rules. I’ll be back. If I hear any noise from this room, or find ya’ve moved an inch there’ll be fuckin’ hell tah pay, git it, pig?”
The Master didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he want one, nor could Dean make much noise at all with his face stuffed with tobacco. The door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the small room, the scent overwhelming him now, his cock hard as a rock against the leather. What was happening to him? Why was he doing this? Dean felt all of these desires and fantasies welling up inside of him, but it was more than that–deeper down in himself, like a second side of himself he’d never dared express which was forcing its way to the surface. He tried to tell himself it was harmless play, that come morning everything would be back to normal, but he sensed something changing, but also he felt just the same as ever. The darkness was unsettling, the inability to move terrifying, and yet, he also felt safer and more secure than ever before. The rush of the tobacco was surprising, even if it tasted foul. He quickly discovered that he couldn’t spit through the gag, so he swallowed the spit down. It was disgusting, but he didn’t mind it before long. He was happy to be of use, really. He could…he could be his master’s spittoon, maybe…yeah, that would be hot…wouldn’t it? He knew he should try to keep control of himself, but it was like the world had shrunk down around him. Even the small room around him no longer existed. It was just him, waiting. Waiting for the bear, for his master, to return and give Dean a chance to serve him, it was like nothing else mattered in the universe, like there was nothing else in the universe, even.
He heard the door open and the man say, “All right pig, how’re ya doin’? Ya’ve been marinatin’ in there fer a few hours–havin’ fun?” Hours? How could it have been hours? It felt like minutes, seconds, like nothing at all. He felt the master pull the gag free of his mouth, “Go on, git rid a that tobacco–I ain’t gonna make ya swallow the leaf jus’ yet.”
Dean was thankful for that kindness at least, and he pushed the tobacco from his mouth into the empty space in front of him. His first instinct was to speak–to thank him for coming back, for giving this pig another chance to serve him properly, but he checked himself. That would be against the rules–so he kept quiet, aside from a little whine of need. He did need…something. Needed to serve? To obey?
Good pig, I can tell yer learnin’. Now, tell me–ya wanna suck mah cock?”
“Oh…Oh yes sir, please. Please let me suck it, I’ll do a–” Dean said, begging, but the master slapped him across the face, silencing him.
“Trick question, bitch. I don’t give a fuck whether you want to suck my cock. I don’t give a shit about you. Period. You don’t tell me what you want. You should only care about what I want. So, how should you have answered that question, pig?”
Dean thought for a moment, in the dark of the hood, his mouth tingling from the tobacco, now hungry for Master’s cock. Where was it? Dean imagined it inches from his mouth, hard and dripping, ready to thrust in as soon as he said the right words. He leaned forward, desperate to taste it, but there was nothing, just empty air. What was he supposed to say? He whimpered a bit, thinking harder. He wanted the cock so bad…but that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not anymore. He…Master mattered. Dean was nothing. He was a pig, just an animal to be used for Master’s pleasure, if Master wanted to. “I…no, it…it doesn’t matter if I want to suck your cock, sir. Would…would you please fuck this pig’s face sir? I mean…I mean, only if–if you want, sir…”
“Fucking pitiful. Still, I do wanna piece a that pig mouth a yers,” the bear said, the derision obvious, but a moment later Dean got exactly what he wanted–a mouthful of his Master’s thick cock. He gagged, because even though he’d wanted it, the hood rendered it impossible to anticipate the thrust, and the Master was brutal, slamming it deep down Dean’s throat without any consideration for the pig’s comfort. He didn’t deserve any consideration after all and…was that turning him on? Dean realized, with some embarrassment, that it was. This base treatment, this was what he’d deserved all along, what he’d always…wanted? No, that couldn’t be right, he’d wanted more. He’d just been a little curious, this was going too far, and yet…his cock was so hard. It was hard, and he could even feel it getting close to orgasm, but he clamped down on that, knowing he didn’t want to cum without Master’s explicit permission. How mortifying–a pig like him cumming before his Master? He’d rather die.
The master’s facefuck continued, the intensity neither increasing nor decreasing. It reminded Dean of masturbation–he was nothing more than a tool for Master to get off into, not someone to please. He came without warning, just shoving it down Dean’s throat and pumping his cum right into his belly, Dean grunting and snorting in appreciation, thankful that he was at least worthy of being his Master’s cum dump. Master, breathing a bit heavy, pulled off Dean’s hood, letting him look up and him and down at himself…and Dean realized something was different.
Dean looked down at his hairy chest, his body bulging slightly with muscle and while he knew something was strange…he simply couldn’t figure out why. His body looked so wrong, and yet it felt comfortable. He was distracted from his self inspection by the Master coming close, bringing his own naked body near the pig’s face, Dean leaning in and snorting up as much of the older man’s musk as he could, the smell so familiar and exquisite. He started lapping at his abs, and seeing the Pig’s eagerness, the Master turned around and bent over, the bound pig digging his way into the bear’s ass, grunting and thrusting his tongue as deep as possible without any suggestion at all. Dean wanted to please him so much…and yet, something kept holding him back, keeping him from going deeper. Master stood back up after a few moments and turned around, looking at the bound up pig, but Dean wasn’t noticing. He’d fallen onto his stomach and was licking his master’s cowboy boots clean, relishing the taste of leather with the aftertaste of tobacco in his mouth.
“Hmm..good progress, but not great. I think someone needs better gear–I know ya can go further than this. Really unleash that pig inside you. Follow me,” the master said, undoing the straps binding Dean’s arms and legs. “We’re going down to the real dungeon.”
Dean didn’t even consider trying to get up on his feet, dutifully following on his hands and knees, carefully navigating the dark, narrow stairs down into Master’s basement. It was very dark–so dark he couldn’t even see how far the back the room went. For all he could tell, it might go on forever, an endless repetition of whatever erotic horrors Master could imagine…god that would be so hot. Caught up in the fantasy, Dean didn’t notice Master go over to another rack of bondage gear, pull down another hood and quickly yank it down over the pig’s head. This one was different–more like a mask. Dean could see, but his mouth was covered. More gear followed–including two strange contraptions on his nipples, making them feel like they were being sucked off his body, something strapped around his waist and between his legs, a dildo shoved up his ass without even the courtesy of lube forcing out an involuntary squeal, and a chastity device Master crudely shoved Dean’s semi-hard cock into, before padlocking it closed. Through all of this, Dean stood as still as he could, dimly aware of the shame he ought to feel at the treatment, but feeling only excitement. Master was dragging him even lower, reducing him in status, rendering him little more than an object, and always that smell. Inside the hood it was even stronger, so strong Dean couldn’t help but notice it. The final addition was something heavy and metallic draped around his neck, cinched tight and then clipped closed–a chain collar, he realised, and then there was a tug, and Master pulled him deeper into the darkness, Dean heeling obediently on all fours. They stopped after a short walk, and with a click, the harsh fluorescents in the ceiling flickered to life, forcing Dean to squint, but he could make out something in front of him…some figure– a real pig, a real boar in Master’s basement. Dean was confused what was Master doing now?
His eyes adjusted slowly, and he realized it wasn’t a real boar, it was his reflection. The mask he now wore was a flesh toned pig face, one of the most realistic he’d ever seen, more than adequate to fool a passive observer, and Dean crawled forward, captivated, turning to the side to see the rest of him, see his captive cock, the curly pig tail strapped on right above his fill asshole, the thick metal collar around his neck. The lights were anything but kind–it was ugly, it was something inhuman, something which would make a common person retch if they saw it coming towards them, and Dean realized that this…this thing had been inside him all along, that he’d been hiding it in him, and he wanted to put it back, bury it away, but he…he didn’t know if he could. He tried to look away, but Master yanked the leash around, forcing him to look.
“Damn yer ugly, ain’t ya? Disgustin’ fuckin’ pig,” Master said. “This is who ya are. This is how I see ya, how ya see yourself in those filthy fantasies a yers, ‘n now this is how everyone else is gonna see ya from now on. Ya know ya should hate it, ain’t that right? That ya should fear it. But ya don’t. I can see it in your eyes, ya know what ya should be thinkin’, what society has told ya tah think, but that’s not how ya really feel is it?” he paused for a moment, coming up behind the pig and kneading his ass, “To tell the truth, ya like it. Ya know yer ugly, but ya love it. You know yer just an animal, but ya revel in it. This is what ya are, ‘n what ya want. Let it out–cause it ain’t ever goin’ back in.”
Without ceremony, Master hauled out the dildo from the pig’s ass and replaced it with his cock, already recovered from the earlier blow job, and it started grunting and squealing with pleasure, it’s cock aching to harden inside it’s tight confines. It did want this. It didn’t want to go back to what it’d been, that simpering jock with the beautiful fake life, living a long string of lies. This was simple, this was pleasure for the sake of it’s betters, this is what it would be remade for. In the mirror, it could see it’s body changing again, it’s body bulking up with more muscle, the hair filling in, a few tattoos filling in on it’s shoulders. The bulk wasn’t beautiful–it was beastial. He was afraid still, though. He didn’t want to see what was happening under the hood, didn’t want to see it’s own face. Sensing it’s fear, Master hauled away the pig’s hood, showing it it’s own wild eyes, the nose and lips curled into sneers and it grunted and snorted beyond it’s own control. It was human…and yet…it had nothing human in it. Looking into it’s own feral eyes, the battle was finally lost. Dean disappeared–consumed by the pig inside him, who bucked back, no longer holding an ounce of will, begging without words to be seeded by it’s master, who didn’t disappoint. Master unloaded deep inside him, before replacing the dildo, sealing his essence inside the pig, who happily cleaned off his owner’s cock in thanks.
It was happy–so happy to finally be free. It had been trapped in that horrible boy for so long, only let out to play in his fantasies, but now the pig was free, and he owed it all to his one true master. The sheer love and devotion in his eyes told Master that the battle was over, and that it was time to finish the pig off. It fought a bit as he started removing the gear from the pig’s body, but he slapped it down, reminding it of it’s place. “Ya don’ have tah worry–the gear don’ matter, pig. Yer a pig with it or without it. Now hold still.” The fistmitts came off, the straps, the tail, nipple clamps and chastity device. the pig stood slowly, standing on two feet feeling supremely unnatural. It looked down it it’s body, seeing it’s puny cock and massive nipples, toying with them gently, amazed at their sensitivity.
The smell was still there, that musky, earthy scent, but now it knew the truth of it. It didn’t come from the house, or from the gear. It came from itself. It was it’s own scent, the scent of mud and filth and obedience at the feet of betters. It owned that now, taking a deep, snorting breath from it’s own pits, feeling it’s cock start to harden.
“That’s enough a that, pig,” Master said, “Follow.” Master went upstairs, into the rest of the house, the pig following behind, the surroundings, the mundanity of the farmhouse feeling inappropriate, like it was soiling the surfaces by merely coming close to them. The pig didn’t belong here, he belonged down in the basement, caged up, or outside, penned up in the mud. Why was Master bringing him up here? “Sit,” Master said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and the Pig didn’t budge. That was meant for people, not for something like itself. the Master sighed, seeing the pig’s reaction. He might have misjudged this one–he hadn’t seen a pig emerge this strong in a long while. He hoped it would still be capable of speaking, otherwise he’d have to find a very particular kind of home for it. “You have permission to speak. Can you still talk? Ya want some chaw?”
The confusion on the pig’s face grew deeper, but contorting it’s mouth, it could utter a few words. “Yes…sir. I speak, but…why? I serve, I no need…speak.” The voice was different than the confident voice of the jock who had come in, it was low, difficult to understand. However, when the master held out the tin of copenhagen, the pig didn’t hesitate, taking a thick wad and packing it’s lip, relaxing visibly.
“Well, listen then,” Master said, and then related his story. He was a trainer of sorts. He was a master of freeing bonds that held back the sexual beasts which resided in men, and then he released them back into the wild, to find master’s of their own. As Master spoke, fear started choking the pig. Master was going to force it to leave, was going to kick it out. He’d freed it, the Pig had devoted it’s life to him, and now…now, it had to leave? Find someone else to serve? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t!
“N–No!” the pig shouted out suddenly, before falling to it’s knees at Master’s feet, knowing it had to be punished for disobedience after speaking out of turn, but no slap came, and that was almost worse. He glanced up, seeing the shock on Master’s face, and decided it had better just speak it’s mind. “I…I stay. I here with you, sir. Please, sir. I…love sir. I no worthy, I know…but please, you has no…no pig. I be your pig, sir. Let me be yours, sir.”
The suddenness of the interjection caught Master off guard. The pigs were usually eager to leave and find master’s of their own, but this one…looking down at the kneeling pig, Master did feel a twinge of…something. He’d been releasing pigs for years, and yet something about this one was different. He wasn’t sure if it would be able to even survive if he threw it out the door into the world. No, that wasn’t it…the truth was that he liked this pig. It’s spunk, it’s eagerness, it’s holes. He’d long told himself that he couldn’t get attached, that this was just a job, but maybe…why couldn’t he have a pet of his own? The pig flinched when Master touched his face, expecting a slap, but the soft stroke both surprised and thrilled him. He looked up, seeing the softness in Master’s eyes, and felt hope.
“Alright…I guess if I’m gonna to keep ya, then ya need a name. How bout Spike? I think ya’d look pretty hot wit some metal studs comin’ out a that skull a yers.”
Spike didn’t care. He had a name–he had a master. He grunted and squealed with excitement. He’d found more than release here, he’d found a Master. His Master, the one he’d always wanted and needed, and he would serve him for the rest of his days, and be ever thankful for the opportunity.
Bracken's Corner 