Spook Mart (Part 7) [Interactive]

Jules…was feeling odd. He’d been feeling odd for a while now–he thought about just saying he was drunk, but this wasn’t quite the same thing as being just, drunk. No–he didn’t feel drunk, not exactly. He felt dumb, and…and aggressive, and horny, and not at all like himself at the moment, not at all. There was something wrong with him, something he couldn’t quite pin down, and there was also something wrong with the beer he’d been drinking all night, but Jules didn’t know that.

The Cave Aged IPA had sounded interesting, and certainly packed a punch, but now that the bottle was finished and he was trying to figure out why he felt so strange…and he wondered if he needed to puke. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so–hell, the frat had found him passed out a few times in there as a freshman, so this wouldn’t be a first at all, but usually he had better control of himself, but as soon as he got in there, he realized that control was something he didn’t have much of at all, as his cock released a blast of piss, wetting the front of his costume, running down his legs, and pooling at his feet.

He snorted up the smell, and it triggered something in his mind, and he grunted. It smelled…not good, but right. He…He was marking his territory, it was good that things smelled like him. He turned to look at the mirror, squinting at his face, trying to recall it. His brow…shouldn’t be that heavy, should it? Or his mouth that wide? There was definitely too much hair, and he gave the side of his head a scratch, trying to focus. Something…was wrong. He was wrong. Clothes…why was he wearing these clothes? They were so tight, and so constricting. He pawed at them, trying to figure out the snaps and buttons and zippers, but all they did was frustrate them, and so, with few grunts he just started tearing them off, at least, the ones he wasn’t growing out of. His shoes burst before he could figure out the laces, and he wiggled his massive toes and huge feet, heavily calloused and smelling…wonderful, snorting in his own scent that was filling the small bathroom, and his…cock was so hard, all of a sudden, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered, in his fading mind, was that something was wrong, that he needed help from someone.

He stumbled out of the bathroom, crouching now, and went to the next room where he head people talking, but when he opened it…what he found weren’t people at all, not really. Two pig men, frat bros as well, whose costumes and room had been laced with pork powder were rutting on the bed, their fat frames jiggling, oinking and squealing, and seeing them fuck was making Jules hard–and as he got hard, the worry and concern left with them, and he…he wanted to fuck too.

The two pigs were more than happy to let the caveman join in, though Jules was more interested in dominating than just fucking. The two pigmen didn’t mind in the least–they wanted nothing more to have their holes filled, preferably with food, but cock would do in a pinch. But as Jules fucked them, the powder on the two pigs, and on their bed and clothes, began to rub off on him as well–and a curious reaction took hold of him, as he changed again.

His skin became a rough hide. Two tusks erupted from his mouth as the rest of his teeth flattened slightly. His cock warped, but not as much as the two pigs’ cocks had. It no longer looked human though, and it was massive, easily a foot long, with a thick foreskin covering a tapered cock head. His fingers fused into three thick trotter like fingers, and the toes of his massive feet turned into hard trotters as well. With every thrust into the pigs’ holes, the more his human mind retreated, until he was nothing more than an animal–and after a few hours, the pigmen lost all sense of their human selves as well, happy to keep rutting with their filthy, massive caveman master. Shortly before dawn, the three of them left the house, two massive boars and their hulking pigman master, all of them eager to add a few more pigs, boars and hogs to their stable.

Part 3 – Halloween Alone

It had always been his favorite holiday, Halloween. Dressing up in costumes as a kid, the parties in college…but while it still had a certain charm, Ferris was a bit too old for any of that now, especially now that his kids were grown up and out of the house, and especially since Ellie had passed on a few years before. He still decorated the house of course, though not as much as some people did, but usually it was a quiet night in, passing out candy, reading by the fire. Still, he hadn’t seen this store before, and it piqued his curiosity–Spook Mart. It wasn’t the largest store, or the most high end, but it had a surprising amount of charm–and quite a few brands of products he’d never seen before. It was also the first Halloween store he’d been in that had a section of books to sell!

Some of them were obvious–pumpkin carving, house decorating, horror stories–but some of the others were much more fantastic, and hard to believe even existed. They all had to be joke books, there was no other real explanation, and yet…he was still delightfully intrigued, but when he tried to open one up to read it, the shopkeeper appeared behind him and smacked his hand, telling him reading was only allowed after he’d bought it. The old fellow had gusto, Ferris had to give him that. So he picked the one he found the most interesting, bought it, took and home and started to read.

Come Halloween night, however, Ferris’ home was dark, and there was no candy to be found. Ferris had…learned something. Something vital, and was occupied with something quite a bit more important. Something that was going to change his life forever.

This is the third story arc in the Spook Mart series, and probably the last of them. What sort of book did Ferris buy, and decide to try out before Halloween?

Demon Summoning for Dummies
Working With Portals: Your Ticket to the Outer Planes
Lucid Dreams: Control Your Mind, and Control Your Sleep!
The Magic of Time: Alternate Pasts, Alternate Futures

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Arctos: Filters – Episode 1 (Part 4)

Jacking off had never felt like this before. Every stroke was so thrilling, and his heavy balls were throbbing with excitement. He didn’t last long, and after a few minutes, he was spraying his piggy cum all over the floor in his apartment, feeling the orgasm building inside of him, and it just kept coming. Wave after wave of pleasure washing over him, overwhelming his mind and his sensation, and he sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the feeling of his body settling around him, enjoying just…being a pig, for once. Being a pig like…like he should be, right? Like he wanted to be.

Was this just something he’d always wanted without even realizing it? Or was it just that being this…empty and simple felt so much better than anything else he’d felt before? No one would expect him to be anything special, not like this–not even Jean. Jean–he didn’t know what to feel about him now, especially after their nice day today…or what had been a nice day. Suddenly he was feeling a bit…differently about it. About how Jean just didn’t understand him, and what he needed. Sure he was sexy…if that’s what you were looking for in a guy, but Bruce wasn’t sure if that was what he was looking for at all, really. It hadn’t been enough to get him off today at least. He tried telling himself that the dissatisfaction he was feeling was different, but to this version of himself…it was just how things had happened. He’d had a decent day with a nice enough boyfriend who he wasn’t that attracted to, who wasn’t that attracted to him, and…why was he even with him in the first place?

He opened up the filter app again, and started scrolling through it, but he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. He took a look at himself with a pig snout, thought about adding it to the package, but hesitated. It seemed like…a dangerous idea, even if he did look damn good in it. Then, as he was looking through some old pictures of him, all of which were modified by his new piggish self, he scrolled past a picture of Jean and him taking a selfie–and the program recognized his boyfriend’s face as a target.

Curious, he pulled up the photo and added a filter, only for the app to display a warning message. While he could test filters on a photo, and create packages for use later, no filter applied to an old photo would be effective on the subject. Filters could only be applied to real life by taking a live photo. That piqued his interest–and he started by taking the pig package he’d applied to himself, and put it on the picture of Jean.

In a moment, the photo of his slim, good looking boyfriend had morphed into one that looked quite a lot like him–floppy ears, a second chin, the hint of a fatter chest at the bottom of the selfie. It was hot, sure, but was it quite what he was looking for? He thought back to their sex earlier, how Jean had fucked him (was that what had happened? Part of him could remember topping…but bottoming was more his thing, right?) but it just hadn’t been enough, really. Dick a bit too small, and not nearly…rough enough. No, what he wanted was someone who knew how to ride a pig’s ass properly. He took the filters off, and then looked around on his phone until he found a different picture of him alone, a full body one of his standing in the kitchen cooking a big meal for Bruce (that was one saving grace, the skinny fuck sure could cook!) and then started looking through the filters again, this time thinking about what he’d like to see.

He added some weight first, and then a bit of muscle, giving him a thick, powerlifter physique. Next hair. He toyed with a few filters, but kept adding more, until he had a thick layer down his arms, over his shoulders, and down his ass (along the way, he’d found a filter to edit out clothing, and found a much nicer view after that). A new cock, eight inches long, and uncut. Better, but it could be more than better. He needed a man who knew what a pig wanted, after all. He found the lifestyle filters he’d noticed before, scrolled down until he found one called Farmer John, and applied it–and this time the entire photo shifted.

Instead of a small apartment kitchen, Jean was now standing in a spacious kitchen in a house, somewhat worn down, but still nice. Jean himself had a few changes, but nothing too noticeable–dirt on his hands, his beard a bit longer and knotted, and when he removed the clothes filter, his shirt and jeans were replaced by overalls and a flannel shirt. Fuck, seeing that had his piggy cock leaking all over his belly and thighs, and he started stroking himself again, scrolling through, finding other pictures of his boyfriend, and the filters carried over. Now, in every picture where his young, slim city boyfriend had been, instead there was a hulking muscle bear farmer…and it wasn’t long before Bruce was shooting again, imagining Jean behind him, plowing his ass, telling him what a good pig he was in that sexy country drawl he could almost imagine…but not quite.

The pleasure ebbed, and in its place was restlessness, shame, and disgust. He took the filters off, not noticing they were saved as a package when he did, and then also took the filters off himself as well. It wasn’t possible. He wasn’t a pig, not really, and Jean…Jean didn’t deserve that, did he? He took a shower, still felt dirty afterwards, and then climbed into bed and tried to sleep, but couldn’t get comfortable. It took him an hour of flopping back and forth to realize it was because he was trying to accomodate a gut that wasn’t there, and the frustration came roaring back, but he refused to give in, and eventually slept–though it wasn’t restful, and he awoke in the morning, dimly recalling he’d dreamt of a big, burly farmer fucking him in a mud puddle, and wondered if he was ever going to feel normal again.

Arctos: Filters – Episode 1 (Part 3)

It was difficult to explain how it felt, exactly. On one hand, he had never been this big before–he guessed he was around 250 pounds or so, with a hefty gut, and a rather wide ass as well. He gripped it, and gave it a shake, and it felt good. Really good, somehow, in a way he didn’t even expect. He shook it again, and his cock was hard as a rock, slapping against the underside of his new gut–and the fact that he was so excited unnerved him. Before he could do anything else, he hurried over to the phone and undid it, and the ears, and decided that he had to delete the app…didn’t he?

He already missed it–how could that even be? Even though he’d only been that big for a moment, he felt off balance, like the version of him with that thick gut was the real one, and the skinny version, the real version, was fake. It was so disorienting, that he turned it back on–and when he had it back, he felt so much better, like everything was exactly how it should be. He looked at himself in the mirror, with his gut and floppy ears–and he liked it. It looked good, and right. Why not…keep them for a while? It’s not like he can’t change them back when he gets bored of it, right? And if he could always change himself back later, then why not try a few more changes? It was just for fun after all.

One filter in particular had caught his attention, when he’d been scrolling through–mostly because it had seemed insane that the app would even offer something like that. There it was–a filter that would, apparently, give him the dick of a pig. He didn’t even know what a pig’s dick looked like–he put the filter on, pointed the phone down at his dick, and was surprised at what he was looking at on the screen. It was…curly, and ran up his belly from a sheath, instead of sticking straight out from his crotch. He reached under and grabbed his cock–but what he was looking at, and what he was feeling didn’t match at all, even if the program did a good job rendering his hand stroking up and down the filtered image…but he wanted to know what it would feel like, now that he’d seen it for himself. He took the picture as he stroked it, and he swore he could feel it shifting in his hand, the pleasure intensifying, and he let off a grunt of excitement, put down the phone on the counter, and kept stroking–and thinking about Jean, and how he’d left his place without getting laid.

He was always so caught up in feelings, and wanting to know him, the real Bruce, he said, but he wasn’t complicated. He was just a horny pig, craving sex, and food, and…why not give him a taste of what he’s missing? He sent the dick pic he’d just sent to Jean, hoping to entice him a bit, still stroking, thinking about maybe heading over for a bit of fun, but the messages that came back were…not what he was expecting.

Jean was furious. He shows up at his place, acting strange, refuses to talk about it or anything else, leaves, and now he’s sending him dick pics? Jean wanted to know what in the hell he was thinking, and reading the messages…Bruce found himself asking the same question. What on Earth was he thinking?

He went into the app and reverted the changes–all of them. He felt normal again, the raging horniness from before wearing off, though he found himself…missing it, like he did all of the changes. Still, that wasn’t him. He sent an apology, but while Jean read it, he didn’t reply–had he really just fucked up his relationship so quickly? Then again, maybe it was for the best…though they’d been getting along so damn well, hadn’t they? Everything felt confused in his head, and he wasn’t quite sure whether what he was thinking and feeling was really himself, or just the lingering desires of the pig he’d been for a few minutes. He decided it would be best if he just went to bed, and tried to sort in all out in the morning–and thankfully, with a good night’s sleep, he did feel better, and the longing he felt for that other body was much less powerful than it had been, though it hadn’t gone away entirely.

Things were better with Jean too…though that was harder to try and manage. All Jean wanted was an answer. Why had Bruce been acting so strangely? But he couldn’t tell him the truth. Would he even believe him, if he tried to tell him? He doubted it–he’d just sound crazy. Instead, he told him that he’d had a bad day at work, and hadn’t been feeling well that evening, and while it was a lame excuse, maybe that lameness helped sell it. That, or Jean was just eager to believe something. They made up, had a nice day, and had a good round of sex, though Bruce found it difficult getting hard, and maintaining interest. He ended up not being able to cum, and when he got home he was hornier than ever, and frustrated at himself for not being able to even tell the truth about what was going on with him. Frustrated because the longing he’d hoped would keep dying away had come roaring back, now that he was horny.

The truth was, his human cock didn’t compare to the sensation of that pig cock he’d had for a few minutes. He…wanted to feel it again. It couldn’t have been as good as he remembered, could it? He hadn’t deleted the app, though he knew he should have. He opened it back up, and found that the program had autosaved the three filters into a package under a second tab–labeled past forms. He activated it, stripped down, and just…looked at himself. He was a…sexy fucking animal, he had to say that. He’d never really been one for chubs, really, but looking at himself (no, not himself, at…at the pig, at the pig he’d been? At the pig he could be?) he found all of the sexual energy he hadn’t been able to muster earlier, with Jean. So he took a picture, shook his gut a few times, then grabbed his cock and got to business.

Arctos: Filters – Episode 1 (Part 2)

“Are you alright?” Jean asked.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Bruce said, “Just…had a weird day today at work, is all.”

“Well, let’s talk about it, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m over it.”

Jean narrowed his eyes, “It doesn’t look like your over it, if you’re running to the bathroom and locking me out.” He sighed, “Bruce…I love you, but I can’t keep up with the narrative sometimes, you know? You have to let me in on occasion, if I’m going to be able to understand.”

“Seriously, I’m fine.”

It was clear that Jean didn’t believe it, and Bruce wasn’t surprised. They’d had this conversation (or argument, depending on how loud their voices got) plenty of times before, about the fact that Bruce wouldn’t open up to him…but in all honesty, Bruce didn’t know what Jean was looking for. He wasn’t a complex guy–he had a job, and he worked, and he liked Jean, and liked having sex–but Jean always seemed so…concerned about him, for some reason that Bruce didn’t really understand. It just felt like he wanted to get inside his head, but Bruce didn’t really want anyone in there, as far as he was concerned. If that meant he came off as distant and detatched…well, maybe he was.

The fight didn’t develop any further than that, but the frustration ruined the evening for them both, and to Bruce’s disappointment Jean didn’t invite him to stay the night, claiming he had an early morning the next day for work that he had to get rested up for. Bruce walked the way back to his apartment, and his thoughts turned back to the strange app he’d downloaded, and the ears he’d accidentally given himself–he opened it back up, being careful not to trigger anything, and looked through some of the options, surprised by the sheer variety the app could provide–and if they all worked like the ears had, the possibilities were…intriguing. However, for whatever reason, Bruce was drawn back to the ears, turning the filter on as he stood waiting for a crosswalk, looking at himself. He could almost feel them, just by watching himself move. To his surprise, he found himself missing them, despite the fact he’d only had them on his head for less than an hour. Still, not in public–he got back up to his apartment, triggered the ears again, and when he felt them flopping against the side of his head again, like before, he let off a sigh of relief he hadn’t even been aware of holding in.

He went into the bathroom and just stood in front of the mirror, playing with them, wondering why this all felt so natural to him. More natural than his human ears, even. Then again, in this reality, he’d always had them, so why wouldn’t they feel natural to him? Unnerved, he opened the app again, ready to get rid of them, but the screen had changed, and was instead showing a list of recommended filters for him, though since he’d only used one filter so far, all of them were, well, pig related in one way or another.

There was a filter that would make him look like a farmer, one that would make him chubby, another that would make him obese, and another that would make him fatter than he was really comfortable dealing with. Others focused on more piggish features–some added snouts, others made his hands and feet become trotters–and one promised to give him a sizable boar cock and balls. His squeamishness eventually gave way to curiosity. It wasn’t like he couldn’t just change back, right? Just to check, he removed the ears again, put them back on, removed them, put them back, removed them. He stared at himself, human again, wondering why, even with the app removed, he still didn’t feel…right, looking at himself like this. He’d never even thought about being a pig before in his life. He had a couple of friends who were furries, but he’d never once understood whatever they were talking about, or been interested in it, especially not erotically. It didn’t make any sense to him, and yet, when he turned the ears back on, he still felt so at ease in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

There was really only one way to know, he supposed. He pulled up another filter, the recommended one that would allegedly make him chubby, though not massive like some of them would, apparently. The screen displayed an error at first, telling him that he needed to back away from the camera and allow for a full body shot–then, when he did that, it also insisted that he remove all of his clothes. He did so, standing a bit awkwardly a few feet away from his phone, where it was propped up on the counter. He could see himself in the mirror, his usual body at least, and then below it, in the tiny phone screen, a body that was similar, but definitely larger, though it was too far to make out details very well. The app was on a timer, so he went up, pressed the trigger button, and then went back to position, watching the screen process–longer this time–and after a minute or so, his picture popped up. Bruce didn’t need to see the picture though. After all, he had his new gut already hanging off of him.

Arctos: Filters – Episode 1 (Part 1)

“Wait, is this the right one?” Bruce asked himself when he opened up the app on his phone, and started scrolling down through it. One of his coworkers that day had mentioned some new app that did some sort of really cool photo filters, but by the time he’d gotten home he hadn’t been able to remember the exact name. This one had sounded familiar though, and so he’d downloaded it from some company named Arctos. He booted it up, and it looked…well, like a lot of other filter programs he’d seen, but nothing particularly special. He’d just have to ask him for the right name tomorrow at work.

He browsed through the selections in this one, and was actually impressed by the sheer number. There were filters to change facial hair and hairstyle, filters that made you look like someone from a particular occupation–and then he saw something he hadn’t seen before–there were filters that the app claimed could change the look of your whole body. There was a buzz from his phone, a message from Jean, his boyfriend, checking to see if they were still on for dinner tonight, and Bruce decided to send him something funny. There was a collection of animal filters, and he found one that looked like a set of floppy pig ears. He turned it on, and was surprised by how lifelike it was–when he turned his head, he could see the ears swinging with it, and the physics of them was surprisingly realistic. He tilted his head to the side, letting one ear flop against his cheek, while the other one hung down, and then tilted it the other way. He didn’t know what company this was, but this was actually way more impressive than the one his coworker had mentioned. He took a photo of himself with the floppy ears–though it took a while for it to pop up on the screen, and then he sent it to Jean, along with a message that he was just about to leave.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, grabbed his coat and stepped out of his apartment. Jean lived a few streets away, but Bruce preferred walking, rather than trying to catch a bus. He hit the street, checked his phone again, and saw a message from Jean–“There’s my handsome man,”–but no mention of the ears added to the photo. Bruce was a bit annoyed that Jean didn’t mention the filter, he usually liked silly things like that, but it wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. Bruce just enjoyed the Spring chill on the twenty minute walk to his place, not really thinking about much in particular beyond how excited he was for Summer to finally arrive. He buzzed for Jean, who let him into the building, and Bruce hiked up the three stories to his apartment, where Jean was waiting for him. He gave him a kiss, and stepped inside, hanging his coat up on the hook inside. “Did you like that pic I sent?” he asked, “Kind of cool, right?”

Jean looked at him a bit puzzled, “Of course, you’re always cute in a photo–are you just fishing for compliments, or what?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “Yeah, but the ears Jean, come on.”

Jean just chuckled, “I know you feel self-conscious about them sometimes, so I never know if I should say anything or not, but of course they looked good–they always do,” he stepped closer, reached up and flicked one of the floppy ears hanging off of Bruce’s head, and watched his boyfriend’s face go pale, both hands flying up to the side of his head, and then he dashed to the bathroom like a madman, locking the door behind him.

They were there. The ears, they were real! Bruce grabbed one and gave it a tug, wincing from the sudden pain. It couldn’t be possible, it didn’t make any sense! He stared at himself in the mirror over the sink, tilting his head side to side like he had into his phone half an hour earlier, watching his new ears flop and hang just like they had, just like…they always had, right? He fumbled with his phone and pulled up his photos, looking through his selfies, and sure enough, his ears were there, in every single photo. His pig ears. Had he really walked all the way over here, and not a single person had looked at him? Or had they been looking, and he was just so used to the stares at this point, that he didn’t worry about it?

“Bruce?” Jean said, “I’m sorry, I…I mean, you asked, and I didn’t want to upset you, alright? Let’s talk about it.”

Bruce went back to the app, and his photo was still up. He backed out to the camera, and there, in the upper left hand corner, was a button marked undo. He slammed it, watched the screen process for a moment, and when the screen came back alive, they were gone. His normal, human ears were right there, like they’d never left. He looked in the mirror, and again, the pig ears were gone, and also from all of his photos, which had also turned back to normal. He heaved a sigh of relief, and then opened the door, where a very concerned looking Jean was standing.

Taming the Beast (Part 9)

The door behind him clicked and opened, and Mark stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Jacob managed to pry himself away from the trough long enough to snarl and look at him, but then the beast forced him back down into the slop. “Now now, Jacob–don’t fret. You’ll be safe here, just like all of my other pets down here. You’ll meet them all eventually…well, maybe you will. It depends on how long you last, really, in there. After all, Beastie has met most of them already, haven’t you?”

He felt a grunt come out of his mouth, and sensed it was something affirmative. Mark stepped closer, and Jacob could…smell him. Had he smelt that…good before? He was wearing different clothes than he usually did, they were soaked with cum, with…so many different kinds, but mostly his own, and Jacob felt his…or rather, their cock hardening. Mark ran his hands over Jacob’s wide ass, feeling the crisp briefs he had on, and then tugged them down, giving him access to his crack, which he ran his own cock along, feeling Jacob’s body squirm in excitement.

“I must say, when I saw what you could do, back in the hospital, I knew I had to have you, but I never would have imagined you could be such a delight. Just my type–once you’re properly trained, I might even let you wander the house–just tell everyone you’re my pet hog, if anyone asks, not that anyone will, of course.”

“H-How?” Jacob managed to force out through a mouthful of food.

“How? How did I do it? It was easy–you know how. You’re weak. The beast was always the strongest part of you, you were just holding it back. I’ve set it free, and given it exactly what it has always wanted–the perfect life for a little beastie like him.”

Jacob tried to object, tried to talk to the beast in control of him, but Mark forced his cock into him then, and everything else…disappeared for a while. No–he disappeared for a while, like when he was hypnotized, and he didn’t resurface for…well, he didn’t know how long, exactly, but when he woke up later, the trough was empty, licked nearly clean, and his gut…ached. Ached, and it was so big–bigger than it had ever been before this, and from the smell of cum in the room, he’d just jacked off…but the cum smelled different than usual. It was hard to see, around the huge gut, but he managed to get a peek at it, and saw that it wasn’t…human anymore. So much of him wasn’t human anymore. He was a freak, an animal. He felt something chaffing his neck, and felt a steel collar there, padlocked on, and he wanted to break it, wanted to tear it to shreds, but the beast just…laughed at him. A hyena like laugh in his mind, and he started to recede again, falling back into the darkness of himself.

It was true, wasn’t it. He was weak. He’d always been the weakest. But this wasn’t freedom. He screamed at the beast, telling him he thought this was freedom, but he was nothing. Just a pet, a slave, some sexual freak. All he received back was a silence, and then a pressure, a force driving him back down into the dark, and he was gone again. The beast felt him recede, and laid back on the floor of his room.

The man was right, he supposed. He was nothing more than a pet, really. No better than he’d been with Bacanal, no better than he’d been when locked away by the man. He could get free…maybe, but he was so used to gluttony, sloth and lust now, that it was hard to imagine the fierce forms it had taken back in the hospital. What did it matter, in the end? He was a pet, but he was satisfied. He was a sex freak, but he’d never experienced pleasure like this before. It was slavery, but it you got everything you wanted, wasn’t that just as good as freedom, in a way? The door clicked, and swung open. Beastie crawled through it, and saw Cumrag there in the room, tied up, ass up, and he went over and shoved his snout into the man’s hole and licked. He liked the taste of this one. Liked how he moaned when Beastie fucked him, liked how eager he was for attention, and especially liked how rough he could be with him.

Months passed by. Jacob surfaced less and less, and every time he did, there was less of him that came back from the darkness. Without context, he couldn’t really distinguish between himself in the beast…and by the time he realized the beast’s mind was actually absorbing him, it was too late for him to even consider what it might mean to resist. Mark thought about intervening, but it would have been a substantial amount of work…and really, what good was he to anyone? Beastie was truly the better half–best to just do away with what wasn’t necessary. Beastie kept growing, helped by his constant, massive meals, and after six months he was nearly eight feet tall, and weighed close to a ton. Mark had been forced to renovate two of the other rooms into one sizable pigpen, with a mud hole which he and his pet enjoyed fucking in regularly. After a year, Beastie couldn’t even recall a time when he hadn’t lived with his master, as his pet. It was simply who he was–and he couldn’t imagine any life he could want more than this one.

Taming the Beast (Part 8)

Jacob didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t feel like he was getting better, certainly…but he did trust Mark, didn’t he? After all, he never would have gotten out of the hospital at all, if it hadn’t been for his help, and if Mark thought he was a danger to anyone at all, he knew that he would never let him hurt someone else again. He decided to do as he suggested, and trust that he would pull his way out of the slump soon, and things would become a bit more normal…but were things becoming normal, or was he just getting used to how filthy his life had become? Men kept coming around to see him, men he couldn’t even remember calling, and the sex he had with them was getting…stranger. He fucked them, always, but also took to soaking them down in his piss, and covering them in his cum, making sure that when they left, they smelled like him…like his property, like his mates.

Then, he went into another rage at work, and this time went too far–they fired him on the spot, and he was just…so frustrated, so angry, and he didn’t feel like he had anywhere to put it…so he ate. He ate, and he fucked, and he drank, and he didn’t rest for days. The next appointment with Mark blew past without him even thinking about it, he just didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to exist. It was two days after that, when Mark arrived at his door…and he was so relieved to see him, that he fell to his knees and sobbed. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He couldn’t trust himself, he’d given the beast too much control because…because he was weak. So weak. That’s what Mark told him, that he’d spent so long with the beast out, that he didn’t have the capacity to contain him anymore. Jacob didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t be true…but when Mark hauled him up and dragged him into the bathroom to look at himself–really look at himself, he was terrified.

It wasn’t his face in the mirror. Or, it was kind of his face, but it was…twisted and bestial, with a snout pushing out around his mouth and nose, two tusks pushing out from his lower jaw, the hair on his head and beard looking more like boar bristle than human hair. He begged Mark to take him back to the hospital, to take him somewhere where he would be safe…but Mark told him he thought the hospital would be the worst possible thing for them both. The beast would panic. He would fight, and turn vicious, and most likely, Jacob in his weakened state wouldn’t be able to regain control, and in the end, he’d just be locked up in a cage for the rest of his life, in a ultramax prison with the rest of the villains of the world. But he wasn’t a villain, right? No–he just needed some time to get back on his feet…but he did need to be supervised. Mark graciously offered him a room down in the basement of his house, and Jacob was so thankful he didn’t think twice. So thankful in fact, that he sucked the doctor’s cock, right there in his apartment. It was just…the right thing to do. To show how much he respected him. To show him how important he was. Some time under the doctor’s direct care was just what he needed. He left with him, not wanting to wait in case the beast resisted, and they got to Mark’s home shortly before dark. They went downstairs and into a large, bare room with several doors on each wall. Mark ushered him into one of them, and while it wasn’t much larger than the room he’d had in the hospital, he should be appreciative, shouldn’t he?

Mark shut the door behind him, and told him he would be back soon with some food for him, and Jacob couldn’t shake the sense of unease he was feeling. The beast had hated being stuck in the hospital, and he’d been certain it would fight this too. But it hadn’t. If anything, he felt better now than he had in his apartment. Safer. Like everything was working out exactly like he thought it should…except it wasn’t. He had none of his things, not even a change of clothes or a toothbrush–not that he’d been using one lately. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going. He looked around, but there wasn’t a phone anywhere, or a TV…or really anything. There wasn’t even a bed, or a window, just some lights inset in the wall behind glass or plastic. It was a cell. He was in a cell.

He went to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. He was locked in here–he’d let himself get trapped in here, like an idiot! Still, the door was nothing compared to what the beast was capable of, right? He focused, trying to reach for it, trying to harness it…but while it was there, it was calm. No–more than calm, it was relaxed, and watching him panic, and enjoying this. It wanted to be here.

There was a loud thunk from the long wall of the cell, and the bottom foot or so angled out, revealing a shallow trough running the entire length. A moment later, slop slid down into, steaming slightly, and Jacob felt his gut rumble, and the beast licked its chops. No–no, he licked his lips, right? Jacob was still trying to understand what was happening to him in his mind, as his body lowered itself down onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the trough, shoving his short snout into it and devouring as much of it as he could, as quickly as he could, while it was still warm and delicious.

Pervert Vision (Caption)

Drew was horny. This was nothing new for him, really, because Drew was always horny. He’d been horny for as long as he could remember. But Drew wasn’t quite like other perverts–no, Drew had always had something about him that made him…very special.

It had started with his father, when he was just a teenager. The burly man had always fascinated him, and played a regular role in Drew’s young fantasies. He’d been so innocent then, in some ways–but what he’d always wanted was for his father to…lust after him as well. It happened slowly, at first. Drew began to notice his father seemed to be…spying on him. Trying to catch him naked, trying to catch his son masturbating, stealing his son’s cumrags. Drew found it hard to believe…but the more he thought about it, the more true it became, until his father finally begged him for a load of cum–just like he’d imagined him doing the day before. That final year of living at home had been a year of…experimentation. Discovering what he could do, and who he could do–and he ended up doing most every man in the neighborhood, as well as the teachers at school. His father remained a favorite, however. Maybe it was time to pay him a visit, he hadn’t been home in quite some time, and his father always loved a chance to worship his perfect boy in person.

But no–not today. Often, Drew kept to himself. It was best that way, because he’d become so…powerful, that it was difficult to contain himself, once he got excited. Still, there was no rush quite like a hunt–and today, he felt like hunting. He threw on some cunstained clothes, headed down to the sidewalk, and decided to see what might interest him. He hadn’t been to the gym in a while, he supposed. He kept a membership, though rarely used it–he had never had much interest in working out, but it was a great opportunity to find some delightful men to play with.

He went inside, signed in, and headed right for the locker room, and found it sparse, without no one who really captured his interest. Still, he could wait. He sat on a bench in the corner of the room, behind a row of lockers, and masturbated idly for a few minutes, certain that something would come his way before too long. Sure enough, two young men entered, finished with their workout, and the scruffy one of the pair–oh, just seeing him drove Drew a bit wild.

Neither of them had been planning on taking a shower, but they made their way back there anyway. The sight of the chubby, slovenly pervert staring at them and jacking off should have disgusted them…but neither of them minded. Instead of taking a shower, however, the scruffy one got down on his knees while his workout partner stripped, and started sucking on his cock. He couldn’t break his eyes away from the pervert, however, no matter how hard he tried, and the pervert liked that.

The pervert liked it so much, his friend started spitting on him, calling him a faggot, and then shoved him up against the wall of the showers, fucking his ass, Scruff moaning and begging for more. Still–the pervert watched him, adored the confusion in his eyes. This would be a fun one–one to play with for a little while. His friend came deep, and then left. He was already forgetting about his friend, and Scruff collapsed to the tile, horrified by what had just happened to him, even as the pervert walked over to where he was. The scent rolling off his was strong–thick with cum, and it was…making him hungry, somehow.

He looked up at the pervert looming over him, a thousand questions running through his mind, but what came out of his mouth was, “Fuck, you’re a sexy looking fucker–wanna head back to my place for some fun?”

Drew liked that idea–but he was horny first, and so be made Scruff beg for another load from him before they left, and Scruff was more than happy to swallow down another load…but then again, he was a real cumpig, wasn’t he? It was hard to remember, but the straight, gruff jock he’d been when he’d walked into the locker room less than half an hour ago seemed so distant, and he felt like someone else. Someone he didn’t even know, to be honest. Drew came, Scruff swallowed, and then they left the gym, Scruff leading the way to his apartment. A…girlfriend was there, for some reason, but that wasn’t right. Scruff wasn’t dating anyone at the moment, and so he kicked her out, and once he was alone with the pervert again…well, things just seemed to…appear, as they needed them.

The poppers, first. Scruff kept huffing on them, feeling his cock throbbing harder and harder as the pervert fucked his ass, which seemed to be getting…looser, and the looser it got, the better it felt, to be honest. The pervert found the can of crisco in the dresser, lubed up a fist, and Scruff only had a moment of doubt before the hand was inside him, the pervert complimenting him on his technique, telling him he was one of the better fistpigs he’d found in the city.

Scruff kept expecting it to end. He would cum, the pervert would cum, but it only seemed to make the pervert hornier, and the look in his eyes–Scruff would be ready for another round before the pervert even suggested it. It was two days before the man finally left–Scruff looked around had his grungy one bedroom apartment, outfitted more as a sex dungeon than as a living space, before falling on the bed and at last falling asleep, still thinking about him, the perverts eyes still on him, still in him.

When he woke up, it was nearly night, and Scruff was horny as ever. He got dressed in some of his favorite gear–red and black, of course, threw his legs up, and took a pic.

He sent it to some of his favorite tops in the city–they all ran in the same circle as Drew, of course, but then, Drew seemed to know every perverse fuck in town. Before the hour was up, two men were inside him, Scruff was poppered up, and he knew it was going to be another great night to be a fistpig.

What Would I Do To You (#1 – Dippig)

A new sort of thing I’ve had on my mind, ever since this post blew up a couple months ago. Not sure how often I’ll add entries, but it’ll be a different sort of thing each time. This one is dedicated to someone in particular, you know who you are.)

What would I do to you today?

Let’s start you off with some dip. If you’re a novice, even better–I show you how to pack that lip your first time, see that buzz in your eye, and you smile, but before you can finish jacking off, you have to race to the toilet to throw up. It happens–but it’s good to see how you take it. We don’t do anything else with the dip right then, instead, I wait for you to bring it up again, because even after that, you’re still curious…and a bit humiliated. You should have been able to take it, you tell yourself. It wasn’t even that much. So you ask, and I oblige. A bit less this time, get you comfortable, get you spitting in a little bottle, and you’re feeling good. You jack off, and you leave it in after, dropping it in the trash before you go.

We see each other more often, and everytime, we pack that lip for you. It helps you enjoy yourself–you feel more relaxed, and more energized with it. But for the moment, you still only do it when you’re with me–but why? You know the brand I give you, there’s nothing stopping you from stopping by the gas station as you leave to buy some of your own. You drop the occasional hint that it would be nice to have a tin of your own, but I don’t give you what you want–you’re not going to get any from me, no, you need to get it yourself. Finally, you do. You don’t use it often–maybe once every couple of days to jack off with, but that’s ok–we can take it slow.

You arrive with a packed lip, and you leave with one now. It isn’t long before spit begins to play a larger and larger role for you in sex. I make you watch me drool, I spit in your face, I lick your body, and I stop giving you a bottle. I want to see you drool. I want you to feel it running down your chin and onto your chest. I want to rub it in there, smear the dark, tacky liquid all over you where I can lick it off later–maybe.

When does an obsession become an addiction? When do you go from dipping because you want to, and start dipping because you need to? Is it the first time you sneak a lipper at work? You keep it small, so no one can notice, keep the trash can nearby for spit, and be sure to enunciate. You’re hard though, and you slip off to the bathroom to jack off, drooling a bit down your chin as you do, and wipe it clean with some toilet paper when your finished. Your chin feels a bit sticky for the rest of the day, all the same.

But I want to take things further–and you do too. You’re enjoying yourself too much to say no. I suggest you grow out your beard, and you agree. We have off your hair, once you have a decent scruff balance the bare skull. More and more often, I start feeding you during our sessions together. It takes some practice, not swallowing the leaf and spit while I stiff you full, but you’re smart, aren’t you? You figure it out, like a good pig. Did you know how erotic eating could be? I don’t think you did. You’d read stories about it, sure, but had you ever experienced it? You start buying snacks when you stop at the gas station to get more dip. You become a frequent customer at the vending machine at work. You bring doughnuts for everyone–but eat a half dozen yourself. You feel less obvious, that way.

We carry on, for a while. It begins to feel normal, now. Your boss catches you using tobacco at work, and you get written up. It feels unfair–it’s not like you’re smoking after all–but rules are, apparently, rules. You try to stop for a day, figuring it would be good if you scaled back somewhat…but the withdrawl hits, and by the end of the week, you’re back to covertly dipping again, and being more careful this time. Is that all the willpower you had? Two days without? Not even without–just for an eight hour stretch at work. You jack off that night, thinking about it, realizing how much you need it–and wondering if you can even stop now, if you wanted to.

You’re spending the night regularly now. I make sure to stock up on all of your favorite snacks, and keep them close at hand all night long for you to binge on. He strip you down, pack your mouth full, and you start drooling like a beast, watching it run down into that beard of yours. I get plenty of spit elsewhere too–all over those soft pecs of yours, over your small gut, drooling all over your dick and balls until they’re good and brown, eat out that ass of yours too, before I fuck you. And you? You’re just in a stupor of pleasure, stuffing your face, with food and more dip, needing it to get hard now, needing all of it.

Do you want to move in yet? Ready to go all the way? I don’t let you quit your job–no, I want them to fire you. I want you to see just how much they’ll let you get away with. But no more showers, not for you. No bottles, either. That spit just drools right out your mouth and into your beard. The chin is stained several shades darker than the rest of your hair now, like some strange dye job, and the hair is crusty and matted together. I put you on a strict gaining diet, and you take most of your meals out of a small trough in the kitchen. Pretty soon, you crest 300 pounds, and not too long after that, they finally fire your ass–and you realize, then, that I’m the only thing you have left to rely on.

But that’s alright, isn’t it? You like being here. It feels good–you feel good, being my dippig. I slowly start breaking down the rest of your social shame, I warp you into an exhibitionist, I make you get off seeing other people see you dipping, seeing you filthy, seeing your fat ass in too small of clothes, covered in muck they can’t even recognize. You don’t carry a can anymore–no, we’ve switched to a different storage system, now that you’ve got that nice wide ass. We just pack chaw in between those cheeks of yours, and let you walk around with it all day long. Fuck, watching you rummage around in your underwear in the supermarket, haul a damp wad of chaw out and shove it in your mouth, right in front of a couple of breeders who just stare at you in horror–I drag you right into the restroom for a good fucking–and in your eyes, I see that that’s exactly what you’d hoped would happen.

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 5)

He looked like a monster–what in the world had Dick and Ash done to him? No–he could imagine what they did, well enough, even if he’d never seen the dummy itself, after the work. The floppy ears raised a bit too high on his head, the short snout pushing out under his nose and mouth…he could see his face still sliding into place, his nostrils widening at the end of the snout, even as his mouth shifted underneath it. It hurt less, than when his face had first reattached, but it didn’t feel good, and he certainly didn’t like looking at it, either–even if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from himself, from the huge gut, from the stubby cock poking out of a sheath underneath it, and two massive balls swinging below, each the size of a small melon. They were…churning, and not in a sense he’d ever experienced. He felt something well up at the head of his cock, and a slimy tear of precum leaked from the slit, and drooled down to the floor, followed by a steady stream after that. Even his hands and feet were different–especially his feet. He’d assumed walking was difficult just because he was beginning to regain sensation–but he was surprised he could feel anything. His feet were…trotters–thick and wide, but completely inhuman, and his hands were reduced to three clumsy fingers, probably good for holding cocks and not much else.

“Yeah, look at you, you fucking beast. We’ll be goin’ back home together, and you’re gonna be my pet piggy, ain’t ya? You stupid piece of shit?”

Trey didn’t know what to do about his face and body–but he was plenty angry. He’d always been angry, but he’d never had the ability to do much to back it up. But now–sure, he was fat, but there was plenty of muscle packed onto this frame too. He could…fight. He clenched a fist, turned, and swung, slamming it right into Dick’s face, sending him stumbling back into a chair, and then onto the ground behind him. Yeah–that felt good, and he swung around to glower at Ash.

“Fix this,” he tried to say, but it didn’t come out right–which didn’t surprise him, he supposed, but Ash got the message in any case, and Trey stalked over towards him, ready to punch him as well, when he felt something slender wrap it’s way around his neck, tighten down on his windpipe, and bring him down to his knees.

“Bar policy,” a new voice said, “Pets gotta be kept on a leash at all times–for safety’s sake.”

Dick sat up, wiping blood from his nose, and saw the bartender had come around, and was holding the end of the leather leash, connected to the collar wrapped around Trey’s throat, who was pawing at with his useless hands. “Fuck man, thanks.”

“Yeah Rod, I owe you,” Ash said.

The bartender shrugged. “You’ve earned your place here, Ash,” he said, “And you–I like you. But don’t let this thing loose again, or I’ll have it dragging you around instead, got it?”

Rod handed Dick the end of the leash, and he gripped it tight. “No worries man–I won’t let him out of my hand.”

Rod nodded, and walked back behind the bar. Trey kept pawing at the collar for a moment, but couldn’t…quite tell what was wrong. The collar wasn’t choking him physically–if anything, it felt…comfortable, or even necessary. He was a beast after all. A monster. He had to be controlled, and chained, and…and dominated. Just a stupid, dull beast of burden, worthless for much of anything, only good for what it’s master wanted. The collar was choking out his mind, and Ash could see the intellect and fight draining from the pigman’s face, eyes going slack and dark, a line of drool hanging from the front of his snout.

“Better give it a name too–something for the tag,” Rod added, once he was back behind the bar, “How about Troff? Looks like that thing loves shoving its face in ‘em enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, sounds good to me!” Dick said, “How about it, Troff?”

Was…was that him? It sounded right. It sounded like a good name for a stupid, subservient beast like him. His master was standing beside him, and looked like he was hurt–and for some reason, Troff thought that he had done that…but that couldn’t be right. No, Troff would never hurt Master, never in a million years. He’d…hurt whoever did that to Master, is what he’d do.

Dick, through the leash, could sense Troff’s anger, and decided to let the pet off for this one. “Calm down now, pig–here, let’s give you a treat, eh?” Dick said, and pressed the head of his cock to Troff’s snout, and with a delighted grunt, it started sucking on Master’s cock, one thick hand massaging it’s nuts, feeling more and more precum puddle around his knees on the floor. Maybe master would let him lick it up, later–Troff was good at licking shit up, after all. After a moment, Dick got Troff repositioned, so Ash could fuck his ass, and together they brought to pig to a snorting, squealing orgasm, cum pouring from his cock onto the floor, which, like he’d hoped, Dick let the pig lick up after they were all finished.

Ash shook Dick’s hand, and wished him luck with his new life, and his new pig, and then turned to his two gimps, both of whom had watched the entire scene without moving–though with mixed, if limited, feelings. “Alright you two,” Ash said, “I think we’re calling it an early night, tonight, and heading back to my place. I think you’ve earned the privilege of getting your faces back–after we have a little fun with your bodies, eh?”

The end for now…