April Suggestion Box Open!

Hey everyone! It’s a new month, and that means there’s a brand new suggestion box open for all of my patrons at the $5 dollar level and up. Is there a story you’d like to see me write, a fetish you’d want me to focus on, or a kind of character that turns you on? Let me know! I can even take photo inspirations over on my discord channel, open for patrons only. Here’s one of the stories I wrote for patrons last month, inspired by one such photo–if this is something you’d like to get in on, sign up on my page over here at the $5 tier or higher!


Service Beast

It’s just a store, you try and tell yourself, but you’re still nervous all the same. The space is big–too big, and too bright and white. It’s unnatural. The smells are too clean or perhaps just non-existent, without the manure and grass you’ve become so used to lately. There are also too many people, and all of them are staring at you–some of them shake their head in disgust or shame, while others–the teenagers mostly–just point and laugh. You can understand why, of course. You’re huge, for one thing–nearly seven feet tall at this point, and almost five hundred pounds of fat and muscle hanging on your frame. The hair is the other thing–your entire chest, back and belly coated in a thick pelt of brown hair, all of it easily visible through the straps of your muddy overalls–the only clothes you wear anymore. You’re beard is tangled, your hair long and bleached a bit from the hours and hours spent out in the sun this summer. You’re only…22? 23? But you look like you’re at least forty, if not fifty now. This is the first time you’ve been inside a building other than the barn and stable in months, and even though the aisles are wide, you still feel much too confined–for the first time, you’d rather be back on the farm, in the fields doing your work, rather than…this place. A place you…swear you recognize, but finding all of those old memories is so difficult now. You suppose that’s why Master feels so confident bringing you here now.

The mobility cart he’s sitting in jolts forward, and the lead in his hand, connected to the collar around your fat, hairy neck, jerks you forward as well. “Keep up, you stupid lug–get two of those and put them in the cart.”

You look at the boxes he’s indicating, grab two, and set them in the basket in front of him, and then you continue onward–you fetching and carrying from the shelves, while Master barks orders at you in public, treating you like a slave and a idiot while everyone in town watches–and while you know the truth, but can’t say it. You can’t seem to say much of anything, anymore. You’re too afraid to speak, ever since you lost your words last week–or maybe it was the week before that. It seems like the only thing that comes out of your mouth are the grunts, loos, and squeals of the beasts to care for and sleep with back at the farm. Anything more than a simple sentence just dissolves–and the thought along with it, as soon as you start.

You hadn’t always looked like this–though you were having a harder and harder time remembering that, from day to day. You’d been young and slim and muscular–not this fat, hairy stupid beast of burden he had warped you into, starting the day you got on the farm, after taking the job offer you’d found on the internet, looking for some summer employment. Master liked to play the part of the crippled invalid, but you knew the truth–he was ancient, yes, but as a wizard, he didn’t need the cart, or even you, to get the farm work done. But centuries of power had warped him, and he’d grown bored. You were just another amusement, at the end of the day, for the old wizards perverse desires.

“Come on, you stupid thing–help me get to the bathroom. I have something I need to take care of.”

You gulp, and help him up as he feigns a limp, and help him into the restroom. This room feel even smaller than the rest of the store, with the too bright halogen lights, and the small stalls. Master goes into the handicapped stall, and tugs you in as well–to help him out.

“Get down, you fucking beast, fuck, watching you lumber around like some stupid fucking ape–you’re just an animal, you know that? You’re my fucking service animal–how does it make you feel, knowing that you’re just a simple pet now?”

He opened up the fly of his jeans, and you got down–you didn’t know if you were gonna have to suck or drink, but you knew something was coming. It was piss, first. He fired before you even had your mouth around the head of his cock, but you scrambled and recovered, only a bit of piss running down into your beard as you drank down his full bladder. Once he’d finished with that, he started fucking your face, telling you what a good service pig you were, doing such good work–that as long as you were useful, he’d keep you around for a while longer, before turning you into just another member of his livestock, and replacing you with some new fellow.

You sucked, hard, and were rewarded with a load of Master’s cum shot across your beard. You knew better than to try and clean it up–Master hated it when you showed any concern like that. He wanted you to be humiliated–and he wanted you to accept it. Your task finished, you up, Master put himself back together, but before you could make it out of the bathroom, you froze–it was coming, and out on the farm, who really cared?–but not…not here, you could stop it, you could control it…

You stumbled for the urinal, tugging on the lead, but it was too late. Piss was flooding the front of your overalls, running down your thick hairy legs, pooling in your boots and across the floor. You were just mooing in panic, like one of the bulls on the farm, horrified, but unable to stop yourself, and Master just…laughed. Laughed at your soaked overalls, and tugged you back out into the store, and kept shopping–expanding the list, just so he could make you wander around with your cold overalls, making sure everyone saw you, making sure everyone knew exactly what you were, what kind of beast you were.

At last, you left, loaded the groceries into the back of the truck, climbed into the back with them, and Master drove off, back towards the farm–back home. Back home, where a beast like you belonged.

The Power of Society (Part 6)

WARNING: INCONTINENCE, SCAT

Simon tugged his shirt down again as he walked, trying to cover his hairy gut as best he could already sweaty and winded after the one block walk towards campus proper. Fuck, why did he keep doing this? He hated walking, he hated going to class. He felt like a fucking dumbass now–and everyone at the frat hated him for even trying. Hell, he kind of hated himself for trying, even, but he did it anyway. Sure, he was just a fat, slovenly, cum-hungry nerd, but maybe he could still make something of himself. There had to be something more to life than jacking off to filthy porn and playing video games, right? Well, maybe there was, for guys who weren’t nerds like him, but something still told him that he needed to try.

“Oh fuck, is that–who the fuck let the fucking Nerd out of it’s cage?”

Simon had crossed the road over to campus proper, only for a guy passing with a friend by to shout that at him. He looked over, embarrassed a bit for even existing, but he wasn’t quite prepared for the look of sheer revulsion in the young man’s eyes, looking at him. It was like he’d never seen anything more disgusting in his life, like Simon was a smear of dog shit across the man’s carpet. He tried to stammer a reply, but he’d developed a severe stutter after discovering what a nerd he was, and so he’d never really been able to get words out of his mouth.

“Dude, I know it’s gross, but if you say shit like that to it, you’ll only encourage it. You know how nerds get,” the guy’s friend said, and tugged him along.

The guy followed reluctantly, “If we don’t say anything, then the fucking things will start thinking they’re allowed here.”

Simon just stared after them. He’d thought he’d built up a resistance to it–to the stares, the disgust, the avoidance, the pity–but something about that cut right through him. But rather than feeling hurt, what he found instead, was that…it had turned him on, somehow. Unable to help himself, he groped the front of his filthy cargo shorts, feeling a wad of precum squeeze from the head of his filthy cock, forming a bit of a wet spot around the fly, and then yanked his hand away. Class–he needed to get to class. He had to stop worrying about what people thought of him–just because he was a perverted, disgusting nerd, didn’t mean he couldn’t go to class…as long as he controlled himself.

Where that last thought had come from, he wasn’t certain, but it was…right, somehow. Everyone knew nerds had no real self-control. Simon kept walking, trying to avoid people as he headed for class, but along the way, he let off a massive, stinking belch–it tasted so filthy he just stood on the sidewalk a moment, groping himself helplessly, and every cruel comment from the people passing by only made him hornier. He had to stop. If he kept this up, and campus security caught wind of him, he’d really be in trouble. He spied a bench along the path, and thought that if he could just sit for a bit and collect himself, he might be alright. After a few more heaving steps, he got there and plopped down on the bench, as a massive fart escaped his ass…and a little something more than that, which he could feel, warm, in the back of his crusty, cum coated briefs.

He’d just farted so hard, he’d shit a bit in the back of the pants. Fuck, he’s such a fucking nerd–such a disgusting, ugly, fat, perverted, filthy nerd! He licked his bearded lips and started clawing at the front of his shorts, hauling up his heavy gut so he could haul his cock out of the front of his shorts and start jacking off in public, sitting in the stench of his own shit, staring down the people passing by, wanting them to insult him, wanting them to be utterly disgusted by him. After all, he couldn’t really help himself–he was just a fucking nerd. This is just what nerds do, right? He ground his fat ass against the bench, feeling the shit smearing between his cheeks, the first load exploding from his cock, arching up onto the front of his t-shirt. A guy passing by saw him–smelled him, and stumbled past, retching. Simon just laughed, and started jacking off again, but didn’t manage to finish before the campus security guards found him. The two hulking guards ran up, wearing gas masks and their standard rubber containment gear, and the first to arrive used his cattle prod right on Simon’s junk, making the nerd scream and writhe on the bench.

“Fucking nerds–you just can’t fucking help yourselves. An infraction this bad–you’re getting house arrest for two months, you fat fuck.”

The men dragged Simon’s fat ass back to the frat house–he was laughing and belching the whole way. He couldn’t believe he’d lost control like that, but fuck, it had just felt so fucking good! On the porch, the guards secured a shock collar around Simon’s neck and armed it–if he stepped more than ten feet out of the range of the house, he’d receive a debilitating shock and security would be alerted to his violation. Then they opened the door and shoved him inside, still laughing.

“Fuck Si, is that you?”

He looked up and saw a couple of his fellow nerds on the couch, staring at the screen, playing a video game together. “Got all the way to campus, you should’ve seen them. Shit myself on a fucking bench!” he laughed again, and started jacking off again, “Fuck, why the fuck did that feel so fucking good?”

“You shit yourself in fucking public! I bet you fucking jacked off after that,”

“Oh fuck man, I fucking did!”

Fuck man, you’re such a fucking nerd!”

“I know, right?”

“Fuck, I could shit myself right now, man,” one of the nerds said, and bore down, letting off a vile fart. Si crawled over, smelling the fumes as he jacked his own cock. He was stuck in here with these fucks for two months, but it was worth it, right? Some part of him told him this was wrong–the same part of him which tried to get him to leave the house that night, until the collar went off. It summoned security, who beat his fat ass on the lawn and threw him back in the house. There was no denying it–as far as the world was concerned he was just a fucking nasty nerd, and he’d never be anything else–best to just accept it.

The Catcall Curse (Part 3)

The rest of the men just stared at the clothes where they’d fallen in front of the pig, still kneeling on the ground. They’d all seen the pair of overalls…hadn’t they? But it was like, as they’d moved through the air they’d just…changed. It wasn’t denim anymore, but…leather, and something shiny and black. The pig licked it’s lips, eyes wide, tiny cock seeping cum, and it stood up and began to dress, moaning to himself. First, a pair of tight, rubber booty shorts– though minus the booty, allowing easy access to his hole. The leather bulldog harness next, the leather bands, flagging yellow and red on the right, of course. Then the socks and boots, and last, the collar, gaudily spiked. With a snort, Clyde ran his chubby hands over his smooth, fat body, relishing the…freedom. No one would be able to resist looking at him now, no man would be able to avoid the filthy thoughts he’d summon to their minds. He looked around, and the men surrounding him, the brutes, they were just staring at him. He knew what they wanted, what they saw. But why weren’t they taking him? Raping him? Owning him? Abusing him? It’s what he deserved, after all. It’s what they’d all been calling him.

The men in the ring were caught. On the one hand, they were all struggling to return to themselves, their old selves, though they would, unavoidably, remain warped in some way by the curse laid on Clyde. But on the other hand, their hearts and their groins were beginning to ache again at the sight of this…nasty disgusting whorepig, right there in the middle of them, just…aching to be used. They couldn’t look away from it, no matter how much they tried, watching it grope itself, knead it’s fat tits, sway it’s hips too and fro, that fat, supple ass jiggling, inviting them for another round, but they fought all the same. Some of them took a few, shuffling steps forward, before pausing. Others found themselves stroking their cocks stiff against their will, panting at the sight, but made no effort beyond merely staring. They all, instinctively knew that if the curse wanted the orgy to begin again, they would be helpless, but no…it wanted something else.

The dissatisfaction kept brewing in Clyde’s heart and soul, the men just staring at him, wanting him but it wasn’t enough. He wanted…more. More eyes, more men, to be in the midst of a crowd, to find new men to humiliate him, new men to abuse him. Even if they didn’t want to, he knew they wouldn’t be able to help themselves once they saw him, once they could see what a piggy slut he was. So he started walking, heading for the exit to the worksite. Everything that had already happened had occurred behind the relative privacy of a tall fence, but as soon as Clyde slipped out of the gate and onto the sidewalk, everyone around him simply stopped and stared. It was close to five, almost time to end the work day anyway, and the streets were crowded with men and women. The women–they didn’t even seem to notice him, but the men…every man stopped and stared, enraptured, sneering, disgusted and yet unbelievably aroused at the sight.

“Hey pig, how about you go home with me tonight? You wanna keep me warm?”

“I gotta big cock for that big mouth a yers, pig.”

Wolf calls, growls and howls, he looked over his shoulder and saw that the men from the worksite were following. They couldn’t resist him, the allure of him, and the men who saw him on the street fell into a parade. He could no longer separate out the jeers of the fuckers behind him, it was simply a cacophony of want. His booted feet kept walking, his hips swaying, putting on a proper show for them all. He…wasn’t quite sure where he was going, until he was suddenly there. The Horseshoe Tavern, down the street a couple of blocks from the worksite, where he and the other guys would often go for a few drinks after quitting time. It was a surprisingly spacious bar, with an already sizable crowd of men getting off of work, and as soon as he stepped inside, every eye swung in his direction, jaws dropped, leering up and down his body.

“Howdy boys!” He shouted, “How about we get this party started? Who wants to be the first to plow my holes?”

The men paused for a moment, and then the same thought occurred to them all at the same time. They cheered, a table was cleared, glasses thrown to the floor to shatter, and Clyde was bent over it, two men jostling for first position, hunger and confusion in their eyes, but they couldn’t resist the pig. After all, coming in, dressed like that, the thing was asking for it, right?

The Catcall Curse (part 1)

Note: For those who have been around long enough to recall the old NCMC, there used to be a wiki section for collaborative story writing. This next story takes place in one of those recurring universes, begun with “101 Curses”, and continuing through a few sequels. I contributed to a few of the stories, but it was always one of my favorites on the wiki. You don’t have to be familiar with those old stories to read this new addition, but I like providing context where appropriate, and I’d recommend reading them just for enjoyment if you haven’t already.   


His name was Jack, and he had a unique job–or at least he’d never met anyone else who did anything quite like what he did for a living. Then again, he’d also never met anyone capable of literally cursing anyone before either. Yes, for a…sizable fee, Jack would find the target of your anger, and lay upon them a curse exactly to your personalized request, or at least something along similar lines. It wasn’t always the easiest job, but it was lucrative. This job though, this one was going to be easier at least. A woman, let’s call her Jeanette, walked to work each day, and each day, for the last six months, he’d walked past this construction site, and every day for the last six months, all the guys on the crew had catcalled and heckled her, and she was sick of it. One guy was the ringleader, and always the crudest–Jeanette had thought she’d heard everything, until that fat fucker kept opening his filthy mouth. All she wanted, was for the big boy to get a taste of his own medicine.

That day, Jack hung around, and watched it happen–Jeanette walked past, and once big boy there started on her (he’d thought she was being funny when she called him that, but big boy he was–close to 400 pounds, easily six foot five, and a good chunk of his mass was muscle, from years of hard labor) the rest of the guys on the crew all joined in, jeering and laughing. That was all Jack needed to see—he could feel the power bristling through him, and jolted out of him, right into the big fuck. He didn’t…feel anything, exactly, but he froze for a second, looking like all the hair on his back had stood on end, and then looked around, trying to catch his breath, and Jack felt…a bit wiped. He hadn’t planned on that one being quite so strong–in fact, that had probably been a bit too much. Still, he probably deserved it, right? He texted Jeanette, and told her the curse was on it’s way–in a few days, when he had some solid results, he’d update her and collect the rest of his payment. But he hung around for a bit longer–he kind of wanted to see how this one might play out.


“Lookin’ good though, fatty! Love seein’ that ass of yours shakin’. Wouldn’t mind seein’ it shakin’ while I plow it with my dick!” Luis said from across the worksite.

Clyde blushed again, not that it was easy to see through his beard. “Yeah yeah, you guy’s think you’re so fuckin’ funny…Why don’t you save it for the bitches, eh?”

“Who wants to look at bitches, when we can look at you, piggy?”

The rest of the crew burst out laughing, and now you could see Clyde blushing, even through his beard. What in the hell had gotten into all of these fuckers? Ever since that bitch had walked by earlier, the on they’d been hooting at for months now, the rest of the guys had just been relentless. I mean, everyone on the crew got ribbed a bit on occasion, but Clyde was feeling…a bit uncomfortable. At least, he was feeling something, and he wanted to say in was discomfort. But if it was discomfort, why in the hell did his cock keep getting hard?

“Look guys, the pig’s turnin’ red!”

“That probably means he likes it. You like being called a piggy?”

“Guy’s, just…just stop already, I’m serious…” Clyde said, but one of his hands kept…groping his cock through his jean shorts. He tried to pull it away, but…but it wouldn’t budge.

“What? If you don’t want us callin’ ya a pig, then stop looking like one, ya know? I mean, look at how fucking fat you are. If you don’t want us callin’ ya a pig, then have some self-respect!”

“Please, he’s just playin’ hard tah get. He wants the attention.”

“Fuck guys, is the fuckin’ pig rubbin’ himself?”

“Fuck he is, isn’t he?”

He kept telling himself to stop, but…he couldn’t. He felt so fucking humiliated, rubbing his cock in front of all his workmates, but…but that thought just made him hornier, and he slipped his hand down into his pants, so he could really…grip his cock–except there wasn’t anything to grip, suddenly. He could find his head though, just barely popping out of his fatpad, and so he rubbed that instead, feeling himself shiver in the heat, every eye on him. The guys were…closing in on him now, forming a circle around him.

“What a slutty pig.”

“Aren’t you hot? Wouldn’t you feel better without those clothes on, piggy?”

The guys closed in and started ripping at his clothes, cutting them away when he tried to fight them off, and in a matter of moments he was naked in the middle of the construction site, the rest of the crew laughing at him, pointing at him and his tiny cock, which he couldn’t stop rubbing with his fingers, his other hand twisting one of his nipples.

“Can’t believe we’ve been working with a pig this whole time.”

“You’d never fuckin’ know, would you?”

“Tiny clit on the fucker too, never seen such a worthless piece of meat before.”

“Oh…oh fuck…” Clyde groaned, “Fuck you guys…”

“What, is piggy getting horny? Is piggy gonna shoot a load for us?”

“Go on piggy, show us what a slut you are.”

He tried to stop it, he tried, but he was too close, the cum spurting out of him–dribbling really, onto the dirty ground below him. His knees started quivering, and he he collapsed onto them, mouth open and panting, skin covered with sweat as the circle closed in tighter, and the men all pulled their cocks free from their jeans, laughing.

Making Pigs (Part 1)

“Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?”

The man in truck took a drag off his cigarette, and eyed the police officer up and down, outside his window. Young, probably pretty new to the force. Cocky eyes. Flat top. Well muscled. Bulge in the front of his uniform pants. “Probably ‘cause I was goin’ ninety or so. What’s it to you?” he said, and blew a cloud of smoke in his direction.

“Sir, I’ll need your license and registration, and please put out that cigarette while I’m talking to you.”

He chuckled, “Sorry, I don’t obey anyone with a one inch dick in their pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me just fine.”

“Sir, get out of the car.”

The man did nothing, just took another inhale of smoke. “I’ll do whatever you want if you can prove yer cock’s bigger than my thumb.”

“My dick–sir, get out of the fucking car.” The man did nothing, just watched the young cop’s face turn redder, either out of anger or embarrassment he couldn’t tell, but it didn’t really matter. The cop wasn’t sure….why he did it exactly. It made sense at the time. He unbuckled his belt, undid his fly and pulled down his underwear, but his cock didn’t flop out like it usually did. He looked down, confused.

“We come on then, let me measure–come closer.”

The cop’s feet edged him closer, the man leaning out the window of the truck, pushing his thumb up next to the cop’s shrived cock, but it didn’t even come close to matching the man’s thumb. “Sorry, that ain’t gonna do.”

“If…if it was hard, it would…”

The man laughed, and started twiddling the cop’s now tiny cock, watching it grow slightly as the man moaned, unable to believe how sensitive the nub had become. It got hard in less than a minute, and the man measured again, but it still came up plenty short. “Heh, I was generous when I said an inch, that’s one of the smallest cock’s I’ve ever seen.” he said, and pulled his hand back.

“Wait! Wait, don’t…keep…keep touching it…”

“I told you, bitch, I don’t take orders from little fuckers like you. No, you take orders from me, isn’t that right?”

“N–No, I’m…I mean, I have the damn…the damn badge…” he said, but he couldn’t pull his hand away from his nub of a cock, couldn’t take his ears away from the cars whizzing past behind him on the freeway.

The man laughed, sucked on his cigarette, and then hauled his own cock out–all ten inches of it, and started stroking it slowly. The cop couldn’t take his eyes away from it. “I don’t think you’re going to be wearing that uniform anymore boy, you’re disrespecting it with that tiny cock. Strip.”

“But, I’m on the side of the road!” the cop said, but his hands were already moving, dropping his pants so he could step out of them, unbuttoning his shirt. Before he realized it, he was already in his underwear–a white tank over his muscular body, his tiny cock barely poking free of his briefs, still in his boots. “Please, I’ll…I’ll let you off with a warning! Please, just let me go.”

The man kept stroking for a moment, savoring it. “No. No, you’re going to suck my cock, right here on the side of the road. That’s what you really want, isn’t it pig?”

The cop shook his head side to side, and licked his lips, unable to keep his hands from his nub. The man popped open the door and twisted to the side, his legs hanging out the door, his cock…right there. The cop felt his feet moving him forward again, until he fell to his knees and licked the man’s cock from root to tip, and then took it in his mouth, sucking tentatively, surprised when the man grabbed him by the back of the head and shoved him down deep, feeling the cop gag and fight for breath, trying to push his way off.

“Don’t fight me, pig, you’re too fucking weak. No muscles, just that disgusting, flabby body hanging out of your underwear. You can’t do anything, so just fucking choke on it–I love the feeling of your throat fighting me.”

Tears were streaming from his eyes. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was his hand still on his cock, shoved in his gunt, his finger running its way around the head buried in there, feeling how wet it was with precum, his other hand groping his flabby tits, pinching his meaty nipples through the tight tank he was wearing, riding up over his gut, which was hanging out entirely. Had…Had he always felt this…big? No–no, he’d been thinner before, he’d had muscles, hadn’t he? It was so hard to think, this guy’s cock was so hard, and it felt…so good, lodged in his throat, his face pressed into the man’s bush. This was…wrong. He should be in charge. He was the police officer, the…the pig around here, yeah, the big, fat pig.

“Everyone can see you, piggy. Everyone in the whole world can see you sucking my cock. You like that, don’t you? You like showing the whole world what a whore for cock you are?” Someone driving by yelled out the window, calling them sicko perverts. For…for some reason, that just made the pig’s cock ooze out more cum. “That’s good, pig. But why don’t we show the world just how shameless you are, eh?” He groaned, but even now, he wasn’t sure if he was terrified, or…or excited to see what the man had in mind.

Make Up (Part 3)

“…Ten. Wakey, Wakey.”

It was hard, hard being awake. It felt like he was trying to make his head do things that it hadn’t had to do in ages. He could remember, remember Rudy, remember some…filthy video. Something…he’d done something to him, but the thoughts were all jumbled together, and sorting them apart was too hard. He fumbled for a cigar on the table next to him, lit it, and that helped–only then did he realize that the apartment was different.

It was bare.

It had been furnished before–sparsely sure–but furnished. But now everything was in boxes, the furniture gone aside from the couch he was sitting on and the table next to him, where his cigars and lighter had been sitting. He also saw that he was alone. But if he was alone, then who had woken him up?

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, I really did plan on being with you forever, Ned.”

The voice. It was his nephew Rudy’s voice. No, not…not nephew. Not really. He looked over and saw an old tape recorder running on the side table.

“But, well, people change, you know? I decided I couldn’t stay tethered to my past forever, you know? You were stifling me. And Richard…he’s good to me, you know? But I could never let him see you–I mean, if he knew about you, what would he think of me? I have to leave. You understand, right?”

He didn’t understand. He tried to sit up, but he was so heavy. How long had he been asleep this time? He had no way of knowing, all he knew was that he felt different. The tape kept playing, Rudy kept talking and he didn’t care, he hefted himself up and waddled to the bathroom to look at himself. Once he got there and looked, he screamed louder than he believed he could.

What had that fucker done to him? He was a freak! Before he’d been obese, but now he had to weigh at least five hundred pounds of nearly pure blubber, all of it falling off him in chubby rolls in every direction. He was either naked, or nearly naked–he couldn’t see what he might have on under his apron–but every inch of skin was covered with tattoos–even his face, with the word “Pig” in bold type across his now shaved skull, aside from his mutton chops, which were now dyed a bright red. Piercings too–everywhere. He looked like how a pin cushion must feel, but all of them looked well healed. He must have had them all for months at least, the tattoos too, and this much ink couldn’t have put on him in a short time. He must have been out for two years at least, or maybe even longer. He had to find Rudy. He had to fix this somehow, there had to be something he could do.

Back in the main room, the tape was still playing. “…proud of you, you know. I never imagined that you’d take your perversion so far. I still can’t believe you let your Master cut off your cock and balls, videotape it, and put it on the internet.”

He froze.

No.

He hefted up his fat and started feeling around. Sure enough, he was naked, but he couldn’t find his cock, because…because even before he felt the empty space, he knew didn’t have a cock. He eventually found his piss hole though, buried in his gunt. But he had balls, right? He could feel them swinging there, though they seemed kind of heavy. He reached down to find them swinging between his fat thighs, but instead of his balls, he found a sack stuffed with two huge steel balls instead.

“Anyway, now I’m just drawing this out. It’s over, Ned. Your Master will come pick you up and take you home with him for good. But I couldn’t bear the thought that you’d never be fully awake again, you know? To go through life like a zombie, never knowing what you’ve done to yourself? Never knowing proud you should be of what you’ve done? It would have been such a shame. But you’re awake now–awake for good, ready to live your sick and twisted life to the fullest, just like I have to go live mine too, you know? So this is goodbye. I did love you, and I did this all because I love you. But people change. I hope you understand.”

The tape kept running, but it was just silence.

“Mo…Mo! Mu Mucker!” He put his hands to his mouth, and realized that he had no teeth, and something was wrong with his tongue–it had been split in two. He didn’t know how to talk anymore. He didn’t know anything. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t leave like this, he was trapped–

There was a knock at the door. A very specific knock–three hard raps, evenly spaced. He immediately walked to the door, opened it, and kneeled to the side, allowing his master to step inside the apartment–all while trying to figure out what he was doing. It had just felt…instinctual.

“All set then, pig?” Master asked.

He nodded. He didn’t know this man, but his voice…he knew this voice. This voice was…important to him. Necessary. Master looked to be in his early fifties, and was very out of shape with a heavy gut, though nothing like his own massive flabby form. If he fought, he could probably overpower him, but he couldn’t do that. That was a bad thought. He shouldn’t have bad thoughts like that, he knew better, Pig knew better. Pig knew lots better.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Master chuckled. “It’ll take some getting used to, Pig. But don’t worry–you’ll remember what to do. Hell, you’ve been my bitch for nearly seven years now–serving me’s like second nature to you, awake or not.”

Seven years? Seven fucking years? No, probably even longer than that, assuming they hadn’t met right away. Still, when Master presented his cock, he sucked it like he already knew precisely what his Master wanted, then swallowed his cum, and the full load of piss that chased it. Only then did Master give him a pair of leather shorts, and help his pig into them.

“Rudy said you’d best move in with me full time, now that he’s gone. You’re lucky you’re the best pig I’ve ever seen, or I’d probably just turn around and sell you off to these nasty, perverted bikers I’ve played with a few times. Still might do that, if you start to bore me.” He attached a leash to the thick chain collar around your neck, “Alright pig, I live across town. We’d better get going while the buses are still running. Rudy said he’ll take care of selling your shit for you. Say goodbye–you’re never gonna see this place again.”

Pig’s mind was still trying to process the fact that he was going to be seen in public like this, leashed with his Master, during the day. He couldn’t do this, this wasn’t him, this wasn’t his life. Rudy could just walk away from their history, but the past wasn’t something he could just leave. The past was scrawled all over him, the past was his fat body, his missing cock, his steel balls. And not even his past! Some other person’s past, he’d been asleep for all of it! Sleep. At least he could sleep again, perhaps. “Pleaz…pleaz Mhir, pleaz pu’ me back under, I’ll do anyming, pleaz…”

Master simply slapped him across the face. Hard, and without pity. “You know pigs don’t speak, bitch. And don’t think you’re going back under either. The only reason I agreed to this was if Rudy woke you up. Makes things more interesting for me–gotta have something to chase away the boredom. You know I hate being bored. Now come on, we can get home in an hour while the buses are running rush hour routes.”

Pig followed. Pig didn’t know how to do anything but follow his master. Out into the sunny afternoon, where everyone stared at him. He could hear them whispering. “Was this a new show?”-“A comedy sketch?”-“Is there a camera somewhere?” In Hollywood, there’s always a camera somewhere. But for the first time in his life, Pig didn’t want to exist in that lens–for the first time, he wanted to disappear, to be no one, but they could all see him. They could all see him, and their phones were taking pictures, and he was going to be a star–everyone would be talking about him, about the pig they saw. But what about him? What about the man behind the character? Who could see him? Who even cared that he existed? No one. A heart that he didn’t even know could break, broke, and he started sobbing, standing there on the bus.

“Definitely not boring,” Master said, smiling for a camera, and Pig had nowhere to look away.

The Morning After – Billy Part 2

What was he doing?

He was on his knees in the alley. Derek had his coveralls zipped down, revealing a grungy wifebeater and a pair of briefs no cleaner than the coveralls they both were wearing. Didn’t get to the laundromat very often, he’d said–it looked more like he just didn’t care about wearing clean clothes at all. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties–about the same age as Billy. There was a thick bush of hair poking out from the hole in the briefs with his cock, and he could see a thick matt of hair sticking out at the top of his chest too. Hiss head and face were shaved, but both had a few weeks, or maybe even just days, of stubble on them. His eyes were still looking at nothing in particular.

“Suck…it,” he said. Billy inched forward on his knees, took the cock in his mouth, and did as he was told. Derek stood there passively for a moment, before saying, “Not enough…fuck…” wrapped both hands around the back of Billy’s head and started thrusting deep down his throat.

Billy wrapped his hands around the Derek’s ass clutching him by the cheeks, hanging on and trying to breathe. Derek had him by the hair, and pulled him in deep, working his cock as far down as it would go. He couldn’t breathe, he was starting to gag, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Fuck…fuck yeah, man, fuck…”

He let Billy pull away, feeling him choke around his cock. It was by no means that big, but it was salty with sweat, with a grimy foreskin peeling away from the head, and Billy had never sucked a cock before. At least, he couldn’t remember ever sucking a cock before. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he stop? He looked up, Derek still had that strange, vacant look in his eyes. He wasn’t looking down at Billy, in fact, it seemed like he wasn’t looking anywhere at all. Did he even know what he was doing?

He started thrusting again, and Billy allowed him to fuck his face, trying to snag a breath here and there when he could. He’d been going for a few minutes now, and from the way he was huffing, it sounded like he was getting close, until suddenly, he stopped, and Billy pulled away, coughing. “No good…no–you’re a bad cocksucker.”

Billy coughed a moment more. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move from where he was on his knees.

“Hand…and knees. Gonna fuck your hole instead.”

He couldn’t be serious. Billy tried to form the words to say no–instead his body shrugged off the coveralls, dropped them around his knees, and lowered himself further. Derek walked around behind him, got down, and without bothering to lube his hole, started pushing his cock inside. Billy groaned and shouted in pain; could nobody hear him? He looked towards the street in both directions, but there was no one to be seen. In fact, aside from the two of them, it seemed like the whole world was simply empty. Empty like…like he was. A moment in time, ripped free from everything surrounding it. No one else. No people. No animals. He imagined, that if he could break away and walk, he would find the shell of a city, everything staged for a play happening some other day, perhaps. A shell like him. No history except for what one could imagine, no place in it aside from what other people might allow for him, no one. No one.

Derek fucked him rhythmically. His ass had loosened somewhat. It still hurt, but he could bear it would yelling. Why didn’t he just cum? What was taking him so damn long?

“Talk…talk to…me. Talk dirty…” Derek grunted.

“Fuck me, of fuck yeah,” Billy said, “You dirty, ugly son of a bitch, fill me up with that nasty cum. Fill me up like an ugly whore. Fill me up, show me you’re a real man!”

He was going faster, getting closer.

“Yeah, that’s it. You like it dirty. You like smelling the trash around you, you like fucking like trash in an alley, fuckin’ turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“F-Fuck…”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ cum in me. You’re gonna seed my hole with as much filthy cum as you can pump into me, aren’t you?”

“F-uck…”

“Aren’t you? Come on man, fuckin’ give it to me!”

“Gonna…fuckin’…”

He felt it. It was hot, almost burning inside him. No. No, it was burning in him. It was like he was on fire, like something inside him was waking up and grinding back to life, like he was back, like he was alive–


“Hey. Hey!” Fingers snapped in his face. “You in there Billy?”

He shook his head. What…what had just happened to him?

“Come on man, let’s get a move on. We’re behind schedule,” Derek said, “Help me with these dumpsters.”

“S-Sorry,” he said. He looked around, and saw Derek getting the truck ready to lift the dumpsters in the alley…the alley he could have sworn he’d woken up naked in this morning. Or…or had that been a dream? What had he just seen?

“Come on, quit spacing out, we have a job to do, remember?”

Billy shook his head, and helped out. Somehow, he knew what he was doing, his hands moving to the right places before his mind knew why they were moving there. Nothing felt quite right, though. They got the dumpsters emptied, and they climbed back in the truck, Billy heading around to the passenger seat, but before he climbed in, he looked down at himself. He had on the coveralls he remembered Derek giving him, but now, instead of his co-worker’s name on the tag, it said Billy. He was wearing more than just the coveralls too–he had on a pair of heavy duty work boots and thick socks. He could feel a wifebeater under his coveralls, along with a pair of briefs. The image of Derek standing in front of him stood out to him then, and he felt his cock start hardening in his coveralls.