Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 2)

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Ken did his best to pretend that the night with Jack had been more or less normal. Sure, there might have been a few…oddities, but he had probably just been drunk and imagined things that weren’t really there. He kept hoping, for some reason, that Jack would reach out to him again, since he still had no way of contacting him from his end of the app. However, the more he tried to focus on getting back to normal, the more he noticed that things seemed to be different.

For one thing, he was just so damn horny now, all the time. Horny, and hungry. The day after he met Jack, and he felt like he was hungover as hell, the one thing that still seemed to be working was his cock, and so he milked out three loads before falling asleep that night at last, wishing he had another day to recover before going back to work on Monday. 

That morning, he woke up, needed to jack off again, ate a much larger breakfast than he usually did, and when he tried to get into his usual business casual, he was frustrated to discover that everything was just a bit too small for him. It wasn’t a matter that he’d gotten chubbier or anything, though he had perhaps gained a little chub–everything was off, from the length of his sleeves, to the legs of his pants, to even his shoes feeling a bit too cramped for his feet. He passed it off as nothing, maybe just a strange little bloat, and did his best to get through the workday, but the sensation of being hungover refused to pass. It wasn’t until he passed by some coworkers who had just come in from a smoke break outside that he realized he wasn’t hungover from the drinking, but from the cigar he’d had with Jack.

He’d quit that though. He wasn’t going back to being a smoker if he could help it. It wasn’t even that he found himself craving cigarettes again–he wanted the feel of a cigar in his hand, that more complex flavor, and deeper nicotine buzz. That evening, he held off pretty well, but soon found his porn interest sliding into cigar smoking videos, and as horny as he was without a chance to jack off at work, he found that he couldn’t cum–and the hangover sensation was only intensifying. He tried to go to bed, but just tossed and turned for a couple of hours before he finally gave in, found a smoke shop that was still open, bought some cheap cigars, went home, smoked one, and the relief! It opened the floodgates in other ways as well, and he came twice as he smoked it, and feeling better than he had in days now, he managed to sleep.

The next few days though, everything just got worse. He was definitely outgrowing his clothes. He measured himself, and was surprised to discover he was gaining almost an inch a day–and was now 6’1”–no wonder his pants were too short! He did have a definite belly coming in, but his chest seemed to be growing not only fat, but some muscle as well–that, and there was the body hair. He’d never been that hairy before, but the day after, he’d started feeling rather itchy, and now three days past the date with Jack, he had a full blown forest of fur coming in all over his chest. It was embarrassing, and coupled with the shrinking clothes, he faked an illness on Wednesday and planned on calling out for the rest of the week, until whatever this strange shit was subsided. Only it didn’t subside at all, and the time off from work only gave him more time for his worst impulses. He spent Wednesday and Thursday bingeing food, cigars and masturbation, until Friday afternoon, when he got a notification from the Arctos dating app–someone else wanted to take him on a date!

He opened it up, but again, he couldn’t see the fellow’s profile or picture or anything–but this time, there was a messaging function open that wasn’t there before, along with a message from the stranger.

“Hey man! You’re looking hot–wanna grab dinner and take a trip to the movies tonight?”

Ken hadn’t gone to see a movie in over a year, since the pandemic had struck. Maybe it would provide him a little bit of relief from his recent impulses as well. He was a bit worried that meeting up with another guy might change him more, but it’s not like that was really possible. He was just having a rough week is all, getting back into the dating scene after a year without. He was just pent up, and a little bloated, and a few days away from work was all he needed. He took the fellow up on his offer, and the fellow offered to pick him up. It wasn’t exactly the safest thing, he knew, but it was probably fine. Ken told him to pick him up at a park near his apartment, so he wouldn’t have to give him his address, and at six, he was out waiting, wondering who this next blind date was going to be.

It wasn’t long before an old beater truck pulled into the parking lot. Ken didn’t think much of it, until the driver climbed down out of the seat, turned around, and beamed at him. “You must be Ken!” he said, “The name’s Eddie, nice to meet you.”

Ken was a bit confused at first. He’d been expecting someone of at least Jack’s caliber, but this guy was decidedly not in stud territory. He was quite a bit shorter than Ken, especially at his new, inexplicable height, with a massive ball gut that Eddie had to tilt back to support. He was wearing some old, grungy looking jeans, suspenders, and just an undershirt with a number of unidentifiable stains on it, and when he came in for a hug, he definitely didn’t smell like he’d taken a shower that day. “Uh…yeah, nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Well come on then, get in the truck! I’m starving.”

“Oh shit, you know, I just realized I forget my wallet at home,” Ken said, “Let me, uh, go grab it.” It was a bad excuse, but it was something at least. There was no way he was going to go on a date with this fellow, if he could help it. However, he found himself walking after Eddie to his truck,, and climbing in with him, feeling a bit sheepish, and wondering why he was doing this. He’d felt the same way with Jack, actually–every suggestion had just somehow necessary. Eddie just chuckled, “Don’t worry pal, I can spot you.”

They drove off, Eddie’s right hand leaving the steering wheel and making its way over to Ken’s thigh, across the bench seat. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Ken said, hoping that a cigar might dissuade him.

“Hell no, light it up! Cigars are fucking sexy as hell. Loved seeing that in your pics.”

His pics? He hadn’t taken any pictures of himself smoking, that he could recall, and he certainly hadn’t put any up on the dating app. As far as he knew, the only photo up there was his face pic that he’d used as his profile picture. “My pics?” Ken asked, as he lit up his cigar.

“Yeah, you got a good little collection going already on there. Love a big, furry fella like you, couldn’t resist adding my own special twist, if you know what I mean,” Eddie said, and gave him a wink. He turned into a strip mall parking lot, and then into a fast food drive through. This, apparently, was dinner. Eddie pulled up to the speaker and rattled off way more food than two people ought to order. Ken tried to tell him he didn’t want to eat that much, but Ken didn’t pay attention. At the window, five bags of food came at them, along with two big drinks each. Eddie pulled into a parking spot, tossed Ken a bag, and told him to eat up.

“I, uh, don’t usually eat fast food, honestly.”

Eddie just leered at him, “Well you do now, pig. Come on, I know how fucking hungry you are,” he unwrapped a burger and pushed it to Ken’s lips, who found himself helplessly opening his mouth and taking a bite, his gut giving a little gurgle, his hunger rising. “Come on, you don’t have to hide that gluttonous side from me, I know exactly how good it feels to just let go and enjoy yourself.”

Ken ate the first hamburger is about six bites, picked up another one and tore a big chunk out of it with a moan, while Eddie slid closer, eating his own sandwich with one hand while he pushed up Ken’s tight shirt and rubbed his belly. “Oh fuck, it tastes so fucking good,” Ken said through a mouthful.

“Sure does piggy, come on, let’s see how big we can get this gut tonight.”

Ken demolished bag after bag of food, Eddie eating his own smaller share, but spending most of the time rubbing and massaging Ken’s belly and chest, rubbing the grease into his skin as he did, telling him that it was good for making his hair grow. His sweat pants were a bit tight now, and Eddie hauled down the front of them, fished out his cock and rubbed it as well, telling Ken that he loved being a glutton, loved seeing how big he could get, loved eating in front of people like a shameless pig, making as much of a mess as he wanted to. Eventually, all the food was gone, and Ken was left groaning while Eddie massaged his much larger belly and chest, his shirt now impossible to pull down over it at all, and sure enough, even more hair had sprouted across it and down into a thick pubic bush as well. Eddie took a photo of Ken’s face and showed it to him, and sure enough, his beard was longer too–just barely long enough to brush across his chubby chest, full of grease and bits of food.

“Alright, let’s go see what’s playing, pig,” Eddie said, and drove off again. Ken just nursed his very full gut, groaning a bit, but still so hard and horny. He reached down to play with himself, only for Eddie to knock his hand away, telling him to wait. He pulled into another parking lot, and Ken was confused for a moment–there was no movie theater here, just a run down looking sex shop. “Come on, let’s get inside,” Eddie said, and Ken hauled his fat ass out, trying to get his shirt down and failing, waddling after Eddie, horrified at what this nightmare date was becoming.

Eddie knew the old man behind the counter by his first name, pulled Ken to the back of the shop where there was a row of private booths. “I like this place cause most of these are big enough for big guys like us,” he said, “Go on, get in and sit down.”

Ken went in and sat on the sticky bench, and Eddie followed, squeezing down between Ken’s thighs, his face in Ken’s crotch. He pulled the door shut, put on some gay porn, and got to work milking Ken’s cock. It wasn’t Ken’s usual porno selection, but he found himself enraptured by it anyway–and feeling Ken sucking on his cock the whole time left his own hands free to explore his new, even larger body. As disgusted as he was by the massive gut, the skin was incredibly sensitive, and the increased layer of hair made him shudder–especially when Eddie’s hands joined in. Even his longer beard was a new sensation, and not an unwelcome one. In about fifteen minutes, Eddie milked one load out of him, and when Ken went to open the door, he stopped him. 

“Now now, I know these fat fucking pig balls of yours can pump out more than one load–I’m not done with you yet, piggy.”

Eddie kept sucking, and sure enough, Ken was still hard as a rock. He made his way through three full videos, an hour and a half, with Eddie milking load after load out of his cock, leaving Ken panting and heaving, both of them sweating up a storm in the tight quarters, before Eddie finally stood up, and fed Ken the last load of cum he’d shot into his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s not…the date I was expecting, you’re a damn fine cocksucker.”

“Heh, I’ve had lots of practice,” Eddie said, “But I think it’s time you got dessert, don’t you?”

“Oh fuck, I can’t eat more man, come on.”

“Trust me, you’ll like this. It’s your favorite fucking meal. Come on.”

They left the booth, squeezing their way out, but instead of leaving the shop, they went down to the end of the booths, around behind them, and found themselves in a narrow hall behind the booths. Ken had noticed the glory hole in the booth, but hadn’t thought much of it–there was one in every booth, all the way down. A cock popped through, and Eddie shoved Ken forward. “Go on pig, get your dessert.”

Ken got down and started sucking, while Eddie encouraged him, groped him, gave him tips and pointers, and in a few minutes, he got his first load of cum–and just like Eddie said, it tasted fucking delicious. He crawled down a couple of booths to where another cock had just pushed through, and sucked that one as well, no longer needing much in the way of encouragement, letting Eddie pull down the back of his sweatpants, and slide his own cock into Ken’s hole while he sucked the stranger off. Ken lost track of how many loads he ate as he crawled from glory hole to glory hole. Eddie would occasionally take a break to suck a cock himself, and more than a few guys came around to use Ken’s hole while he was sucking, but he didn’t mind. He loved cum after all, just like Eddie said, and it didn’t matter which end it went into.

It was nearly three in the morning when the two of them finally stumbled out, Ken’s belly now even larger than it had been when he’d entered. He hauled his shirt off and let it all hang out, as he dug the half smoked cigar out of the truck, relit it, and sucked it down as well, while Eddie gave his full, massive gut a rub down. Eddie took him home not long after that, and Ken collapsed into bed, exhausted, knowing that come morning he would be horrified by how he’d spent the evening, but he couldn’t help but admit that part of him was thoroughly satisfied as well. He’d just have to deal with the consequences in the morning, wouldn’t he?


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Caption: Rest Area Tales #4 – Busted

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.



No one wanted the job of checking in on the rest areas along the highway and busting the cruising that tended to happen there, so it got passed around from patrol to patrol. Today, it fell on Officers Miller and Peters. Neither of them were happy about it, were firmly straight, and just wanted to get it over with as quickly as they could.

Things were largely uneventful at the first few they stopped at. Miller would take the bathrooms and various shelters, while Peters would go into the woods and see what he could flush out. The most they found were a couple of truckers fucking in the woods who scattered when the cops showed up, and neither of them really wanted to spend their time booking anyone in, so they let them go. Then, they arrived at what they hoped would be their last one of the day. This one was a bit more off the beaten path, which meant it had a bit more of a reputation. They’d probably find someone here, and take them back to book them, at least to show they were doing the work.

Miller headed for the rest rooms, and Peters went around with a flashlight in the woods. Much to his surprise, he didn’t find anyone fucking in the forest. He headed back for the patrol car, but Miller wasn’t there. He usually finished first and so he headed for the bathrooms to see if he needed back up.

He went in, and froze–there sure as hell was some activity going on, and that activity was Miller on his knees in front of a burly bear of a man, smoking a cigar, one hand wrapped around Miller’s head while he happily sucked on the big man’s cock. “Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” he said, but before he could reach for his gun, the man blew a thick plume of cigar smoke in his face, which made Peters cough, his head spinning.

“There’s the other one, always travel in pairs,” the bear said, “Just means double the fun, right boy? Now, what to do with the two of you…I already got most of the cops coming through here addicted to cock, but you two look so cute together, I think I know what to do…”

He took a long drag off his cigar, and pushed a massive plume of smoke out, enough to fog up the room. When the air cleared a bit, Jamie Peters looked over and saw…saw his son on his knees blowing the hell of that sexy cigar bear’s cock. 

“Yeah, pull out your dick Daddy, watch this boy of yours blow my big cock,” the bear said, “I know you’ve been a regular here for decades, sneaking out behind your wife’s back until she found out. Never expected your boy here to start following you though, did ya? Turns out cock sucking runs in the family. Two muscular, straight acting guys like you spending all your free time on your knees, worshiping cock–and now, ya can do it together. Come on Daddy, I know what you really want…”

Jamie stepped forward, almost in a daze, and fell on his knees next to his son, and together they worshiped the bear’s massive cock, who rewarded the father son tag team with a load sprayed across them both. Pleased with the result, the bear left, and the father and son licked the cum from each other’s faces, their old lives already fading with the smoke around them. A couple more truckers came in, and they were happy to be of service, and when their bellies were full, they headed home, together, happy as could be.

Caption: Rest Area Tales #3 – The Woodsmen

Nate was heading home from a trip, and stopped at a rest area he hadn’t been to before. He wasn’t much for cruising usually, but he’d been feeling pretty horny, and when he saw the note scrawled on the side of the bathroom stall that said, “Cum join the Woodsmen” he figured that most of the action must take place in the rather dense woods around the rest stop. It couldn’t hurt to look around, so he found a little narrow trail running off away from the parking lot, and followed it. 

The deeper he went, the more he felt a strange sensation that he was being watched, but he didn’t see anyone else around him. A little unnerved, he was going to turn back and continue on when he caught sight of someone not too far off. He wasn’t his usual type of guy, looked like he was a trucker probably. Chubby, thick white beard, dick out and hard. Nate wasn’t looking to bottom so he kept going, and too late, noticed that the bear was following him. The older fellow shoved Nate up against a tree, tugged down the athletic shorts he had on, got down and started eating him out voraciously, snorting and grunting like some wild animal. 

He managed to tear himself away from the man after a few moments, hiking up his pants, looked around and saw that he was no longer alone. Rather, he was surrounded by men of all shapes and sizes, though almost all of them were furry–some so thickly that it did more to cover them than the shredded clothes clinging to their bodies. Horrified, he took off in the direction of the trail, or at least, where he thought the trail was, but the parking lot never materialized. He tumbled down a little ravine and landed in a muddy stream at the bottom, struggled his way out, only for another woodman to tackle him from above, pinning him down in the muck, more and more coming now, swarming around him. He could smell them now, a strange spicy musk, almost floral. It was invading his mind as the man’s cock slid into his hole, and Nate too began snorting and grunting in excitement, his rational mind trying to fight back, but he could tell it was too late.

He was a woodsman now too, just like the rest of him, and when the orgy that followed was finished, he thought about trying to find his way back out…but the voices in his mind, the scents of the woods, they drew him deeper in, and no one saw Nate again, aside from the men who wandered into the woods themselves, of course.

TPC – Chapter 2.11

Chapter 2.11 – Lost in the Hideaway

Dennis quickly discovered that The Hideaway wasn’t so much a bar, as a fucking maze. The hallway made a few turns, and then ended at a junction going left or right. The corridor was narrow, and barely lit. He stood there for a couple moments, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and then went right, trying to follow the sounds of what he assumed would be the crowd at the main bar. But after following the corridor for a little ways, he came upon a dead end with a sling hanging from the ceiling. A man clad in a rubber body catsuit was in it, another fisting him rather deep. The fister looked over at him, leering, and Dennis quickly retreated back down the hallway. Easy enough–he’d just go the other way at the junction.

But he never found the junction again. He couldn’t remember taking any turns or choices, but each time he turned a corner, it seemed he found himself in a loop, or a dead end, or some other obstacle he couldn’t seem to bypass. He was beginning to panic, sweat building up under his shirt from the heat of the place, and again, he felt that same need or hunger building up inside him. Feeling light headed, he took a seat on a little perch for a moment, unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and felt…something underneath it that didn’t seem like it should be there.

It was a leather harness. He didn’t own a single piece of leather in his whole wardrobe, aside from shoes. He gave the leather a tug, feeling it pull against him, and then attempted to loosen the buckles, but they refused to budge. 

“Ah, I had a feeling it was gonna be you.” Dennis looked up at the voice and saw the same bouncer from the door looming over him–and blocking his only exit from where he was sitting. “Some guys said someone was running around the halls, didn’t look like he belonged, but it looks like you’re already fitting in a little more, eh?”

“I…I didn’t put this on. I don’t know where it came from,” Dennis said. “Can…you help me get out of here?”

“But you were so eager to get in earlier. Besides, if Pigtown wanted you gone, you’d be gone. I think you’re right where it wants you. I did warn you about the dress code though–so the rest of that is gonna have to go.”

The bouncer stepped into his space and started tearing away Dennis’s clothes, first his shirt, then his pants, leaving them as shreds on the ground. Similar to the harness, he saw that his underwear had become a leather jockstrap, and on his feet were not the sneakers he’d put on earlier, but a couple of black work boots. 

“See, isn’t that better?” the bouncer said, grabbing hold of Dennis’ nips in his fingers, and toying with them, watching him wince and gasp. “I’d stay and play, but technically I’m on the clock, and Boss doesn’t like that. Maybe later, eh? I like my boys a little broken in anyway.”

The bouncer backed off and turned down the corridor, leaving Dennis to scramble down and try and reassemble the scraps of his clothes–but nothing was even there. It had all just vanished into nothing. It was impossible, but then, all of this was. He turned the corner and went after the bouncer, but he’d already slipped away into the dark, and Dennis found himself turned around again. Now, however, the corridors were not nearly as empty. They were full of men in leather and rubber gear, all of them leering at him, sniffing the air, following behind him until he came to another dead end.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy?” one of the men said. He stepped forward, a tall, burly fellow in leather vest and chaps, with a thick cock swinging between his legs. He pulled Dennis into him, and while he tried to will himself to fight the man off, as soon as the man laid his lips on him, something inside him roared to life, and he found himself passionately kissing the leatherman, as the others came around. He had no idea what this hunger was, this desire. The leatherman pushed him back onto a ledge, hauled up his legs, and Dennis felt his cock press against his hole. He hadn’t been fucked in years, and he tried to say something, ask him to go slow, but the leatherman worked the head in, and a swirl of pleasure and pain swirled through Dennis’s mind.

One after another, the men fucked him. Most were smaller than the leatherman had been, and so Dennis had no trouble taking each of them in turn. He had moments of clarity, thoughts that he should resist, that he couldn’t be doing this, but another cock would slot into him, and he’d be carried off on that same pleasure all over again. After the crowd had taken their turn, they left him on that ledge, ass drooling cum under him, and he stood up and hobbled away down the hallway–and there it was, the corridor. The bathrooms. The breakroom. The alley. He could run. He could get out. But the hunger, he was so hungry now, every fuck had only made him want it more, and so he turned and continued into the dark, now hunting–and it wasn’t long before he smelled the smoke, and found his way to where Kyle and Marshall were smoking cigars and kissing, a pig on the ground licking both of their boots, stopping only to look up and take the ash off their cigars as it accumulated.

“K-Kyle…” Dennis managed to say, but his voice felt so parched and dry all of a sudden.

The young man turned towards him in confusion, and in the dark, he struggled to recognize him at all. Dennis stepped closer into the red light, and Kyle’s eyes lit up. “Fuck, again?” he said with a laugh. “Hey Master, look who it is.”

Marshall turned to look at Dennis, and he felt, for a moment, that cloud of smoke clear, enough that he could recognize the older smoker’s face from…from the shop, and from Depot, though neither of those memories made much sense. Marshall sighed. “I told you, he must like you.”

“We just kissed once! I was just curious, I didn’t even like him that much.”

“Kisses mean different things to different people.”

The kiss in the garage. Dennis had tried to tell himself it hadn’t meant anything either, that Kyle didn’t mean anything to him. He’d just wanted to protect him, and care for him, and…and suck his cock, and beg him for his seed, and oh gods, this had been a mistake. The hunger was for Kyle, but not just Kyle. For this freedom, if that’s what this was, but Kyle was the root of it. That stolen kiss, he’d never felt so brave before in his life. No wonder he’d held onto it so hard, though he’d never been able to admit it. “Please, I…I don’t know why, I remember…can you tell me what’s happening to me?”

“Pigtown’s happening to you, friend,” Marshall said, “Like it happened to all of us. What do you think, should we help him out, Apprentice? Go on boy, play with him. He’s yours, make him what you want him to be.”

Kyle stepped up to Dennis, close enough that he could feel the heat of his cigar on his cheek. “You always treated me like a kid. Do I look like a kid to you?”

Dennis shook his head.

Kyle took a long draw off his cigar, wrapped one gloved hand around the back of Dennis’s head, and kissed him again–but it was nothing like the kiss he’d taken in the garage. He’d been timid before, anxious. He’d let Dennis guide him, and tease him. But this was forceful, rough. He pushed the smoke into Dennis’s lungs, and while he tried not to breathe it in, it drove deep anyway, flooding not just his body, but up into his mind as well, making him feel lightheaded and uneasy on his feet.

“You’re going to be the boy now,” Kyle said. “Cute little cub with a hungry little hole, looking for a Daddy to take care of you, and fuck you, and play with you. That’s what you are tonight.”

Dennis felt something in his shift, the smoke warping his body, filling his body out with a soft layer of fat as he lost a little height, his first few wrinkles smoothing out, his beard pulling in and becoming a sparse goatee as his hairline grew back to a point it hadn’t been in years. 

“Nicely done, apprentice. You’re such a fucking natural.”

“I learn from the best.”

Dennis looked down at himself, at his strange body, at the two handsome Daddies in front of him, and he dropped to his knees, inched forward, and started sucking on Kyle’s cock. Marshall came around, lifted up his ass, and the two of them spitroasted him, and when they came, Kyle’s cum tasted and felt like smoke, and Marshall’s load swirled in his guts, into his veins, settling inside him like ash. They left, and Dennis tried to get them to take him with them, but Kyle stopped him. “Not tonight, pig. Tonight, I think you belong to The Hideaway, don’t you?”

Dennis…knew he was right, somehow. The bar claimed him, for violating its…its rules, though he couldn’t recall wearing anything other than what he had on now. He roamed the halls, circulating, stopping whenever he found a handsome Daddy perched in a corner to suck their cock and beg for a load, before moving on again, until he found himself at the bouncer’s booted feet again, looking up at him eagerly.

“See? Nice and broken now, aren’t you?”

Dennis nodded.

“Alright cub–come on home with me then, and let’s have some fun.”


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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.