My New Suspenders Part 1

What can I say? I like wearing suspenders–is that weird? Well, maybe if you’re just using them to hold up your pants, but hell, I wear them pretty much all the time, even if I’m just hanging out in my underwear, taking pictures to show to the various guys I chat with when I’m bored and horny.

One guy though, he’s this young submissive guy who likes talking about how he wants a daddy to serve. In all of our chats, he likes to pretend that I’m growing older (and fatter, which is weird), before I pin him down and rape his ass. Well, he knows all about my suspender obsession, and so he sent me this new pair for my birthday–it was last week, but they arrived last week. I joked with him about it, but all he’d say was that “he hoped it would be worth the weight” (and yes, he did misspell it). Still, they’re a bit big–I have to tighten them all the way up to my shoulders to get them to fit.


Ok, so I don’t know what’s going on with this, but I woke up this morning, and I’m…pudgy. I’d had abs yesterday, and now I have a gut, what the fuck? I tried to take these new suspenders off too (I accidentally fell asleep wearing them somehow) and I couldn’t even undo the clasps, but I had to loosen them, given my sudden increase in size…but as soon as I did, I felt my stomach gurgle, and right before my eyes, it started inflating again.

I ran to my computer, and sure enough, the guy who sent them to me was online, and I wanted to know what he’d done to me. He just laughed, and told me to keep an eye out for another package. It came later that day, sure enough, and inside…well, I’d had to keep loosening the suspenders, alright? In fact, by the time the package came, well, I was definitely fat, I’ll just say that–none of my clothes could possibly fit me, the underwear I was wearing was cutting into me painfully, and the suspenders were as loose as I could get them. I opened the box and found a collection of clothes inside that definitely did not match my age, but as soon as I touched them, I head a click, and the suspenders fell off me, letting me take off my underwear, finally. But still, I’m not going to put those clothes on, no way, no how.


It’s been days now. I’ve missed work, but if I miss any more, they’re going to fire my ass, and my pantry is empty. I took out the clothes and inspected them–they were pretty normal, just underwear, jeans, a shirt, and another set of suspenders bigger than the last, which were already hooked to the jeans, and I can’t get them off for the life of me. The guy keeps messaging me, but I haven’t replied yet, not since that last conversation. He just keeps telling me to put them on, that I’ll enjoy it, but fuck, I don’t want to be fat! But I have to go out, I can’t stay in here for fucking ever either.

It’ll be quick, I decide. I’ll them on, go to the store, stock up, and then come back and take them off before I can change more. I pull on the briefs, the jeans, the shirt, tucked it in, pulled up the suspenders, and left without looking in the mirror–I didn’t want to know, I’d decided, I’d just leave and come back as quick as I could.


To be continued: Parts 2 and 3 will arrive later this evening.

(This hot story was submitted by Donald T. Oolong.)

After college, Aaron decided to see the country. While in Tennessee, he heard the legend of the Old Man of the Smokies. Victim to a curse, the Old Man was trapped in a certain hollow, seeking freedom through passing the curse to someone else. There was a goofy T-shirt for sale in one of the shops reading I ESCAPED OLD MAN SMOKEY with a Tom-and-Jerry-style drawing of a fat bearded redneck chasing after younger man looking over his shoulder in cartoonish terror. Aaron bought one as a memento, and decided to go on an excursion. Folklore interested him, and he wanted to check this out for himself.

Early that evening, Aaron set up camp by a stream. No weird Old Man anywhere (of course), but it was still beautiful.  He hung his clothes out to dry and read in the tent, playing with his cock absently. God, why was he suddenly so horny?  He was fully hard when he noticed the Old Man outside, naked with his own hard cock jutting from beneath the expanse of a considerable belly.

“Hooo-wee! Well ain’t you a handsome devil?” The old man grinned mischievously at Aaron.

He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t terrified when the Old Man entered. Aaron kissed him, nervously at first, until he realized (am I gay?) the Old Man was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. They rolled about the tent floor, groping at one another, kissing, grinding their cocks until Aaron lifted his legs into the air and felt the Old Man’s cockhead pressing against his ass. It hurt the first time, less so the second. The third was bliss. He fell asleep in the Old Man’s soft yet sturdy arms, whiskers bristling against his neck, the air thick with the scent of semen and the sound of rushing water.

 “Mornin’ gramps. Have fun last night?”

Aaron awoke to the oddly familiar grin of fuzzy-faced young man with long red hair leaning over him. The ache in his ass brought back memories of before, but this man was considerably skinnier. And younger.  Aaron sat up, noticing an unfamiliar shifting as the fat that blossomed on his muscular frame overnight jiggled. “No!” His voice sounded different too.  He grabbed desperately for the hippyish young man.

The hippie playfully slapped his hand away “No tag backs! I’m granted safe passage. It’s cool, the rules will come naturally to you. You could find a guy tonight, tomorrow or…hey, is Nixon still president?” Aaron shook his head, and a look of sadness crossed the hippie’s features. “How long has it been?”

Aaron sat naked by the stream, watching the hippie wade toward the other bank, clad in the now-vintage clothing that had appeared outside the tent. Aaron’s clothes were gone, replaced by a pair of large denim overalls. He somehow knew that he couldn’t cross that far bank. Not yet, at least. Bathing in the stream, he chuckled bitterly “First I gotta escape Old Man Smokey.” He’d earn that shirt back.

“A New Coaching Position” Part 5 of 5

I do still see my son, once a year. He lives on one of the organization’s “resorts”. They call it The Fuck Farm–it’s out in the country, very secluded. Rich fags pay exorbitant amounts of money to stay there, and have the pick of the slaves for the week or the weekend. I get one week of vacation there every year, but the only slave I ever reserve is my son.

I don’t even recognize him anymore, but I think he still knows me. Or at least, I like to think that he still knows who I am. Man, every time, I try. I hold out as long as I can. I try to get him to come back to me, to say something–anything. Just a word, something other than his grunts and snorts and groans, begging me wordlessly to fist his hole…and who am I to deny him what he wants? Yeah, I give in, I always do. And before I know it, we’re out in the barn, me in some of my favorite rubber gear, my fist buried deep in his hungry hole…fuck, he’s such a hot pig, I’ll be back there in a few weeks–I need to make sure they reserve him for me. Still, the bosses usually know who I want, I probably don’t need to worry.

Anyway, that’s the story, boy. That’s the story I tell everyone their first night with me. Don’t try to fight it, they can destroy your mind at the drop of a hat if they feel like it. Besides, doesn’t it feel good, being stretched out, spread eagle in my dungeon, unable to move? The tight leather biting into your flesh–how about I get my whip boy? How about I whip you until you bleed? I want to taste you–I bet your blood is fucking sweet as hell. Yeah, I saw that shiver–I felt it–you’re afraid, I understand that. But just trust me, trust your new pipe master, let me show you where pain and pleasure meet in ecstasy. Trust me, and in a couple of months, there’s nothing else you’ll want more than to bleed for me.

“A New Coaching Position” Part 4 of 5

They gave me a choice, when they dragged me out of the theater, once the team had had their way with me. They told me that they could do one of two things. Either I could accept a position with them in the organization helping with various “acquisitions,” or they’d throw me back in the theater with the team, without the goggles, where in a matter of moments I’d have no mind like the rest of them, just a hog for fattening, eating and fucking and…and is it any surprise I took the job? No, I didn’t want it, I mean, I’ve grown to…enjoy it, sure, as you can tell, but what sort of choice did I really have?

Of course, they didn’t bother to tell me that just because I’d taken the job didn’t mean I wouldn’t require some…modifying. That’s the word they use–modifications. But that’s not my specialty–I’m a trainer; still a coach of sorts, just, in a different capacity. It was the smoking that I hated the most. I still–well, that’s a lie. I love it now, I just know that I shouldn’t, but what good does that do me? From the first day in the facility they had me trained in tobacco use–cigars, pipes, cigarettes, dip–I use them all now, all the damn time. Of course, that was just the start of it. The testosterone–fuck, it makes me so fucking…aggressive. The near endless workouts help take the edge off, but when they showed me that first pig, that first slut begging for my cock, I only held out for a minute before giving it a rough fuck, cumming in its hole…it was only later that I felt bad, but I don’t feel bad about it anymore.

I’m a leather smoke bear now, I guess. Grizzled, muscled, aggressive, one hundred percent top. Most of the time, I’m free to live the life they’ve given me, nights out at the leather bar, taking home cubs for nights of smoke sex, bondage and pain play–fuck, yeah, watching a guy bleed–nothing turns me on quite like that. A few times a year though, they deliver me a pig to train. Someone who needs the special touch, and they all leave the same–craving smoke and sexual abuse. Sure, it’s wrong, but I love it, and can’t imagine any other life, but you know all about that part, don’t you?

“A New Coaching Position” Part 3 of 5

I knocked out the van driver and his escort that night, and stole their goggles. They did more than limit my sight, I also discovered that they had earplugs attached as well. Before my movements could be detected, I snuck into the theater, not at all ready for what I would find in there. The film playing, well, it wasn’t really a film, so much as a series of images flashing too fast for anyone to make out well, and the earplugs prevented me from hearing much of anything at all, and my team, of fuck, my team–what had I done?

They were fat–just fucking enormous. All of them had grown out of their clothes, and were in the midst of an orgy–the stink of sex and sweat and food and cum and body odor in the room was nearly overwhelming, and I did my best to keep from retching, then came the voice.

“Hello Mr. Finney, I was wondering when that conscience of yours would get the better of you. Well, no matter, a coach belongs with his team, right? And with his son, of course.”

My stomach dropped, and looking over in terror, I saw my son on his hands and knees, Carl, the team captain, ramming his fist up his hole while he squealed, and I knew I had come too late.

Through the earplugs, I could just sense a change in whatever soundtrack was accompanying the movie, and all of the men turned towards me, grinning. “Now, how about it boys? Your coach is here to see you–don’t you want to welcome him? Please him? But leave his goggles on, I want him to know it’s happening.”

They pinned me down before I could get away, and dang, I think the entire team sucked my cock that night. Men came in when they saw I wasn’t cooperating, and gave me some drug that gave me a hardon that lasted for hours, before they finally dragged me away, exhausted.

“A New Coaching Position” Part 2 of 5

Look, I know I shouldn’t have done it, I was their coach, these guys trusted me, but they were threatening to turn my son into a fat fistpig, what in the hell was I supposed to do? It was easy–all they wanted me to do was organize a pizza and movie night for the team at this private theater a little ways out of town, and they were going to take care of everything else–though they suggested that I get out of there before the film started. 

Days passed, and no one heard anything from the the team, but somehow there was no uproar when the entire football team vanishes all at once, so obviously I wasn’t the only staff member being blackmailed. A couple days later, it was quietly announced by the school that the football program had lost funding and been cut–now, to top everything off, I was unemployed too.

I camped out at the theater. Outside the room, I could hear them all, still in there…doing who knew what. Vans arrived. Men in grey uniforms took mountains of food and soft drinks out of them and into the theater before leaving again. They all had on these special goggles, and I knew that if I was going to find out what happening here, if I was going to put this right, I would need to get a pair.

“A New Coaching Position” Part 1 of 5

Comfortable? Good. Now, before we start, there’s a little story I like to tell everyone on their first night with me. Don’t worry, it won’t take lnog–then we’ll get down to business.

I was a coach for the local college football team. Now, this was years ago now, I’m honestly not sure–at least a decade now–dang, I can’t believe it’s been that long. My wife had left me a few years before that, the first year our son had gone off to college–a different one than where I’d coached. He was away for the first semester of his senior year when I got this email with a video attached. It showed my son, strapped down in his football uniform, a gas mask covering his face, and then the camera panned around, and I watched as some masked man fucked my son’s ass until they both came.

It was horrible. I don’t know why I watched the whole thing–I only watched it once though. The email had come from some…organization. I still don’t really know what it is, and I’m, well, we’ll get to that part later. Suffice to say, seeing my son like that, what could I have done? Of course I agreed to their demands, not that it would have made much of a difference, looking back.

They wanted the football team. I still don’t know why, but they wanted the entire football team from my school, and they needed a coach–someone the guys trusted, to help them, and I, apparently, had been the easiest target for blackmail. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, I’m really not, but I did have my reasons, however bad they were. I just wanted my son back, you have to understand that, you would have done the same thing if you were in my own position, right?

“It’s fer yer own good,” they’d told Sheriff Brady when he’d asked about what was inside the trailer.

“Well that’s fine boys, but I still have to know what’s in there.”

Kit and Rudy looked at each other, said nothing and shrugged their shoulders, looking a bit defeated, and so the Sheriff left, only to return that evening with a search warrant. The two protested and urged him not to go in, but they eventually stepped to the side and the sheriff entered the trailer.

He was in there for hours, and when he finally stumbled out, bleary eyed, it wasn’t the same man who’d stepped in. His uniform was gone, replaced by a pair of nearly destroyed jeans and a belt like the other two, a massive gut heaving over the waistline covered in grey hair. He was smoking a cigar, his hair had grown out into a messy, greasy skullet and he now had a long goatee braided down to his chest.

“It git ya then?”


“Tried tah warn ya.”

“Ah know.”

“Ya need a fuck?”

“Damn straight–This hole a mine is just itchin’ fer a cock.”

Releasing the Pig

Thanks again to the awesome guy who adopted this story! Also, commissions are still open for anyone looking for a personalized story of their own this holiday.


Dean looked at the post again, unable to believe he was actually thinking about doing this. Once again, he told himself that guys like him weren’t supposed to think about stuff like this. He was young, hot, popular–he should just be out partying, finding girls and fucking the daylights out of them, and sure, he’d done his fair share of all that.

But Dean was bi–not that he dared tell anyone ever. He’d hooked up with a few guys anonymously, doing his best to shield his identity, but the vanilla stuff was never enough for him–he wanted something else. Something a bit kinkier. He’d stumbled on the websites by accident at first–BDSM forums, collections of bondage photos, blogs about gear and techniques. All of it turned him on way more than any girl he’d ever met, and while he’d always hoped the desires would fade over time, they never did. Eventually, he’d decided that if he just tried it out once, then maybe his curiosity would be satisfied and he could get on with his life, but making that first step was difficult. He’d chatted with a few guys, but could never work up the courage to actually meet up, but now…

The post went up a few days ago, and ever since Dean had seen it, he hadn’t been able to avoid thinking about it. The poster, named Free_ThePig had posted an ad on a forum Dean frequented looking for hookups, and the post had seemed tailor-made for Dean’s predicament. Not only was he in his area, he was specifically looking for guys new to the bondage scene, promising that he would take a novice and turn them into a bondage veteran in just one night long session. However, what turned Dean on even more was the picture Free_ThePig had posted with the ad.

It was a picture ripped from Dean’s fantasies–an older daddy wrapping him up in leather, dominating him and leaving him hard in a position of total submission. He’d lost count of how many times he’d shot his load looking at the ad and picture. Still, it was starting to feel like he would never have to guts to actually follow up on the post, but he couldn’t live with this split persona anymore. He wouldn’t be able to take it for much longer, and he had to get on with his life. This would be his best chance to get it out of his system, so he sent the guy a private message, telling him he might be interested in meeting. Dean had expected at least a short conversation about what to expect, but all he’d gotten in return was an address, a date, and a time–a few days away–and that was all.

He replied, asking for details but got nothing. He told himself he wouldn’t go many, many times over the next few days. Then he looked up the address, but only because he was curious. He cancelled the plans he’d already made for the night, telling himself he was too tired to party, and then finally came clean with himself. Who was he kidding, he was going to go–he’d always planned on going, so he dressed simply–in jeans and a T-shirt–got in his car and swallowing his fear, drove out of town. The address which had been sent to him was quite a ways out of town, the suburbs slowly giving way to farms and vineyards, and when he pulled into the driveway, he found himself on a winding gravel road leading to a old but well cared for farmhouse. It looked so innocent–he wondered if he’d gotten the address wrong. He kind of hoped he had–it would be easier that way, giving himself an excuse to back out gracefully. He went up, knocked on the door, and he heard some heavy steps coming to the door, and then there he was, the man from the picture, dressed in well worn blue jeans, a leather vest, cowboy hat and boots and nothing else. “Yer late. Git in here, pig.”

The curtness of the man’s comment threw Dean for a bit of a loop, and he didn’t know how to respond. This isn’t what he’d wanted–he’d wanted someone safe, someone who would respect his limits, and this man…he could already sense that there were no limits in there. He took a step back, trying to find some excuse caught in his throat, when the man, demonstrating no patience, grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt and yanked him inside, tearing the fabric in the process and almost tripping him on the front step. “What gives, man?” Dean said, unable to quell the tremor of fear, and was shocked with the man slapped him across the face and then pinned him up against the wall, staring Dean in the face. Getting this close to the man, it felt like he was staring down into Dean’s soul–and he really didn’t want to know what the man was looking for. He noticed that he was chewing something in his mouth, and when the man was satisfied, he turned to the side and spit a stream of dark spit onto the filthy, stained floor, and Dean’s stomach churned. What was he chewing? Tobacco? Did people even do that anymore?

“Look, I think this was a mistake, I’m just gonna go–”

“Don’ speak. Strip. Ya don’ git clothes tahnight, pig,” the man said, shutting the door behind them.

“I’m not…I’m not a pig. Look this was a mistake, just let me go, alright?”

The man said nothing–just walked up, grabbed the tear in Dean’s shirt and ripped it right down the front, before grabbing a knife and cutting off his pants as well. Naked, Dean realized he wasn’t going anywhere, not anymore, and the realization he was trapped here with a crazy redneck bear suddenly set in, as the man brandished the knife at him. “I wasn’t plannin’ on any pain play wit ya, pig, but if ya don’ shape the fuck up, yer gonna go home bleedin’. That what ya want? Cause I can do that–ya’d look hot wit a few scars…” He said, stepping closer with the knife, and backing Dean into a corner. “So tell me–that what ya want?”


“No what?” he said, pushing the knife up against Dean’s skin, making him flinch.

“No! No…Sir…” Dean whimpered. Looking down at the knife in terror…and also seeing his cock. His hard cock. He blushed, suddenly ashamed that this terror had him so horny. This shouldn’t be affecting him like this–breathing heavily, he noticed a scent on the air, something earthy and a bit dank, but as soon as he’d thought he’d noticed it, it was gone.

“Not the quickest learner, by a long shot,” the man said, mostly to himself. “Well, let’s git ya dressed like a real pig–that will do ya wonders. Follow me–head down. Say nothin’,” he said and walked off.

Dean glanced at the door, knowing he could get out–but then his feet were walking after the master. Why? Why was he doing this to himself? Curiosity? Lust? Something…something else? Still, he was walking into a small side room, decorated in wood and leather, where the bear hauled out some gear and started roughly dressing Dean in chaps, boots, fistmitts and a leather harness cinched tight against his chest. The smell was stronger in here, and the leather stank of it. Something about the smell was making his mind shift. He’d fantasized about something like this hundreds of times, and now that it was actually happening…maybe he should just let go, and enjoy himself. Revel in that side he’d never given himself permission to explore or experience. Without noticing, he gave a quiet snort, something which could have easily been mistaken for a sniffle or a sneeze, but the man–the Master–smiled slightly.

“Now,” the master said, “Here are the rules fer the evenin’. It’s obvious yer new tah this–I don’t care that ya are. Yer gonna to learn as we go, pig. Tonight, ya ain’t human. Tonight, yer a slave, a pig, somethin’ fer mah amusement and pleasure. Yer desires don’ matter. Ya do what I say, when I say it, no matter what. Ya understand, pig?”

“Yes…Yes sir.”

“Good–then let’s git started. First things first, let’s get ya restrained–can’t have a pig roamin’ round like a person now, can we?” the Master said, and quicker than Dean imagined, he’d hauled out a selection of leather bands and straps, and started binding together his limbs, arms strapped to his chest, legs bound together, and then he shoved Dean down onto his knees. The smell was stronger now, Dean taking in great, snorting, inhales through his nose, not even caring about the grunts he was making. He was right at the level of the Master’s cock, and he could see the outline of it in his jeans. He was hungry for it, so hungry.

“please sir, *grunt* can I suck it sir? Please?” he begged, but all he got was another slap to the face.

“Bad pig! What did I tell ya bout speaking? Gonna have tah fix that…” he said, and pulled a tin of Copenhagen out of his back pocket. He pulled out a big wad of tobacco with one hand, forced open Dean’s mouth with the other, and packed it in, following it up with a gag. “That’ll keep ya quieter, I bet.”

Dean started to whine, begging the master with his eyes to take it out, but the Master grabbed a hood and pulled it down over his head, cinching it tight, before shoving him down onto his face. “I think ya need some alone time tah think bout how yer gonna to be a good pig ‘n follow the rules. I’ll be back. If I hear any noise from this room, or find ya’ve moved an inch there’ll be fuckin’ hell tah pay, git it, pig?”

The Master didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he want one, nor could Dean make much noise at all with his face stuffed with tobacco. The door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the small room, the scent overwhelming him now, his cock hard as a rock against the leather. What was happening to him? Why was he doing this? Dean felt all of these desires and fantasies welling up inside of him, but it was more than that–deeper down in himself, like a second side of himself he’d never dared express which was forcing its way to the surface. He tried to tell himself it was harmless play, that come morning everything would be back to normal, but he sensed something changing, but also he felt just the same as ever. The darkness was unsettling, the inability to move terrifying, and yet, he also felt safer and more secure than ever before. The rush of the tobacco was surprising, even if it tasted foul. He quickly discovered that he couldn’t spit through the gag, so he swallowed the spit down. It was disgusting, but he didn’t mind it before long. He was happy to be of use, really. He could…he could be his master’s spittoon, maybe…yeah, that would be hot…wouldn’t it? He knew he should try to keep control of himself, but it was like the world had shrunk down around him. Even the small room around him no longer existed. It was just him, waiting. Waiting for the bear, for his master, to return and give Dean a chance to serve him, it was like nothing else mattered in the universe, like there was nothing else in the universe, even.

He heard the door open and the man say, “All right pig, how’re ya doin’? Ya’ve been marinatin’ in there fer a few hours–havin’ fun?” Hours? How could it have been hours? It felt like minutes, seconds, like nothing at all. He felt the master pull the gag free of his mouth, “Go on, git rid a that tobacco–I ain’t gonna make ya swallow the leaf jus’ yet.”

Dean was thankful for that kindness at least, and he pushed the tobacco from his mouth into the empty space in front of him. His first instinct was to speak–to thank him for coming back, for giving this pig another chance to serve him properly, but he checked himself. That would be against the rules–so he kept quiet, aside from a little whine of need. He did need…something. Needed to serve? To obey?

Good pig, I can tell yer learnin’. Now, tell me–ya wanna suck mah cock?”

“Oh…Oh yes sir, please. Please let me suck it, I’ll do a–” Dean said, begging, but the master slapped him across the face, silencing him.

“Trick question, bitch. I don’t give a fuck whether you want to suck my cock. I don’t give a shit about you. Period. You don’t tell me what you want. You should only care about what I want. So, how should you have answered that question, pig?”

Dean thought for a moment, in the dark of the hood, his mouth tingling from the tobacco, now hungry for Master’s cock. Where was it? Dean imagined it inches from his mouth, hard and dripping, ready to thrust in as soon as he said the right words. He leaned forward, desperate to taste it, but there was nothing, just empty air. What was he supposed to say? He whimpered a bit, thinking harder. He wanted the cock so bad…but that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not anymore. He…Master mattered. Dean was nothing. He was a pig, just an animal to be used for Master’s pleasure, if Master wanted to. “I…no, it…it doesn’t matter if I want to suck your cock, sir. Would…would you please fuck this pig’s face sir? I mean…I mean, only if–if you want, sir…”

“Fucking pitiful. Still, I do wanna piece a that pig mouth a yers,” the bear said, the derision obvious, but a moment later Dean got exactly what he wanted–a mouthful of his Master’s thick cock. He gagged, because even though he’d wanted it, the hood rendered it impossible to anticipate the thrust, and the Master was brutal, slamming it deep down Dean’s throat without any consideration for the pig’s comfort. He didn’t deserve any consideration after all and…was that turning him on? Dean realized, with some embarrassment, that it was. This base treatment, this was what he’d deserved all along, what he’d always…wanted? No, that couldn’t be right, he’d wanted more. He’d just been a little curious, this was going too far, and yet…his cock was so hard. It was hard, and he could even feel it getting close to orgasm, but he clamped down on that, knowing he didn’t want to cum without Master’s explicit permission. How mortifying–a pig like him cumming before his Master? He’d rather die.

The master’s facefuck continued, the intensity neither increasing nor decreasing. It reminded Dean of masturbation–he was nothing more than a tool for Master to get off into, not someone to please. He came without warning, just shoving it down Dean’s throat and pumping his cum right into his belly, Dean grunting and snorting in appreciation, thankful that he was at least worthy of being his Master’s cum dump. Master, breathing a bit heavy, pulled off Dean’s hood, letting him look up and him and down at himself…and Dean realized something was different.

Dean looked down at his hairy chest, his body bulging slightly with muscle and while he knew something was strange…he simply couldn’t figure out why. His body looked so wrong, and yet it felt comfortable. He was distracted from his self inspection by the Master coming close, bringing his own naked body near the pig’s face, Dean leaning in and snorting up as much of the older man’s musk as he could, the smell so familiar and exquisite. He started lapping at his abs, and seeing the Pig’s eagerness, the Master turned around and bent over, the bound pig digging his way into the bear’s ass, grunting and thrusting his tongue as deep as possible without any suggestion at all. Dean wanted to please him so much…and yet, something kept holding him back, keeping him from going deeper. Master stood back up after a few moments and turned around, looking at the bound up pig, but Dean wasn’t noticing. He’d fallen onto his stomach and was licking his master’s cowboy boots clean, relishing the taste of leather with the aftertaste of tobacco in his mouth.

“Hmm..good progress, but not great. I think someone needs better gear–I know ya can go further than this. Really unleash that pig inside you. Follow me,” the master said, undoing the straps binding Dean’s arms and legs. “We’re going down to the real dungeon.”

Dean didn’t even consider trying to get up on his feet, dutifully following on his hands and knees, carefully navigating the dark, narrow stairs down into Master’s basement. It was very dark–so dark he couldn’t even see how far the back the room went. For all he could tell, it might go on forever, an endless repetition of whatever erotic horrors Master could imagine…god that would be so hot. Caught up in the fantasy, Dean didn’t notice Master go over to another rack of bondage gear, pull down another hood and quickly yank it down over the pig’s head. This one was different–more like a mask. Dean could see, but his mouth was covered. More gear followed–including two strange contraptions on his nipples, making them feel like they were being sucked off his body, something strapped around his waist and between his legs, a dildo shoved up his ass without even the courtesy of lube forcing out an involuntary squeal, and a chastity device Master crudely shoved Dean’s semi-hard cock into, before padlocking it closed. Through all of this, Dean stood as still as he could, dimly aware of the shame he ought to feel at the treatment, but feeling only excitement. Master was dragging him even lower, reducing him in status, rendering him little more than an object, and always that smell. Inside the hood it was even stronger, so strong Dean couldn’t help but notice it. The final addition was something heavy and metallic draped around his neck, cinched tight and then clipped closed–a chain collar, he realised, and then there was a tug, and Master pulled him deeper into the darkness, Dean heeling obediently on all fours. They stopped after a short walk, and with a click, the harsh fluorescents in the ceiling flickered to life, forcing Dean to squint, but he could make out something in front of him…some figure– a real pig, a real boar in Master’s basement. Dean was confused what was Master doing now?

His eyes adjusted slowly, and he realized it wasn’t a real boar, it was his reflection. The mask he now wore was a flesh toned pig face, one of the most realistic he’d ever seen, more than adequate to fool a passive observer, and Dean crawled forward, captivated, turning to the side to see the rest of him, see his captive cock, the curly pig tail strapped on right above his fill asshole, the thick metal collar around his neck. The lights were anything but kind–it was ugly, it was something inhuman, something which would make a common person retch if they saw it coming towards them, and Dean realized that this…this thing had been inside him all along, that he’d been hiding it in him, and he wanted to put it back, bury it away, but he…he didn’t know if he could. He tried to look away, but Master yanked the leash around, forcing him to look.

“Damn yer ugly, ain’t ya? Disgustin’ fuckin’ pig,” Master said. “This is who ya are. This is how I see ya, how ya see yourself in those filthy fantasies a yers, ‘n now this is how everyone else is gonna see ya from now on. Ya know ya should hate it, ain’t that right? That ya should fear it. But ya don’t. I can see it in your eyes, ya know what ya should be thinkin’, what society has told ya tah think, but that’s not how ya really feel is it?” he paused for a moment, coming up behind the pig and kneading his ass, “To tell the truth, ya like it. Ya know yer ugly, but ya love it. You know yer just an animal, but ya revel in it. This is what ya are, ‘n what ya want. Let it out–cause it ain’t ever goin’ back in.”

Without ceremony, Master hauled out the dildo from the pig’s ass and replaced it with his cock, already recovered from the earlier blow job, and it started grunting and squealing with pleasure, it’s cock aching to harden inside it’s tight confines. It did want this. It didn’t want to go back to what it’d been, that simpering jock with the beautiful fake life, living a long string of lies. This was simple, this was pleasure for the sake of it’s betters, this is what it would be remade for. In the mirror, it could see it’s body changing again, it’s body bulking up with more muscle, the hair filling in, a few tattoos filling in on it’s shoulders. The bulk wasn’t beautiful–it was beastial. He was afraid still, though. He didn’t want to see what was happening under the hood, didn’t want to see it’s own face. Sensing it’s fear, Master hauled away the pig’s hood, showing it it’s own wild eyes, the nose and lips curled into sneers and it grunted and snorted beyond it’s own control. It was human…and yet…it had nothing human in it. Looking into it’s own feral eyes, the battle was finally lost. Dean disappeared–consumed by the pig inside him, who bucked back, no longer holding an ounce of will, begging without words to be seeded by it’s master, who didn’t disappoint. Master unloaded deep inside him, before replacing the dildo, sealing his essence inside the pig, who happily cleaned off his owner’s cock in thanks.

It was happy–so happy to finally be free. It had been trapped in that horrible boy for so long, only let out to play in his fantasies, but now the pig was free, and he owed it all to his one true master. The sheer love and devotion in his eyes told Master that the battle was over, and that it was time to finish the pig off. It fought a bit as he started removing the gear from the pig’s body, but he slapped it down, reminding it of it’s place. “Ya don’ have tah worry–the gear don’ matter, pig. Yer a pig with it or without it. Now hold still.” The fistmitts came off, the straps, the tail, nipple clamps and chastity device. the pig stood slowly, standing on two feet feeling supremely unnatural. It looked down it it’s body, seeing it’s puny cock and massive nipples, toying with them gently, amazed at their sensitivity.

The smell was still there, that musky, earthy scent, but now it knew the truth of it. It didn’t come from the house, or from the gear. It came from itself. It was it’s own scent, the scent of mud and filth and obedience at the feet of betters. It owned that now, taking a deep, snorting breath from it’s own pits, feeling it’s cock start to harden.

“That’s enough a that, pig,” Master said, “Follow.” Master went upstairs, into the rest of the house, the pig following behind, the surroundings, the mundanity of the farmhouse feeling inappropriate, like it was soiling the surfaces by merely coming close to them. The pig didn’t belong here, he belonged down in the basement, caged up, or outside, penned up in the mud. Why was Master bringing him up here? “Sit,” Master said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and the Pig didn’t budge. That was meant for people, not for something like itself. the Master sighed, seeing the pig’s reaction. He might have misjudged this one–he hadn’t seen a pig emerge this strong in a long while. He hoped it would still be capable of speaking, otherwise he’d have to find a very particular kind of home for it. “You have permission to speak. Can you still talk? Ya want some chaw?”

The confusion on the pig’s face grew deeper, but contorting it’s mouth, it could utter a few words. “Yes…sir. I speak, but…why? I serve, I no need…speak.” The voice was different than the confident voice of the jock who had come in, it was low, difficult to understand. However, when the master held out the tin of copenhagen, the pig didn’t hesitate, taking a thick wad and packing it’s lip, relaxing visibly.

“Well, listen then,” Master said, and then related his story. He was a trainer of sorts. He was a master of freeing bonds that held back the sexual beasts which resided in men, and then he released them back into the wild, to find master’s of their own. As Master spoke, fear started choking the pig. Master was going to force it to leave, was going to kick it out. He’d freed it, the Pig had devoted it’s life to him, and now…now, it had to leave? Find someone else to serve? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t!

“N–No!” the pig shouted out suddenly, before falling to it’s knees at Master’s feet, knowing it had to be punished for disobedience after speaking out of turn, but no slap came, and that was almost worse. He glanced up, seeing the shock on Master’s face, and decided it had better just speak it’s mind. “I…I stay. I here with you, sir. Please, sir. I…love sir. I no worthy, I know…but please, you has no…no pig. I be your pig, sir. Let me be yours, sir.”

The suddenness of the interjection caught Master off guard. The pigs were usually eager to leave and find master’s of their own, but this one…looking down at the kneeling pig, Master did feel a twinge of…something. He’d been releasing pigs for years, and yet something about this one was different. He wasn’t sure if it would be able to even survive if he threw it out the door into the world. No, that wasn’t it…the truth was that he liked this pig. It’s spunk, it’s eagerness, it’s holes. He’d long told himself that he couldn’t get attached, that this was just a job, but maybe…why couldn’t he have a pet of his own? The pig flinched when Master touched his face, expecting a slap, but the soft stroke both surprised and thrilled him. He looked up, seeing the softness in Master’s eyes, and felt hope.

“Alright…I guess if I’m gonna to keep ya, then ya need a name. How bout Spike? I think ya’d look pretty hot wit some metal studs comin’ out a that skull a yers.”

Spike didn’t care. He had a name–he had a master. He grunted and squealed with excitement. He’d found more than release here, he’d found a Master. His Master, the one he’d always wanted and needed, and he would serve him for the rest of his days, and be ever thankful for the opportunity.

Jared had wanted to be bigger. At five foot seven, he’d been ignored and looked down on all his life, and when the gypsy woman had offered him one wish–he jumped at the opportunity. And now here he was, eight feet tall, and all he wanted to do was  serve every short man he came across. And worse yet, Jared knew he was still growing–it wouldn’t be long before serving men of short stature was the only thought occupying his empty mind.

However, as far as Master Harris was concerned, he loved watching the giant slave lick his size seven boot clean. At only five foot two, he’d never been taken seriously as a master, but having a big man at his beck and call was something he could get used to, and he planned on doing everything he could to make Jared his permanent property tonight. He had already “humbled” the gentle giant, forcing him to remain on his knees less he stand and rip his balls off. The pain would weaken him, and when it came time to brand his giant, Jared would know he was born to serve.