If you’re going to work at Precinct 17, then you have to respect Pigtown. At least, that’s what the longtimers always try and tell the new police recruits, when they arrive, first day on the job. Of course, they also can’t be too specific–they wouldn’t be longtimers at the precinct without having made a few deals with the devil himself–but by now, the chief can usually tell, as soon as he meets them, which officers will survive a year so they can transfer out of this insane place, and which young hotshot the brass sent their way, so he won’t be with the force too much longer.

Recruit Donny Scrimm was one of those. Football jock bully in high school, dumb as a brick but the army wouldn’t take him for whatever reason, thought he’d become a police officer so he could get a chance to shoot a fucker and not get in trouble. He showed up, took one beat around the neighborhood, and was disgusted. What the hell was this place? Everywhere he looked, there were guys in rubber and leather, prowling the streets, their cocks hanging out. None of them approached him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. When he asked the chief, and the chief said to leave them alone–all of them–and to especially stay away from the bar called Pigtown, Donny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He left, furious, and marched back out onto the street, ready to bash some of these disgusting queers back into their place.

He was missing for three days. When he finally did resurface, he was sobbing, crawling up the precinct steps, looking quite…different from when he’d left the building before. He’d put on about fifty pounds in his gut, a scruffy beard across his face, running up onto his chin, his uniform coated with who knew what. The recruits who saw him, well, now they knew why you didn’t fuck with Pigtown, and why Precinct 17 wasn’t like any other police station they’d ever been to. Donny went to the chief, asking for help, but the chief told him there wasn’t anything he could do–beyond take his badge and his uniform (which revealed Donny’s now hairy body was coated from foot to neck in lewd, filthy tattoos) give him a long fuck over his desk, get him dressed in some rubber, and throw him back to the streets, where he belonged now.

You can still see Scrimm on occasion, down in the alleys. He doesn’t remember being a police officer now–hell, he doesn’t remember much of anything. His entire body is tattooed, but oddly enough, the tattoos seem to change and shift over time–and anyone who takes a load of his pigseed finds a new tattoo of their one on their body, one that seems to grow a bit larger whenever they aren’t looking at it.

The FAT Retreat (Part 4)

– Day 4 –

They woke up in the same position, the lights coming on in their room, and Max grunted and rolled away from Leon, who fumbled with his mask for a moment, forgetting what it was and why it was there, until the memory of what had happened the day before came roaring back over him, and he was able, for the first time since arriving at the retreat, to have a moment of clarity, to think about what had happened, and he just laid there, still, the mask on, trying to sort out fantasy, reality and his past.

He’d come here as a muscular man. He could remember that, a fucking stick on the verge of death, right? But that didn’t seem like it should be right. He hadn’t wanted to be fat, but why not? He’d been afraid, terrified really, but now he couldn’t even begin to comprehend that. He ripped the mask off his face and tried to sit up, but found it more difficult than before, when he’d gotten up from floor in the therapist’s office. Looking down at himself, he saw that his gut was bigger–actually bigger than it had been the day before. In fact, it wasn’t even really a gut anymore, it was an apron, and he sat on the side of the bed, hefting it up and down, feeling his heavy moobs, amazed at what had happened over the course of a night.

Max had headed straight for the toilet and with the first load of shit he dumped into the bowl, Leon felt the desire for Max well up in him again. Hefting himself up, he waddled over and got down in front of the trucker again, breathing deep of the stench wafting up from the bowl.

“Heh, looks like someone grew last night,” Max said and got up off the toilet, “Come on, I bet ya gotta go, after all you ate at dinner last night, and I hogged the toilet.”

Leon did have to go, but he couldn’t go with Max there, could he? He’d always been a bit piss shy, but he let Max help him up, and his roommate sat him down on the unflushed toilet, the stink of Max’s shit and piss wafting up around him, and he felt his cock harden up into his gut. Max came up, working both of Leon’s moobs in his dirty hands, rubbing his hairy gut in Leon’s face, and after he’d shat, he just sat there, Max’s hands working down lower, underneath his new apron, working Leon’s cock over with his hand until he came with a shudder.

“Go on boy, piss–need to wash my hand off with something.”

It took Leon a few minutes to work up to it, but he finally let his bladder loose all over Max’s hand, feeling him smear the piss around up in his new gunt and between his thighs, shivering from the trucker’s touch, and when he’d finished, Max licked his hand clean with relish, and then whipped out his cock.

“I didn’t piss this morning either yet–hold still.”

He sprayed his piss across Leon’s big belly, watching it dribble down, some of it into the toilet, some of it onto the floor, and then finished the rest off across Leon’s face, watching him shudder with lust, nearly cumming again all on his own, and Max leaned down and kissed him, licking the piss off of him, when the door slid open, the intercom letting them know it was time for breakfast.

Max helped Leon up off the toilet, and turning around he realized it was still unflushed from the night before, and now full of their moring shit and piss as well. He went to hit the lever but Max stopped him. “Leave it,” he said.

“What? Why?”

Max came close, fiddling with Leon’s fat nipples, “Think about how nice the room’ll smell when we come back later, stinking of out piss and shit. I know you got a dirty mind boy, we’re gonna have lots of fun tonight, just you wait.”

Leon didn’t want to like the idea, but he did–he liked it a lot. And so he left the room with Max, joining the throng of men as they headed for the mess hall, admiring Max’s ability to cut through the crowd with his stink, and happy with his immunity to it. In the mess hall, they worked together, both of them crowding out tables and then stuffing food into each other’s mouths, rubbing themselves and each other down as they did, Leon finishing up on his knees, sucking on Max’s cock while the older man stuffed himself. Still, the whole time, when Leon wasn’t enraptured with Max’s stench, he couldn’t stop exploring his new body. He was bigger–he was bigger, and that made him feel so good. No, more than good, it made him feel safe. The bigger he was the less fear he needed to carry with him, and beyond that, he was hot. He caught a few other guys looking at him, probably wondering what he was doing with a slob like Max, but while Leon was a bit curious what it might be like to have sex with someone else, he didn’t think he could be away from Max’s stinking body for that long.

Too soon for anyone’s liking, breakfast ended, and they all filed over to their doors. Max and Leon found they had been assigned to the same lab, and together they made the trek through the facility, arriving at a large lab outfitted with several gurneys, and Max and Leon found they were joined by other pairs of men, some of them obviously together, but others seemed to have never met before. They were all paired off and led to pairs of gurneys with a large piece of machinery between them, large enough that Leon and Max couldn’t see each other around it, and the lab technicians began strapping them down, before they inserted the needles. When Leon saw where they were putting them, it was no wonder they strapped him down first–they were inserting the needles into his balls, through the scrotum, and even though they applied an anesthetic, it still was uncomfortable, and he struggled, trying to get free. From Max’s protests, he assumed the techs were doing the same thing to him, and they eventually strapped masks over them both, the gas sedative calming them down and rendering them compliant as the machine between them came to life and began pumping.

Even so, Leon let out a groan as the crushing pain in his balls began. It felt like the machine was sucking the life out of him, and it was like someone has his balls in a vice and was slowly squeezing them into paste. He mumbled to the technicians, begging them not to take his balls away through the mask, and they reassured him:

“Calm down, subject 436–this isn’t a castration procedure, merely testosterone transference.”

Still, that did little to make him feel better, especially when he noticed his body hair starting to fall out. The technicians would occasionally go over his body, tugging at the hairs there, and it was his pubic bush that went first, and he watched them pull out huge clumps of hair, but the rest of his body was equally bare before too long, and he could tell that his face was changing, his stubble disappearing as his facial hair stopped growing altogether, leaving him perfectly smooth. He wasn’t sure whether it was the sedative or not, but he was also feeling…calmer. And his dick felt numb, and he knew that wasn’t the anesthetic. He could feel it, sure, but when the techs lifted it and inspected it, he didn’t get so much as a shiver of sexual arousal, and it felt…smaller almost. There were other changes, things he couldn’t quite see or feel, his jawline softening, his hips and ass swelling with more fat than before, his nipples growing larger and more sensitive.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there before the techs lifted his legs and put them in stirrups, revealing his ass, which they began probing with any number of tools, eventually piercing something in his ass, and he felt something start growing a bit painfully in there. It was his prostate, he realized, they were making it bigger, but it was more than that–he could feel them working in his ass, it was so much more sensitive suddenly–and with a gasp, he felt his balls contract painfully and let out a spurt of cum as they worked in his hole, and it happened again, not soon after, before they pulled out, apparently finished with their work. About an hour later, they switched off the machine, pulled the needles out and took off the mask, and Leon laid there, waiting to feel normal, but he didn’t feel normal at all–he felt so different. Calmer, more at ease.

When they took off his restraints, the first thing he did was reach down to feel his cock, and much to his horror, he realized that it had indeed shrunk–substantially in fact. He couldn’t see it, but it couldn’t have been more than two inches long, and it was flaccid the entire time he fiddled with it–he couldn’t get a response from it at all. His balls were just as unlucky, now about a quarter the size of what they had been, smaller than grapes, and then, a bit tentatively, he rolled on his side, and tested his hole, and gasped.

He’d just touched the ring, and the amount of pleasure he’d felt was astounding. He didn’t know what they’d done to him, but it was hundreds of times more powerful than his cock had been, and he slipped a finger in with a moan, revelling in the increased sensitivity, as he heard Max start cussing, demanding that the techs release him and let him up. Leon knew he should get up too, he could see other men in the lab getting up and heading off to lunch, but he couldn’t stop touching his ass. As the men filed past, he saw that all of them were either smoother or hairier than they had been when they’d walked in, but only one looked to have lost more testosterone than him, his cock not little more than a clit, and Leon couldn’t even see his balls at all.

Max finally was released, and he got up off the gurney and walked around to where Leon was, and when he saw his roommate, his jaw dropped. Max had already been fairly hairy, but after getting almost all of Leon’s testosterone production, he was one of the furriest men he’d ever seen, and he fucking reeked. The increased development hadn’t done Max’s musk any favors, and if anything it made Leon want him more, made him want Max to dominate him, to rule over him, to be his alpha, his master…

He came suddenly, although most of the sensation of his orgasm was in his ass now, his flaccid cock dribbling a bit of cum out, but he didn’t care about his cock really. He needed something up his hole, and looking at Max, he knew just what he needed. Max’s cock had grown substantially, close to ten inches, and his huge balls hung heavy below, almost churning visibly, cum leaking out of the head like a faucet. Leon noticed something new there as well–a thick, overhanging foreskin that hadn’t been there before, and he licked his lips, wondering what might build up in there by the end of the day, but he couldn’t wait that long, he needed something now. “F–Fuck me, please…” Leon moaned, his voice higher than before, “Shove that huge cock in my hole Max, come on, I need it…”

Max didn’t need to be asked twice–it was clear that he was horny as hell, and would be horny nearly every moment for the rest of his life, and he walked around and rammed his cock deep into Leon’s ass, and there was no resistance like he’d expected–it just slid in like it belonged there, and when the thick shaft started running up against Leon’s newly enlarged prostate, it ached with pleasure, making him clutch the side of the gurney in need, Max fucking him like an animal.

While Max fucked Leon, he was busy exploring his own body, feeling his massive amount of hair, his thick, wiry beard which had grown out the whole time during the procedure, his smooth dome where the hair on his head had fallen out, his thicker muscles, his cock, his balls–his huge fucking balls. He’d never felt this horny in his life, and he came quickly, flooding Leon’s ass with his cum, and then just kept fucking, cumming a second time moments later, and then a third time, each load nearly as big as the last, and the technicians just sat off to the side, watching, fooling with each other’s cocks and fat while enjoying the show.

Lunch was already half over by the time Max forced himself to stop fucking Leon’s hungry hole, and they both hurried down the hallways to the mess hall, devouring as much as they could in the time they had left, but both of them were distracted. Max had to stop every few minutes to jack off his huge cock, and Leon spent most of the meal with as many fingers as could reach buried up his ass. As much as the two of them wanted to keep fucking, it was a bit of a relief when they discovered that they were going to separated for the afternoon sessions, Max going to something vague called a Body Modification Session, and Leon was going to something called a “Personal Style and C.D./M.M. Session.” Still, they had one more rough fuck in the hallway, several fat men gathering around to watch, masturbating while keeping a healthy distance due to the stench rolling off of Max, before they split apart and headed their separate ways.

Leon walked down to the lab he’d been assigned, and found that he was in a smaller lab than he’d been in previously, and there was no one else in the room aside from a doctor and several scantily clad lab assistant cubs. “Ah, subject 436–welcome to your personal style / C.D. session. Now, if you could just lay down here, we’ll begin.”

This time, instead of a gurney, it was a chair that looked like it could be adjusted to a wide variety of positions. Still, he took his seat and waited for the assistants to strap down his arms and legs, and then, when his body was fully secure, they began attaching something to his head, a large constraint which he soon found made it impossible for him move his head or neck in any direction at all, though he could still speak. “So…uh…I get the personal style part, but what does C.D and M.M stand for?”

“Cognitive Disability and Mental Manipulation,” the doctor said, “In other words, making you stupid and messing with your head.”

Leon waited for a couple of beats, expecting the doctor and the assistants to start laughing at the obvious joke, but they weren’t laughing. And he had a feeling that they might not actually be joking. “Wait…you mean, you’re actually gonna make me…what, dumb? How in the hell are you going to do that?”

“Brain surgery. We usually like to reserve a large block of time for the C.D/M.M. process, but considering the fact you spent two days growing, we’ve had to combine a few steps in your program. Don’t worry, the neurosurgeon ought to be in soon, but we’ll get started with your styling in the meantime, with your tattoo work and hair removal.”

Leon tried to break out of the chair, but by then all of the restraints had been well secured, and he couldn’t move an inch in the chair. He couldn’t turn his head to see the doctor’s expression–and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this wasn’t a joke at all. The cubs started working around the room, gathering around what looked like a large, colorful blueprint up on the wall, and then they each picked up a tattoo gun and began work on Leon’s body, two on his arms and a third and fourth on his legs. As they worked, the doctor shaved off all of the hair on Leon’s head, and then took a small laser and swept it slowly over Leon’s scalp, burning the follicles out and leaving his head perfectly smooth. The combined pain of it all was terrible, and Leon spent the entire time screaming at them to stop, begging them to at least do only one thing at a time, when the door to the lab slid open, and another doctor came in. “So, has the patient been prepared?”

“Just finishing his hair removal, and then he’ll be all ready for you–I hope you don’t mind that we got started.”

“As long as his head and neck are frozen, I can work,” he said, and then approached Leon, “I would shake your hand, but you seem to be a bit busy at the moment, subject 436. Now, what we are going to do today is three things. First, some moderate cognitive erosion. Second, we will create a state of advanced dyslexia. Third, we will perform a pain pleasure swap. Now, we’ll go ahead and open up your skull and proceed with the operation. This will take some time–all night, most likely, so I’m afraid you’ll be missing dinner. Don’t worry though, we’ll keep you well fed.”

Leon started screaming as the doctor applied local anesthetic to his skull, and then began cutting into the bone with an electric saw, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t even paying attention to the work the cubs were doing as they meticulously worked on his tattoos, all of them adjusting his restraints to access every side of his limbs. It felt like the doctor was sawing into his head forever, and the only measure of time he had was the slow progress of the tattoos. The cubs had nearly finished both his entire arms to the shoulders by the time the neurosurgeon was ready to begin the operation, and he signaled the cubs to stop their work for the moment.

The doctor behind him started clinking some tools together, and then spoke to Leon. “Alright subject 436–while I work, I am going to be asking you some questions. I need you to answer them to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”

“Please–please just let me go, please don’t do this…”

The neurosurgeon sighed and turned to the first doctor, “I believe we might need Sedative T9 for this operation. Would you administer a dose please?”

The doctor nodded and injected something into Leon’s frozen neck–he screamed, but a moment later, stopped. He felt so calm suddenly, like everything that was happening to him was happening far away, and to someone else.

“Now, subject 436, will you answer my questions?”

“Yes, I can answer…” Leon replied, and he heard the neurosurgeon begin his work. Every ten or fifteen seconds, he would ask Leon a basic math question, beginning with multiplication and division. The first two or three he could answer, and then suddenly he found it difficult to formulate an answer. For two or three more, if he focused hard, he could come up with something he thought might be close to right, and then he just had to answer that he didn’t know.

“What is ten times ten?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“What is two times two?”

“I…I don’t know. Why are you asking me this?”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me, do you know how many states there are in the USA?”

Leon knew that he should know, but it was like the answer had disappeared from his head. “I…I don’t know.”

“Alright, and how many bases on a baseball diamond?”

“I don’t know that either…”

“Alright, let the record show that the subject’s quantitative skills have been severely curtailed. Now, subject 436–I’m going to give you three words. I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me when I ask for them, alright? The words are: house, boat, and bacon. Can you repeat them back to me?”

“House. Boat. Bacon.”

“Good, now keep those words in mind,” the surgeon said, and went back to work for half a minute. “Can you repeat those words back to me?”

“Horse. Bed. Bacon.”

“Good. Doctor, could you present the subject with the flash cards?”

The first doctor retrieved some cards and held the first one up in front of Leon’s face. “Please read the first card, subject 436.”

“The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” The doctor then hid the card, and after a moment the neurosurgeon asked him to repeat what had been on the card. “The quick…no…the quivering food jumped…jumped over the large hotdog?” Leon replied. His head hurt, like he had a massive headache. Why couldn’t he remember? He was so hungry, all he could think about was food.

“Let the record show that the subject’s short term memory has been moderately compromised. That’s very good subject 436–now, onto the second task.”

The surgeon worked for a few moments, and then signaled the doctor to reveal the flash card again, “Please read what’s on the card, subject 436.”

Leon stared at the card hard for a few seconds, “uh…The…the…I don’t know the second word. The…fix pumped onto the…the blank god? That’s not…that’s not right, is it?”

“Let the record show that advanced dyslexia has been induced in the subject,” the surgeon said. “You’re doing very good subject 436, one last task, and this will all be over.”

The surgeon went back to work, fiddling with Leon’s brain, and he could feel the serum he’d been given start to wear off. He could fight again, but what was the point? They’d destroyed his mind already, there was nothing he could do but sit there and cry in terror. Finally, the neurosurgeon signalled one of the cubs to come over with his tattoo gun. “Would you please continue your work for a few seconds? I’d like to test the subject’s pleasure response.”

The cub returned to the line work on Leon’s thigh, and as soon as the gun started, Leon shivered and moaned. It didn’t hurt–it didn’t hurt at all–in fact, it felt amazing. The cub stopped, and before Leon could help himself, he was begging, “No–no, keep going, do it some more, come on…”

“Good–a sufficient response. Just give me a few more minutes to increase the dopamine response to induce a strong, addictive reaction in the subject…”

It was a few more minutes of work, and then the surgeon announced that he was done, and the first doctor told the cubs to resume their work while he and the surgeon put Leon’s skull back together. Now, however, the sensation of the tattoo guns wasn’t one of pain–but instead of divine pleasure. Leon was grunting and moaning, his puny cock dribbling out cum from his tiny balls the entire time, and soon, he found himself wanting it, wanting them to push the guns in harder, wanting them to make it hurt worse. “Come on, is that the fucking best you can do, fucking drill those things into me!” he shouted, shivering the entire time from head to toe. The first doctor grew tired of Leon’s shouting, and shoved a feeding tube down his throat, and Leon was silent for the next several hours the doctors used to sew him back up. Between the tattoo guns and the feeding, Leon was in heaven, the cubs finishing his arms and legs on both sides, before they all moved onto his huge gut, one of them even tattooing his tiny cock and balls.

Behind him, the two doctors were piecing his scalp back together, and then the second doctor took some strange goo and began smearing it across the incisions. “The FAT team here prides itself on making sure our members receive the best medical care–don’t worry about any scarring subject 436–by morning, you won’t even know we were in here. Of course, the tattoos on your skull would disguise it anyway, so you wouldn’t even need to be concerned.”

Leon, nearly seizing with pleasure from the tattooing, could barely comprehend what the doctor was saying. His sentences were just too long–he’d nearly forgotten what he’d said first by the time he was at the end. He felt so full though, and when the bonds holding his head in place were finally removed, and he could look down at his new tattoos. Looking at the work, it seemed like the cubs were actually being sloppy on purpose. All down both legs were massive motifs of fattening foods, all being devoured by huge men with pig faces. He couldn’t see his cock and balls to know what they’d done there, but both arms were done in tacky redneck–confederate flags, eagles, trailers, beer cans–the works, but it was his gut that attracted the most attention, where words and phrases had been tattooed all over him, all of them humiliating–“Gainer,” “Fat Ass,” “Slob,” “Toilet Slave,” “Whore,” “Trailer Trash,” they went on and on, and when they flipped him over and started on his back, the doctor was kind enough to tell him what they were putting there–a silhouette of a hog’s back, including a pig tail above his ass, so everyone fucking him would know that they were ball’s deep in nothing more than a disgustingly obese sow. His face was given a similar treatment with subtler tattoos designed to accentuate the size of his cheeks and jowls, two tusks curling from his upper lip up his cheeks, and the outline of a pig snout around his nose–and the word PIG repeated four times: on his forehead, across the back of his neck and head, and on both sides over his ears.

Now that most of the tattooing was done, though, two of the cubs brought over a huge collection of metal and began piercing his body. One cub focused on his cock and balls, inserting so many rings, bars and studs that he could feel the weight hanging off of him, every peirce of a needle another jolt of pleasure through his system. The other cub put two thick doorknockers through the flesh behind his nipples, keeping his thick aureolas intact–those were by far the most painful and thrilling, and then he began on Leon’s face. A thick ring in his septum, and then countless rings in his ears, eyebrows and lips, and after the feeding tube had been removed, ten studs in his tongue which made speaking nearly impossible. As a final humiliation, the doctor brought out a set of dentist tools and began prying teeth from Leon’s mouth, seemingly at random, leaving him gap toothed and in so much painful pleasure he could barely move. It was then that he finally felt the stress of the session overwhelming him, and the room faded from view, his last blurred image of the doctor slipping his mask over his nose and mouth, and the stench of Max’s filthy body and the sickly smell of his fat gas sending him off to sleep, and distantly, the sound of a voice in his ears, whispering to him, telling him new truths for the next day. In short sentences and with much repetition–Leon was just a simpleton now after all, and there was no going back.

“Just focus on the beat, just…keep on walking,” Mikey told himself as he walked the block, keeping his hands in his pockets, glancing around nervously. The day was going fine, he could…just forget about how he’d woken up that morning, on the couch…

No, best to just not worry about it, best to just get through the day. Still, how could he forget them? The tattoos covering both of his arms, the fact that his body was completely devoid of hair? He’d been able to laugh that off with the guys at the station as a bar bet gone wrong, but the tattoos…how could he explain those? And worse…he was certain they were spreading. He couldn’t be sure considering he hadn’t taken his uniform off all day, but he could feel this strange itch all over him, and the back of his hands…Just focus on the job, he only had a few more hours of his shift left, and then he could sort this all out. It was almost the weekend, he could…go get them removed or something, and his hair would grow back eventually, it would all be fine.

He was passing a shop window, and looked at himself in the evening reflection, and he stopped. His face–what was wrong with his face? He had…piercings? A huge ring in his septum, rings in his lips, bars in his ears and eyebrows, gauges in his lobes. When had that happened? How long had he been walking around with his face like this? And his neck, he could see the tattoos crawling up there as well, and he ducked into an alley to try and figure out what to do. He couldn’t go back to the station looking like this, he couldn’t go anywhere looking like this–

“Well, well–here’s our little piggy, right where we left him yesterday,” a voice said, and Mikey spun around, finding the alley blocked by a gang of skinheads, and he remembered the day before, how they’d dragged him in here, the needle, the drop of ink–

“What–what did ya do tah me…” he said, his head thickening. He couldn’t stop staring at the ringleader’s…at Ringo’s cock outlined in his bleached jeans, licking his lips, feeling his short, heavily pierced cock try to harden in his tight rubber shorts.

Ringo didn’t answer, he just unzipped his fly and let his ten inch cock flop out, Mikey dropping to his knees with a grunt and swallowing it hole, the gang’s newest sexpig, eager to taste all of their cocks before heading back to the hideout–where they’d be fisting his piggy hole all night long.

The tattoo artist took one look at Lucas shaking in the chair, a scrawny eighteen year old kid getting his first tattoo, and just shook his head. “Man, I can’t put anything on your skin if you don’t sit still.”

“Sorry…I’m just nervous,” Lucas said, blushing a bit. He’d always wanted a tattoo, and it was going to be his present to himself for graduating from high school last week, before going off to college.

“Look, you want me to give you something to help settle you down?” the artist said, smirking.

“I don’t do drugs.”

“It’s not a drug, just something to keep you still.”

Lucas relented, and took the pill the artist handed him, but after a few minutes he stopped shaking. In fact, after a few minutes he couldn’t move at all–he was frozen in the chair, and the artist’s smirk was looking a bit more sinister, and he called someone on the phone and said, “Pass it on, we’re havin’ an auction tonight.”

The shop closed down for the night, but men were still filing into the room. Lucas was still frozen in the chair, and looking at the collection of tattooed bikers and trailer trash eyeing him up and down. He didn’t know what was going on, as the artist started the bidding, and a short older man with a big beard and long hair, covered in tattoos won the auction, and they started the consultation, planning what to do with Lucas’ tattoos–and his body.

By morning, the older man was dragging a very different Lucas out of the tattoo shop, his chest and arms covered in crude tattoos, his young slender body covered with fat, his hair long greasy and unwashed. His new daddy raped him for the first time in the back of the truck–well, it wasn’t really rape by the end, with Lucas begging him to plow his fat ass harder, and they drove home to the trailer park, the old daddy very happy with his new tattooed son.

On the Inside – Part 3

So here I am, sitting in the airport. I just finished my accelerated MBA, and I’m about to start my new job as a hedge fund manager at a New York company. I can’t wait, to be honest–finally, I’ll be around people of my own class! Over the last two years, Master has been tweaking my voice, giving me an upper class accent that makes me sound like a total snob, just like I always wanted to have. To anyone looking at me, I look normal, just another rich business man on the outside, mundane and unthreatening, but I feel my cock wriggle in my cage, knowing the truth underneath.

Because under the suit, when this shell is stripped away, I know what I really am. I’m just a nasty, redneck pig. Just a slob, just a disgusting whore for cock. I can’t get enough of it, I was born to serve men as their sex slave, it’s what I was designed for. It started slowly, Master wanted me to feel it happen slowly, but now, whenever I’m in my leather gear, kneeling and begging for him to abuse me, I sound like my old redneck self, but even harsher and stupider than before, and it makes me so horny, hearing myself talk like that, knowing that in the morning, I’ll put on a suit, this whole persona, and walk around as a complete fraud.

This suit is so itchy today, and I long for my harness, which is safely checked in my bag. Instead, a rock gently on my buttplug and grunt softly, making sure no one can hear me, and the pain of my cock trying to get hard in my chastity cage makes me even hornier, and I can’t wait to meet my new owner. The CEO of my new employer is said to be vicious, but I can take it. I love pain, I crave humiliation. This is what I’ve been trained for. High power businessman by day, disgusting, perverse redneck pig by night–everything that I’d ever wanted to be, and I’m so excited, I cum in my pants through my cage, and leave it there, hoping someone will notice the growing stain. Hoping someone will see me for the pig I truly am, on the inside.

Oh man, when I look back, I mean, there’s just one thing I can’t believe–I was such a drag man, just a total lame ass motherfucker. I mean, look at that, look at that saggy fucking body–that used to be me, before I learned how to have fun. Damn, it’s so lucky that I found that self-help program online, because man, that helped me turn into the fun guy I am now.

I mean, the first thing I learned–and I learned it real quick, was that one of the best fucking ways to have fun is to work out. I didn’t believe it at first, and I mean sure, it was hard work too, especially when I first started out, but pretty soon, fuck I was having so much fun at the gym! I mean, it was getting to where I didn’t want to leave some days, I’d just keep working out the whole time.

And jobs–fucking jobs, am I right? So not fun. Man, I quit mine, I mean, sure, I had to find some kind of income, but luckily the program hooked me up with this real fun fucker. I just live with him now, and he pays for my gym membership, and he taught me so many other fun things! Fuck, like how much fun it is to look like a freak, and get yourself tatted and pierced, fuck–I’m gonna get my whole body done eventually, I can’t fucking wait. And man, I have so much more fun now that I’m dumb as a fuckin’ brick. I didn’t need those fuckin’ brain cells anyway, they were just holding me back.

But you know what’s the most fun of all? Sex. I fucking love sex. I’m a fucking addict. Think you could fuck me with this dildo while we keep talking? Man, that would be so much fun. Come on, I you look like a total bore. I should give you a link to that website–I think that would loosen you up good. Just think, before long, you could be having as much fun as me!

“Come on man, please–get rid of it. I’m so fuckin’ drunk.”

“Aww, but look at that, you still don’t have that nice beer belly I want for you. I think you still need lots more. Let me buy you a few more.”

“No, please–I’m begging you. No more fucking beer, I can’t drink another drop, I just can’t.”

“Hmm, alright, no more beer then. How about this instead?”

“Wait, what? ‘Piss and Cum’? No, come on, please–I can’t do that, I can’t.”

“You can’t? Really? Then you don’t want to get under the table and drink me dry? I see how thirsty you are. Go on pig, get under there.”

“Oh fuck, please no…oh, fuck…”

“Doesn’t that piss taste good? Isn’t recycled beer so much better than the real stuff? It’s going to be your favorite drink from now on, I think. Now suck me off like a good cumdump–you need some protein to go with those electrolytes after all. Oh fuck, yeah…that’s a good job for a newbie. Still, after some more practice, you’ll be giving the best blowjobs here.”

“Practice? No, come on, juts change it back.”

“But you didn’t want a beer belly. Still, it’s going to take a lot longer to plump you up on cum–so you’re going to have to be here every night from now on, begging for it, understand? Now let’s go get you settled in the bathroom. Where else would men use a urinal and cumdump like you? Yeah, and the bar is packed tonight–we’re going to have that gut of yours bulging by the end of the week, I promise.”

It had sounded like a good way to make some extra money, after all, the house had an extra room, and was big enough that neither Max nor Terry would run into the couch surfers all that often. For a few months, it actually worked out great–most of the people who came by were perfectly polite staying a day or two before paying for the space and taking off, but then came Rudy.

Max and Terry were uneasy about him from the beginning–the tattoos, the smoking, the lewd looks, the body odor, the violent outbursts. The guy was down right scary, but the two of them lightened up once they got a bit of Rudy’s second hand smoke in them. 

Rudy’s been living there ever since, and he’s the one calling the shots. His two boys are now chain smokers, keep their heads shaved, and have started getting tattoos, just like their daddy. Still, after they stopped taking in couch surfers, since Rudy needed the extra bedroom converted into a dungeon, they needed another way to make some extra cash. Max and Terry were happy enough to rent out their holes to any dirty fucker off the streets though, and couldn’t be happier with their new roommate.

“Drink it—Fucking drink it, faggot!”

“Get it all down his fucking throat—don’t miss a god damn drop!”

***

A dream, but god, what a dream. Troy sat up in his bed, sweating, wondering where in the hell that had come from. The details of it were already fading, but the circle of young men surrounding him, forcing whatever that had been down his throat—what a nightmare. 

He got up and went into the bathroom to piss, but stopped when he saw his reflection. CUMDUMP. It was tattooed in huge letters across his chest, and he couldn’t believe it. He ran back into the bedroom and found his phone. Wednesday—how was it Wednesday? He’d gone out on Saturday, and lost three days? What about work? What had happened to him?

Regardless, he had to cover it up and get to the office, and figure out what was going on. He opened his closet, but instead of the usual selection of conservative suits, there was only…leather, and rubber, and…and…

When he next came to, he was kneeling on the floor in front of the door, wearing rubber shorts and a leather harness, waiting. Waiting for what? He didn’t know, for someone to come. There was the sound of a key in the door, and then a group of men came in. “Ready for the party, Cumdump? I brought some new friends for you to suck off.”

“Yes Sir, use me as you see fit, Sir,” Troy answered, almost mechanically. 

He wouldn’t be going back to work, he realized. He had a new job—a more important job. He took the first cock presented to him and started sucking, desperately thirsty for cum, his old life slowly forgotten in the haze of sex and service in the years of slavery that followed.

“See Kit? It don’t hurt so bad anymore, does it?”

“Nah, Jimmy. That…that feels real good. Can…Can I jack my cock Jimmy? I’m real horny, ‘n I don’t know what your hand keeps hitting but…but fuck…”

“That? That’s yer loveknot–every pig like you has one. Now keep that arm still. Damn you look good with your hair cut like that Kit. Like a right punk–a nasty, trashy skin.”

“Oh god Jimmy, don’t stop–that feels so good…”

“Not as good as that needle feels I bet. It still hurts right, but it’s a good kinda hurt, like what we’ve been talkin’ about. The good kind of hurt that makes your cock hard and your ass hungry, ain’t that right?”

“Gettin’…Gettin’ close Jimmy…can, can I cum, sir? Please?”

“Edge it Kit. Edge it, ride that cusp. It hurts, don’t it? But you crave that even more, or you will soon. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get all new gear for you, get you pierced, all dressed up in rubber with your cock locked up. A right and proper skinpig, just like you wanted. I can’t wait.”