Tag: weight gain

Commission – Piggy Pizza

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.

Part 1 – Staffing Solutions

It was the sudden rumble that woke Max up. It sounded like a stomach grumbling, but something about it was off. He realized that he hadn’t just heard the rumble, but he’d felt it through his hand, but his hand wasn’t…on his own stomach. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at the back of someone’s neck, and not a womanly neck, either. He recoiled away, nearly fell off the bed in the process, and stood up, looking down at Jeremy, his roommate–or at least, someone who looked mostly like Jeremy, there on his bed, naked.

The main difference was that this Jeremy looked to be fifty pounds heavier than the Jeremy from the night before, not that he could really remember what had happened the night before. They’d gotten home from football practice, completely starving. Jeremy had seen a new pizza place had opened up near campus, and suggested it for dinner. They’d ordered delivery, the food had arrived, and after that…well, he couldn’t recall much of anything. It was then that Max realized he’d been staring right at Jeremy’s uncovered, fat ass, and his cock was…hard. Real hard. Hard enough to climb back into bed, slide his cock right in there and–

He retreated from his room and into the bathroom, turned on the light, and it was the scream that woke up Jeremy. He rolled up out of bed, waddled his way to the bathroom, where he found Max gripping his own larger, hairier gut, horrified. “What the fuck happened to us? What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Did…did you get fatter?” Jeremy asked, then looked down, “Fuck, we’re…both fatter?”

“Do you remember anything from last night that was strange?”

“Just…that pizza bro, it was fucking good, but…I felt real weird afterward, and you were acting strange too, I…I don’t remember anything, though…” Jeremy said, blushing a bit, “Do…do you?”

“No, nothing.”

“Oh, ok, good.”

“It had to be the pizza. What was the name of that place again?”

“Piggy Pizza, it’s just a few blocks away from campus.”

“Come on, we need to go there, and figure out what the fuck was in that stuff, so we can go the hospital and fix it.”

Jeremy’s gut grumbled again, and he grabbed it with both hands. “Can…we have breakfast first?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you fucking think of eating at a time like this?”

Jeremy shrugged, and followed Max’s lead as they got dressed in whatever clothes they could find that mostly fit their changed bodies, got into Max’s car with a bit of a struggle, and drove the few blocks over to Piggy Pizza. They got out, the door said the place didn’t open until eleven, but there was clearly someone inside working away. They pounded on the door until the fellow came out from behind the counter and opened the door for them both. He was an older fellow, wearing a flour and sauce stained apron, easily six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds of beef, with a thick beard braided and tied off against his chest.  “Can I help you boys? I don’t open for lunch for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Yeah you can fucking help us, you can tell us what the fuck your pizza did to us last night!” Max said to him.

“Oh fuck, what smells so fucking good?” Jeremy said, his gut growling again, and he pushed past both of them and into the restaurant. The place was sizable with plenty of seating, and a lunch buffet off to one side, where a couple of pies were already resting, ready to be eaten. Jeremy stumbled over there, drooling, grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth with a moan of delight, while Max just stared at him, horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing man, don’t eat that shit!” Max said.

“Oh fuck it’s so fucking good though…”

Max went over and tried to pull Jeremy away, who just slapped at him until he backed off. He turned around, only to find the owner of the shop had locked the door behind them, and was grinning wide. “When I delivered those two pies to you two last night, I had a feeling you were just the couple of pigs I was looking for to help out in the shop.”

“What are you talking about?” Max said.

“Go on, I know you must be hungry. Those pizzas last night would have only scratched that appetite of yours, pig,” the man said, walked over, reached past Jeremy, and picked up a slice of pizza. It was so fresh, Max could still see the grease pooling on the surface, and he realized he was drooling. “Come on pig, let Boss help you out,” he said, pushed the pizza to his lips, and Max opened up and took a bite, moaning as his cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of the sweats he had squeezed into.

He felt his gut growl, and it heaved out as he swallowed, adding a few more pounds. He tried to pull away when he realized it, but Boss just pushed the slice into his mouth, more forceful this time, and Max couldn’t stop himself from taking bite after bite, begging through a full mouth for him to stop.

“I’ll stop pig, but only if you stop. All you have to do is not take another bite. Maybe I’ll even give you that body of yours back, would you like that? Wanna be muscular again? Smooth? All you have to do is stop.” Max tried, turned his head to the side, but he could feel his jaw struggling against him, twisting back, opening up, taking another massive bite, and the owner just laughed at him. “Guess that means you’re mine, pig.”

Slice after slice disappeared down his throat, and with each one, he only got worse. Fatter at first, and then he started getting even hairier. Boss started telling him about his life now, about who he was. Sure, he’d started college on a football scholarship, but that was a few years ago now. He was too lazy to keep up, and after a year, he’d added fifty pounds. He lost his scholarship, had to get a job delivering pizza, and only grew bigger. Now here he was, his late twenties, balding already, too hairy to work the kitchen for sanitary reasons, delivering pizzas for his boss. For his owner. The man shoved Max down onto his knees, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. He took one taste of his owner’s precum, and knew, somehow, this was what was in the pizza, this is what had been changing him. He tried to resist, but he sucked his new Boss dry, and when he came, and Max swallowed it all down, everything Boss had told him, that whole story, it became…real. He stumbled up, now close to 400 pounds himself, hair all over his body, head balding, beard down to his chest, sweaty and greasy and stinking. He knew he should hate it, but he didn’t–he groped his fat, reached under and found his cock and started milking it, grunting while he kissed his Boss, and they turned their attention to Jeremy, who was still stuffing himself silly at the buffet.

He was even fatter than Max now, close to 500 pounds. His eyes were terrified at what he was doing, but there was no stopping, not any more. “What do you think of your boyfriend, Jeremy?” Boss asked him, dragging his face around and showing him the hairy, sweaty pig that Max had become. “Wait…Max? What…what the fuck happened to you?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Max said, groping his fat frame, running his hands through his greasy fur, “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ horny…”

“I bet you are, watching this fat pig stuff himself always gets that cock of yours hard, but not as hard as this fat ass, right?” Boss said, gave Jeremy’s ass a slap, and they watched it inflate, growing wider than the rest of him, Max drooling again, but for a different reason. 

“Fuck, he’s got such a hot fuckin’ ass.”

“Come on pig, I know you’re still hungry for dessert,” Boss said, tore open the already weakened sweats on Jeremy’s body. With a grunt, Max got down on his knees, crawled forward and shoved his bearded face into Jeremy’s crack, eating at the sweaty, rank crack, Jeremy moaning in confusion, not understanding anything of what was happening to him. 

“I…what did you do to him?” Jeremy moaned, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t think too hard now, we all know you’re the dumbest fuck here, Jeremy. Too stupid to be a driver, and too fat at this point. Lucky for me you can operate an oven, with supervision. Still, you have a few good qualities, right? Well, a few things that disgust everyone else, but Max there sure loves them, like your fucking musk, and those rank ass farts of yours.” The mere suggestion was enough for Jeremy’s new ass to rip off a ripe one right into Max’s face, who moaned, his own cock drooling even more pre onto the floor below him.

“No, no that’s not, I was…big! I was a big, like, football guy…”

“No you weren’t, you stupid fuck. You dropped out of high school, and have been working here for years now. You met Max when he started working here, and you pigs moved in together, with my permission of course. I own your fat asses after all, neither of you thinks a fucking thing without my damn permission. But that asshole of yours is as hungry as dick as this mouth is for my pizza, and Max is a horny hairy freak, so it works out, doesn’t it?”

Jeremy tried to think, tried to remember, but all that came out was a loud fart from his hole, right into Max’s face, who just grunted in pleasure and dug in even deeper. Boss grabbed his head, shoved him down, and Jeremy sucked on his cock, already hard again after feeding a load to Max–but then, Boss could always produce a load for his dough, and his sauce, and his toppings. That was how he had the best pizza in town, after all, and when he saw someone he liked, well, he usually got them to work for him, one way or another. “Max, get up, I wanna see you fuck this fat pig while he swallows my load.”

“Yes Boss!” Max said, hefted himself up, dropped his gut on the small of Jeremy’s back, and worked his cock into Jeremy’s loosened hole. He drove in rough, panting and heaving, the air thick with the combined musk rolling off the three of them in the lobby of the restaurant, until Max came with a squeal, and Boss came too, Jeremy swallowing down a load and feeling everything solidify around him, just as it had around Max. 

The restaurant opened an hour late that day, since the two new employees had demolished the lunch buffet. Boss got them into their new uniforms–shorts that were a bit too tight on them both, a polo shirt with Piggy Pizza across the front, neither long enough to disguise their guts hanging out below, and a ball cap with a smiling pig on the front. Then, Boss secured a leather collar around both of his new pigs, reminding him that they were his personal property. Max also got a cage around his cock, and for Jeremy, a vibrating plug in his hole to keep him excited and motivated. If Max got good tips, Boss would unlock him and let him fuck his boyfriend at home that night, but if he didn’t, well, he’d just suffer, hard in his cage from Jeremy’s gas and unable to do anything about it. Neither of them complained, though. Why would they? They loved working at Piggy Pizza–it was the perfect place for a couple pigs like them, after all.

Part 2 – Franchise Opportunities

A year had flown by since Piggy Pizza had opened, and for Max, it had been a bit of a blur. Boss didn’t let his worker slaves have much in the way of time off, after all, and so he delivered pizzas from the time the shop opened for lunch until the evening, snacking on pizza along the way, of course, until they closed at one in the morning. Then, he would drive Jeremy home in his truck, they’d usually have a fuck session if he’d earned one and fall asleep, before getting up, throwing on their still dirty uniforms, and doing it all again. 

Boss took a particular interest in Jeremy over that year, feeding him almost constantly in the shop. Six months after they’d been conscripted, Jeremy had packed on another hundred pounds, and was pushing the scales at nearly 600. One evening, after a long stuffing, he couldn’t manage to get into the truck for the ride home–but Boss had a solution all ready for him. He’d made him a little sleeping area in the storeroom of the restaurant–Jeremy would be living there from now on. It would be more convenient. 

Of course, Max was still horny as hell, and so he’d rush over when he woke up, get his fuck in before his shift started, and Jeremy only grew larger and larger, and muskier and muskier, since he didn’t have a shower in the restaurant. Jeremy eventually couldn’t even keep up with the baking, but Boss had a new role for him already planned–he hooked Jeremy’s cock up to a milker, and started pumping cum out of him, a new blend that Boss had been encouraging inside him, one that he had a feeling would help them grow their customer base even more. It worked–Boss’s own cum was more potent, but Jeremy’s kept folks coming back for more, and more, and more pizza every day. Business was booming, and they had to pull in a few other guys from campus as delivery slaves for the business, with Max as their general supervisor. One night, while they were tag-teaming Jeremy, the rest of the staff home for the night, Boss told Max how proud of him he was. He was thinking about opening up another franchise soon, and he thought Max might be an idea manager for a new location–under Boss’s strict control of course.

Max was thrilled by the idea. He rode that high for the next few days, until it all came crashing down with a sudden drop, when he delivered a load of pizzas, laced with a bit of Jeremy’s special sauce, to a house he…almost recalled, but one he couldn’t place. He rang the doorbell, the door opened, and he quickly realized he was delivering pizzas to a frat house. A frat house he knew. It had been his frat, a lifetime ago now, before he’d met Boss and started working at PIggy Pizza. He prayed that no one would say anything, but after staring at him for a moment, the jock who had opened the door said, “Holy fuckin’ shit, you’re…Max Grainger! Oh my fucking god, what the fuck happened to you?”

Max’s face reddened. Boss’s magic sauce could twist reality, but there were always these little pockets left behind. “Look man, I don’t wanna talk about it. Have a good night.”

The jock called the rest of the guys to the door, and they laughed, watching the player who had been recruited as a possible star waddled back to his truck, ass crack exposed, now just a loser dropout pig. Max’s face was burning, and he grumbled all the way back to the shop, angry that he was even angry about it. He liked working for Boss! He was going to have his own franchise soon! And a new franchise, he supposed, would need some more labor, wouldn’t it? He grinned then, and when he went back into the shop, he told Boss what had happened, and his idea.

Boss was skeptical of Max’s plan, but decided to give him a chance. He fed Max a big load of his cum, and Max felt something happen to him, his balls swelling and tingling. Boss told him that he had the power to change men like he did now–not nearly as potent, but more than enough for what he had in mind, this evening. First though, he had a few more deliveries to make. It was mostly to regulars around town, those who had been especially susceptible to their special ingredients. As the men opened their doors and smelled Max, they all seemed especially interested in him somehow. Max had fucked around with most of them–after all, now that Jeremy was living at the shop, he had to get his fucks in somewhere, but tonight, he was saving his loads for something special. That didn’t make it any less difficult to turn down the men who would invite him in, try and sneak a sniff of his pits, tell him that he seemed real sexy tonight. In the end, they were all mostly satisfied to take their pizzas, leave him a substantial tip, and Max went on his way back to his truck, sniffing his own pits. Sure, they were rank, but no more than usual. Is this what it felt like being Boss all the time? If it was, he could get used to it.

It was close to one in the morning, the shop was closing up, and Max loaded up a hefty stack of eight pizzas Boss had waiting for him, for one final delivery. He pulled up back in front of the frat house, already leaking into his uniform shorts, and the more excited he got, the more musk he seemed to be putting out–and maybe it was a bit stronger than before. He hefted the stack of pizzas to the door, rang the doorbell, but no one answered. It took a few rings, and a hard pounding, before any of the frat boys inside actually took notice, and one of them came to answer the door. Max grinned. He was showing good progress, a solid gut, a good amount of hair on his chest, and he was half naked, with grease and cum smeared across his face. 

“Who the fuck are…oh fuck, you…smell real fucking good man,” the frat boy said, stumbled out onto the step, and shoved his face into Max’s pit, snorting in his stink.

“I got your second order of pizzas, why don’t you help me bring them inside, boy?” Max suggested.

He had to suggest it twice, and haul the young man’s chubby face out of his pit, but he finally got the hint, picked up half the boxes of pizza, and brought them inside, Max following him in and shutting the door behind him, looking at the party already in progress.

The pizzas were demolished, the room was demolished as well, and all of the frat brothers were scattered about the living room, on the furniture or the floor, in various states of fucking, sucking, licking and sniffing. None of them had gained less than thirty pounds, and some, like the one who’d opened the door, had gained more. But the one that Max was looking for wasn’t among them–the one who had laughed at him earlier, that was the one he had some special plans for. He took the pizzas one by one, opened up the boxes and laid them on the floor, calling for the little frat pigs. The smell of him, and the pizza, caught them and pulled them over, all of them grabbing for slices like greedy hogs and shoving them in their mouths, moaning and grunting in delight. That would keep them all busy, and growing, for a while longer. He saved one pie, and started looking through the house for the missing boy.

He found him after a few minutes, holed up in his room. Max could hear him on the phone with someone, trying to explain the situation–probably 911, but they kept dismissing it as a hoax. Why wouldn’t they, after all? He knocked on the door, the voice inside went quiet, and said, “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just me,” Max said, “Got your second delivery of pizzas here, but everyone downstairs was too busy to pay me. Why don’t you open up, boy, and we can settle your bill?”

“Fuck you! You fucking freak, what the fuck did you do to everyone?”

Max just chuckled, hauled off his shirt, took a piece of pizza out of the box, and rubbed it in his pits, soaking it in his stink. For good measure, he wiped some of his precum off on it too from the inside of his shorts, then shoved it under the door. 

“What the, fuck why the fuck does it fucking stink!” the voice said, “Oh fuck, it smells so fucking good, and I’m so fucking hungry…”

He didn’t say anything else for a minute, just the sound of someone scarfing on the other side, and then quiet, and a belch. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and open the door, boy?” Max said.

The lock clicked after a moment, and when it opened, he saw a rather zonked looking young man on the other side, grease smeared across his face, drooling slightly. Max pushed his way in, and fed him the rest of the pizza. His name, he found out, was Doug, but Max decided Dough would be a much better name for him. Dough pleaded with him through the first few slices, begged him to stop, but by the time half the extra large pie was gone, he was ravenous. It was only natural, then, for Max to haul out his cock, and give him something to wash all that pizza down with.

Max was so horny, that he came after just a few sucks, and the orgasm was long. He could feel it, all of the corruptive potential he was feeding down Dough’s throat, and when he’d finished, a very different sort of fellow was sitting on the floor. He hauled Dough up by the collar of the shirt that no longer fit on around his nearly 400 pound frame, shoved him in front of the mirror in the room, and he gaped at his new body.

Sure, the fat was a big change for him, but Max helped him notice everything else too. The male pattern baldness that had settled in when he was twenty-five, a few years after he’d dropped out of college, too fat and stupid to keep up. Of course, he was pushing forty now, and had lost most of the hair on his head, replaced by a thick, bushy beard starting to grey, and a forest of hair all over his body–not quite as much as Max, but still plenty.

“Fuck, look at you, you fucking loser,” Max whispered in his ear, “And you thought I was bad when I answered the door, now look at you, long past your prime, don’t even have a job, just spend your days and nights stuffing yourself silly with your friends downstairs, jacking off all the time, like a proper fucking pig.

Dough tried to deny it, but Max tore off his clothes and led him downstairs, where the rest of the boys of the house had finished the second round of pizzas, and were all in similar a similar shape–older, all of them out of college now, fatter, their lives as jocks quickly being forgotten in the haze of lust that followed. He shoved Dough into the middle of them, and they all fell on him, humiliating and insulting him, and Dough found himself more and more turned on by the humiliating, begging them for their loads. Max spent the rest of the night finding the ones with a bit more resistance, and feeding them from his tap, until they too were just happy pigs, eagerly settling into their new lives.

A couple months later, a new franchise of Piggy Pizza opened on the other side of town, with Max as the head manager. Dough took up residence in the back, this location’s sauce supply, just as Jeremy was at the home location. The rest of the boys in the house, after being interviewed by Boss, were all hired on as well–as drivers, and cooks, and cleaners, depending on their personal skill sets and kinks. Business was booming, and both Boss and Max couldn’t wait to see how big this town could get.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

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.

I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.

Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others. 

The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.

“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”

“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.

When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”

“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”

“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”

Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”

Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear. 

“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.

“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.

“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did. 

“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”

He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.

“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”

“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”

Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his  body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.

After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”

With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.

Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”

“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”

“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.

“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”

Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.

They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”

He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole. 

He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.

Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.

He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.

Caption: Work From Home Weight

Avery and Kent had made the decision to move in together just as the first lockdowns were beginning, and they soon found themselves stuck in a small apartment, both working from home. There had been some friction early on, that Avery could vaguely recall. It had seemed so important at the time, but now, a year later, he was finding it harder and harder to imagine a life without Kent with him. In particular, without the food that Kent fed him.

Avery had always been on the chubby side, and he’d never particularly liked it about himself. But working from home, he found that there wasn’t much else to do other than, well, eat, and Kent was more than happy to keep him fed from the moment he woke up to the moment they laid down, and Kent usually fucked Avery’s ass, both of them collapsing in a sweaty heap by the end of it. Still, it wasn’t…that much weight, was it? No, it was all perfectly normal, Avery told himself again, but then, why was he sweating so much, and so nervous about the email he’d just gotten?

The pandemic was tapering off, the bosses wanted folks back in the office, at least on a limited basis. Avery had asked to be given a remote position full time, but had just gotten a reply that he would need to be in the office at least three days a week. Kent came in, saw that Avery was looking upset, and asked him what the matter was, but Avery struggled to explain what, exactly, it was that had him so flustered.

“Ah, you know, I think I know what the matter is. Lift up the veil, little piggy.”

Avery gave a little grunt, and it was like he was seeing the world differently, remembering everything that felt so blurry before. How Kent had used the lockdown to try and force him to get bigger, while Avery had struggled against it, until…until Kent had done something to him, hypnotized him, and…and well, here he was. Over 400 pounds in about a year, it should have been impossible, but then, Kent had been working every trick in the book to get Avery as heavy as he could.

“You…no! How could you! I–” Avery said, but Kent walked over, shoved up his shirt, and started kneading his gut, making Avery moan in delight.

“How could I turn you into one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen?” Kent said, “Fuck, look at how fucking massive you are, and so sensitive…”

“No, I…why…of fuck, that feels so fucking good…” Avery muttered.

“Of course it does. You’re a fat fucking pig, Avery. You love being fat. You love how it feels, you love how you look. You couldn’t be happier with all of this. And now, next week, you’re going to the office, and all of those people are going to see you, Avery. They’re going to know that you’re a fat, greedy, gluttonous little piggy, and they’re gonna whisper about it, and all of that? It’s just going to make you hornier.”

Avery was grunting and snorting now, lost in the fantasy Kent was feeding him, and when he hauled him up and bent him over the desk and fucked him, Avery found himself pushing back, loving how his gut swayed and shuddered, how labored his breathing was, until he came first, right into his gunt. Kent filled him up soon after, and put him back in his chair. “That’s a good piggy. Now, drop the veil, little piggy.”

Avery’s eyes clouded over again, he gave Kent a kiss, feeling better after his chat with him, and got back to work on the computer. Kent gave a contented sigh, and left the room–he was almost there, just a little more conditioning to go. Then he could lift the veil for good, and he’d have the perfect gainer pig he’d always wanted.

Flash Commission – Junior Joins the Pig Squad

This story is a “se-queal” to a story from last year called “The Pig Squad” which you can read here. I would recommend at least skimming it before you read this one, it will make a lot more sense.

Simon had never seen eye to eye with his father. Whether it was always going to be this way, or whether the death of his mother while he was a young teenager drove a wedge between them they would have been able to bridge otherwise, they didn’t know. The friction that had simmered between them during high school had recently begun to boil over, as Simon had found himself of age, but still stuck living with his dad. He was going to community college, earning credits so he could get into a better four year school, but his dad saw no good reason why he should have to pay his son’s way through life. The fact that his father was a motorcycle cop provided an easy contrast, and by the end of his first year of school, he was proudly supporting anti-police brutality protests, both earnestly, and just so he could rub it in his father’s face.

But this summer, something had happened to his father, something that Simon couldn’t quite understand. He’d always known that his dad wasn’t a great cop–he wasn’t that great of a person, and power like that tended to corrupt. He was short tempered and mercurial, a stickler for what Simon considered meaningless detail, and prone to micromanage as a means of asserting power every chance he could. He came home grousing one night that his squad was being sanctioned and forced to participate in some strange training seminar, and for the next few weeks, something…happened to him. He got fatter, he shaved his head, his uniforms changed from the standard cotton and poly blend to full leather ones that he would wear constantly–Simon even wondered if his father slept in them sometimes. When he asked his dad about it, his dad showed him a little video about the training. It left Simon feeling a little…strange, and he felt better about it for a while, but the worries crept back in slowly.

One night, he got up to take a piss, and on the way back from the bathroom, he heard some noises coming from his father’s room. Wondering what it might be, he snuck down, opened the door, and gasped–his dad and another officer he recognized as from his squad were on the bed, in their uniforms, the other officer pounding a sizable dildo into his father’s hole while they stared at a TV screen flashing some strange spiral pattern. Before Simon could retreat, they looked over at him when he gasped, mouths open and drooling, and they tackled him to the ground, ignoring his pleading for them to stop, cuffed him, and dragged him out of the house and into a patrol car, before speeding off into the night.

Simon had no idea where they were taking him, but he expected it to be the police station. Instead, they ended up outside of a nice suburban house, the two officers went up to knock on the door, and slipped inside. After a few minutes, they emerged again with another fellow in a robe and slippers, who came to the window with them. Simon went to beg him for help, for an explanation, for anything, but the man flashed some strange light in his eyes, and after a few moments, Simon was deep in a trance of his own.

“Alright, get him out and bring him inside, pigs,” Doctor Leoncett said, “Apparently the acceptance training wasn’t strong enough for this one.”

Simon’s father and the other officer hauled the drooling Simon out of the car and into the doctor’s home, down into the basement where he was strapped into a chair in front of a large screen, and the doctor set him up with an IV to receive a new batch of serum he’d been testing. “Alright Officer Mendel, your son is going to be staying with me for extended training. You will return home and make whatever excuses necessary with the college he attends. Otherwise, you will continue as normal, until I say otherwise, understand?”

The two pigs saluted the doctor, and left. The temporary stun was beginning to wear off for Simon, and he was starting to struggle against the bonds holding him to the chair. “What…what the fuck is this?”

“Well Simon, it would seem that you’ve seen a bit too much,” the doctor said, “The acceptance video doesn’t work on everyone, especially if they have a bit too much will. Your dad was a little willful too, it must run in the family–but don’t worry, I think this is going to work out best for everyone involved. After all, your dad’s squad has an opening at the moment…”

“No, what? Let me go!” he said, but the screen in front of him was showing that same spiral, those same flashing lights, and he felt his attention being sucked into it, unable to pull away. 

“Don’t worry, you seem like a good kid. Your dad on the other hand, a real asshole. It’ll be good to have another officer at home to keep him in line.”

That was the last thing Simon heard, before the spiral pulled him down into another trance, and the world around him melted away into nothing.

When he awoke, it took Simon a few minutes to get past the headache still throbbing in his skull, and manage to open his eyes. When he did, he was looking up at a plain white ceiling with fluorescent lighting. It wasn’t…his room. He didn’t even know where he was, actually, everything was…blurry. He could recall finding his dad doing something…and…and nothing really past that, it was too muddled to work out. Thinking about it was making the headache come back anyway, so he rolled up to a sitting position, and found himself on the edge of a small bed, facing a mirror on the wall.

Something was wrong with his reflection. Something inside him was screaming that at him, telling him that what he was looking at wasn’t right at all, but Simon was struggling to figure out what could be wrong about it. Certainly it wasn’t his face–bald head, clean shaven, double and triple chin underneath his short neck, nose turned up a little. It wasn’t his body, right? Barrel chested and bellied, firm but with plenty of jiggle, two meaty pecs with nipples pointing out, half an inch long, and very sensitive. He gave them both a little tweak, and felt his pig cock throb, drooling out a little precum onto the floor beneath him. His short, thick cock was right of course, his meaty ass, thick thighs, size fifteen feet, ham like arms. No…he…this was how he was supposed to look, this…why did he feel so strange?

He held his head in his hands, letting the headache pass again. God he was stupid fucking pig, he should be able to figure this out, but it was gone. He stood up from the bed and saw his uniform hanging beside the door. He took it down and pulled it on one piece at a time. It felt strange as he did it. He knew it wasn’t the first time he’d worn it, couldn’t be the first time, but the sensation of the leather against his smooth skin was so erotic, so new, that he felt like it was his first time all over again. By the time the leather shirt, breeches, boots gloves and cap were on, his pig cock was hard and leaking–he had to resist the urge to haul it out and rub out a load right there, snorting and looking at his hot pig body in the mirror, but he had something else he needed to do first. He needed to go see the doctor of course.

He went to the door, the creak of the leather, the scent of it already putting him in a hornier mood, if that was possible. He stepped out of the room and went down the hall, where he saw the doctor was standing, working on some project or other. It wasn’t important. Pigs like him couldn’t understand things like that anyway. Doctor Leoncett looked up from his work and smiled. “Ah, Mendel Junior, you’re awake. Feeling alright, I hope?”

“Yeah, just…have this pounding headache,” he said. His voice seemed deeper than he recalled, but again, it didn’t seem wrong, just…like everything else, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. “Uh, doc? Where am I exactly? I can’t seem to remember anything.”

“Oh, just a routine training, nothing to be concerned about. I wanted you to make sure you and your father were properly adjusted. You finished up first, and he should be done soon–come on, let’s go check on him.”

They went back down the hall to another room, the doctor opened a door, and Junior found himself looking at a very similar scene to the one he could no longer recall, his dad in full leather, riding a massive dildo, staring at a pulsing screen, drool running down his chins as he fucked himself, cock throbbing. But where before Simon had been horrified, all he could feel now was an intense desire and pride. Fuck, his Dad was such a hot pig. The two of them were two peas in a pod really. Mostly, at least. There was no mistaking it when they were side by side that they were related. The doctor hit a switch, and the screen faded out, the music stopped, and the lights in the room came up slowly. Mendel Senior shook his head, spittle flying as he did, and fell forward onto hands and knees, snorting, looking around a bit confused. Junior walked over, shoved one of his boots in front of his dad’s face, and while it took him a moment to focus on it, he gave a little squeal and started licking at the leather, polishing it as best he could with his tongue.

“Fuck dad, you’re such a fuckin’ pig,” Junior said, groping his leaking pig cock through the front of his leather pants.

Senior was still recovering from his recent mindfuck, but he looked up at his son, at his new son, and couldn’t be more proud. He was big and thick and smelled like leather and musk, and he was so much smarter than his Daddy, so much better in so many ways. Senior was more than happy to service his boy in whatever way he required.

Junior let his dad suck his boots shiny for a couple of minutes, as he came out of his trance, and then he went around behind him, and probed his smooth ass and hole with a few gloved fingers, feeling his dad’s piggy hole throb and shudder at the touch of his leather gloves. “Fuck, you’re such a piggy slut,” he said.

“Anything for my hot pigson, fuckin’ plow me boy, come on…”

Of course, all of the pigs on the squad had cocks too small to fuck, other than the sergeant of course, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find other solutions. He saw on a little table his usual instrument of choice, a strap-on dildo, nearly ten inches long and almost as thick as his fist, that he fastened over the top of his uniform pants, lined up with his father’s hole, and drove it in, making him squeal. He grabbed hold of his father’s leather shirt in his gloved hands, thrusting in deeper and deeper until the dildo was buried up to the hilt, and proceeded to fuck his father nice and rough, how they both liked it. Neither of them noticed the lights fading out, the screen coming back up with a pulsing spiral, the music throbbing in their ears. They just focused on it, unable to look away while they fucked, cementing their new programming, and new relationship, in as deep as the doctor could, ensuring that Junior and Senior, as they were now exclusively known, would be his kinky pig cop slaves for the rest of their lives.

Caption: Daddy Issues #4 – Jace the Lout

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.

Jace’s father was a lout, in his opinion. He’d never really been able to hold down a job for longer than a year, preferring to milk unemployment and Jace’s grandparents for cash as much as he could. Jace had resolved to never be like him, and doubled down on his efforts in school, aiming for college, as an opportunity to get out from under his father. His intellect and drive only led his father to brand him a faggot, and when Jace found that he was gay, he didn’t dare breathe a word of his to his father, who could have a substantial rage when he was drunk, which was more and more these days. 

And now, after a few months of bliss, away at school, he had to go back. He pulled into the driveway, and the first thing he noticed was that someone had mowed the lawn. Usually it was a mess of tall grass and tangled weed, but it was freshly shorn. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, in all honesty. He went in through the front door, and gasped–the whole fucking house was just like the lawn. It was clean.

Pictures were hung on the walls. The carpet was vacuumed and the tile was mopped. Lightbulbs were changed that had been out when he’d left for school in the fall. He had no idea what was happening, and when he went into the living room, he found his father sitting there and waiting for him, though it certainly wasn’t the father he recalled.

He beamed at Jace when he saw him, got up and gave him a hug, telling him he was so glad he was home, and when he did, Jace felt…something start to grow and curdle inside him, something he didn’t understand at first. His dad pulled him into the kitchen, told him he had dinner all ready for him, sat Jace down and started bringing him all of this food, and Jace, who had always been careful with his food and drink, found himself stuffing his face greedily, and when the six pack of beer appeared next to the place, he pulled one free without a second thought, and guzzled it down, letting some of it run down his chin.

When he’d finished, it was a different sort of Jace sitting there in the chair. Gut doubled in size, head shaven, tattoos appearing all up and down his arms and legs, piercings in his ears and face. He sneered at his dad and said, “Fuck, at least ya can still cook a good meal, for a old faggot. Go on then, I know what ya really want.”

His dad was on his knees, face between his son’s thighs sucking on his cock, and Jace smelled something, some musk rising up around him. His musk, of course. He raised an arm and took a whiff of his own pits, enjoying the scent, knowing that it would drive his horny father wild too. School was already fading from his mind–why the fuck would he leave a cushy gig like this? A horny father who took care of him day and night, who would do anything for a load of his son’s cum? What lout would turn that down?

“Been a while since I’ve had the boys over,” Jace said, “Ya wouldn’t mind cookin’ again, right? Ya know how much they all can eat. If you’re real good, we’ll all fuck that old hole of yours, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds amazing son,” his dad said, and went back to sucking on his cock. Yep, this was the life, and Jace wouldn’t trade it for anything, anymore.

Caption: Daddy Issues #3 – Evan the Roughneck

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.

Evan wasn’t supposed to have even gone to college, if his dad had had his way. He grew up in the sticks in a small town. HIs dad, Gary, ran the only real construction crew in town, and made good money fixing up everything beyond what a handyman could handle, and he’d expected his son to be a proper man’s man, drop out of high school, learn the trade, and follow in his footsteps. Of course, Evan had ended up, in his father’s opinion, a total sissy. He’d given up on him really, and just to get out from under his father’s house, he’d taken on a bunch of loans to get to college in the big city, just as a chance to breathe. But now, he climbed into his car and got ready for the drive home, bracing himself for the culture shock he knew he’d feel after a few months in civilization, back under his dad’s roof.

It was a good four hour drive home, and Evan spent the whole time mulling over his father. He was so focused on it, really, that he didn’t notice as things started changing around him. The pack of gum in the console became a can of skoal, and without thinking about it, he popped it open, packed his upper and lower lips, and just let the spit drool out onto the shirt he was wearing, which had come a grungy looking t-shirt, his pants now ripped camo shorts. The radio switched over to the country station, and rather than change it, he found himself enjoying it. About an hour out from town, he pulled over to use the rest area, got out, but in the bathroom, despite having to piss like a racehorse, he just…couldn’t. He had to save it, didn’t he? He went back out to the lot, climbed into the sizable pickup that had replaced his little junker sedan, and sped off down the highway, eager to get home, finally.

He pulled into his dad’s driveway, hopped out, went inside, and sure enough, there was his lazy fucking father, passed out on the couch, wearing the coveralls for work that he pretty much never took off, even on the weekends. 

Evan jumped up on the couch, boots on either side of his dad’s flabby body, and spit right in his face, making him jump. “Hey pig, open yer fuckin’ mouth, yer boy’s gotta fuckin’ piss.”

He didn’t even wait for Gary to open up, just hauled out his cock, and unloaded all over him and the couch, his dad confused and sputtering for a moment, but once he smelled it, he sat up, opened wide, and drank down as much of his boy’s sweet piss as he could. Once he’d finished, the two of them looked at each other, trying to reconcile what they had expected with what they were looking at, but the smell of them both, and the piss all over them, only made them hornier.

“Fuck son, been waitin’ fer ya tah get home,” his stupid dad drawled, and shoved his face into his rank underwear, “All the guys on the crew been plowin’ mah hole, jus’ like ya told ‘em to, but it just ain’t the same as mah boy’s big ass fuckstick…”

“Don’t ya worry Daddy, yer boy ain’t gonna be goin’ away again anytime soon,” Evan said, “Now roll over pig, let me see if that slutty hole a yers is still a little tight.”

Caption: Daddy Issues #2 – Evan the Bully

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.

James’s father, Paul, was a health freak. He went to the gym five days a week, ran each morning before work, prepared only the healthiest of food, and had used all of this to rule over James’s body like a tyrant. James’s body, on the other hand, had never taken to his father’s rule well, and he’d struggled all his life trying to conform to Paul’s expectations for how he should look, and what he should do to get there. There was always just a bit too much fat, not enough muscle, why couldn’t he work harder. The question of sexuality was complicated by the fact his father essentially demanded a family from James, something he had no intention of giving him, of course. 

At college, finally free of his father’s strict hand, James had really let go, and already gained close to the Freshman 15 without even trying. He was terrified of what his father would say when he saw him, as he went up to the door and into the house, but his father wasn’t anywhere to be found. He eventually went up into the bedroom, after he heard someone grunting and groaning in there, and what he found made his jaw drop to the floor.

It was his dad, right? It had to be his dad. He could still see some of the resemblance there, but so much of it was…well, it was how fat he was, first of all. He was struggling where he was tied to the chair, and he was so heavy, he could hear the wood creaking under him, his father’s eyes horrified at what had happened to him. James felt a bit dizzy, and retreated from the room and into the bathroom, his body heating up, muscles cramping, after once the discomfort had subsided, he stood up, looked in the mirror, and was staring at a body just as unfamiliar to him as his father’s now was.

Fuck–he was…hot. He was really hot. He ran his hands over his muscled body, groped his bulge through the jockstrap he now had on, and gave a little smirk, before going back out to where his father was still tied up.

“Fuck dad, look at you, really let yourself go while I was at school, eh?” he said, walked up, and started groping and teasing his dad’s massive body. Paul squirmed and jiggled away as best he could, but James could see the confusion in his eyes, and with a little digging under his massive gut, he found out why–his dad was rock hard. “Fuck, is this turning you on old man? You fucking pig? Having your hot jock son play with your fat and tease you is getting you off?” He pulled his hand out, covered with his dad’s precum, took out his gag and fed it to him off his fingers.

“Please, I…I’m so fucking hungry, but I don’t know what’s wrong with us. Please son, we need to get help.”

“I’ll tell you what we need to get,” James said, picking his dad’s phone up off the counter. “We need five extra large pizzas here ASAP, and I’m going to feed every one of them to you. Then, when you’re good and stuffed, pig, I’m gonna bend you over and fuck that fat ass of yours. I have a feeling you’re gonna love it.”

Caption: Daddy Issues #1 – Conrad the Disciplinarian

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.

Four freshmen in college met during a meeting of the college’s queer group, and quickly bonded over a common problem they shared–their fathers. It wasn’t uncommon for young gay guys to have daddy issues of course, but for them, coming out at home was still an impossibility. While each of their fathers was different, what tied them all together was their desire to control their son’s lives, and an unwillingness to accept anything other than the straightest of behavior from all of them. As they shared their woes, and prepared to go home for winter break, a mischievous little sprite was listening in on their discussion. It didn’t seem fair to the sprite, not at all. But magic always came with a cost. They could have fathers who were more agreeable, sure, but they too, would have to change as well.

Conrad’s father, Harry, was a cop, in just about every sense of the word. He worked on the police force of the city, but lived in the outlying suburbs. He was a real piece of work, and he’d ridden Conrad every moment of his life, trying to “man him up” and get him to follow in his footsteps, train him into what he considered to be a proper young man, and none of it had stuck. Now he was off to college and studying literature–what a waste in his opinion. He’d refused to pay for any of it, and Conrad was currently relying on loans to make it though. He couldn’t find somewhere to stay on break, and so, he resigned himself to going home for a few weeks. He arrived, stepped inside, and was greeted by a sight so strange, it took him a moment to understand what he was looking at.

It was his father, naked, wrestling with a leather harness that seemed to have a life of its own. “God damn it, what the fuck is this shit? Conrad, help!” he shouted when he saw his son, but Conrad just gawked, then looked around, and saw a box by the door addressed to his father. As he watched, something crawled out, scuttled across the floor, flew and shoved itself into Harry’s mouth, wrapping around his head–a ball gag and head harness. It distracted him long enough the harness could crawl onto him, followed by a pair of boots, and a butt plug with a curly black tail on the end, that flew into his father’s ass, making him howl as he crawled around, in distress.

Conrad took a step forward, only for more gear to crawl out of the box and start crawling across the floor towards him. He backed up, but before he could get out the front door, the arms of a rubber cat suit wrapped their way around his legs and pulled them out from under him. He fought them off as long as he could, but something…was wrong with them. He could hear something, hear a voice, soothing him, relaxing him, telling him all sorts of filthy, wicked thoughts.

He stood up after a few moments, fully clothed in his gear, and he felt different. Taller, more muscular. He walked past his father, still struggling on the floor with his gear, went to his humidor, took out a cigar and lit it for himself, before walking back, kicking him over and putting a boot on his father’s neck.

“There’s going to be some changes around here, piggy,” Conrad said, his usually meek voice now full of confidence. “Yeah…gonna…gonna train you into a proper little pig slut, yeah. You tried to make a man out of me, pig, well what do you think? Is this man enough for you?”

He pressed down, and saw his father go a little limp, aside from his cock, which was rock hard and leaking. 

“I’m the man who’s gonna make a proper pig out of you, and I’ll love every second of it. You will too, soon enough. Now, I wanna hear you squeal.”

Flash Commission – Greene Aged Tobacco

Garowan the tanuki brought the package inside from the porch, his striped tail swishing happily to and fro, excited that his tobacco sampler had finally arrived. It was a new variety of aged tobacco he’d seen advertised online, from a company called Greene’s. Curious, and happy with the low price, he’d ordered one just to give it a try. He opened up the box, and let out a little disappointed growl. What a ripoff! Sure, the sampler had been discounted, but inside the wood box with the Greene label on the front, there had been nothing more than a single cigarette rattling around.

A fucking cigarette! He didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He’d had a couple when he was a teenager, sure, but he preferred cigars. He picked it up, wondering who he was going to have to contact to complain about this, and brought it to his snout to take a sniff. It didn’t smell like the cigarettes he’d had before, actually, which had a sharper, cheaper scent. It was pleasant, actually. A little woodsy, a little rum, a little vanilla. He looked at it, and decided why not? He’d ordered it, he might as well try it. He could still complain about it to the company and get his money back, even if he used it. The box was decently sized, after all–it was probably supposed to have more stuff in it than this, and someone had packaged it wrong. He went into his living room, got his lighter, and lit the cigarette, taking a small draw on it, holding the smoke in, and then exhaling it into the air around him.

It was nice. Really nice. All of those flavors he’d picked up with his rather sensitive nose were still there, blended nicely together, without being too cloying or artificial. He gave his sizable nuts a scratch as he took a deeper drag, inhaling some of it this time, and felt a surprising little zing that went right to his head, making him feel a little light headed and dizzy. Apparently, whatever aging process they used made sure the tobacco packed a punch as well. He enjoyed the rest of the cigarette for a few minutes, that rush suffusing the rest of his body, and smoked the cigarette down to a small butt, before dropping it in the ashtray. It hadn’t been a total waste then–the tobacco was great. Now he really did wish he’d gotten a complete sampler, instead of just that little taste. He started back towards the kitchen, where he’d left the box, but before he could get there, be passed by a large mirror hanging on the wall in the living room, and then paused, staring at his reflection, a little confused.

He looked different. Not…all that different, he supposed. The fur on his cheeks and around his muzzle was thicker and a bit darker brown, looking like a proper beard that older tanukis usually grew. His body looked a little heftier. His arms were thicker with a bit more muscle, and his belly had grown fatter. Not my much, really. Just enough to really be noticeable, and to make his underwear look a little strained, especially since his nuts had grown as well. For tanukis, that was one of their main signs of age–their substantial sacks grew their entire life, and elders in particular often had sacks so large it made it a bit difficult to move around at times, though they usually managed. The fur on his belly had darkened and thickened as well, becoming a substantial treasure trail running up his larger gut. If he had to guess, he looked like he’d aged about ten years or so, into his mid-thirties, but he looked…good, somehow.

He went to the box, wondering if it might have some explanation, but there wasn’t anything like a note or warning. There was something new in the box though, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It was impossible that he could have missed something, it must have somehow just appeared there after he’d smoked that cigarette. It was a sizable smoking pipe, dark brown with a bent stem, and a little pouch of what he assumed must be tobacco along with it. He picked up the pouch, paw shaking a bit, opened up the top, and gave it a little sniff. Sure enough, it was the same aroma, though a little stronger, the flavors a little deeper, melded differently. Aged more. He could just tell from the darker, deeper scent. But if this tobacco was aged more, did that mean that, if he smoked it, he would age more too?

He went back to the mirror and looked at himself again, at his older body. He tried to imagine what he might look like even older and…and why was he even considering this? He couldn’t smoke this shit, who knew what it might do to him, he needed to get help. He went back, intending to throw the pouch of tobacco in the trash, but smelled it again, found himself getting a bit lost in it, and realized when he pulled it away from his snout that his cock was leaking in the front of his tight underwear. Without taking time to second guess himself, he picked up the pipe, dumped the tobacco in it, and tamped it down. The whole pouch fit in the bowl perfectly, and he went back into the living room, got his lighter, and lit the pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the stem, relishing the flavor again, enjoying the subtler notes he’d missed before.

He sat back, took an inhale off the pipe, and again, felt that same surge of energy off the tobacco as before, but while he still felt alert and energized, it was coupled with a rather profound sense of relaxation. He sank back into his armchair, and this time, he felt it as it was happening, his gut grumbling slightly, and then began to expand. Pipe in his mouth, he rubbed it with his paws, groaning a bit from the pressure. The gut was rather soft and pillowy, flowing around him, spreading out across the chair, thighs growing closer together. He could see the fur on his belly that had grown in before thicken further, and when he was about halfway through the bowl, it changed color again, the brown lightening to a steely grey, contrasting with his the prown pelt across the rest of his belly. It was joined by his beard, he realized after a moment, which was long enough to reach his chest now, and the same greyish color–almost the same color as the smoke coming from the pipe itself. His chest was growing as well, packing on fat until he had two sizable moobs resting on top of his gut. His nipples in particular grew as well, and the two piercings he had in them grew as well, from a pair of studs into two sizable gold rings. 

He smoked the pipe down to ash, and then sat for a moment, looking down at himself, surprised he wasn’t more horrified. He set the pipe aside, and hefted himself up from the chair, his legs and back aching in ways that he didn’t expect, but which he supposed came with his new age. If he had to guess now, he was probably in his late forties. As he walked into the kitchen, he could feel his nuts swinging against his knees as he walked, the constant stimulation provoking a constant leakage from the head of his cock. Along the way, his underwear finally gave up and shredded away, leaving him entirely naked. 

Something had appeared in the box again, where the pipe had been. It was a cigar, and not a small one, either. At least an 80 ring, if not larger, and close to nine inches long. He’d only seen cigars that large in pictures on the internet, never in person. He picked it up, paws shaking a bit, and brought it to his nose. The smell of it made him salivate–he could almost taste it, just from smelling the wrapper…but he shouldn’t, right? If he did, how old was he going to get, anyway?

He resisted the urge for a little while, moving around in his new body, getting used to hefting around his new weight, his sizable balls. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigar though, and come evening, after a sizable dinner to feed his new bulk, he sat down with the cigar in the living room, punched it, and after a moment, brought it to his lips and lit it.

It took some work, getting it started, because it was so large. The thing was so big it stretched his snout uncomfortably wide. At last, he was satisfied with the light, sat back, and took a sizable draw off the end, a bit greedy for the smoke even, and sighed out a thick plume, delighted with the flavor. The cigarette had been just a tease of this depth of flavor. It was the most delightful, savory smoke he’d ever had, in fact. Again, he felt the smoke spread through him, permeate him, and he grew again. Soon, his fat was spilling over the sides of the armchair, which was creaking under the weight of him, his balls sagging lower until he realized they were large enough to rest on the floor in front of the chair, his meaty thighs pushed wide apart by the massive sack. His jaw was aching from holding the cigar, but when he pulled it free for a moment to give it a rest, he realized that wasn’t the only reason. His tusks were coming in, his lower jaw jutting out, growing thicker, and two stubby incisors pushing their way out of his lower jaw. He put the cigar back in, happy to discover that it was much stronger, and could support the cigar easily while his paws explored his growing body.

His fur thicker, and all over his belly, the brownish grey lightened further to a stark white, as did his beard, which now reached down to the massive belly button in his massive gut. His moobs were even larger now, and when he squeezed them, he let out a little grunt of surprise and pleasure when he felt something leak from the nipples. Looking down, he realized he’d matured enough to start lactating, something that didn’t happen to every tanuki, but if it did, it didn’t usually happen until they were in their sixties. It felt…good, and the rings in his nipples grew even thicker, almost as thick as the massive cigar he was smoking. The smell was beginning to permeate him now, and the smell of the tobacco was joined by a scent of his own musk, growing stronger and more pungent, with a definite pang of smoke–but that wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d been a near constant smoker for years now, why wouldn’t he smell of smoke?

He shook his head, but that memory was real, as real as his other ones. He could find himself remembering other things, a whole life that he’d lived now, leading to this new body. He was happily retired, well supported, and didn’t have to worry about anything. He could even sense, somehow, that he hadn’t really lost any years off his life, through these changes. He would stay like this for years now, for as long as the years he had lost, probably close to forty or so, before aging any further. He finished the cigar, set the butt down in the ashtray, and heaved a final, contented, smoky sigh. It was a lot to consider, really, but he didn’t regret any of it, though he was horny as hell after all of that, and his massive balls were aching for release. He pulled himself up, and saw he’d already accumulated quite a puddle of cum around his balls on the floor. No matter, he knew a few cubs around who would be more than happy to clean it up for him–maybe while he had another cigar, or two.

TPC – Chapter 2.14

Chapter 2.14 – The Reality Check

Barry woke up the next morning, refreshed and satisfied in a way he couldn’t recall being since college. Maybe since before college, if ever. It was disconcerting, because he couldn’t remember getting into bed. The last thing he could recall with any real clarity, was watching Ian milk his own desires right out of Richard. He knew he had driven home, he could recall some of that. He’d gotten in the house, drank the cum and that was it.

He felt great though, and the more he thought about it, the more he could begin to recall something else, something different. He’d been at the bar for a party, but it was a party for him. He’d gotten the promotion, of course. There was no one else remotely qualified like he was, or as well liked and respected by his team and leadership in the company. Evan had called him into his office for his interview, and nearly handed him the job right then and there. There was no Richard, anymore. He didn’t even exist. Barry heaved a sigh, laid back on the bed, and basked in what he recalled. It was what he’d wanted. All of it.

Eventually he got up, went into the bathroom, and there in the mirror, he could see a few shifts as well. It wasn’t as extreme as the Prestige he’d taken in the bathroom (not that that had happened in his new memories) but it was still apparent. A stronger jaw. He was a little more toned, his posture a little straighter. He just looked more important than he had the day before. He looked like someone who could hold the attention of a room. He took a shower, and only after did he notice that something was missing–he wasn’t sure where Dennis was.

He checked his phone but didn’t see a text from him, though there was one from Ian.

“Hey, just checking in, I bet you woke up feeling great. You might notice some lingering nausea and blurry vision–this is perfectly normal. Your reality is still sorting itself out, tying up loose ends. Try not to do anything too crazy–choices you make for the next while can have repercussions if you don’t take it a bit easy. For something like this though, you should be fine in a couple of hours.”

He texted him back, asking him what he meant by repercussions exactly, but didn’t get a reply right away. Ian was probably still asleep, after all, it seemed like he’d still had more work to do on Richard after Barry had left. In any case, he was sure that it couldn’t be anything that terrible. That still left him wondering about Dennis. He tried to remember if Dennis had been there when he’d gotten home, but he couldn’t remember either finding him, or not finding him there. Most likely he’d just gone for a morning jog. He didn’t do it regularly, but sometimes he’d get to feeling like he needed to try and get into shape again, go jogging for a week or two, and then call it quits when it came clear it wasn’t going to happen like magic. 

Beyond that, he was hungry. He went down to the kitchen, started making himself some breakfast, only for the world to lurch around him, making him feel like he was going to vomit. It took a minute or two for it to settle, and when his vision cleared, the world wasn’t quite the same, but he couldn’t quite place what had changed. That must be what Ian had been talking about. He checked his phone again, and there was still no reply. Now he was worried, but if Ian said it would pass, then he’d just have to be patient. In any case, the sudden lurch had spoiled his appetite, and he set the breakfast he’d started back in the fridge for now. Maybe when Dennis got back they’d eat together, while he congratulated him on his promotion. He was looking forward to watching his husband eat crow–not that he supposed he would notice. He wondered how this reality stuff would even affect him. Barry could remember the way things had been, but would Dennis?

It was not long after that he heard the garage door opening–which was odd. When Dennis went running, he always went out the front door. He also heard the car. Maybe he’d just gone to the store or something, but that was rather unlike him. He went out to the garage in time to watch a sheepish Dennis climb out of the car, wearing a rather odd assortment of clothes–leather gear, with an oversized shirt on top and some baggy pants below. They looked at each other, Dennis’s eyes as large as plates, and he stammered out a few syllables, but Barry didn’t hear any of it. His vision slipped sideways again, and his guts twisted, and he could feel something growing taut, but he didn’t know what to name it.

When the world snapped back, he was clinging to the bannister of the small flight of steps down into the garage, and Dennis was leaning over the side mirror of the car–but he looked different. Smaller, a little chubbier. Younger too. No, he’d always looked like that, but it felt like his eyes were trying to stare at two versions of Dennis occupying the same space. “Fuck, what did…what was that Barry?” Dennis asked, forcing himself upright again, and saw himself in the mirror. “I…no, I was changing back, why do I look like that again?”

Barry turned around and went back in the house, stumbling a bit as he went. He needed to call Ian, find out what this was doing to them both. He checked his messages, but there was nothing. He called him, the phone rang a few times and then went to voicemail, and Barry almost threw his phone across the kitchen. 

“What’s going on, Barry? What happened?”

Dennis had followed him inside, and when Barry turned to look at him, the world just kept turning and spinning, Dennis blurring and spinning with it. Dennis didn’t fit right, he was the wrong shape, the wrong color, the wrong sound. He needed to be different. He needed to fit. That thing grew taut again, tighter and tighter, and then it snapped apart, everything slammed together again but it was right now. Of course Dennis was getting home late–his slutty cub of a husband liked to go out on the weekends. Barry went with him usually, but didn’t last night because of his own party–he’d told Dennis to go on without him. “Looks like someone had a good night at the Hideaway,” Barry said, grinning at him. “Go home with the staff again?”

“No, Barry, how do you know that? I…I feel so weird, what’s happening?”

Barry walked over, and pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping one hand around the back of him and cupping his ass. He was smaller then him, but then, he always had been. The sensation felt strange to him all the same, and the sense of power it gave him, was an unexpected rush, and he pushed his tongue into Barry’s mouth, reminding him who he really belonged to–only for Dennis to push him away.

“What’s gotten into you? Why…why do you look…strange? Barry, answer me.”

Barry, however, was feeling a bit frustrated. How dare the cub rebuff him like that, so easily? Barry was the important one. Barry was the one who brought home the money. Barry was the one in control. He could almost feel his vision shaking this time, Dennis stubbornly refusing to shift into his proper place. Yeah, proper place, he’d put him in back where he belonged. He stepped forward, and when he went to grab Dennis this time, the world shuddered again, but at last, he felt something turn around and lock–and when it snapped back, he had Denny shoved up against the wall next to the door to the garage, one hand running down to his hole and probing it. 

“You fucking slut, how many men had you last night? Did you even count?”

“Barry, I–”

“What’s one more, eh?” Barry said, and pushed his cock into his loose hole and Dennis gasped in sudden delight. 

He knew this was wrong. Barry had never been this aggressive before, this domineering, but where the old Dennis would have put him in his place, his hole was too hungry, his heart thrumming at a different, eager frequency. They fucked right there in the hallway, Barry cumming after a few minutes, and pulling free. 

“Get yourself cleaned up–and then make us breakfast, would you?” Barry said, “Something a little celebratory, after my promotion.”

Dennis just mumbled something like a yes, and scampered upstairs and into the shower, trying to sort out what had just happened to him, what he’d felt, what he was, who he was. The shower didn’t really help, and when he climbed out, he looked at himself in the mirror, and he just felt wrong. He’d been different. Older, more dominant. He’d been important, he’d been a surgeon. But that was gone now. He just worked…as a receptionist. A receptionist at the hospital, he didn’t want to work more than that, after all, when would he get to go out and get fucked if he had an important job like that? He shook his head, the thought felt so natural, but he had to remember it was wrong. He went downstairs, planning on demanding Barry explain what happened to them, but his voice wouldn’t come out, like he forgot the words even as he tried to say them. Instead, he fixed them both a nice breakfast while Barry read the morning paper.

After they’d eaten, Barry checked his phone, and saw Ian had replied to him. Reality, apparently, could struggle to accommodate other odd changes or deviations in behavior, leading to radically altered timelines. Barry shot back an angry little note, telling him he would have appreciated the warning first. Ian apologized, and asked him if he could think of anything happening. Barry couldn’t though. As far as he was concerned, his life had never been better. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.

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