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My life as a pig
| I have a good life now, but it wasn’t always like that. Let me take you back a few years. I was 21 years old and working in a hotel bar. I was never ambitious, was lazy at school and probably wouldn’t have achieved much with my life. My name is Jason by the way. I was working behind the bar as normal and towards the end of my shift; this very handsome guy in his early 30’s came up to the bar and ordered a pint of lager. Nothing unusual in that, but as he gave me the money, there was a business card wrapped up in the ten pound note. ‘Keep the change and call me when you finish your shift’ he said. It was more of an order than a request, but it didn’t bother me, I quite like my men to be kind of dominant. I looked at the card, his name was Miles Davenport. I finished my shift and went upstairs to my room (I lived in the staff accommodation) to call him on my mobile phone. He answered immediately, ‘Jason? I’m in room 302, come up straight away’ I wasn’t supposed to fraternise with guests, but I was kinda horny and 302 was at the top of the back stairs, I could just go straight up and knock on the door and into the room. I didn’t have to knock, he was there and the door was wide open. ‘Come in and shut the door behind you. Take your shirt off and stand up straight. Nice body, how heavy are you?’ ‘I’m 160lbs, 5 foot 10 inches’ I was quite proud of my body, relatively trim, reasonable biceps and pecs, Miles obviously thought so too as he was running his hands over it. I was breathing in as he got further down towards my small beer belly. ‘Relax’! he commanded, slapping the soft flesh with the back of his hand, ‘that’s better, nice…’ he smiled. ‘Right, down to business. I need a valet to look after me on my travels – and you will be it.’ That turned out to be a bit of a lie, but hey, shit happens man… ‘You will stay here with me tonight and then we will leave after breakfast tomorrow’. Breakfast was good, Miles made sure my plate was piled high on the grounds that we had a long journey, although I noticed he ate less… That was the beginning. When we got to London, we arrived at his town house and some cute, slightly chubby butler dude answered the door. ‘Evening James, this is Jason, he’s going to be living in the garden room’ ‘Very good, Sir’ I was taken to the room and Miles came in and locked the door behind us. I started to panic a bit at this point and it must have shown in my face, ‘Don’t worry; I’m not going to kill you! I am however, going to make you my butt naked pig boy. You will live like that and you’ll enjoy it, easy life, but you will gain a lot of weight, at least 200lbs…’ The room was very warm, but very comfortably furnished, with a massive reclining easy chair and a massive bed, which looked like it had been reinforced. There was a big wardrobe as well, but as I had no need for clothes I couldn’t understand what it was for. It turned out to be full of toys; Miles selected a collar for me, a harness which fitted around my torso and a butt plug which resembled a pig’s tail. Before he fitted any of these things to me, he took a pair of electric clippers like the ones a barber would use, and shaved all my body hair, including my head, to the same short stubbly length. ‘You will not remove these items without my permission, except the butt plug, which may be removed for toilet purposes only and must be put back immediately afterwards’ There was an en-suite shower room too. This was to be my world for the foreseeable future. As I lay in my bed that night, I wondered what I had got myself into. It didn’t matter really, I had no assets, car, house, nothing like that. I had lived in my room at the hotel and all that was there was my TV and stereo and a few clothes, which I obviously wasn’t going to need now… Miles fed me personally, he didn’t work, he made me his project and realising that I was a very horny 21 year old, had fitted a chastity device to stop me wanking myself into a stupor. I had arrived as a 160lb boy, sexually uninteresting to Miles. He weighed me once a week, and marked my progress on a chart inside the door of the toy store. The day I reached 200lbs, he smiled and fondled my ass, pulled out my tail, which I had grown to love, slipped some lube up my expanding butt and fucked me for the very first time. It was wonderful, ‘More’! I screamed, ‘harder, harder’! Miles pulled out suddenly, ramming my tail back in, with unexpected force. ‘You’re not nearly fat enough yet. If you want more of that, you need to put on more blubber. I will start weighing you every two days. If you want more sex, you have to gain another 10lbs and another 10, and another…’ ‘Feed me!’ I pleaded, looking up at him beseechingly. I ate and ate and ate; he could hardly keep up with my insatiable demand for food. This, however, was what he wanted. Six days after he fucked me, he weighed me again, ‘right fat boy, show your master what a nice fat arse you’re getting’ he said, pulling out my tail and lubing me up. He fucked me harder this time and for a bit longer, but still pulled out before he came. He also removed my cock cage and told me to wank myself off in front of him, but not to cum until he gave me permission. He wanted to guzzle my cum himself and bringing myself to a climax did not take long. I stroked my long, wide cock gently, working myself to a frenzy, moaning loudly. Miles was very soon by my side, taking over the gentle motion. ‘I’m going to cum’!, I screamed. Miles mouth was over my cock, not a second too soon, as my hot semen blasted against the back of his throat. ‘Well done little piglet’, he smiled, ‘Do you want some food’? I nodded eagerly. These sessions became more and more frequent, the fatter I got. Much to Miles delight, I was turning into a soft, doughy, pig. By the time I got to 250lbs, he was riding me at least every other day. Miles had ‘captured’ me in early January and by the end of July, I was weighing almost 280lbs – a gain of over 120lbs. Miles was extremely pleased with me and told me so. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you piggy…’ He had stopped calling me piglet some time ago. He opened the French windows onto the patio and attached a lead to my new collar. I had grown out of the original one at about 240lbs. As he led me into the garden, I realised that he had built a sty, with a mud pool and a cute white picket fence for me. ‘Go play, piggy’ As I rolled about in the mud, Miles told me that he had intended to keep it till I was 300lbs, but because I had done so well, I could have it now. That did not mean, however, that I could slow down my eating. If anything I was to step it up and get even bigger. My minimum goal was to be 360lbs, but 400lbs plus would please Miles a lot. He told me to go into the shed part of the sty, which was to be my new summer home – I would be brought indoors in the winter. There was a water trough, which, when I tasted it, had sugar added, there was also a big bottle like the ones you get in rabbit hutches which contained what I knew to be weight gain shake and there was a food trough which contained all sorts of my favourite fattening foods – let’s face it, I only ever eat fattening stuff! – cheesecake, doughnuts, profiteroles. I dived in immediately, my fat arse sticking up in the air. There was also a door in the side of the shed for Miles to get in – and I suppose - whoever he had engaged to clean out my sty. I thought my life as a pig was complete. I was happy; I had a sty and a master who loved me. During the summer, while I had been outside, Miles had had my Garden Room changed over into an inside version of my sty outside, complete with sunken mud bath for my winter accommodation. I squealed happily and shaking my piggy tail dived into the mud. Shortly after having moved out to the sty I had stopped speaking properly and now conversed with Miles only in grunts, oinks and squeals, although he obviously spoke normally to me… By the time Christmas came, I was at the required minimum weight of 360lbs and loving every soft, doughy, blubbery pound. Miles weighed me on Christmas morning, and when he saw 365lbs on the industrial cattle scale he had installed into my sty room, he bounced my tits and pulled out my tail! He fucked me that day, like he had never fucked me before. He even allowed me to suck his cock – absolutely unheard of – and as his cum hit the back of my throat and I swallowed it down greedily, he gently released the firm grip he had been holding my head with. A week later, on the first of January, I was weighed again and because of all the extra Christmas goodies, I was up to 370lbs. Miles was ecstatic and said that he was just going to keep feeding me at this level. I just oinked, happily. By the end of January, Miles had owned me for a whole year; I had gained well over 200lbs and was literally a pig in mud. When my birthday came round in April, I was weighed and had hit 400lbs. Despite Miles best efforts to avoid them, I did have a few stretch marks around my belly area. This disappointed the master, but I didn’t know why. I was about to find out. On the day of the May Bank Holiday, Miles came into my sty – I had been in my outside sty for about a month by this time. First of all, he sheared my coat, which had become quite even by now, to the shortest possible length. After that he washed me down with warm water and soap, followed by a nice masculine smelling moisturiser – I think it was his own – he had never used it on me before. ‘Stay out of the mud’! he warned me. I oinked; sadly, I had been looking forward to a mud bath. He came out of the house again, this time carrying a new collar with pig on it in diamante. He was also carrying a large, black leather jock strap. We must be going out, I thought. I hadn’t been out of the house very often, but a collar and a jockstrap were my going out apparel. We went to the car, which was a kind of van with blacked out windows – this allowed me to see out – but I couldn’t be seen. It also had a ramp for me to crawl up and then rest my big soft body on the double mattress inside. ‘I’m going to need a bigger pig van soon’ Miles said smiling and slapping my rump gently and watching the rippling flab. He was taking me to a show that he had seen advertised last year in one of the magazines he took regularly. Being from the country, I hadn’t known that there was a pig fetish scene in London and the home of this was a nightclub called ‘OINK!’ This was why Miles had captured me in the first place. He liked the idea of a human pet pig and wanted to enter me in ‘OINK!’s annual pig show. This is a night where all the owners get the opportunity to show off their pig. There were several categories, but the ones I was entered for were Fattest Pig and Best Newcomer. It was an amazing night. I had never seen so many fat, gorgeous young pig boys before in my life. The atmosphere was charged with something I had never felt before. There was a ‘sty’ for all the owners to get their pigs ready in and all the club goers could watch the preparation. I was quite tanned , having been outside in my sty for some time, so while Miles was rubbing baby oil into my body, making sure that it went into all my folds and crevices, I got stuck into the trough of cheesecake etc. the organisers had thoughtfully provided for the pigs. I got to the bottom of it really quite quickly and when he realised that I had chocolate and stuff all over my face, Miles wiped my face again and made me clean and shiny. I had had the septum of my nose pierced quite early on in my life as a pig and there was a small ring in it. As a final touch to his preparations, Miles brought out a larger silver ring, about an inch in diameter, not very heavy, but heavy enough to been seen by the crowd when I was on the stage. He had branded me too, with his initials, MD on my left buttock. I hated him at the time, because it hurt like fuck, but now, I was proud to be his property. He looked after me well, all things considered. The evening progressed and eventually it came to my first category, Fattest Pig. The organisers had rigged up a massive digital scale on the stage – the kind that does your body fat too. All the pigs that had been entered were to be weighed and then the top 3 were to be weighed again, but this time for body fat. The winning order would then be decided by the percentage of fat each pig had. I won. I can’t remember the numbers, but I was by far the fattest and heaviest pig on the stage that night. Miles was delighted and fed me a favourite chocolate treat from his pocket. There were one or two categories between Fattest Pig and Best Newcomer, one of them being the category for Most Improved Pig between last year and this. ‘You’ll win that one next year piggy’ Miles whispered in my ear. Next up was Best Newcomer, which the master had entered me for. This was more for the masters to show off their pigs than anything else and it was down to the audience to decide who they liked best. Each person had a voting card with a list of numbers on it and each pig had a big paper number stuck to our side. As Miles paraded me across the stage, my belly was brushing the floor. I loved it and I knew I was going to win. The crowd were whistling and cheering and they could see the master’s initials on the side of my arse. I was the biggest, softest pig in my categories and I won both of them hands down. Miles was so proud of me; I had never seen him with such a big cheesy grin on his face. The rest of the night passed in a blur, I was paraded round the night club, people slapping my rump, saying how good I had been, how well trained. Miles has been very happy with me for a long time. He invites friends round for lunch and they will come and gaze at me in my sty – usually with my face in a trough of some kind, or rolling about in my mud pool. They are allowed to feed me treats over the railings and sometimes they are allowed to fuck me, if they ask Miles nicely, but he is the only one allowed to bare back me – his rules not mine. On one occasion, somebody brought their own pig round, with the idea that both pigs could mate – Miles was not happy about that at all. He put the new pig in the sty with me, but locked it in my shed and left me splashing about quite happily in the mud. I never saw that pig again – I was bigger than him anyway! Life has been good to me. I have a comfortable bed, a constant supply of food – mostly brought to me by Miles, but sometimes by James the butler. He has given me a good fucking too on occasion, if Miles has been away somewhere. He’s not supposed to, but he’s very good and anyway, how can a dumb animal tell tales…? So, I’m 25 years old, 450lbs and growing with a BMI of 62.8. Miles will continue to fatten me until he is happy with me – I don’t care, I am as happy, literally, as a pig in shit! Can’t complain really can I…? Source: http://www.bellybuilders.com/messageboard/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=15203 | |
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