Some of the toys and devices I dreamt up or mentioned didn't exist back then but are now staples of clothing and accessories for the well dressed fetish obsessed pig. Too bad I didn't put out a patent on the one toy (you'll guess what it is in the story) that now sells online on the internet. It might not have made me a millionaire, but at least help pay the bills.
I was very pleased when I was got this story published in a nationally known gay bear magazine. I didn't get the fee they promised, just a copy of the issue with the story in it. They spelled my name right, and I did get a couple of fan letters. Oh yes, the magazine folded six months later. Not due to my story. Gay bear magazines came and went like flies on honey.
A lot has changed in the techno-world and how we all inter-relate to it. Gay life is so diverse now, the "gay village" in Toronto is on the verge of disappearing since there is no need for a gay ghetto anymore. We don't need to band together in a tight little neighbourhood for protection. We can reach out to the whole world and proclaim who or what you are.
"I am a pig" was how the Barry (known as Vern in the story) would start his emails. We would chat about what he ate, who he lusted after. Usually very straight and very unattainable movie stars. He would do his best to freak out the mainstream leather bunch at the bars by getting down on all fours and grunting like a pig. The other patrons of the bar may have been sexual pigs - he wanted to be the real thing.
.....
pigson
by Bronson D. Smith
©2005
Randy had just turned on the Instant Messenger on his computer when it beeped “new message”. He ignored the bouncing ball and finished off his other internet chores.
Email was a drag today. No new sales on the internet auction. A letter from his sister lamenting the curse of being closer to Mother than Randy was. And five spam messages extolling the benefits of “Cialis to keep your wife happy”. He got rid of the wife years ago. And his first husbear lasted only eight months. Maybe being domestic was not in his cards. Yet.
Vern sat in front of the terminal at the library. Waiting. He had sent his message to HogMaster. A declaration of his devotion to a man he had never met.
“Please answer. I don’t have much time here.”
Vern looked at the library clock. He had the terminal for another five minutes. And it appeared that the anxious looking mother of two was the one waiting for use of the machine. She frowned at Vern when he told her, “I’ve got four minutes left, lady.”
Randy opened up his internet browser to start searching for possible dates for the weekend. He had registered on nearly all of the free big fat gay bear cub chub chaser sites. He gave checking out porn and hot men as a different definition and form of multitasking. He saw the bouncing ball of the Messenger, and pressed enter.
“TO HOGMASTER:
Hello, Sir. My name is Vern. I want to be your pig. I have seen your profile on the bearmen site as well as the biggerisbetter site. I like your pix and profile. I don’t know if you want to raise and fatten a piglet like me and turn him into a big fat hog. I know I can make you happy. You can mark me as your own. Tattoo me. Brand this hog as your property. Please, Sir. Thank you, Sir. signed, pigson247.”
Randy had not dealt with a message as detailed as that. It was usually a guttural piece like, “hot pix, man” or “wanna fuck?” He pressed the reply button, “will consider it.” And he added, “PIG”
Vern was in seventh heaven. He had connected with the man who had taken over his dreams. Of being a pig. Living like a pig. Becoming a pig for his Master. HogMaster.
He looked at the anxious woman behind him. She was not worth any caustic remark. He had better things to do. He had to eat.
Randy was a big man who had seen his own share of disappointment. His world was changed when his wife ran off with another woman. It forced him to face his own encounters with members of the same sex.
And with his grief and depression, came the slide into food and sex addiction. The once buff and built 220# jock ballooned into a hefty man of 300#.
Randy soon discovered a big gut was a marketable item on the meat market. He made up for his closeted days by fucking everything and everyone in sight. He loved the control he had on the bad little boys and the fat men who felt bad about being fat.
Randy rubbed his large round hard beer belly. He loved the weight and feel of it. The fat ass trucker look made him hard when he looked in the mirror. And the bad ass leatherman cleared a path in the local leather bar when he arrived in his leather jacket, jeans and chaps, and smoking a large cigar. A Top Dom man. A HogMaster. Ready to discipline any bad little piggies.
Vern sat quietly in his brother’s bedroom. His brother had signed off the computer and allowed Vern to use the machine. It was a nuisance to still live at home, but Vern’s recent layoff depleted nearly all of his savings. Certainly not the life he imagined for a 25 year old.
Vern dreamt of being in the arms of a lover. Who would be tall and strong and protect him from his enemies. And allow him to be the pig he wanted to be ever since he was a child. He longed to be huge and fat and live like a pig. Having food in a trough and live in a pig pen and fall asleep on a bed of straw.
Randy struck out at the bar again. He chatted with some buddies he had played with. But no spark. No chemistry. Nothing he wanted to drag home and fuck. He was all geared up but no place to go. So he turned on the computer, and went into the bellyboy chat room. Always good cyber sex for a jack off before going to sleep. He thought.
Vern sat at the computer terminal and logged onto the bellyboy chatroom. He had met some nice guys but no one who could handle his fetish. Some fun talk but frustrating in the end. He entered his username, pigson247. The screen came alive with various chats and welcome notes, “hey pigson, howdy”. And then he saw the name. HogMaster.
Randy was bored. No bad little piggies to verbally abuse. Until he saw the name, pigson. The guy who had written to him that afternoon. Maybe be good for a laugh or too. Maybe shoot his load. Why not.
PRIVATE CHAT REQUEST FROM HOGMASTER
HogMaster> hey pig
> hello SIR
HogMaster> how ya doin’ pig?
> lonely Sir. I need a Master to take care of me.
> and use me. And make me a pig.
HogMaster> oink for the Master
> oink
HogMaster> LOUDER, PIG !
> OINK OINK ONNK snort snort SQUEEEEEL !!!
HogMaster> :)
HogMaster> good piggie
> thank you SIR
>thank you SIR
HogMaster> you gotta a pix, pig?
> I have a profile page SIR.
Vern typed in a website address and sent it to the Master. He sat patiently and waited for a reply.
HogMaster> nice pix
HogMaster> PIG
> squeeeeeel. Thankyou SIR!! Thank you.
Vern’s brother enter the bedroom. The computer screen went dark.
Randy was not upset at the closed connection. That happens often in chat rooms. He was close enough to cuming to finish the job off by himself. He thought about what it would be like to own his own gaining pig. A pig who wanted to be a big fat hog. That would be so sweet. Randy shot a load bigger than usual. It rocked his world. He looked at the pix of pigson247.
“Not a bad porker.”
He wiped the cum off his belly and chest, turned off the computer and fell into a deep sleep.
Vern slept well. He dreamt of being branded “HogMaster’s pig” and being led around a leather bar wearing only a leather collar and chain. He was fat and hug and buck naked. Bare ass in the air. But no one dared to touch him. He was the HogMaster’s property. And his alone.
Vern woke the next morning and concealed his stained sleep shorts. He looked at his body in the mirror as he shaved. He was chubby in shape with a nice round belly that rode up and cupped his full chest. He had some fur on his chest and belly and a thin treasure trail to his privates. Not bad for a man who wanted to gain at least 100 pounds and be turned into a pig.
Recently, he only shaved on the days that he had a job interview. And today he was going to apply for the accounting position at Cuirview Publications. His employment guide gave him opportunity last week. He knew nothing of the company. Other than it published magazines and was in need of an accounting clerk to straighten up their subscription files.
Randy sat in the office and waited for the next appointment. He had bought the magazine company from a buddy who was ill and had just passed away. His friend had let the company slide and it showed in the drop in subscription services and the quality of the magazine. Not to mention the accounting - account payable and accounts receivable.
He was going to tackle one thing at a time. And today Randy was going to hire a new accountant to make his life easier. Or so he thought.
Vern sat nervously in the outer office. He stared at the cover art of the magazine that covered the walls. Cuirview was a gay leather mag. Fuck! His mother wouldn’t let him get this as a job. And his brother would beat him up for sure if he knew his baby brother was having a hard on while waiting for a job interview.
The receptionist was a butch little number. In the eighties, he would be called a clone. Today, a "circuit boi". Clipped hair and trimmed moustache. About twenty years old and five percent body fat. He would alternate his gaze from the porn magazine he was reading, and glaring at Vern’s round gut. And he thought he saw the circuit boy mouth the words, “tubby boy” when Vern entered the room.
Randy opened his office door. And spoke to the receptionist, “Kelly, is my 11 o’clock here?
Kelly motioned over to Vern. Randy’s eyes opened wide. He knew who the next candidate was. Pigson247. In the real world. What a rush.
Vern stared at Randy. He caught his breath. He lowered his eyes slightly and stood up. He was a little wobbly. He was going to shake the hand of the Master. HogMaster. In the real world. What a rush.
“Hello, sir. I am Vern LaMarsh. A pleasure.” Vern extended his hand and met Randy halfway, and gave his hand a firm yet gentle handshake.
“Glad you’re on time, LaMarsh.”
Randy started walking back into his office. Vern followed behind him. Randy stood at the door and he motioned for Vern to sit at one of the chairs by his desk.
“Kelly, we will be busy for the next hour or so. I’ve got a lot to go over with LaMarsh. Take your lunch early if you want.”
Kelly grunted and put down his porn magazine and prepared to leave.
“And Kelly, lock the door when you leave. And put a sign on the door. Out to lunch.”
Randy closed the office door and walked back to his desk. It was a fine large mahogany desk that spoke of times when the magazine was the hot item of the 1980’s. That was before the leatherworld got hit with illness and despair and then became the dress code of the late nineties. The basis for leathersex was staging a resurgence due to the internet and it was Randy’s desire to keep the magazine afloat in print as well as in cyberspace.
Vern sat in the overstuffed leather chair facing Randy. He watched the man of his desires sit opposite him. He heard his instructions to the receptionist. He was at a lost for words and actions and he started to hyperventilate.
“Do you want a drink? Pig?”
“Is this a scene or I don’t know? Or are we still doing the interview.”
“You got the job before you got here. Pig.”
Vern sighed a smile of relief. But remained confused.
“Then why am I here?”
“Cause I’m the boss. Your resume was great. Your referrals matched and the only reason you lost your last job was some dumb ass cooked the books and let you take the fall. And then confessed he destroyed the evidence to clear you. So, you have a choice. Pig.”
Vern sat upright in the chair, uncertain of the next sentence.
“You can sue McCormick and Sons and wait forever to get any money from them, ‘cause they’re fucked. Or you can work for me as my accountant. Pig.”
“Is that all, sir?”
Vern held his breath in anticipation. Please. Please. Please. Tell me what I want to hear, he thought to himself.
“You will be my accountant. And my pig.”
Vern let out a quiet little squeal. He grinned like a Cheshire cat or should I say, Cheshire pig.
Randy opened the door to his home. It was in the better part of town. Gentrified within an inch of its life. A delightful painted lady. Another benefit of knowing the top real estate agents in the town. And having them as fuckbuddies and frequent visitors to his dungeon.
Vern was still in a daze. Within a few hours he had gone from being a unemployed wimp of an accountant, still living with his mother and older brother to being the potential possession of the Master of his dreams. In a house of his dreams. He kept himself from hyperventilating by thinking about his new job. Meaning the accountant job, not as the Master’s pig. That was not a job but a dream come true.
Randy showed Vern where his bedroom was and the adjoining office. He felt that it would be best to keep Vern at the house and have him telecommute. That way he could stay in character as the pig. So Randy could control his whereabouts. He would introduce Vern to the role of being the pig gradually, so it would become second nature to him. And his main goal in life. To be the best and biggest hog in town.
Vern’s mother was not pleased with the change and Vern’s brother thought it was queer for Vern to accept living accommodations from a complete stranger. But Vern didn’t care anymore. He was where he wanted to be. And soon he would be what he wanted to be. He just wondered how a pig could balance books with hooves for fingers.
It didn’t take long for Vern to set up his new bedroom. It had a lovely view of the bay. The style was spartan but comfortable. It had a single bed, a simple bureau and side table. An average size closet on one side and the other wall was a full length mirror.
Randy supplied Vern with a new state of the art computer in his office. That was where Vern focused his energies during the day to take the magazine out of the muck and make his new Master happy.
It was not too difficult to see how bad the situation was. Vern spent the next two weeks just inputting information so it could be shifted and adapted to suit the needs of the company. Just as Vern was shifting and adapting his thought patterns to suit the needs of his Master.
Randy treated Vern with respect and dignity while Vern was acting as the employee of Cuirview Magazine. But once the end of shift whistle blew, Vern was expected to be on call for the Master and to assume the role of the submissive pig. The Master’s property.
The shift whistle blew. It was five o’clock. Time to become a pig in training. He anticipated the whistle and at times, became aroused as he stripped off his clothes and put on the pig’s collar and leash.
Vern walked down the stairs to the living room, and planted himself on a special pig-rug by Randy’s leather recliner. Vern was expected to stay on all fours until given permission by the Master. He was allowed to stand on two feet while making dinner. But he would have to serve it in a submissive position. And have Randy watch him pour his own food into a plastic trough on the floor by the dining table.
It didn’t take Vern long to learn how to eat like a pig. He got the idea from watching a bird drink water. He would fill his mouth with the food and chew it until it was ready. He would arch his head back and swallow while maintaining the appearance of being a pig at a trough.
Randy enjoyed training Vern to be his pig. He had played with role playing, even with his wife, and got aroused by taking full control. He liked the advantage of going over the edge with his verbal abuse of his pig.
“Hey, porker.”
“Oink.”
“You’re not getting as fat as you should, pig.”
“Oink oink oink>”
“But then, what would you know. Fat Ass!”
Vern muttered a softer, sadder, “Oink.”
Randy took Vern’s cue and stepped it up a notch. His face became flushed with excitement.
“Let’s see that pig butt, Oinker.”
Vern got back up on all fours and presented himself to his Master.
His furry butt and back fur were sheared to 1/4” to match his growing beard and chest hair. It gave the appearance of a pig’s fur. The rough texture of crackling.
Randy took out a condom and a tub of lube. Quickly, he had Vern greased up and ready to go. With each thrust, Vern squealed a bit louder and louder.
“Make noises for the Master, pig.”
“Oink oink, snort, snort, squeal.”
Vern’s back arched and bucked as Randy kept ploughing into his property. Faster and faster. Randy’s belly slapped against Vern’s growing backside. Pound. Pound. Slap. Slap. Pound. Slap. Butt slap. Belly slap.
Randy howled like a bear in heat as he came in his prized possession. He lay sweating and exhausted on the fat back of his pig. He slowly regained his composure and dismounted the quivering mound of flesh.
Vern was pleased he made his Master come. He was pleased wearing his Master’s collar and leash. This was only the beginning to a life of servitude.
Two months had passed and Randy and Vern had settled into a daily routine of magazine work, pig training and complete submission by the pig. Vern’s family had visited his new home once. Vern had gained fifty pounds since moving in with Randy, so his brother had ample reason to laughed at how fat his baby brother had become. After that, no further telephone calls, or letters. It made Vern wonder why he had placed so much importance in being the good boy. When he should have been focused on being the good pig.
Randy weighed his pig once and week and marked on a wall chart, the pig’s progress. If Vern had gained weight, he would receive a treat. which often amounted to an outing in the car. Covered in a blanket and ordered to be quiet during the entire trip. And sometimes the reward was extra food. Like chocolate. Vern loved chocolate. Especially when it was broken up and put in his trough. It was difficult to get at it, which made the struggle even more special to the pig. He had to eat the chocolate to keep his Master happy. That is what he lived for. To keep his Master happy and to be the best pig he could be.
Six months had passed since that fateful day when Vern walked into Randy’s office. Kelly, the receptionist, had run off with a sugar daddy from New Mexico. The magazine had regained it position in the top ten in international sales for the fat gay bear fetish leather market.
It had gained significant inroads for their markets of the fat pig porn video dvd market. Seeing men eat and get fat and then get fucked and sucked and .. whatever, had become the new “in thing” to have in your porn collection. Bears were passé and fat hogs were hot.
Randy had secretly been taping all of Vern’s progress from fat chubby to pig to big fat hog. He spliced the images of sexy obese having sex with other sexy obese men. Ball belly bears, pudgy pudding boys, and happy hogs were favourite subjects for the cover-art of the dvd’s.
Vern had agreed to be filmed having sex with all the different men that his Master had arranged. He sucked and serviced and took the pain and pleasure of punishment by his Master’s hand, paddle or flogger.
Vern was reduced to walking on all fours all the time now. Randy had refashioned flooring knee pads into two sets of hooves - on Vern’s hands and knees. His belly hung almost to the floor as he crawled. He did not venture outside at all anymore. He was buck naked all the time. Ready for sex, for food, for whatever his Master wanted of him. Even his office keyboard and screen were placed on the floor.
The one year anniversary of Randy’s ownership of Vern was a special day for both of them. Randy had taken his pig out for a drive. The bright light was harsh on Vern’s eyes. His skin was bright pink, scrubbed and shiny crackling for this special day.
When they returned home, Vern returned to his normal position on the floor. Randy let him by his leash to his bedroom.
“I had changes done to your room, pig. More suitable for a big fat hog of your position.”
Randy opened the bedroom door to reveal an empty room. No bed, no desk, no bureau. Just straw on the floor and a wooden picket fence pigpen in the corner.
“Squeeeeeal.”
Vern’s butt wiggled and he bounced up and down, shaking his belly fat and the rest of his porcine body.
“Go inside, pig. You deserve it.”
Vern waddled into the room. His four hundred pound mass of fat and blubber could hardly get through the door. But once in, Vern rolled and frolicked in the straw and settled into his pig pen. There was a special new trough for him at one end and a shiny water dish for him to drink out of. He was certainly the happiest pig on the planet.
Later that night, Vern was woken up by Randy. Randy stood at the doorway. His frame was silhouetted by the light. He was in his leathers. Tight leather shirt and chaps with blue jeans underneath. High biker boots and leather cap. He was a wet dream for any man let alone a pig.
He replaced Vern’s collar with a new studded on. They both smiled.
“Here’s your going out collar, pig.”
Vern shook his head and fat neck and enjoyed the new weight and smell of the leather. He was a happy pig.
“Now that you are a full fledged pig. My pig. I can take you out now without embarrassing me.”
Vern lowered his head in respect.
“So, when you go out with me, as my pig, you will wear this collar, leather jock and special butt plug. ‘Cause no one gets your pig ass other than me.”
Randy gave Vern the jockstrap. He was able to slip it on and it disappeared under his immense belly apron. Randy then slapped his pig on the butt, and gently slipped a custom butt-plug into his pig’s butt-hole.
It was a butt-plug with a plastic curly pig tail at the end. With it inserted, it looked like his pig had a real pig’s tail.
Vern looked at himself in the mirror. He was a big fat hog. He made his Master happy. And he had a pig’s tail. He was now complete.
“Oink.”
“Louder, pig.”
“OINK!”
“Good pig. My pig.”
- 30 -
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