By Kevin’s Path

“Maaaarooouuuh?”

“Maaahwwrroooaaauuuuooow!”

“Hhhhhssssssss!”

Fluffypuff was supremely irritated. I could distinctly hear her little cat paws scratching at the bottom of the closet door. I could hear her pushing her front paws under the door and trying to stretch them out into the hallway, as if she entertained a desperate hope to somehow squeeze the rest of her fat fluffy body out through the crack. I could hear her pause, completely silent, pressing her face and her sensitive ears into the crack under the door to hear some sign. Fluffypuff desperately wanted to be free of the closet, where she had been locked away. I was powerless to help or comfort her, but I completely understood how she must feel being locked here in the closet all day with me. Cats don’t cope well with captivity.

Another stream-of-consciousness monologue begins inside my head. This helps me to keep my mind active. And, it is saying, “Fluffypuff was supremely irritated…”

Me? I’ve been locked in this closet for – I don’t know exactly – but the air had turned cold for a while, then damp and humid, then muggy, now just dry. The last specific day that I can identify was in February 2014 when I lost a Superbowl bet. I have ever since been confined here, and I know that was a long time ago. I am locked in a box with my head sticking out of a hole in the top of it. There is a thick padded collar around my neck where it comes out of the hole. The padded collar supports my head and neck all around and keeps my chin up.

I hear but don’t see the cat, because my blinders are on. My wrists, my ankles, and my legs above the knee are fixed into three different sets of stocks. My pelvis is strapped into a bucket seat. My chest and torso are buckled to a post. My shoulders are pulled up into shoulder pads in the box lid by cords looped through my armpits. I can’t really move my body at all inside. I stay boxed up like this for most of every day. I feel like a floating disembodied head, and it sometimes makes me want to howl and squeeze through the door crack too.

“Suck. Suck. Suck…”

There is cork on the walls and ceiling to deaden sound. I can’t hear much from outside beyond the closet, but my keeper has a baby monitor mounted on the box near my head. If I did start howling at the door, like Fluffypuff, he would be able to hear it. He has gotten me trained to sit quietly like he wants. My pig mouth is not for talking or making any kind of loud noise. That’s why I’m supposed to keep this giant oversized pacifier in my mouth whenever my full-face muzzle isn’t locked on. It has a bulbous silicone teat that’s about 3 inches long and 2 inches wide attached to an official Seattle Seahawks Superbowl XLVIII commemorative faceplate. I suckle on it quietly whenever I am bored or frustrated. It does make me feel better sometimes.

“Suck. Suck. Suck…”

Now I hear her down at her bowl indignantly lapping up the water. She has been provisioned for the day with a cat dish full of wet cat food, a bowl of water, and a separate large heaping bowl of crunchy dry cat food. She is eating the wet sloppy cat food. I can tell by the combination of dainty quiet licking sounds and occasional quiet chewing. She is savoring it, one morsel at a time. I can smell it. It isn’t the Classic Salmon Dinner this time. I think it is the Savory Shreds Turkey & Cheese Dinner with Gravy. After she eats a little more of that, she then goes over to the dry food bowl, and I start to hear her crunching and cracking the dry cat chow in her teeth. I have serious doubts if Fluffypuff could manage to jump her fat ass out through a wide open window, never mind squeeze it through the crack of a door.

When I listen to her eat, it makes my stomach start to growl. I am salivating again, and it starts to drip out down my chin. My feeding schedule is kept deliberately irregular and unpredictable; so, I have no idea when I’m going to get to eat again or what it will be, but I am sure it won’t be turkey with gravy. I don’t get any choices about that. My keeper is philosophically opposed.

At one time, I had the notion that if I just tried really, really hard to obey him and make him happy, then he would feel something back toward me and – probably not let me go – but, maybe at least, treat me more like a human being. That totally backfired.

“You know that I really enjoy hanging out with you,” he says, “but, let’s just step back and get some perspective here. You are a fuckin’ pig after all.”

I moved my head up and down, meaning “Yes, I know I am a fuckin’ pig.”

“See pig, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea again and get all confused just because you’re in love with me now. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that you’ve accepted your situation and given up trying to fight me. But, try to understand that it complicates things and places an additional burden on me. Things have to stay in proper order … the way they are supposed to be. I realize I’m kind of like a god to you now, since I control everything in your little piggy life. I know you want to be closer to me and be my bitch, but I really like you just the way you are.”

I remember how he fondled the giant yellow pig tags in my ears and then gave me a big kiss on the front of my muzzle.

“So, from now on, I want you only eating pig slops, which is going to be whatever leftovers I find, grind up in my blender, and decide to stuff in your snout. You eat it with enthusiasm and gratitude. You eat it all. You don’t really even need to know what it is. That’s just how it needs to be.”

“You can let me now that you understand and completely agree, pig.”

I tilted my head back and sniffed twice, meaning “Thank you for making me eat pig slops to … uhm … I guess … help me understand that you’re my god?”

And, feedings are even more totally humiliating. I used to have to present my pig mouth gaping wide as I could get it with my pig tongue out. Then, he would feed me everything by hand, telling me when I could chew, when to stop chewing, and when I could swallow each mouthful.

Now, the way we do it is – He loosens the posture collar around my neck enough so that I can tilt back my head and point my snout at the ceiling. He wedges the narrow end of a wide plastic funnel between my teeth with my lips stretched around it in an “O”. Then, while I wait that way, he’ll go out to the kitchen and hunt for leftovers. I might be waiting that way for a minute or an hour. I have difficulty sometimes keeping my head arched all the way back as far as it can go. That’s one of the reasons that I’ve recently been rung. (The other reason is to prevent me from rooting on the ground or engaging in other destructive foraging behaviors with my nose.) Anyway, he loops a cord through the ring in my nose and ties it off tight behind me to make me keep my head back.

If he leaves the closet door ajar, I’ll eventually start hearing the blender whirl. When he comes back again with the blender carafe, I’m supposed to poke my tongue out through the hole in the bottom of the funnel to let him see how grateful and eager I am to get my pig slops.

He’ll say, “There’s a good piggy – licking the hole of your face funnel. You slobber that up now so the slops will slide through. Tell me when you’re ready.”

Sometimes I’ll have my blinders on, sometimes not. In any case, the mouth of the funnel is all I can see above me in my field of view. I’m supposed to make convincing happy pig grunts into the mouth of the funnel when I’m ready to gulp it down. Then, I take a deep breath and hold it. I will start to feel it trickling down the funnel, at first slowly, then faster if I’m having no trouble keeping up.

He is very considerate about not overwhelming me with too much slop all at once. It upsets him if he accidently pours it down too fast and makes me choke on it; so, I try my best to just keep swallowing at a steady pace no matter what it tastes like. I think I am better off not knowing what it is. I can’t gulp continuously and also breathe; so, the goal ideally is for me to down it all within about 60 seconds before I need another breath.

“Dude, I just had a great idea! I know you get a little lonely sometimes, boxed up in here when I’m not around. And, I know I’ve been around less lately … just because I’ve got some personal stuff going on. But, when you’re lonely, you know, you could pray to me – like, silently in your head, I mean. You’d feel closer to me. I was just thinking to myself, that would be so cool!”

Sometimes the slop is more gloppy and thixotropic in its consistency. In those situations, it will take several breaths, and he’ll help to push the rest of it down my hole with a spatula. When the flow stops, I’m supposed to stick my tongue in and out of the hole again to get it clean at the bottom while he fills the inside of the carafe with some soapy detergent water and then drains the wash water down the funnel into me also. We’ll repeat that process however many times until the carafe and the funnel are both rinsed totally clean.

“Suck. Suck. Suck…”

But, here I am again going on and on about me when I should be paying attention to Fluffypuff. I feel her batting at her squeaky mouse toy, which means that she wants to play again. I am the god of the squeaky mouse toy; for, only I have the power to bounce it around to delight and entertain her! I start bobbing my head and rotating it back and forth to make the mouse bounce up and down onto the floor and into the air. Fluffypuff starts to make increasingly excited “meow” sounds as she races after it back and forth across the closet space, almost catching it in her paws, but oh no, it slips away again!

The mouse is tied to an elastic cord. The other end is anchored to a wand that you could hold in your hand to whip the thing away just right when she’s ready to pounce on it, driving her crazy. Of course, I don’t have the use of my hands. However, the handle of the wand is attached to the top of the handle of a toilet plunger that’s been firmly plunged and sealed to my fleshly shaved and polished head – thus enabling my magic mouse control powers. Now, I jerk my head all the way to the left, and Fluffypuff scrambles frantically, loses control over her own momentum, and then slams her immense fat body into the closet wall. Bang! Oh, that one must have hurt.

“Meow!”

Now I hear and feel a big thump as Fluffypuff lands on the lid of my box. I feel her brush past my head. Then I hear another kind of scratching sound, which I also recognize. Oh no, not again so soon. That would be Fluffypuff scratching in her litter box getting ready to take another big dump. The litterbox is located on the lid of the box in front of my nose. In a few moments I smell a very strong odor. I must immediately make loud sniffing sounds and inhale deeply, because I am required to display convincing pig-like enthusiasm and interest when presented with anything smelly. It’s a rule.

I’m blind with very limited sensory input; so, a cat turd is like fireworks to me. Inhaling all the different odors that waft out of Fluffypuff’s litter at least gives me something to do. Without it I have nothing, just crushing empty darkness and silence and hunger that hollows me out and deadens my mind.

“Pwrrrrrrrrrhh”

Fluffypuff steps out of the litterbox and then starts sidling her body up against my face and repeatedly rubbing her little cat face against me. I don’t know if this is affection. I think she is really just marking me with her scent. I feel her big ambivalent fluffy tail whipping around me. Then she sits her ass down and stretches herself out wedged between the litterbox and my face. This isn’t the first time she’s done this. She’s leaning into my face, and her cat hair is going up my nose. Yeah. She’s definitely trying to smother me with her fur. She begins to purr loudly and contentedly.

“Suck. Suck. Suck…”

I’m not especially allergic, but I can only stand this so long. I feel like I need to sneeze. I suck in my breath and do a forceful exhale out my nose to launch my snot into her fur. She hates that.

“Hhhhhssssssss! Rrreeeerrrr!”

She leaps up hissing and smacks me. I feel her claws raking the back of my head. Even the cat abuses me, but at least I got her off my face. Sometime later, the closet door opens, and Fluffypuff goes racing out the door to freedom.

“Dude! You’re all bloody. You look like a horror show. Did you disrespect Fluffypuff?”

I move my head left and right, meaning “No, I would never disrespect Fluffypuff” while my keeper rubs antiseptic into the claw marks on my head.

“Bad pig! I already told you it’s your responsibility to entertain Fluffpuff when she’s locked in the closet. You know it upsets her to be stuck in here all day with you. I feel bad about it, but my new boyfriend Ryan is allergic, and I have to stick her somewhere when he stays over. I really would appreciate it if you’d just be cool about it and help with this.”

I moved my head up and down meaning, “Yes, I understand now, and I will be cool while you hit that.” This was the first time I ever heard about Ryan.

I guess there comes a time in every relationship. You are dating, and things turn serious. You sit down together and you have that necessary, awkward but unavoidable conversation: “Baby, we’ve agreed you are moving in. But before you do, I should probably tell you about this guy that I keep as a human pig locked in my closet…”

At least, that is how I imagine the conversation might go down.

I thought that I had reached a steady state level of humiliating bondage. I knew what I could expect now for the rest my … existence. But, that was all before I finally met the other pig.

My keeper brought someone into the closet to see me. I could hardly believe it. Since I was captured, for all that time I’d never known anyone except my keeper. Other people didn’t really exist for me anymore.

“What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have a name. Just ‘pig’ or ‘piggy.’”

“Hey, I like your ear tags, piggy. Hard core! I want to get a pair of these.”

The guy grabbed hold of one of my ear tags and flipped it around, inspecting it. I moved my head left and right, because I felt uncomfortable having my tags handled by a stranger.

My keeper said, “Let Ryan look at you, pig.”

Ryan had red curly hair and a freckled face with a rosy pink color. He had a ring in is nose and extenders in his ears.

Ryan asked, “So, he’s doing some kind of bondage scene with you here where you lock him in a box in the closet?”

My keeper said, “Yes. This pig is really into long-term bondage and confinement. He also loves punishment and humiliation. So – you know – I do my best to satisfy all his needs and keep him happy.”

“So, how does he tell you when he’s done, and he wants out?”

My keeper said, “He’s not allowed to speak, but he has a secret sign that he gives to let me know he’s had enough.”

I do? Sure wish I knew what it was.

My keeper said, “You will find that I am a very safe and sane bondage top, Ryan. I will ALWAYS respect your limits as a bottom.”

Ryan put his hands on my muzzle and felt it admiringly. He jiggled the lock that sits atop the face guard under my nose. I sniffed at his hand. He checked out the thick posture collar that supports my neck.

“May I see what he looks like inside the box?”

My keeper said, “Not right now. I’d have to get the key and unlock it. It might spoil the experience of close tight confinement for him. Mostly, it’s best to leave him alone this way so that he can stay in his head-space.”

“Wow, you sure are a lucky pig!” said Ryan. He rubbed my head. He got a very noticeable hard-on in his jeans from seeing me confined this way in the box.

I moved my head up and down, meaning “I am a lucky pig.” My eyes were wide with wonder about it all. If only I could speak to ask … anything.

They went out together and locked the closet door again. I heard Ryan ask, “If I move in, can I play with him too?”

I neither saw nor heard any more of Ryan for some time after that strange meeting. But, I also stopped seeing the cat anymore after that.

I don’t know why, but my skin started drying out badly. I started to itch and flake all over. My keeper started talking about Ryan again while he was exfoliating me. I was on my hands and knees on the work bench under a lamp. He lathered my skin and rubbed it with a pumice stone to get all the dead skin off. After that, he sponged me off with water and rubbed some moisturizer all over me.

“There’s a good piggy, up on my work bench with your butt in the air. It feels good getting your itchy skin rubbed off, doesn’t it pig?”

I moved my head up and down yes. My pig wiener was hard. It gets like that when he pays attention to me.

“The guy that came in to see you the other day – Ryan – he is going to be spending some time here in the house. I met him at a Christmas party last year. I don’t know how much contact you will have with him, but if you do encounter him, you will obey him and do whatever he tells you just like you do me. He’s my guest for now and might be staying a longer time.”

“Remember our rule: pigs don’t start conversations with people. You are not to volunteer any information to him, like about how you came to be here or who you were before you came here. As far as he understands, you’re just some freaky guy who is here doing a consensual long-term bondage scene with me. He doesn’t need to know that you’re a prisoner and can’t leave. And, I think you know me well enough by now to understand if you try some clever way to communicate your real situation to him, I will fix it and fix you too.”

“I realize I said a mouthful to you. Do you need me to repeat any of it?”

I moved my head left-right, no.

“You be a good piggy and cause me no problems with Ryan. Got it?” I moved my head up-down, yes.

It wasn’t in my mind to escape. I wouldn’t seek a clever way. I had spent a lot of time locked up in isolation looking at four walls, or not even that if my blinders were on. The only relief I get from stupefying boredom that slows down my brain to a crawl is when my keeper comes. I used to have complicated dreams; now I dream of food. It’s hard to overemphasize the effect of that compounding over time. I gradually slipped from being just lonely and hungry, longing for engagement and food, to longing for the guy who gives me the engagement and food. I know the feeling of dependence and attachment is artificially put into me through conditioning, but I still feel it anyway. I don’t just obey and do what I’m told like a good pig; I want to. I can’t help it.

Next time I saw Ryan, I was tethered to a toilet bowl. The tether had sufficient slack in the line allowing me to reach into any of the four corners of the bathroom to do my work. Every so often, I’m allowed out to usefully vent my pent up energy cleaning the floor and fixtures. It’s a privilege. I enjoy having something to do. I was deep in a corner getting mildew and soap scum out from between tiles.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t know there was anybody in here.”

I knelt up facing him to make myself available.

“Um, I just wanted to use the facilities. Could you just go back to what you’re doing and ignore me?”

I got back down in the corner.

A little later, he said “Hey come back up here a second. I want to ask you something.” I got back up again.

“So, how come you’re always muzzled and you never talk?”

I looked at him, wondering how to answer that, since it wasn’t a yes-no question. Nobody asks me complicated questions. I moved my head left-right.

“You don’t know. You just do whatever he wants?”

I moved my head up-down.

“But, you have some pre-arranged limits?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. I moved my head left-right.

“I’m just trying to understand more about how your relationship with him works. Hah! I guess it isn’t so easy to explain, is it?” I moved my head left-right.

“Yeah, OK. Peace, pig. Catch you later.”

I went back to my work. That was weird – him talking to me.

The next time I saw Ryan was even weirder. He had replaced his ear extenders with a pair of swine ear tags similar to the ones that had been punched into my ears. His tags were pink, and the tags were a different shape.

He said, “Hey pig! Look, I got markings just like you. I’m your pig brother now!”

They were sow tags – for a female pig. I wondered if he knew that.

“Your keeper is training me to be his pig too. He keeps me tethered to the bedpost of his bed with a chain attached to my nose ring. I have to be available at all times to be fucked. He is so demanding!”

Oh, brother.

The situation with Ryan was further explained to me when I was up on the workbench again. I was on hands and knees with my blinders on.

“Ryan is very fascinated by you, pig. He is exploring his submissive bottom side and thinks he wants to be like you. That’s why he put pig tags in his ears. That is why he is asking you questions. Here, open your snout wide for me pig.”

He stuck his thumb in and told me to suck it. He started saying something else, but I didn’t hear because my mouth exploded. Oh my god! Peanut butter! Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck.

He pulled his thumb out, then inserted it again giving me another hit. He was saying something about how Ryan is very impressionable and needs someone to give him rules and direction. I sucked another hit of peanut butter off his thumb and got an erection. It is so creamy, …, and salty, …, and nutty.

“Ha! Horny pig. I’m moving my peanut butter jar over here to protect it from your advances.”

I licked more peanut butter out of his thumb nail. My tongue was slick with peanut oil.

“Maybe you could spend some time with Ryan, be a little piggy mentor to him, pig.”

“Pig?”

I sucked another big glob of peanut butter off his thumb. I’m gonna suck you so hard! Without warning my toes curled. “Mmwuh!” My back arched, and I painted the bench top with a spontaneous peanut butter induced orgasm.

“What the fuck? Look at this mess!”

“You know, I’ve got enough problems now without you spraying your jiz all over me, pig! This Ryan is a handful – all the time after me to chain him to the bed, tie him up, fuck him, make him beg – he’s so demanding, and it’s giving me pressure. I come down here looking for a little support from you, and what do you do? You just wind up and spray your pig juice on me! Some friend you are, pig!”

He digs his fingers in under the back of my collar and mashes my face into the benchtop. “Get your fucking face in there and clean that up, peanut head! Unbelievable!”

It was so intense I was still getting little aftershocks. He boxed me and promised to come back with more punishment later. I wanted to tell him I’m sorry, and also “thank you, thank you, thank you.” But, I didn’t know how to; so, it was left unsaid. He left me blind and dumb in my prison, still mad at me.

Some days passed before I was allowed out of the closet again. There was no immediate talk of further punishment, and I’d like to think he would just let it go. But, it didn’t seem likely. I felt anxious because of the uncertainty hanging over me. I encountered Ryan in the bathroom when I was again tethered to the toilet for cleaning duty.

“Hey, pig brother. You know, I don’t want you to be worried about me being here. I think there is room enough for both of us here. I know you have this close relationship with your keeper, and you are such an intense hard-core pig. You definitely have nothing to worry about as far as your place here.”

“So, what I mean is, pig, we both understand what our places are here, don’t we? And, there’s no conflict. You are the pain and humiliation type-pig, because that is your scene. I am more of a sex pig, because that’s more my scene.”

Ryan looked at me with some type of expectation. Finally, he said, “Pig, you can move your head up and down, ‘yes’ to tell me that you understand, and you know your place.”

I moved my head up and down, meaning “Yes, I know my place.”

He was tricked out in gay bling. He had a slave collar and a cock ring and a butt plug in. He showed it to me – the part that stuck out.

“I’m only allowed to remove my butt plug with permission.”

He climbed up on the vanity and checked out his own ass in the mirror. He had a new slap tag tattoo on this ass that said “PIGGY,” just like my slap tag. I looked up at him from down on the floor. He wants me to mentor Ryan, but Ryan is a little out of my comfort zone. I really have no skill set for precocious gay bondage boys.

Ryan said, “Hey, pain pig. I know something about you. I heard you are really into cock-and-ball torture. That’s really hard-core, and I don’t know if I’d want to do that, but your keeper said you can never get enough of it. I was thinking I could maybe learn how to help you satisfy your CBT needs. I’d really like us to be friends, and maybe I can help you get off on that.”

I started to move my head right-left, meaning “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Yeah, I know you are being polite, and you don’t want to impose. Lie down on the bath mat on your back, and pull your legs up over your head.” I hesitated and continued moving my head right-left; so, he reminded me, “Chop. Chop. You’re a pig, and I know you have to do whatever you’re told. Don’t make me say again.”

Doing what he asked put me on the floor with my legs spread and my balls up in the air. Ryan knelt between my legs and began in a very focused and attentive way to practice striking my ball sack from different angles and different levels of intensity with a spatula (actually, the same one we use to push my pig slops down the hole.)

At first, I was just in shock. But, then an incredibly strong aching pulse and gut-tightening pressure radiated in waves out of my testicles up into my kidneys and abdomen. And, it continued as he continued. My eyes watered. I started trying to curl up and roll over away, but Ryan came around and sat spread-eagle on top of my chest with his ass in my face and continued swinging the paddle down on my scrotum from above while holding me down in position with his weight.

Oh no. Please don’t do that.

“Don’t be shy. He told me you always love to get your snout up a guy’s ass.”

He sat himself further up on me so my nose was in his ass crack, leaving me no choice. I am required to show convincing pig-like interest and enthusiasm presented with anything smelly; so, now I had to start rooting in his ass, sniffing loudly, and inhaling deeply while he sat on my face. I’ve been up my keeper’s ass hours at a time and been so completely trained on this. But, I don’t like rooting in a stranger’s ass. It’s weird.

I started making noises through the muzzle and breathing hard. That’s OK. I’m actually allowed to make pig noises while smelling feet or ass. It’s one of the only times I’m allowed to be anything other than silent.

Ryan straddled my upturned legs with his own and kept my knees pinned at either side of my head, forcing my groin higher in the air. I couldn’t escape the strikes. He interspersed a random full-out slam square on them with intermediate glancing blows. Then he alternated short pops focusing on the right and left gonads. The full-out slams made me go blind for a moment with violent colors dancing in my eyes. Aching pain washed into my thighs and up my lower back like a liquid. I started to feel dizzy and ill. He practiced a low building crescendo of strikes, then compared the effect to that of a rapid percussive drum roll using his two open hands, alternating.

I was moaning and shaking my head with emphasis, meaning “please, please stop banging on my nads.”

He said, “I realize you are just acting desperate because that’s part of your scene. I do the same thing when I’m getting fucked. I go, ‘No! Please! I can’t take that! You’re so massive!’ Don’t worry, pig. Your keeper showed me your secret sign that you make, which means that you’ve really had enough and want it to stop. I promise I’ll stop immediately if I see that.”

Having paused to catch his breath, he then resumed. He pulled some ointment out the vanity and started rubbing it on my pig wiener. That alarmed me, because no one’s ever supposed to be doing that. I’m already in so much trouble.

But, I soon realized I didn’t need to worry at all about getting any forbidden joy with my penis, because whatever he rubbed in started burning, and then I felt like my cock and balls were stinging and on fire.

Oh god! Owww! This was some kind “pain relief” cream. It seems like some kind of cruel joke to call it that. It’s not like a strike to my balls that goes away. This just keeps coming, and he is still rubbing it in.

I don’t have a secret sign! Ryan, please, I don’t know any secret sign! Ryan heard me trying to tell him, but it just sounded like “whrul, whrul whrul whu rrrwrhulll.”

“Hey, you stopped sniffing! Bad pig! I know you’re not allowed to stop.”

After he finished giving me pain relief, he then picked up the spatula again and continued to experiment with the combination of the continuous burning and the percussive striking at the same time. I started to make snorting bursts of air through my nose, which was me convulsively expelling air as more waves of pain hit me, then not able to fill my lungs up before the next one hit. He somehow thought that I was laughing ecstatically; so, he laughed too. He sat himself further up on me so my nose was farther in his ass crack. I couldn’t get my breath. I felt like I was going to pass out.

When he finally stopped, I immediately curled into a sweaty ball on the floor, twitching with nervous pain shivers going up and down my legs and through my stomach. I kept my eyes closed because it hurt to look at anything. I threw up a little in my mouth and swallowed the bile back down. Ryan got down on the floor and hugged me.

He said, “Oh, I guess this is what a pain pig orgasm looks like. This is you getting off. It’s so hot! I’m happy I was able to get you there.”

Ryan lubed his cock and started working it into my ass to fuck me. I had up to this moment never been fucked before in my life. My keeper had no interest, because he didn’t want pig shit on his tool. And, just to be clear about it – I’m not gay. Not that my orientation matters much, since I’m a fuckin’ cat toy and sub-human to begin with.

I couldn’t make my body work to put up any resistance. I felt like my whole nervous system was shorted out. He turned me onto my back again, drove it in, and just joyfully raped me. I didn’t even begin to know what to do. Ryan came in about a minute, then pulled out of me. I was just frozen and shivering.

He said, “I got a little carried away. I’m really not supposed to cum without permission. But, hey, you won’t tell on me, will you pig brother? It can be our secret. I helped with you your pain pig needs, and you helped me with my fucking needs. You got me excited. Your keeper wants me to keep it down to once a week. It’s crazy. How can anyone hold off that long?”

Ryan left me lying on the floor and told me I could go back to cleaning the bathroom tiles now.

Ryan was the house pig. Ryan would binge-watch House of Cards on Netflix in between fuck sessions; I was the other pig that lives in the closet looking at walls. Ryan had a name; I had an authentic 15 digit pig identification number from the USDA. Ryan could speak whenever he wanted to; I was allowed to have my muzzle unlocked to have my slop funnel inserted. Ryan could talk to my keeper; I still don’t even know his name. Ryan can screw around without consequences; I accidently jizzed one time in a year and am still not done paying for it. Maybe, we were pig brothers, but we were very different.

My keeper told me, “Ryan couldn’t believe how much ball busting you can take, pig. Ryan said, ‘My hand got tired beating him, and still he wouldn’t give the secret sign!’”

My keeper made a sound something between a snort and a chuckle. I couldn’t see his face, but I got that he was laughing at my predicament. He was holding my balls in his hand, having already noted with approval they were swollen up with purple blotches on them.

“He said you made him feel inadequate. Really, pig, couldn’t you be a little more giving? When you have your next ball busting session with Ryan, I want you to give him more encouragement and show him you enjoy what he’s doing to you. He’s very insecure. You don’t want to undermine his self-esteem do you?”

I moved my head left-right, left-right, left-right. No really. I can’t handle another ball busting session with Ryan. I can handle a lot of things, but I’d never had an experience like that. It’s only a matter of time if I keep having that. I’ll be damaged. How will I function as a man anymore? I was very afraid of it. It was worse than anything.

“Yes. Really. You know you need to be punished for what you did. It’s going to take a whole ‘nother year to get your pig balls fully charged up again.”

I moved my head left-right. No. Really, it doesn’t actually take that long. If only I could explain it to him.

“I feel like we need to reestablish some boundaries. You clearly need to have more structure and tighter restrictions imposed. I’m … I’m sorry if I’ve been neglecting your needs. It’s just this Ryan. He’s such a hot mess.”

He squeezed my sore nuts affectionately. “Don’t worry, pig. I’ve got some big new plans for these knockers of yours. You’ll see. It’s in the works.”

That night in my box, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve never been good at praying, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to try:

 

God, please forgive me for jizzing all over your work bench. I am so, so sorry. I know I’m supposed to keep my pig balls full. I know there’s no excuse and I have to be punished. Thank you for giving me structure and order and rules. Thank you for capturing me and keeping me and turning me into a piggy.  

I’m so worried about this Ryan. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now. You got rid of Fluffypuff so that Ryan could come, and what was I? I was a cat toy for her. I’m so sorry for disrespecting Fluffypuff. I know you like him a lot and he’s probably hot for a gay guy, but he seems a little crazy to me. I’m afraid of him. I know I have to comply, but I felt weird about him fucking me and keeping it a secret. Please protect me. Even though I’m your prisoner, I always feel safe with you. Amen.

 

That was the dumbest prayer in the history of prayers, but I wished he would hear it on some level.

I dreaded the next time that I would have to see Ryan, but it didn’t happen immediately. I stayed isolated in the closet for a while after that with no contact or knowledge of him. When next I was allowed out, my keeper took me on a leash, handcuffed, with my eyes open to a place I had never been before – his bedroom. I felt totally out of place. I’ve never been allowed out in people space with blinders off, except to clean the bathroom. I saw Ryan now again. He was chained to the bedpost by the ring in his nose, and he was kneeling naked on the floor with a hood over his head. Then, I also registered the metal cock cage between his legs. I’ve never felt so relieved to see another guy deprived of his cock. Ryan was getting some of his boundaries reestablished too.

“Hey pig. I’ve decided to let you spend a night here in the bedroom with us. What do you think about that?”

I didn’t know what to think. Why? Maybe he wants me to know I’m important to him, not less than Ryan? I got on the floor and sniffed his shoes, meaning “Thanks. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You’re welcome, pig. And, I’ve got a special place all set up for you. I’m going to put you up on a pedestal.”

Then I saw the special place. In the corner of the room was set up a pedestal. This pedestal had some things in common with my box. There was a pair of stocks above the top of the pedestal for my ankles and a second pair of similar restraints on the left and right outside of either foot for my wrists. Locking my wrists and ankles in them all together would place me squatting on the top of the pedestal with my knees up next to my shoulders and my arms pulled straight down either side of my torso. However, to squat down like that I’d have to squat on the dildo that was mounted on the pedestal where my butt lands behind by feet.

My keeper said, “Go ahead, piggy. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to squat on that now that Ryan’s broken you in.”

I don’t know how he could know, unless he’d actually heard my prayer.

I did manage to squat down on the dildo with my feet in the stocks. Then, he locked my wrists near my feet to keep me fixed in the squat. The top of the pedestal was a clear plastic plate. In front of the dildo behind my feet there was a hole. My ball bag covered the hole. With some effort my keeper was able to push first one ball, then the other, down through the hole so that my balls hung down below me from the underside of the plate that I squatted on. Then, there was a clear plastic back plate that mounted in the base plate behind my butt cheeks. And, then there were clear plastic side pieces that mounted in the base plate against my arms, shoulders and legs. So then, on top of the back plate and side plates was mounted a top plate in two halves with a neck shaped cutout and a chin rest that fixed my neck in its position and kept my head up. Then, there was a complicated faceplate with a giant oversized pacifier nipple that mounted on the top plate, and so on.

When he finished setting up my special place, it seemed at first as if it were just another box. Why let me out of the box to bring me here to put me in another tight box. What’s the point? But, then he turned it on, and I started to realize it was more than that. I heard a “pock” sound underneath me, which was the sound of a tennis ball launched upward by an air gun at the bottom of the pedestal, then bouncing off my balls hanging under me, finally falling back down into the bottom of the pedestal.

Uh oh. He said he had big new plans for my balls. The pacifier teat started inflating in my mouth

“You can start sucking on that now, pig. You have five minutes until the next tennis ball launch. You need to suck exactly 300 times, which is one suck per second. You’re currently about 35 sucks off-pace.”

OK…? What he said. I started sucking.

My keeper waited for an interval. After I sucked about 250 times, the tennis ball went “pock” a second time off my nut sack that was hanging down above the air gun. I grunted and started breathing heavy through my nose. What is this?

My keeper put his hand over his mouth and stifled a laugh. “Oh no! don’t stop sucking now, pig. That’s the worst thing you can do. You’re getting further behind.”

1. I started sucking again faster.

“And, don’t forget to count again.”

The tennis ball went “pock” now a third time underneath me at the point where I’d sucked about 240 times. My balls were throbbing. I couldn’t move. All I could do was squat on a dildo and stare at him and suck.

“Oh my God, you’re even further behind! You’re going to go into penalty mode now.”

I’m already getting socked in the balls every five minutes. What the fuck is penalty mode? Then, I started to feel pain and pressure building in my asshole.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry pig. I didn’t think you would screw this up so quickly. See, pig, this whole mechanism is air-driven. There’s an air gun that shoots the ball at your nuts. There’s air that inflates the pacifier so it completely fills your mouth and seals at your lips. And, then the other thing that you are probably just now becoming aware of, since you are in penalty mode, is that your dildo is starting to inflate. Unfortunately, once it starts expanding in this mode, it won’t ever stop until you are back on pace with your sucking.”

I started sucking double time, but no sooner did I start on that, I heard a louder “POCK” sound and saw stars in front of my eyes. I started hyperventilating. I made a sound like “Mmmfff?” because that could not have been five minutes yet.

“Oh, right … and the air gun will start launching every 30 seconds at twice the normal velocity in penalty mode. Sorry. My bad. I should have told you that too.”

I started really panicking and really sucking as fast as I could. I got POCKED again 30 seconds later while my asshole continued to dilate, but this time I just kept sucking top speed no matter what. Finally, I stopped inflating like a human balloon, and the pressure in my ass subsided. I was more-or-less on pace and no longer in penalty mode.

What is this thing?

“See, pig – Ryan, keeps me up half the night because he’s wanting to be fucked all the time. He can’t hear us right now because I made him put ear plugs in under his hood. I don’t know where he gets the energy. He’s wearing me out. I have trouble getting up in the morning. Anyway, I decided what I need is a good alarm clock.”

“Pock!”

“See, you aren’t far enough off-pace now to be in penalty mode. You are still off, but you are at least within +/- one minute of the clock pace. As long as you stay within that interval you’ll just continue getting pocked in your nuts once every five minutes, and you can rest assured that it won’t get much worse than that.”

“Excuse me pig. Ryan and I need to start getting ready for bed. He’s been on his knees on the floor for a whole hour now with no attention, and he’s probably getting really frustrated.”

He pulled Ryan up off the floor, unclipped his nose ring from the bedpost, and led him out of the bedroom, leaving me alone.

“Pock!” I counted 310 sucks this time; so, now my pace was slightly too fast.

“Pock!” 294 sucks. Too slow again. At least I’m getting closer. I was learning that if I ignore the pain in my testicles and just keep a steady pace of sucking, then I can make small adjustments to start shaving off seconds until I might eventually be able to hit exactly 300 sucks per interval. He’s training me to keep accurate time like a clock by sucking on the pacifier exactly once per second.

“Pock!” 308 sucks. Still off.

“So, what do you think of our new alarm clock, Ryan?”

“Oh man! That is so hard core! Hah, hah! I totally love the way you have his pig balls hanging down underneath him. I think you should hang some weight on there to stretch him out a bit and then glue a bullseye target on them.”

I looked at Ryan and sniffed twice at him, meaning “Wow! Thanks pig brother. You are just full of great ideas.”

“Pock!” Only 277 sucks. I let myself get distracted.

“Whooah! Good shot! How come there are two different time displays above his head?”

“The upper one is the real accurate time. Right now it reads 12:45:12 pm. I started him sucking just after midnight. The lower display is “Piggy Time.” That’s the current time according to our little piggy here based on the cumulative number of sucks that he’s done while he has been all the time trying his best to get on a pace of one suck per second. He is getting feedback through impacts on his pig balls; so, he should all the time be getting more accurate. You see that the Piggy Time display currently reads 12:45:01. Piggy is lagging behind the correct time. That’s why he just got pocked again.

Ryan said, “Suck it faster pig! I want to see these two displays match perfectly. You know, maybe, it’s not enough feedback. If you set it to pock him once a minute, then he’d have five times as much information to go on, and I bet he’d be five times more accurate.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. It’s a work in progress. We’ll just see how well he’s learned it when we wake up tomorrow, then maybe try it your way tomorrow night.”

Ryan got chained to the bedpost again, because they were getting ready for bed. I felt better now that he was away from me over there. But he kept looking at me. I could see the wheels turning. Pyscho. It was kind of a relief when my keeper came back and put my blinders on, because I couldn’t see Ryan staring at me anymore. And, they needed to have privacy for their fuck session.

“Pock!” 292 sucks. It’s so hard to get it accurate down to the second! This time was different. What? My ass is inflating again! It got a little more pressurized, and then it stopped.

“Oh hey pig, I forgot one other thing. I realized that it might be hard for you to keep track of how many five minute intervals have elapsed to make a whole hour and then to count how many hours until morning. So, at the top of every hour, your ass will inflate – just a little bit. That way you will know. I see you just got your first pump up, which tells you that it’s now exactly 1:00 am. You’ll continue to inflate every hour on the hour until morning. But, its slow. You’ll have plenty of time to adjust in between each expansion. It’s calibrated. Your asshole starts out one inch wide, and then gets further widened 1/12th of an inch per hour. Nothing too drastic. It just gives you that extra bit of information that you’ve reached the top the hour.”

My keeper leaned in close to me in whispered in my year, “Do you like my new clock, pig? I designed and built it just for you. I’ve been working on it for months.”

I was horrified and at the same time totally blown away. Nobody’d ever built me a complex, highly improbable, mechanically engineered torture device before.

Shucks.

“I’m setting you for 8:45 am because that’s when I need to be up tomorrow morning; so, I’m counting on you to wake me up at the right time. Goodnight, little piggy.”

He stuck a pair of ear buds in my ears and squeezed my pig wiener. It got so hard so fast, I lost my count again. “Pock!”

I could hear some sounds through the ear buds and could tell that there was something with Ryan begging to be fucked, then getting his ass beaten for being an overly demanding sex pig, then more begging, and then actual fucking followed by Ryan begging to get out of his cock cage. Then, everything went quiet, and my ass inflated again.

I couldn’t get too wrapped up in that. I had to stay on task. I kept getting so frustratingly close to 300 sucks on pace, but I still got pocked in the nuts every five minutes “like clockwork,” as the saying goes.

Long after they went to sleep I was still struggling with this. At 3:40 am I scored a victory – exactly 300 sucks in five and then ten whole minutes’ rest for my pig balls! But, that was just luck, because it took me a whole ‘nother hour to do it again. I was slowly improving.

But, then I started to get tired. You try sucking on a giant inflatable pacifier for five hours non-stop and see if your mouth doesn’t start to get tired. In order for it to register as a valid suck, my lips have to seal around the giant nipple, and I have to generate a threshold level of suction. I started getting slack-jawed. Some of my sucks weren’t counting because I didn’t maintain a good lip seal, and I broke the vacuum. At first, I didn’t realize. I would count 300 thinking I am right on pace, but only 250 sucks were valid ones. I was drifting close to penalty mode and didn’t even know. I’d suck faster, but then I would also increase my frequency of invalid sucks. I started getting whacked in my balls even right exactly at the instant when I counted to 300, because I was on pace but sucking improperly.

At 6:00 am, of course, I hit another milestone. The diameter of my asshole was now 1 ½ inches, which was about 1 ½ inches wider than where I’m comfortable having it. I had no trouble at all keeping track of what hour it was, because each further expansion seized my full immediate attention no matter where I was in my head.

And then suddenly, my ass was expanding full speed again with the testicle destroyer firing in penalty mode. “POCK!” Oh god! What? I’d fallen asleep and stopped altogether. “POCK!” For a moment, I couldn’t recollect where I was, and I made some kind of noise. “POCK!”

“Shut the fuck up, pig! We’re trying to sleep here!”

When I recognized Ryan’s voice, I knew where I was again and started sucking fast as I could. “POCK!” I had no idea how far off I was, because I’d been totally unconscious for a minute or more.

“POCK!”

“POCK!”

“POCK!”

“POCK!”

Ok. Ok. I finally got it under control. And, I was definitely wide awake now.

Sometime after 8:00 am (asshole diameter 1 2/3 inches) – I was really struggling now to stay awake, keep sucking, and keep counting again to 300. I hit another milestone shortly after 8:30 am; although, I couldn’t really appreciate the achievement at the time. I had now sucked past 30,000 times. I desperately wanted to stop.

Uhm … something is supposed to happen at 8:45? Nobody really ever explained how I become an alarm clock at 8:45 am.

So, … let’s see. My ball bag just got smashed up into the bottom plate again for the… seventh time since my asshole was last stretched. That means … it is now some time after … 8:35 am. OK. Whatever has to happen, it won’t be long now.

“Pock!” 295 sucks. 8:40 am. Suddenly, voice starts talking in my ear buds.

“You like this, don’t you pig?”

It’s a recording. I recognize it. I’m on my knees on the floor with my hands cuffed behind me. He is sitting behind me playing with his smart phone or whatever. He sticks his foot between my legs and just starts rubbing on my penis with the sole of his foot. He’ll do it just enough to get me hard and then stop.

“Well? If you like it, you better tell me. Don’t just sit there.”

Then, there is a thump, thump, thump sound, which is me – thumping my boner up and down on the floor, which in our language means “Yeah, I really do. Thanks for getting me hard.” It’s a game we’ve played many times. He’ll tease me like that for hours, never let me get off, then lock me back up in the box. And, no matter how many times…

Anyway, just hearing it makes me hard. And, there’s nothing else I’m allowed to do with it except thump it when he asks me if like getting my cock hard; so, that’s what I do now.

“Beep!” “Beep!” “Beep!” “Beep!” ….

The action of me thumping on the base plate of the pedestal at the correct time causes the alarm to go off at 8:45. Hey, that’s it! Mission accomplished! I did what I was supposed to do! This is finally over!

Then, in a moment, my blinders get pulled off, but it’s Ryan standing in front of me. He hits a snooze button and silences my alarm. I didn’t even know I had a snooze button!

Yawn – “It’s way too early. I wanna’ sleep some more.”

Wait. He can’t do that. He’s supposed to be chained to the bed over there.

“I think you’ve had enough fun with that, pig brother.” He grabs my boner and kills it in the usual way by bending it over double around a shower curtain ring and snapping a thick rubber band over it. Oww!

He … He disabled my alarm function!

Ryan said, “Wow dude! Check out your balls. One of em’s really swollen up. That’s a design flaw. In that condition how will we ever push your balls back up through the little hole to get you out of there?”

I watched Ryan quietly get back into bed. He quietly relocked his bedpost chain to his own nose ring using a key that he’d hidden under the bed.

What kind of pig are you?

He smiled at me and then put his thumb in his mouth. He sucked in his cheeks and puffed them out around his thumb repeatedly, doing a crude impression of me. Then, he opened his mouth really wide in the shape of an “O” and hooked his two index finders around the rim of his lips. He pretended to strain the muscles in his arms to yank on his lips to stretch them wider.

What? Oh.

Yeah, I get it now, Ryan – you’re a stretched out asshole.

Satisfied that I got his little joke, Ryan rolled over happily and went right back to sleep. My keeper was also still sound asleep. He was totally oversleeping, and I couldn’t wake him now.

“Pock!”

And, now I am alone again without even a tormentor, and this is still continuing. I think that maybe my balls are being ruined, and I’ll never be a man again. I just can’t handle this anymore. My chest starts to heave, and I begin to sob and force air in and out through my nose. I can’t hold it off any longer. I am having another emotional breakdown. I’m like a spastic little girl.

But, I know I have to keep right on sucking the pacifier even while I do it. There is never going to be a time when I can decide on my own to stop sucking and take a break. It is entirely up to them.

“Pock!” My ass is inflating again (1 ¾ inches.) It is the top of the 9 o’clock hour.

Please, God and Ryan. Please wake up and let me take a break for a while. Maybe, put me back in the box? The box is really not so bad.

Please, Ryan? I’m so sorry I disrespected you, calling you a pyscho and being gleeful about your cock cage. I know that was out of line.

C’mon guys!

Please?

If they sleep in all morning, I’ll be two inches wide by noon time!

 

Metal would like to thank Kevin’s Path for this story — the second part of which was suggested by Greg Alexander, author of Frat Boy’s Bitch Boy