An adult stories – Sausages for the Slave Ch. 11 by dyetied,dyetied Dan gazed out the window. Thirty five thousand feet below him, small white fluffy clouds were drifting slowly across a steel grey rippled Atlantic Ocean. His mind was buzzing. What to do? What to do? The plane would land in Paris in about four hours. Mary Hemmings, his wife and owner (officially ex-wife, since she had divorced him just to make him more insecure and dependent on her), was up in business class somewhere, paid for by the company. Dan, her slave, was, appropriately, sitting in steerage. He didn’t mind that. Just being in a plane, just being on an international flight, that was heaven for Dan. He had a passport in the name his wife had given him, Nathan Hemmings, in his pants pocket, and nothing else. Except for his boarding card, but now that he was aboard, it was so much scrap paper.
Mary had been reluctant to give it, or the passport, over to Dan, but had no choice. She was boarding separately for business class. She had watched as Dan, waving his passport and boarding card, was cleared through the boarding gate into the tourist section. He looks happy, she thought, wearing his new wardrobe of chinos and casual shirt, plus a pair of trainers. Proper clothes, just like everybody else had. She didn’t allow him underpants. Keep him a little nervous, a constant reminder as to who calls the shots in Dan’s life. But after three years in track pants and sweat shirts, or being made go just plain naked, why wouldn’t he look happy with his chinos and shirt? Mary headed over to the business class desk. Off on her new adventure.
The riskiest bit of the trip was behind them, Mary knew. Dan could have made a run for it on the way to the airport. There wouldn’t have been much she could have done about it. Or, he could have simply refused to go. Refused to leave the house, even. Just in case, she had convinced Tom Berovich, the burly next door neighbour, to be on hand to make sure Dan exited her property. Tom was allowed by Mary to use Dan for his pleasure. Tom had agreed to drive them from the house to the airport with the back doors of his car locked to prevent Dan jumping out at traffic lights or something. At the airport, when Tom had dropped them off at Departures, Dan made no attempt to break for freedom, though he could have. They went through airport security without incident. Inside at the departure gate Mary knew Dan could simply declare that he didn’t want to fly. She was slightly surprised when he didn’t. She thought he had a bit more fight in him.
The reason they were taking this flight was because Mary’s IT firm had appointed her the new Marketing Manager for the Middle East and Africa. A great career opportunity for Mary. One that she intended to make the most of. Having Dan around, or not, wouldn’t make much difference. She was fond of Dan in her own way. She was at ease in his presence, in the presence of the silly, simple slob she had married and now owned as her personal slave. He now knew how to cook all her favourite dishes, do her laundry and housework as she wanted it done and, after a little training, to pleasure her just the way she liked it.
Even so, Mary thought a change of scene would do them both good. Dan had been her house slave for the guts of three years, and everything was getting a bit tired. Mary had been selling the benefits of the sojourn in Dubai to Dan since she got word of her promotion. Her objective was to get him on the plane. What might happen after that was a different matter. She was led to believe that slaves were ten a penny in Dubai. They were called houseboys these days. An agency sends them along on demand, apparently.
Mary was looking forward to the new job, the new challenge, the new scene. She felt she had earned it, and she knew she could do it. A directorship, member of the board in head office back home, could be hers at the end of the three years, all going well. The person she was replacing in Dubai was appointed the Marketing Manager for Europe, based in Paris. Mary would have a four day stopover in Paris with her predecessor to do a detailed handover. She needed a full briefing on the active contracts they had in the region, what was in the pipeline, who’s who and the lowdown on her staff in Dubai.
As decisive as ever, thirty-five thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean, Dan now decided that he should really have made a run for it before boarding the flight. He told himself, trying to justify his failure to flee, that he had been really looking forward to the experience of travel after three years as a domestic slave. Just to be on the plane, just to be one of all the other international travellers; like he had somewhere to be, something to do. Wearing chinos and a regular shirt. Listening to the clunk of the doors shutting and the ‘Arm doors and cross check’ announcement, whatever that was about. It was like hearing the door slam shut on his former slave life. A chapter closed. Something new and exciting up ahead. Whatever that might be.
Much as he was enjoying the air travel experience, Dan knew that three years as a slave in Dubai didn’t really meet the ‘new beginning’ test. Walking away at the airport would have been a new beginning. Mary couldn’t have stopped him. The whole prisoner thing was done with. He was a free man in the eyes of the law. Tom Berovich couldn’t have forced him to get on the plane. Dan could have got a job in McDonalds — right there at the airport, or become one of those Deliveroo people, he thought. He wouldn’t have starved. People lived off dumpsters and stuff. But too late for that now, Dan thought, dejectedly.
Dan had read up about Dubai. He wouldn’t fancy making a run for it in Dubai. They still had slave markets there, out in the desert. He wouldn’t have be surprised if Mary decided to sell him on to some local, or lease him out for the three years. They probably had laws and harsh punishments concerning runaway slaves in Dubai.
Dan could see himself shackled naked to a palm tree after the auction, freshly and painfully branded on his left buttock was the mark of the runaway slave. A mark that forever reduced him to the second division of slave auctions, doomed to be sold cheaply to poorer rural slave owners. Once he had received his forty lashes for attempting to escape, the chain on his collar would be attached to the saddle of his new owner’s camel and Dan would trot along, naked, trailing behind the camel, his new owner perched on top, swaying over and back in that ship of the desert, stately camel gait sort of way, heading into the deep interior.
There, slave Dan would spend his days hauling water in leather bags from deep wells and servicing, with his mouth only, because he would be left with nothing else to service them with, the pussies of the four wives of his owner. They would be completely covered in their long black niqabs and abayas. He’d never get to see their faces, ever; just their shaved pussies. To hide the tell-tale signs of his cock stirring and stiffening in his brand new chinos, Dan quickly pulled the airline magazine onto his lap, lest the young lady sitting in the middle seat beside him became alarmed.
He’d already exchanged a few harmless pleasantries with this younger female. She was about thirty he reckoned. A New Yorker, she said. For the first time Dan was aware of the reverse age gap. She was all business, working away on some sort of spreadsheet on her laptop. Stuff to do. People to see. Places to go. Whereas Dan, aged forty, was sitting there twiddling his thumbs. No job, no business to run, no class to teach even. Going to where his wife — though technically no longer his wife — told him to go. He felt left behind, passed out by the younger set.
Unless…unless… he did it in Paris. After all this flight was to Paris, Dan reminded himself. The Dubai flight was four days away. If he was serious about putting the slavery thing behind him, Dan told himself, he should do it in Paris. All was not lost yet. That’s it, he decided, once again, to be sure to be sure. Desperately decisive Dan really would make a break for it in Paris. His last chance to be a free man once more. They have McDonalds there too, he realised, remembering the line from Pulp Fiction. What was it John Travolta said? ‘You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris? They call it a “Royale with Cheese”… and a Big Mac’s a Big Mac, but they call it “Le Big Mac”.’ That’s definitely it so, Dan tried to convince himself once more. He’d run away in Paris. Get a job in McDonalds. Eat leftover le Big Macs. He’d survive. He could deal with change. Had done.
As the plane continued its seemingly slow crawl across the vast ocean, Dan thought back to the recent dramatic changes in his circumstances. Two big changes actually. First there was the pig thing, and now this. The pig thing was big. Just three short months ago Mary had suddenly decided to turn him into her pet pig. Just because he had politely wondered if his slave terms and conditions might be adjusted a little. He shuddered at the memory of it all, instinctively bringing his hand up to feel the hole in his septum that his wife’s pal, Bette, had pierced, punched more like, before inserting a big brass piggy ring in his nose that had hung down below his upper lip for the following three weeks.
Dan’s transformation from Mary’s totally owned slave to Mary’s pet pig happened very quickly. One minute he was getting ready to do the washing up after serving Mary her dinner, the next he was dressed up as a giant pig in a costume that he couldn’t get out of. His hands trapped in rigid elbow length mittens that ended in two hard trotter like toes. He had thought at first it might just be a practise fitting for a planned Slave Dan podcast the following day. Even when Mary said that this was how he was to be from now on, Dan hadn’t quite taken it in. She implied there would be an exotic level of piggy transformation – including a sex change. Dan agreed. He felt he had no choice anyway. Even as she sent him to sleep in the outfit that night, Dan didn’t quite realise the enormity of what was being done to him.
That next morning Dan struggled up from his bed and onto his hind trotters. He was hot and sweaty from having slept the night in the pig suit, his arms, legs and head encased in a rigid plastic/latex mix. His arms, or front trotters, were cramped and stiff from being clipped under his chin all night. Once out of bed, he stayed standing on two legs with effort. The leg elements of the pig costume kept his knees bent and his feet arched up like he was wearing high heels. This threw him forward and to balance he had to almost squat in a very undignified was with his arse stuck out behind. He clomped around in this ungainly pose wondering how he was going to manage the shower and toilet, his morning enema and so on.
He didn’t have to wonder long. The slave quarters door slid open even as Dan was thinking about these problems. Mary arrived in briskly.
‘And how are we today?’ She asked brightly as she unclipped Dan’s piggy front trotters from under his chin.
‘Oink, oink,’ replied Dan dutifully, sticking to the limited piggy vocabulary that, as Mary had advised him, painfully, yesterday, was all he was allowed to use while in piggy mode. She proceeded to remove the trotter gloves. This was to allow Dan ‘prep himself for the day’ as she delicately put it. Mary promptly left, bringing the trotter gloves with her. She told Dan, over her shoulder, that she would see him in the kitchen shortly. Not going to get her hands dirty, Dan thought.
When he joined her in the kitchen later, with his slave dildo shoved firmly up his ass for the podcast performance, Mary had Dan stretch out his arms while she refitted his front trotter gloves and fastened them securely. Mary had placed two kibble filled bowels on the floor and added milk. On Mary’s command (eat, piggy!) Dan flopped down on all fours in the corner to slurp up his breakfast while she got her own cereal.
No harm to see her do a bit or housework for a change, thought Dan, as he gulped down the mush. Make her appreciate the benefits of having a slave. Afterwards, Mary had wiped Dan’s piggy snout clean when he finished. A touching scene; Dan the helpless little piggy getting his nose wiped by his Mummy. Mary then dressed him in his pink frilly tutu. She told him she was going into the office for a few hours and Dan was to standby in the slave quarters ready to be called to do the podcast.
‘By the way, Bette will be coming later and I’ll be bringing home your replacement at lunchtime,’ Mary shouted over her shoulder as a parting shot.
By the time Dan managed his dutiful ‘oink, oink; she was gone.
So, he really was being replaced, Dan realised with apprehension. Enough apprehension to drive out the usual apprehension that accompanied the announcement that Bette was heading his way. Strange days ahead, he thought. Silence reigned. It took Dan a while to realise what was different. Alexa was mute. She hadn’t starting listing out a series of tasks for Dan to do, nor had she asked him to pleasure her. Dan guessed that Mary has switched Alexa off until the new regime was established. Until old Dan had been replaced by new Dan, that is.
Dan waited patiently in the slave quarters, practising walking on his trotters, flexing his knees, attempting his podcast dance moves, until the sharp double zap of his shock collar summonsed him to the iPad. The ‘Year of the Pig’ podcast duly happened. Less said about it the better. Dan’s heart wasn’t in it. Went only so-so. Dan had to get a lot of help from the dildo in shock and vibration mode before the money shot happened. In the end he came, jerking and twerking to the background music. He spilled his load unseen by himself because of the frilly pink tutu sticking out around his middle and the fact the piggy mask severely restricted his vision to the front and below him.
Afterwards, Mary berated Dan on his poor performance saying it was no wonder the podcast subscribers have voted for a replacement.
‘It’s only what you deserve, she said callously, offering no easy let down for Dan. ‘You’ve been pathetic these last two podcasts, and it’s not good enough, Dan. So suck it up. Let’s see if you can make a better job of being a pet pig.’
Since ‘oink oink.’ was the only response allowed, Dan said nothing. The iPad went quiet and Dan was left waiting for Mary’s return. She’ll be bringing the replacement with her, he thought mournfully. At least she hadn’t put him in the T-Bar as punishment for his poor performance. He decided the T-Bar is only for slaves, not for pigs. Besides, a pig — a human pig – could just pull its trotters out of the cuffs.
After a while Dan felt that he might as well have been in the T-Bar anyway because he couldn’t release himself from his trotters or his mask. He could do nothing. He couldn’t sit on the bed out of hours. He squatted on all fours over the hole-in-the-ground toilet and had an animal like pee. His aim was approximate. He couldn’t see what he was doing or where. This is what it must be like for an actual pig, he thought, with a shudder, as he tried to shake the last drops of pee out of his dick. He slowly trotted over and back waiting for his replacement, feeling anxious, as anxious as only a grown man trapped in a latex pig outfit can feel.
‘Ding-dongggg… Your attention please. The cabin crew with shortly be moving through the cabin serving a light meal….’
Dan was snapped out of his piggy reverie by the announcement. The idea that someone would be serving him, slave Dan, instead of the other way round was such a novelty. For the previous three years he had been preparing, serving and cleaning up after his wife — and himself. Nobody had done anything for him. Lots of people had been doing things to him. And now he was being served. He had a silly smile on his face as he watched the catering trolley slowly move down the aisle towards him. They are going to serve me, he thought, giddily. Dan felt like royalty as the smiling cabin crew passed the tray to him. Dan didn’t care if they gave him just a drink of water. To have somebody hand him something with a smile and to be able to take it was enough. It made him realise what he had been missing, and reinforced his determination to make a run for it in Paris.
The trays were handed out, the tea or coffee moment happened. A bit of juggling of condiments with his neighbour as sachets or sugar and creamer were swopped over and back. This led to names being exchanged and the inevitable polite conversation. Sophia told Dan she was going back to Paris where she had lived for the last three years. She’d been visiting the folks back home and buying some material for her new business venture. She had a house in the suburbs of Paris that her grand-aunt left her in her will. Her grandparents had moved from Paris to New York after the war. Nice, thought Dan. No chance some distant Irish grand-aunt is going to leave me a thatched cottage in Kerry. Having asked all the appropriate questions, without seeming too nosey, Dan told a few appropriate white lies about himself in return. He was taking a year off to travel. Going to Paris because he had always been fascinated by the city. He had never travelled to Europe before. Hoped to pick up some work there.
Once the trays were collected, Sophia opened her laptop once more and Dan took the hint. He gazed out the window some more and his thoughts returned to when the reality of being permanently trapped in the pig suit really hit home.
After the failed podcast, Mary eventually returned from her workplace. She quickly called Dan out of the slave quarters, with a ‘here Piggy, this way.’ Instead of leading him towards the kitchen, she opened the side door and sent Dan out into the back yard. She suggested, in a rather condescending manner, that now that he was a pig, he might enjoy rooting around in the shrubbery. He wondered if that meant he wasn’t supposed to use the slave toilet any more. Since she kept reminding him that he was now a pig, Dan decided he’d have a go at an outdoor pee, doggie style. He could only manage a few drops, but he didn’t care. Dan kind of hoped Mary was looking at him out of the kitchen window. You can only go so low, and then it doesn’t matter anymore. He wondered if his replacement, new Dan, was in the kitchen too, also looking at him out of the window. Hope he enjoys wiping my ass when I have a shit, thought Dan spitefully.
When Mary brought Dan back inside and into the kitchen, she put him eating his midday bowls of kibble. No sign of the replacement yet, mused Dan, as he gulped the mush, though already feeling rather full since his big breakfast of mush. Suddenly, a toolbox landed on the floor beside him. He recognised, with trepidation, that it belonged to Bette. The Enforcer had arrived. Never a good thing from Dan’s point of view.
‘Now Piggy,’ said Mary, in that high pitched weechy weechy voice usually reserved for talking down to toddlers or pet dogs, ‘ Bette is going to do a little modification to make you more pig like. Nothing major. No need to panic. Nothing is being cut off. I was only giving you a fright last night.’
‘Okay, Bette? I’ll leave you to it. ‘
When on all fours on the floor, Dan’s vision was more or less restricted to knee height. Even so, he had no difficulty recognising Bette’s dungarees and work boots when they appeared a few inches in front of his snout.
‘Up, Piggy,’ she commanded, all business, ‘you can eat later.’
Bette pulled Dan upright and stood him against one end of the kitchen table, pushed him back to lie flat with his head almost off the far edge of the table. She strapped him in place, with loops binding his four trotters, each to a table leg. Tied in place like that, face up and spread eagled, Dan could only see the kitchen ceiling above him through the piggy mask. Suddenly the Enforcer’s face loomed over Dan’s telling him to open wide; like at the dentist. She quickly inserted a large rubber ball gag and tied it tightly behind his neck, keeping Dan’s mouth stretched open. He could hear her rooting in her bag for more equipment.
The Enforcer pulled Dan’s pig encased head right back off the edge of the table and down so Dan had an upside-down view, looking straight up into the crotch of Bette’s baggy blue overalls. She advised Dan, with a smile, that she would be fitting a ring to his nose. Dan went into a blind panic at the thought of having a hole punched in his nose. He struggled against the straps holding him down on the table and twisted his head from side to side away from Bette’s grasp. ‘Relax,’ she said, steadying his head by gripping it between her thighs. ‘I’m going to numb your nose. You won’t feel a thing.’ And she sprayed some anaesthetic from a small aerosol into his nose. Dan gave up struggling as he felt the cold spray on his nose. This was happening. The simple fact that Dan was firmly tied to the table and couldn’t do a thing to stop it happening was another reason to stop struggling. He was glad he had already emptied his bladder. He took a deep breath through his nose and held it.
Having Dan’s head upside down between her thighs gave Bette unfettered access to her target: Dan’s nose. The upside down plastic piggy snout was pulled below and out of her way. She briskly punched a hole in the septum between Dan’s nostrils. She enlarged it with some sort of instrument that was probably intended for doing the same to the ears of Bette’s cattle and sheep. She quickly fed an open thick brass ring in through one of Dan’s nostrils, through the hole in his septum and out the other nostril. She bent and sealed the ring closed with some sort of clamping implement. All done in twenty seconds. Was it painful? Is the Pope a Catholic and so on and so forth? No need to wonder about it. The anaesthetic only lasted about ten seconds. The gag muffled the loudest of Dan’s shrieks.
Bette gave him some time to get over the shock and suddenness of it all, then released him. Probably out of consideration for the tenderness in his nose area, Bette led Dan by his balls back to the slave quarters. He trotted along carefully on his hind trotters, skittering nervously on the shiny tiled floor, anxious to keep up yet equally anxious about slipping and falling. There is something particularly demeaning about having a relative stranger, an uncaring woman, grab your balls in her hand and tug you along by them. It’s not the slight ache or occasional twinge, but the very helplessness of your situation. That, and the total presumption on the part of the ball tugger that they can do this. You are a two year old recalcitrant toddler once more, being dragged along the street by your very cross mother for — something.
Despite the pain in his nose, Dan had a raging hard on by the time Bette had tugged him as far as the entrance to the slave quarters. Once in the doorway, Dan realised that, while he was ‘rooting about in the shrubbery,’ Bette had been busy installing the promised pig pen. Basically, it was a four foot high wicket fence. Eight foot by four foot with a little gate in the middle of one side. The floor was like a large dog mattress, two inch thick foam covered in a strong canvas-like material. Hard wearing and rough to the touch, it had a blue background over printed with a dense pattern of little yellow dog bones. Home sweet home for Piggy Dan. Bette led Dan into the pen and closed the gate behind him. It locked with some sort of locking mechanism. Bette left without a word.
Dan was alone in the pig pen. Time to explore. He tried sitting, but the big dildo was still in place and sitting only rammed it deeper into him. He tried going on all fours and trundling around. There was just enough room to turn around without hitting the sides of the pen. The gate lock was simple. Push a recessed button in the gate post and it would pop open. Only Dan couldn’t push the button. His trotter was too big to fit into the recess. In an emergency he supposed he could stretch up and over the side of the pen and tumble out. He wasn’t trapped. He felt better about that.
Quickly tiring of the novelty of his new home, Dan decided it best to lie on his side on the mattress. He could feel the side of the ring in his nose resting heavily against his upper lip. He felt sorry for himself, lowered to animal status, a ring in his nose. The ring seemed very big. The base was just below his upper lip. He could put the tip of his tongue into it. He wondered if it would make eating difficult.
He was uncomfortable all over. His nose was still tender, his eyes watering, his vision blurred, his erection faded to nothingness, his ass stuffed beyond full with the dildo, the latex mask and trotters hot and sweaty. He thought about pushing the dildo out as he lay there on his side. But it is hard to control what comes out. Especially after being force fed all that kibble. But it would be truly an animal like thing. When she next came in, there he would be; a pig lying in his own shit. There would be an appalling smell. That would show her. If that’s what Mary wanted him to be, let’s see how she likes the reality, he thought. But, remembering Mary’s fondness for instantly disciplining her pet, Dan decided against the dirty protest option. He didn’t fancy a harsh toilet training session with Mary and her cane just then. He’d hold it all in.
About half an hour later the door to the slave quarters slid open again. Mary bounced in with a young man trailing in her wake. She peered over the picket fence of the pig pen and told Dan to stand up and not lie there like a pig in shit. Dan oink, oinked and heaved himself up with difficulty, thinking Mary didn’t realise how close she came to actually having a pig in shit to deal with. He felt ridiculous, wobbling on the soft foam underfloor of the pig pen, like he was a child in a playpen or cot. He stood, or half squatted, in the small enclosure, resting his two front trotters against the fence, while the two adults looked in at him from the outside.
Mary commented sarcastically that the ring in Dan’s nose gave him the look of a very distinguished pig. She then introduced the new Slave Dan; Dan II. Dan giving the obligatory ‘oink, oink’, in response, trying to clear his vision to focus on the young man standing behind Mary’s shoulder. So this was his replacement. As far as Dan could make out through the small eye slits in his piggy mask, the replacement was as described by Mary the previous evening. He appeared to be all the things Dan was not; handsome, muscular, flat stomached, in his twenties. He was naked and wearing a cock cage.
Dan listened with dismay as Mary told the new Dan that one of his jobs would be to mind her pet pig. ‘Piggy’ she called him. He was to wash Piggy and toilet him in the mornings, including giving him an enema, she said, then feed him and let him out in the yard for a while. Otherwise he was to keep Piggy in his pen. Dan’s dismay deepened as he heard Mary tell the slave to give the pig a few sharp slaps of a cane if it won’t behave. That’s another person who is going to be bossing me around. And on the basis that there is no worse overseer that one who is downtrodden themselves, Dan just knew that after the new slave got a beating or was put in the T-Bar he would promptly take it out on Dan the pig.
While Mary was advising the slave that if Alexa wanted to fuck Piggy, the slave was to lead Piggy to Alexa, Dan was thinking that this guy has a lot to take in on his orientation tour. First he gets introduces to giant human pet pigs. Not something you’d come across every day. Next there is this talking electronic box on the wall that will give him orders. And finally it turns out that the talking box gets to fuck the giant pig. Who’d a guessed?
But the new Dan was all up for the job. Nothing would shock this slave. He was taking it all on board, determined to show willing. ‘Yes, Madam,’ he replied with alacrity when Mary asked him if could he do all that.
‘They used to be my lines,’ thought Dan sadly, flopping back down on all four trotters, tired of holding himself upright against the fence.
‘You heard all that Piggy?’ Mary said, reaching down to scratch the back of Dan’s neck affectionately, like you would a dog. She’d probably have scratched him behind his ears only that his pigshead mask covered the area. ‘You wanted a change and now you’ve got it. No more slaving for Piggy. Piggy’s only job is to be Alexa’s fucktoy, plain and simple. That, and amusing me with your piggy antics occasionally. What could be simpler?
Dan, his snout down at the base of the fence, decided he wouldn’t dignify her tease with an acknowledgement. He yelped as the sharp sting of the cane flashed across his naked buttocks.
‘Answer me, Piggy. Isn’t life going to be simple for Piggy?’
‘Oink, oink,’ responded Dan quickly. He was glad now he had prudently decided to hang on to his dildo. Lesson learned. Mary’s conscience wasn’t in the least troubled when it came to disciplining animals. Dan decided Mary was applying the tried and true pet training procedure; immediate punishment of incorrect behaviour. Even the dumbest animal quickly learns to associate the punishment with whatever it was doing just then, and ceases to do it. Same with rewards. Pavlov’s experiments and all that, Dan had lectured the sixth formers on it. He wondered what rewards he might earn for being a good piggy. Like the mice in the maze experiment, maybe he would get an extra bit of cheese if he did the right thing.
Peering through the slats of the pig pen, Dan saw that Mary was already out the door. No goodbye for the pet pig then, such was her hurry to continue the tour with her new slave and have him ready to assume Dan’s duties the next day.
As he settled back in his pig pen, the fading sting of the stripe across his ass reinforced, for Dan, the truth that he was now a pet animal in his wife’s eyes. He would have likes to rub his ass to relieve the stinging sensation, but he couldn’t. The stiff front trotters couldn’t bend around enough. The possibility of rubbing his ass against the side of the pen crossed his mind, but he wasn’t prepared to stoop that low. Not yet, anyway. Too animal-like, he thought. Mary would probably install a scratching post if she saw him doing it. Which reminded Dan that he had actually enjoyed her little neck scratching move. There was still an echo of it on his neck, a lingering warm glow. It had been the first bit of affection he had received from his wife since turning into a pig. Ever optimistic, Dan decided it meant that he was still loved, and that — at some level — Mary still felt positively about him. That there was hope.
As the days went by, Dan hoped that Mary would appreciate that he was giving the piggy pet thing a good shot. Once he got used to the big brass ring slotted through a hole in his nose, Dan decided he might as well accept that his life has moved significantly in a piggy direction, but hopefully not forever. Dan persuaded himself that, if things went well, and if he kept Mary feeling good about Dan the pig, maybe he could win his way back to being Dan the human again. So he didn’t sulk in his pig pen, even if he was stuck in it for long hours each day. He resolved only to ‘oink,’ and not speak. He performed for his wife on demand, and pleasured Alexa as best he could.
As she had promised, Mary reprogrammed Alexa, her virtual assistant, to reflect Dan’s reduced standing in the Hemmings household. Alexa largely ignored Dan the pig. Instructions to do with the housekeeping rota were addressed to the slave. But they always were, Dan reflected. No big reprogramming job then. Alexa just talks to whoever the slave is. Alexa doesn’t know from day to day if the slave is a new slave or the same person. Let’s not get all carried away. It’s not artificial intelligence just yet. A bit to go before Mary can claim the Nobel Prize for modified digital assistants, Dan decided sniffily.
The new slave, Dan II, now undertook all the housekeeping jobs Alexa assigned. His morning list of tasks now included ‘take the pig out to the back yard.’ Dan assumed that Alexa could read different signals or call signs or something from the metal shock collars that he and the slave wore at all times. That way Alexa knew if the slave was in the appropriate location, say the kitchen or in the garden, as called for by the assigned job schedule. From Alexa’s perspective, Dan the pig’s location was irrelevant, save when she wanted Dan’s ass pressed up against her penis plate.
Ding-dongggg… ‘Your attention please. The captain has switched on the cabin warning light. We may experience some turbulence. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt. Make sure your seat back and folding trays are in their full upright position.’
Sophie asked Dan to hold her laptop while she returned her tray to the upright position. Dan glanced at the screen and couldn’t help noticing that Sophia was working on a class schedule of some sort.
‘You a teacher then?’ he asked as he handed back her laptop.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Sophia replied full of enthusiasm. ‘Well spotted. I taught English and Maths way back in New York. Then in Paris, during the Covid lockdown, some of the ex-pat parents I knew asked me to give zoom classes in English for their kids. It really took off. And it kept going even after the lockdown was over.’
As she closed her laptop, Sophia happily chatted on. ‘I looked into it, and there is a market for this sort of teaching service in France. The international schools around Paris that teach through English are all over subscribed.’
Sophia was interrupted as the plane lurched a little a few times. Instinctively, her hand gripped Dan’s forearm tightly where he was resting it on the armrest.
‘Oh, my God, Sorry. I thought I was grabbing the armrest.’
‘No need to apologise,’ said Dan, chivalrously. In fact, he was loving it, hoping she’d go on gripping his arm, as he launched into his mansplaining, serious science educator at work mode. ‘No need to worry about the bit of turbulence. We are probably just passing through the jet stream, moving from American air to European air you could say. We’ll be through it very quickly,’ said Dan in confident authoritative gruff macho guff mode. Was a fighter pilot myself in the Gulf war, actually, or, I’m a Nobel Prize winning scientist myself actually, I know lots of important things like this.
He restrained himself from launching into the interaction of the polar and equatorial air masses because he wanted to get Sophia back on topic. He was very, very interested. ‘But you were saying about teaching through English?’
‘Oh, yes. Lots of parents of English speaking kids send them to local French schools. They are the ones that want their kids to get extra tuition in the core subjects in English. All the English native language groups; Australian, English American, Canadians and so on are potential clients. Not only that, the Chinese and Korean communities like their kids to get subjects taught through English too. There really is a big market for this service, I think,’ Sophia added, looking directly at Dan and no longer gripping his arm so tightly, but letting her hand just rest there. Dan was glad of the airline magazine was still on his lap.
‘Oh my God, I’m really rabbiting on,’ burbled Sophia. ‘Stop me if I’m boring you.’
‘No. Keep going. I’m fascinated. As it happens I’m a teacher too,’ pops in Dan, always quick to spot an opportunity when it is staring him in the face.
‘No way. What subjects?’
‘Science, at junior high and high school level; chemistry, physics, biology.’
‘Science through English is in great demand. Offering science subjects along with English and Maths would really fill out the programme. You did say you were going to look for work in Paris’?
‘I did. I was thinking or something casual to cover food and board for a while.’
‘I could offer you that. Would you be interested in getting involved in the project?
‘Sure. Why not.’ Dan, feigning indifference, couldn’t believe his luck. Compared to scrounging for scraps at McDonalds, this was the dream opportunity. But he didn’t want to sound too desperate. ‘I’d have to think about it. What would it involve?’
‘Well the usual class stuff. Develop lesson plans for the different age groups according to the curriculum of the school system they are in: International or French.’
‘I could certainly do that for the science subjects.’
‘Since I’m just starting to expand, I could only offer you a room and food in the grand-aunt’s house. I’ve got some course material together and I’m bringing more stuff from the States with me now. There is a still a good bit of setting up to do.’
‘But once the actual teaching is up and running and a reasonable cash flow coming in, I should be able to pay you something as well. How’s that sound?’
‘That sounds okay. I was hoping to get some work straight off, so why not? I’ll be in Paris and I’ll get to know Paris. That was the plan anyway’
‘Well, I’m a bit outside Paris, but people commute in from there. You don’t have to actually be living under the Eiffel Tower to get a taste of French life. Are you still in? Please, Dan’ pleaded Sophia turning towards Dan, squeezing his arm gently.
Dan needed no further encouragement. ‘Count me in, Sophia. Or should I call you “Boss”?’
‘Great! Fantastic! No need to get all formal on me just yet, Dan. But I really must get back to filling out this schedule. I promised to send it out to some potential customers this afternoon. I’ll have to do it as soon as we land. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. Go to it, Boss,’ Dan smiled, enjoying himself now. ‘I can start thinking about the science curriculum.’
Sophia got back to typing busily. Dan, the perennial procrastinator, happy that he was no longer looking at a future of eating leftover McDonald’s burgers in the back streets of Paris, put aside thinking about lesson plans. I can do that in my sleep anyway, he mused and happily let his thoughts drift back to his piggy days, now that they were behind him.
He was a bit shocked and put out when he first heard Alexa the digital assistant refer to him as ‘the pig.’ But he got used to it. The particular instruction to the slave that brought about an involuntary clenching of Dan’s buttocks each morning was: ‘Slave, bring me the pig.’ Old Dan’s only useful role as far as the reprogrammed Alexa was concerned was as her fucktoy. The new slave was never asked to bend over and give Alexa her pleasure moments. Lucky him, thought Dan.
The fateful command issue forth daily; ‘Slave, bring me the pig.’ On hearing Alexa’s demand, Dan II would quickly drop what he was doing, fetch Dan from the pig pen and briskly tug him by the short cord that now permanently hung from the ring in his nose. Dan had to shamble along behind the slave, his back trotters clip-clopping on the hard wooden floor, and his front trotters swinging uselessly in front. If he wasn’t quick enough Dan II would give Dan a sharp slap of a leather belt across his exposed piggy ass.
Once in the kitchen, Dan would go down on all four trotters, his ass in the air, and the new slave would back Dan up so as to position his ass hard against Alexa’s especially fitted metal wall plate. Alexa would then extrude her metal telescopic penis into Dan’s asshole and fuck Dan in the ass until she was satisfied and came.
Outside of dragging Dan to the place of his daily fucking, the new slave ignored him. No chatting at night from his slave bed to Dan in his pig pen. No recounting of the events of the day. Probably not allowed to talk to the pig. Dan decided the new slave was a bit surly. He may be a bit unhappy with his role, Dan speculated, hopefully.
With all the hours spent in his pig pen, and rooting around in the back yard, Dan had plenty of time to reflect on his metamorphosis from totally owned slave to giant pet pig. He had to accept that it was a process that he started himself, and, ultimately, brought on himself. The first stage of recovery, according to all these self-help gurus, is to own the issue. Dan accepted that he didn’t have to let himself become his wife’s slave in the first instance, nor, at a later stage, become totally dependent on her, living off her, hiding from the real world in effect. He choose to, and she chose to facilitate him. But let’s be clear, he reminded himself, the whole prisoner thing was not his doing. And this further step down to the level of a human pet, to not being able to make his own food, dress himself, or even wipe his own arse for pity’s sake, this was imposed. He was tricked into it.
Nevertheless, Dan recognised that it was what it was. We are where was are. C’est la vie, or c’est la guerre, or hoinkity, hoink, he would say to himself. Thus he became resigned to living the pig’s life as best he could. Maybe it was the gradual nature of the process that enabled him to rationalise the process of his debasement and tolerate where he had ended up. A bit like the lobster being slowly boiled in water: A bit of bondage play in bed –the water is warm — that’s good, it’s fun. A bit more slavery — the water is getting hotter now — but it’s still fun, sort of, most of the time. A lot more slavery, a prisoner in my wife’s custody — the water is very hot now, and I can’t get out of the pot — no job, no money, the wife owns me. Now I’m a pig — the water is boiling — I hope she’s not going to eat me.
But having accepting his own role in his downfall, Dan stayed positive. He would work with what he’d got, knowing that he would have to stay in pigland until good behaviour or some divine intervention returned him to the human state.
When Mary came into the kitchen in the morning for her breakfast, she would usually find Dan bent over, his ass pressed up against Alexa’s wall plate, in the middle of being fucked. She would give him one of her affectionate scratches on the back of his neck as she tripped past in her high heels, treating Dan like the house pet that he had become, and would pass some a good natured, patronising platitude.
‘Good girl, Piggy,’ she’d chuckle, ‘keep on rutting. Make Alexa happy.’
Dan made sure to respond positively to this show of affection. Though resenting the ‘girl’ jibe, he’d wheeze out a ‘hoink.. hun.. hoink’, as best as he could between Alexa’s hard, deep mechanical thrusts, while ridiculously forcing his skewered ass back against Alexa’s wall plate to try and get her to orgasm. Mary would sit at the kitchen table, only her sexy high heel encased feet visible in Dan’s limited range of vision, dispassionately watching his humiliation while she ate her muesli.
Piggy Dan bent over, on all fours, pressing his naked ass hard against Alexa’s metal plate, pushing back against her thrusts, grunting with the effort of trying to find her sweet spot, trying to get her to ‘come.’ His big brass nose ring clinking rhythmically against the kitchen tiles. Over the steady throbbing of Alexa’s pumping metal penis Dan would hear the beep-bop-beep of Mary texting on her phone while she lined up her next meeting or whatever. Her life was going on just fine.
Mary usually witnessed Alexa having her moment of electronic bliss, then observed piggy Dan pathetically trying to lick Alexa’s metal penis clean, even as the overflow of heavy yellow goo that was Alexa’s cum seeped out of Dan’s extended asshole and trickled down his plastic encased trotters. Dan was acutely aware of his wife watching him go through this daily humiliation. She would get up from the table and pat him on the head as she passed out of the kitchen to go to work, saying he was such a good little piggy and hoped he would have a good day. She really knew how to stick it to Dan, who had to pause from sucking Alexa’s cock clean to attempt an ‘oink, oink.’
Sometimes when Mary came home she would tell the slave to bring Dan into the kitchen while they were eating dinner. Mary might throw Dan a scrap from her dinner plate, just for fun. Dan would play the eager pet, puppy like. Scrabbling after the morsel on all fours across the kitchen floor, frantically trying to see where it went through his blurry piggy eyes, hearing the bang of his nose ring against the tiles as he tried to snaffle up the treat. Because for Dan, that taste real food, however small, was a real treat compared with eating the kibble mush he was fed daily by the slave. After Dan chomped down the scrap, Mary would call him over, with a ‘Here, Piggy, come and sit’ and have him hunker down beside her while she ate, him leaning his crouched body against her stocking legs, her occasionally giving a little scratch to the back of his neck. Dan loved it. And Mary knew it. She could see his little pink penis stiff and dripping with excitement.
Some evenings, Mary would have Dan stand in the corner of the living room, up on his hind legs, watching, while she and the slave were making out on the couch. Dan knew she deliberately lifted her legs high and wide apart as the slave ate her out. Dan knew too, that she was waving those naked legs provocatively at him because she wanted him to want her. Because he was her husband really. It showed she still felt that way about him, he was sure.
She is doing the cuckold thing on me, Dan would say to himself, because I’m her husband still, in her mind. That’s what cuckolds are. They’re husbands. That has to be a positive. That means I’m not totally a pig to her. Subconsciously she still feels I’m her husband and she enjoys humiliating me by having me stand in the corner watching her being eaten out and fucked by another man. So there’s hope, even if I do have a big brass ring permanently in my nose. Dan would also have a big raging hard-on by this stage of the proceedings. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it throbbing and pulsing with desire between his legs. He could touch it with his trotters, but that was like poking his erection with a stick. No joy there.
Afterwards, on Mary’s instructions, the slave would lead Dan across the drawing room and parade him past her. She enjoyed the sight of Dan being tugged by his nose ring by the very male who had just cuckolded him, clip-clopping tamely along on his hind trotters behind her slave, his unrelieved, cum-heavy balls swinging from side to side, his penis, hanging below his fat piggy belly, stiff, hard and dripping, while she lay on the couch, legs spread wantonly, provocatively, teasing her pet pig with a tummy tickle as he was led past, out the door, and away to his pig pen. There, she knew he would rut forlornly against the rough canvas covering if the foam mattress of the pig pen and sometimes, whether out of desperation or from pent up desire, he would come, quietly and unsatisfyingly in the dark. She could see it all on the monitors that recorded every movement in the slave quarters, even in the dark.
After that lightest of light meals and when Sophie got back to work, Dan got to thinking about how to make this Paris plan happen. First he had to figure out how to avoid Mary in the arrivals terminal. Her plan was to wait for him at the baggage reclaim carousel. If he could get past that hurdle then he’d need a plausible explanation for Sophie as to why he has travelled from America to Europe with no luggage and no wallet. He cast around for inspiration and nothing came to mind. Dan was feeling a bit weary and couldn’t be bothered. He decided he’d wing it. Dan, the man with the no-plan plan, was confident it would all work out, somehow.
He let his mind drift back to his great escape from the pigsty. That day was just three months ago, and barely three weeks into his new role as his wife’s pet pig, Without warning Dan’s status as Mary’s pet pig abruptly ended and he was elevated back to slave status. Hard to think that anybody would glad to be made a slave. But on that day, Dan was. He had moved up a phylum in the animal kingdom. Back in the top tier. Up there with the humans once more. Top of the pile. Playing with the big boys.
Dan woke that morning up to a strange quiet. From his pig pen in the slave quarters Dan could sense that he was alone. He rolled over on his heavy belly — he had been putting on weight steadily –and, with effort, pulled himself up on to his hind legs and peered over the wall of the pen. He was alone. He listened carefully. No shower running, nothing; just silence. It was most odd. Normally the new slave would be up and getting himself ready for the day. He would then get Dan toileted, washed, and prepped — the morning humiliation. Ready for when Alexa called for the pig to be brought to her — Dan’s second daily humiliation.
A little while into the silence, Dan heard the brisk clip of his wife’s high heels coming down the corridor as the slave quarters’ door slid open. Mary swept in, dressed for work, all smiles, arms held wide.
‘Dan! Good news! You are back in business. You are restored to your slave status. No more Miss Piggy, or oink-oink for you. You may speak!’
‘Eh…eh.’
‘Go on Dan. Say a word. For instance, say “Thank you, Madam for restoring me and giving me permission to speak again. Go on.’
‘T-Thank you, M-Madam for restoring me and g-giving me permission to speak again,’ Dan gulped out in a nervous rush, not used to talking over the big brass ring resting on his lip. Not used to talking. Afraid to talk even. Was it a trap? Half waiting for the sharp crack of a cane across his ass or belly.
Never happened. No punishment for speaking then. What’s this?
‘Truth is Dan, your replacement wasn’t working out,’ said Mary, all business as she unfastened his trotters and pulled them off his arms. ‘I’ve sold him on. No point in hanging about. He was collected last night by his new owners while you were snoring away in your pig pen.’
As she reached with a small key behind Dan’s head to unlock the pig mask, Mary continued, ‘The fact is Dan, he was just some stranger. He had a hot body and all, and did the work, but that was it. I prefer having my husband as my slave. There is more of a connection. There is more fun.’
Mary paused to tug at Dan’s pig mask/helmet and hauled it off his head with a grunt of effort. ‘And then there’s the history we share. When I look at you I can remember what you were and see what you have become, and wonder what else I might do to you. That’s fun — for me, anyway. Besides, the punters felt the same way. No connection. New Dan was a big turn-off. They want old Dan back.’
‘And now you’re back,’ said Mary undoing the Velcro on his front trotters and hauling them off Dan’s arms. She stepped away from him to admire her restored slave.
Dan stood blinking, stretching and flexing his fingers, looking at them like he wondered what they were for. He felt his three weeks growth of beard and head hair. So I’m really coming back, he thought. The miracle has happened.
‘Chop, chop,’ said Mary, snapping him out of his reverie. ‘I have to get to work. You get the legs off and clean yourself up. Big shaving job to be done. I want to see no hair when I come home this evening. Slave naked and slave bald, and waiting for me in the hall.’
‘Yes Madam,’ said Dan, a big grin spreading across his face. The joy of being able to say those words again.
‘Alexa will give you the daily job schedule. The slave is the slave as far as she is concerned. You remain ‘The Pig’ as far as being fucked by Alexa goes. We’ll get her messaging software updated whenever. But you still have to keep her happy. Don’t want her putting you in the T-Bar and whipping your ass the first day out of your pig suit. Do we?’
‘No, Madam,’ Dan replied, still unable to lose the happy smile.
‘Don’t get too happy…Slave,’ Mary said with a smile, arching her eyebrows and giving a quick stroke to Dan’s penis. Dan instantly became hard. ‘And no touching down there, I’ll have my eye on you from the office. Maybe we can do something about that tonight, eh? Another stroke and Dan’s penis jerked and strained towards her touch.
‘That’s your lot for now. I’m gone. Back to work for you, Dan.’
‘Yes, Madam… and thank you, Madam,’ said Dan in a rush of gratitude, to Mary’s disappearing back as she headed into the garage and to her car. But Dan was happy to talk to Mary’s disappearing back. He sang a merry tune, tunelessly, as he removed his hind trotters and headed for the shower. Something about being happy, so happy and gay… something, something. He didn’t mind having to suffer an aching erection all day at the thought of his wife taking him in hand later on. Dan spent the day talking; to the vacuum cleaner, to the dishwasher, to the toilet brush, to himself. Just enjoying being allowed to talk. He still had the ring in his nose, but no doubt Bette would be along to remove it — he hoped. But the days of ‘oink, oink’ were definitely behind him and he was going to make up for lost conversations.
That evening, Mary had eaten her dinner with Dan sitting naked across the table from her on his little white metal IKEA stool, still smiling from ear to ear. Dan rushed to get a ‘Yes, Madam’ in between every one of her sentences, such was his desire to speak. She had allowed him eat her potato skins, and gnaw on the bone of her T-bone steak before advising him of the exercise and diet regime she planned for him. ‘We’ll have to get my slave husband back into shape,’ she said, adding as Dan had hoped, that Bette would remove the ring in his nose. An especially adapted ‘intelligent’ exercise bicycle and a rowing machine would arrive the next day, apparently. It would allow Mary monitor and vary the exercise programmes from her phone. She advised Dan that his flat stomach would be restored rapidly.
Ding-dongggg… ‘Your attention please. This is your captain. We are currently cruising at an altitude of 35,000 feet, slightly ahead of schedule due to favourable tail winds. We will shortly begin our descent towards Paris Charles De Gaulle. The weather in Paris is a pleasant 22 degrees, with light cloud. Sit back, relax and enjoy the remainder of the flight. Thank you.’
OK, Dan, think. This is important. Dan psyched himself up to make his escape. Mary, in business class, would disembark up front and go through passport control before him. Her bags would come out first, but Dan had no bags. All he had to do was sneak past Mary while she was waiting for her bags. With the crowd milling around the carousel it shouldn’t be too difficult. She would be focussed, like everyone else, on watching for her bags. Dan knew they contained his collar and wrist and ankle cuffs. He had packed the bags. Happy to see those items travel on without him. He would tell Sophia he’d meet her outside in arrivals after she’d got her bags. Make some excuse, like having to use the toilet or something.
Head off with Sophia to the Metro while Mary was waiting for him inside in the baggage hall. The company hired limo driver would be waiting for her, holding one of those signs with the company logo or something. Dan had always fancied the idea of being the guy they were waiting for. Have the driver touch his cap and take his bags saying. ‘This way, Sir.’ All the plebs wishing it was them. Have to leave that fantasy for another day. The no luggage thing could be explained to Sophia by saying his luggage failed to make the connecting commuter flight to New York. He had no choice but to get on this flight or lose the booking.
Happy with the plan, Dan glanced out the window in time to see the ocean give way to a thin golden beach gleaming in the sunshine. Land Ho!
Bonjour La France. Vive la liberté.