Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Mark looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. He was huge, nearly 500 pounds of lard and pork. Round, bloated and soft, his full pink belly looked inflated rather than flabby. his round hips and large rear attested to just how big he had grown.
He was huge. He was a *pig*. Trained. Useful.
*There*. That was the word. Not pretty. Not desirable. Not human anymore. Just a walking, squirming, *pig* made of living lard.
Just like every other man alive today.
A pig.
A living, breeding feeder pig for women with no husband to warm their bed other than an overgrown squealer like him.
He breathed in deep and exhaled, letting his over stuffed body relax. when he had first heard that their was a cure, he was filled with hope. Once he had heard their had been side effects, he met them with dignity. Some men were proud when they started fattening up. Some men loved being big fat pigs. He envied those.
He envied the men who could embrace their new reality, who could find joy in their fattened, domesticated lives. He had tried. He had *tried* to be happy, to be useful, to be *good* for them. But every time he looked in the mirror, every time he felt the soft, yielding press of his own flesh, he saw the same thing: a man who had lost everything. A man who had been reduced to nothing more than a walking, squealing, *pig*.
He wanted so bad to be like Jack, how had taken to being a pig like a fish takes to water. Surrounding himself with hog hunters, who fed and fattened him. Made him bigger, and rounder, and fatter.
He was a pig. A *breeding* pig.
Surrounded by bikini clad women who filled his trough as he filled theirs. They teased him, they ran their hands over his over stuffed ass. they played with his soft belly.
They loved the way it jiggled when he moved. He loved the way they grabbed him, how they jiggled his soft body as mark did as they played with him. It made him feel useful.
Jack was born to be a hog.
He was born to be a fat, squealing, breeding pig. He was born to be used, and he loved every fucking second of it.
The women knew it too. They could see the way his cock twitched and leaked when they touched him, the way his snout wrinkled in desperate little squeals when their fingers dug into his fat. They *owned* him. And he let them.
Voss’s fingers dug into the thick rolls of Marcus’s belly, her nails leaving little crescent marks in the soft, pink flesh. She leaned in close, her breath hot against the shell of his ear. “You’re *mine*, aren’t you?” she growled, her voice rough with need. “You’re my little piggy. My *breeding* piggy.”
Marcus let out a broken whine, his cock jerking violently in her grip.