Sausages for the Slave Ch. 10

"You'd better lick up anything you spill, piggy. If I come in here tonight or tomorrow morning and step on a single piece of kibble, you'll do two hours on the T-bar, with a whipping included."

"Oink, oink," I said in agreement, between careful mouthfuls of the kibble. The milk was softening the kibble and the lot was turning to a greyish mush, allowing me to slurp it up more efficiently. It was quite possible to eat inside the mask by pushing my lips through the mouth opening that stretched tight across my lower face. The snout went into the food and would by messy, but that couldn't be avoided.

It was a lot of food to take in one go, the equivalent of six bowls of cereal at once. I was very full by the end. The thought came to me, as I licked the bowl and then the spillage off the floor, that she was going to a lot of trouble to get me into character just for a few minutes podcasting tomorrow morning. I'd have been as happy to be put into costume next morning before she went to work.

Maybe she felt it would take too much time. Better to have a trial or run-in session to make sure everything works. But what was with the forced feeding? I tried to rub my hands over my painfully distended stomach, but the trotters were hard and stiff and gave me no comfort.

"Finished?" she asked, coming back into the kitchen.

"Oink, oink."

"Stand up and let me see the state of you, piggy." I struggled upright, my trotters skittering on the shiny tiled floor. "Oh, dear, it looks like piggy's snout has been rooting in the trough." She wiped the snout on the front of the mask with a wet cloth as I stood there. I felt like a toddler getting their face wiped by their mother. I wanted to say that I could do that. I could have managed to pick up the cloth with my trotter and wipe it around my face, sort of.

"That's better," she said, as she picked up a foot long stiff rod from the bags and packages on the kitchen table. I braced myself for another beating. For what? Just the fun of it? "Hold out your trotters."

"Oink, oink."

'Good little piggie,' she said, as she slotted one end of the rod into a small recessed hole in the inside of one of the trotters, at about where my wrist was. I felt it latch in with a click. Then the other end of the rod was snapped into a similar receptacle in the other trotter. I hadn't noticed those holes down towards end of the trotters, what with my limited vision out of the mask. Now my hands - trotters - were held one foot apart by the rod. I had thought that I would be able to make some attempt at picking things up by grabbing them between the trotters, but not now.

She lifted the rod up under my chin and I felt it click into some sort of slot at the base of the mask. My two hands, or front trotters to be exact, were now held up by the rod at shoulder height under my chin. I could raise one trotter up just about head high by swinging the other one down, and that's all I could do.

Next came the length of pink frilly tulle material. She stretched it tight around my waist below where my elbows reached and tied it in place at the back, making a bow with the two pink satin ribbons attached at each end. It was a pretend ballet tutu. It stuck straight out around me and didn't cover my bum or my cock and balls. She ran her hand under the tutu and pressing and squeezing my distended abdomen, then slid on down onto my cock, which came to attention.

"There, nice and full and ready," she said. "You're done, little Miss Piggy. Move your front trotters."

"Oink, oink."

My hands - trotters - could only move slightly, up one side down the other, before they would start pulling and twisting my head due to the connecting rod being attached to the chin of the mask. I would not be able to touch or fondle my penis or balls with my hands, or even with my hard plastic trotters. Not that it would be of much use, but it would be something.

And what's with that Miss Piggy thing? Did I imagine that? No, I didn't imagine it. Nothing is said by accident when my wife is on a mission. Everything is scripted. Clearly there was an agenda running here. But I would have to leave considering the possible implications of her deciding to change my sex change aside for the moment.

As if she read my thoughts, she put her hand down below my tutu and started slowly stroking me till I got really hard. She moved in to do something with my balls. I could feel her manipulating them but could not see down due to the puffy cheeks on the mask and the frilly tutu sticking out all round my waist.

"You're good to go. Let's get you into the lounge for your dance practice."

Then I felt a sharp outward tug on my balls. She was pulling me after her out of the kitchen by the balls, I could see a pink ribbon held in her hand and it was obviously looped around my balls. I trotted after her briskly, click-clicking along on the wooden floor of the hall, my bloated stomach bouncing dangerously.

She stood me in a corner of the lounge and went over to the couch and reclined back at full stretch. She must have earlier set some music, ballet music by the sound of it, all tinkley and sweet, probably the Sugar Plum Fairy.

"Let's see how you dance, Miss Piggy."

"Oink, oink."

Inspired by the ballet music, and careful of my over full belly, I shuffled around in a careful pirouette and kicked my legs in and out, first one then the other. I couldn't do much with my hands other than wave them a bit up and down flapper style. I saw her pick up a remote off the coffee table and press it. I got a sudden zap from the shock collar. I stopped dancing.

"Ouch."

"Do more of waggling your bum and bouncing it up and down; more Can-Can and less Bolshoi. You are only a pig after all. Our subscribers are going to be focusing on your cock and ass, so move them. Go again, Miss Piggy."

What followed was not dignified. I bounced my ass up and down in time to the music interspersed with waggling it about as instructed. I felt very full. I added a few disco style pelvic thrusts, but I got another zap; harder this time.

"Ouch."

"Save the thrusting for the cum shot, Miss Piggy. We don't want to confuse the viewer. Do we?"

"Oink." "That will do, now come here and stand beside me while I tell you about the changes I have decided to make to your miserable existence since you told me yesterday you were not happy with the present set up."

I gave her the obligatory 'oink, oink' as I clip-clopped over on my trotters to stand beside her. I got a surprise on the way across the room when I saw myself in the mirror over our faux fireplace. I thought the great big dopey looking Miss Piggy style pig with a stupid grin on her face and a frilly pink tutu around her middle was somebody else. I couldn't identify myself with that strange pig thing. As far as I was concerned I was still me and I expected to still look like me on the outside too. I know I am not like the pig I saw in the mirror. But I got the feeling as far as my wife was concerned I was now this pig person, this plaything that she had created and could do with as she wished.

When I reached the couch she lifted her hand and took hold of the ribbon hanging from my balls and held it like she was holding the reins of a horse. The weight of her arm hanging out of my balls exerted a constant painful, dragging pressure. I stood very still, panting a bit from my exertions, my sore balls, and my overfull belly. I couldn't really look at her face due to the mask. I was held in too close to her side. I could see her legs and feet at the end of the couch that was all.

It was a long and one sided chat. I had to strain hard to hear it all. I'll summarise. The podcast tomorrow would be my last as her slave. A new slave was arriving tomorrow evening. He was aged twenty five, strong and handsome - her words - and he would take over my duties and some more. She was going to call him Dan. Hold on, my name is Dan, I thought, but I didn't say anything.

Speaking had been ruled out on pain of severe punishment and saying oinkity-oink-oink wasn't going to achieve much. I let it sink in. She was transferring my name to somebody else, to somebody younger and more attractive. Over the hammering of blood in my head as my heartbeat raced, I thought, 'where would I fit in?'

The question was quickly answered. It seemed I wouldn't fit in. Or at best I was being pushed aside. After tomorrow's podcast I would no longer be her slave. I was forthwith relieved of slave duties. "But don't worry, darling piggy. I am not going to push you out on the street or sell you on. Not yet anyhow. You are still mine," she said, giving another tug at my balls.

"I'm going to use you as my house pet. You will be my pet pig. Dan the slave man is now somebody else. He will be delivered tomorrow evening from his present owner. I have paid good money for him, and I expect to get good service. The podcast subscribers have voted for having a younger slave. Dan will also have pet minding duties. He'll feed you and wipe you bum or whatever else needs doing to you."

It was a bit like being in the Coliseum in Roman times. The fans had given me the thumbs down and I hadn't even known they were talking about me. I was on the way out. It was over. Just like that. No second chance. No appeal to reason. The hammering of my heart got worse. There was a loud buzzing in my ears and, already hot and sweaty, I felt suddenly nauseous.

When somebody has your balls in a firm grip and your hands are tied up under your chin, the key elements of the fight or flight instinct both take a knock. I wasn't able to fight and unless I wanted to leave my balls behind, flight was out of the question too.

I could feel my breathing speed up more and spots dance before my eyes. She tightened her grip on my balls as if she instinctively felt me struggle against my new situation. She stroked my cock gently with her other hand. "There, there, you will make a lovely pig pet," she said softly, trying to calm me. "I'll teach you tricks and Dan can take you for walks when he is going shopping. You can still root in the front garden for dandelions. We'll put big pink satin knickers on you when you are going outside."

So that was it. I was to be the house pet; a pet pig. It was a shock, no two ways. There was no preparation for this. I had half expected her to dump Alexa and restore me to my rightful place, reporting directly to my Mistress wife. But no, Alexa is in and I'm out.

She let me know that I would always be in the pig outfit around her. From now on I was a pig as far as she was concerned. She never wanted to see my face again. There would be the odd managed occasion for cutting nails and hair, maybe every three months or so. That would be part of the slave's duties. Even then it would be done one trotter at a time so that I would be still in pig form as much as possible.

The enforcer would arrive tomorrow afternoon to make some adjustments to the accommodation in my room. She would build a pig pen for me as the new slave will have my bed. She would also make some modifications to me. First off, a large permanent ring would be fitted as a piercing in the septum of my nose through the nostril holes of the mask. It will be sore at first, she said, but will heal up. Half the tribes in the Amazon jungle have big sticks stuck through their noses, she said, by way of putting my mind at ease.

I would be given three meals a day of at least two and a half pounds of the concentrate stuff with a quart of full milk. The objective was to fatten me up at the rate of five pounds a week. My good wife said she wanted me to look like a pig in all respects, especially a big fat belly. She told me that the kibble was especially formulated and contained hormones and blockers that would slow my body hair growth and round my hips.

"Yes indeed, Miss Piggy, this is the start of a feminisation process. We are going to transition you into the sow you really want to be. Deep down you do want to be a Miss Piggy don't you? Admit it."

I didn't know what to say. This was an awful lot of unexpected stuff coming down the tracks all of a sudden. A bit like if you went into the boss's office to ask for a raise and were told you are being fired, actually. You can see his lips moving and you know he's talking about how sorry he is that he has to let you go, but you can't hear a word.

Everything seems very quiet, yet you can hear the usual the noises in the outer office. Phones ring. Somebody is photocopying stuff. Life is going on, but you are no longer part of that life. You know nobody will meet your eyes when you come out of the boss's office. Somehow they know. You walk through the open plan like you are a ghost. Everyone is busy, busy, busy. Then you are out on the street. Out on your ass. Out of a job.

Later back in your pad you accept that you were thinking of leaving anyway. You had come to hate the job. So you don't know whether to be sad or happy with the unexpected turn of events. It's just the fact of not controlling the events that bugs you really. You'd like to have had one more week in the job just so you could quit on your own terms, or get another job. But too late for that now. If anybody asks they'll say, 'Your man? Oh, he was fired last week. He's outta here.'

The same with this, I had already knew that I wasn't happy with the set up. Also I knew I wasn't ever going to be allowed to have sex again as long as I was my wife's slave, so I was losing nothing there. Any recent attempts to masturbate had been cruelly stopped, so that wasn't going to happen ever either. She had too much monitoring technology built into the house, and into me, to allow me the space to jack off.

As a slave I would still occasionally get drained off during a podcast but there is no fun in that. You are made to ejaculate but you can't touch your cock or get any sensation from it. It is more frustrating than satisfying.

Zap! A hard jolt hit me in the neck.

"Ouch."

"Stop shilly-shallying around Miss Piggy. Admit it, at heart you are a Miss Piggy, aren't you?"

"Oink, oink."

There, the deed was done. I'd agreed to it. Not having to say it out loud in English made it easier. She now had me recorded on her monitoring cameras agreeing to it, so no going back. I'm to be her female pig pet from now on, her big fat sow.

She laid down my future, still hanging her hand out of my very sore balls. At some stage, maybe after my nose heals up, my balls would be removed, she said, sliding her hand up, gripping me firmly and pulling down harder to stretch the skin of the scrotum even more.

Apparently, the enforcer, who keeps sheep up on her farm, has all the gear for castrating her sheep and is quite expert. I could easily imagine the grin on the enforcer's face as, with a snip of her implement or whatever, she relieves me of my balls for all time. Not surprisingly, my penis shrank and shriveled at the thought. My wife flicked it with a finger nail.

"This will go too. We might use this pathetic scrap as a little curly pig's tail. We can have it grafted on to your coccyx at the back. You might even be able to wriggle it a bit." She laughed as she slipped her hand back down onto the ribbon, still tugging out of me painfully. A little shudder ran through my groin at the thought of all that was ahead, but it was to be expected, really.

She added that she didn't think I'd need a vagina. I'd just have a tiny pee hole down between my legs. That way I'd look more like the sexless cartoon piggy I have become, she added for spite.

Apparently Alexa wouldn't be asking me to do jobs anymore, since I couldn't do much that is useful anymore. But I was to be Alexa's fuck buddy and could expect to be fucked by Alexa about twice a day, every day. Because of the inability of my trotters to 'caress' Alexa I could expect to be fucked for between twenty minutes to half an hour each time, before Alexa 'came.' She had different plans for the new slave, she said.

"Now let's get you into bed for the last time. Tomorrow's a big day, isn't that right, piggy? She said brightly getting up off the couch and chucking my chubby plastic cheek between her thumb and forefinger.

"Oink, oink."

She hauled me by the ribbon round my balls into my bedroom where I would lie on my bed for one last night, then never again. She took the tutu off me and told me to lie on my side. She snuggled in behind me and started slowly stroking my rapidly growing cock.

"After you come tomorrow, you will never come again," she said. "So make it a good one." Her hand gripped around my member ever tighter as she quickened her stroking.

"Oink, oink." My cock throbbed and eased out a drop precum. She could feel my body tense. She quickly took her hand away. As she always does. She has great timing, I'll say that for her.

"Not tonight, Josephine. Save it for tomorrow."

She playfully slapped me on my sore bum then rubbed my lower back with slow circular motions as my ragged breathing eased. It was heaven. I wanted it to go on. I wanted her to bring me to the edge again, brutally hold me there, then gently bring me down, before bringing me to the edge again, and again: Like in the old days.

"Oink, oink."

"Sweet dreams, piggy," she said as she slid off the bed and left me lying facing the wall, my cock straining and twitching, my balls hard and full and tight against my thighs. My trotters, tied up under my chin, were of no use to me now. Never would be of use again probably, not that way anyhow.

The bedroom door slid shut and locked behind her. As far as she was concerned, her slave husband was gone forever. Tomorrow morning she would come into this room to get her pet pig up and out, nothing more. I was left alone and frustrated for my last night as a man, which was how she always liked to leave me.