Sausages for the Slave Ch. 11

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, I'm too exhausted to 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 Centigrade, 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. 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 totally focussed, like everyone else, on the moving line of baggage. Watching for her bags, making sure nobody grabbed her bags by mistake, ready to fight like a tiger for her bag if needs be. Don't you dare steal my baby. Elbows cocked, nobody's going to oust me from my prime bag grabbing position. It's all about focus, and the focus is on the bags, not on who might be passing by behind her. Dan knew the bags contained his slave collar, 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.