It was early in the afternoon on Saturday when Evan managed to pull himself out of slumber, blinking his bleary, hungover eyes at the grungy ceiling above him. He only dimly recalled the night before--and he felt the familiar curdle of shame in his gut that he always felt after giving into his worst impulses and messing around with a faggot or a pig. He...shouldn’t want to do that--he was a real man, and real men like him should only want bitches, but damn, something about watching a man lust after him and his filthy body got him so riled up, he couldn’t resist it. After all, he wasn’t really one to resist his natural impulses very often.
He sat up, dug around in the bag of chaw sitting on the table by his filthy bed, and pulled out three pinches, packing them in his lower lip, feeling the first buzz of nicotine start to push back against the haze of beer from the night before. He got up and went stumbled into the bathroom, planning on pissing, but didn’t make it to the toilet before seeing himself in the mirror and giving a start. He...didn’t quite recognize himself in the filthy glass...but how else was he supposed to look?
He was huge--six and a half feet tall, body full of muscle, hair all over. He hadn’t cut his hair or his beard in--hell, even he had lost track at this point, and they were both shot through with the first streaks of grey. His beard was so thick, he could barely see the bulge of his cheek from the chaw--and he took a second to spit in the sink--though some of it hit his beard like usual, not that he cared. He was naked, nine inch cock hanging between his legs, thick calloused hands running their way over his greasy, dusty body...and he could almost remember something else. Being young, a curse, a...task.
The pig--had he left?
He turned around, and there he was, on the couch, snoring away. Evan felt a flash of anger, seeing the animal on the furniture, and he stomped over, grabbed him by the leg and dragged him off and onto the floor, amid the unwashed laundry and trash littering Evan’s little trailer. “Pig, I thought I told ya last night animals sleep on the goddamn floor!”
The pig started to say something, but Evan just smashed one of his massive, size eighteen feet into his face, pinning him to the floor, watching the pig’s pathetic three inch cock immediately come to attention. He...he knew he had to stop this. That he had to...remember, and go back...but he didn’t want to. He had all weekend with this pig, after all...and it was clear it was going to need quite a bit more training. Foot still smashed into his face, Evan pointed his dick at him and blasted him with a load of piss, soaking down the pig, and his foot, and the clothes around them, not that he cared. If anything...he kind of enjoyed the smell. He made the pig lick, it up, and then made him clean the toilet as punishment--with his tongue, of course. He whined about it, begged Evan to let him go home, but a good asskicking reminded him of his proper place.
By that evening, Evan had decided to skip it--why the hell would he need a clean toilet, when he could just make the pig be his toilet? Sure, the pig was willing to drink piss, but it balked at having to eat Evan’s shit--so he force fed the fucker, and when he puked it back up, Evan made him eat that too, until it was all gone, until the pig realized how good he was being to it. Until he realized that he wasn’t a man anymore, or a person, or much of anything at all. Faggots like him didn’t amount to shit--no, they just consumed it. Hungered for it, ached for filth. Knew that it was all they deserved from the world, because filth was all they were--and Evan grew filthier too.
He didn’t work on construction anymore--he was too dirty even for that. No, Evan worked out on a pig farm, where it didn’t matter how bad you smelled, the manure almost always stank worse. The pig didn’t make the mistake of trying to get on the furniture Saturday night--it just curled up in a pile of its master’s filthy, manure stinking laundry and went to sleep, dreaming of more filth, the curse scrubbing its mind of anything else--and scrubbing at Evan’s mind as well, sanding off the edges, wondering if it should just abandon him here with the pigs he hated so much.
Sunday, Evan spent on the couch, watching porn--straight porn, of course. Evan told himself he preferred women, even though he hadn’t been with a woman in years at this point. He hadn’t managed to find one who would put up with his stink for more than an hour to even consider sleeping with him, and he didn’t have the cash for a prostitute. No--all he had was his pig...right? As he lounged about, he could feel the flicker of something else around the edges of his mind, trying to connect to the world around it, trying to find something to anchor itself on, if anything even remained for it to cling to--or perhaps he was simply trapped here. The spirit wondered if it should abandon him--there were, after all, other gay men it could offer its assistance to instead, if Evan was too far gone to be of any more use.