Eyes squint as the sensation of her old tricks comes to rooste.
One's face bursts forth with sprouting hairs, they growing out to a determined length, bristles, coarse and now yours.
As the nose become press flat, nostrils opened wide to the air, each breath brings on the realization of your coming life, form, and self.
Circe laughs at your new appearence!
You on the other hand have different feelings about becoming one of her prize hogs.
Revolted at the thought of living your life in a mire filed sty, you would grumble.
At the same time something in you is suggesting you ignor the mire and stench and avail your maleness upon the lust sows and enjoy!
As the coarse bristles spread and envelope your maleness the sensation and lust to become a good boar hog removes all your intrepidation.
Now even Circe's laughter and chiddings do little to disturb your new longings for self satisfaction and the delight of an easy life.
Standing on cloven trotters, in an uneasy and wavering manner, you become erect and proudly display your corkscrew dic for the Misstress.