Suggested Story - Gold Digging Pig

At sixty three years old and close to 350 pounds, Roger wasn’t what Marco would call attractive, but then, that didn’t really matter—what mattered was that Roger was loaded. He’d do pretty much anything the older man wanted—play with his cock, listen to his rambling stories, go to his boring parties and hang off his arm—so long as it meant that Roger kept paying his bills. Marco could just keep being the hot one—twenty four years old in his muscular prime, he could spend his days at the gym, his nights at the club after Roger went to bed fucking whoever he wanted, so long as he was back in Roger’s mansion by morning. Roger liked to play the affection game, liked to cuddle and nuzzle and all of that stuff, but at the end of the day, Marco knew they were two shrewd individuals. They knew what they wanted, and as long as they could get it from each other, then everything would be fine. Some of Marco’s friends called him a gold digger, but he didn’t care. He wanted a certain quality of life that Roger could provide him, and he’d do pretty much anything to keep it—well, almost anything, he found out.

One night after an industry party, another boring soirée and an evening spent in a stifling tuxedo, they ended up back at the mansion a little drunker than usual, and Roger leaned in to whisper something into Marco’s ear—a secret kink of his, something he’d always wanted to try. He wanted Marco to get in the tub, and let Roger piss on him. Marco recoiled, even in his drunk state. He’d let the fat fuck drool over him all he wanted, let him try to fuck his muscular ass with that soft cock of his, but there were just some things too disgusting to consider—and watersports was one of them. He refused, and expected that to be the end of it, but Roger kept pushing and pushing, until Marco blew up at him, said some awful, terribly mean things, and stormed out into the night, resolving to find some other old fuck he could exploit.

Only things didn’t work out quite as easily as he’d hoped. Marco ended up at the club, and began surfing from couch to couch, growing more and more annoyed at how his easy life had been blown up by such a stupid, trifling thing. He’d confessed it to a couple acquaintances, and while a few supported him, more just looked at him like he was insane. It was just a little piss! He’d thrown away all that money and easy living over that? It made him doubt his own commitment, and it didn’t help that after a couple of days, Roger had started texting him, a little pitifully, telling Marco he was sorry, and that he could come back if he wanted to, anytime. That, Marco knew, was as bad as admitting that he missed Roger’s lifestyle as much as anything. Sure, the texts made it look like Roger was weak, but at the end of the day, he had the wealth, the cars, the condos, the life—and Marco didn’t. All he had was a few hangups, according to everyone else. He tried to find another sugar daddy in the meantime, but no one really came close to what Roger had offered him, and so, after a miserable week, he ended up going back to Roger—who was very, very happy to see his boy back, and who promised to never suggest such a disgusting thing ever again. Doubtful, but satisfied for the moment, they fell back into their routine, though Marco began working on a exit strategy, should one be necessary.

Everything was good though. Roger never mentioned it again, and things went right back to normal. Suspiciously normal, in some ways. On occasion, it seemed like hours would pass, and Marco would have no idea what had been happening—and all he’d been doing was sitting in the study with Roger, listening to the old man prattle on and on about whatever story was on his mind, nothing that really mattered in the grand scheme of things. If anything, Roger seemed overly apologetic. He had a full gym put in the basement, so that Marco wouldn’t even have to leave the house to workout, and Marco found himself leaving the mansion less and less. He just seemed to get so tired at night all of a sudden, and when he’d usually go out to the club once Roger had retired, he’d instead go to bed himself, sleeping deep and dreamless until the next morning. 

A few months later though, it happened again. They came home drunk from a party. Marco had found himself feeling increasingly horny over the last few weeks, and since he hadn’t been going out at night, Roger had been on the receiving end—not that the old man minded having his muscle boy fuck him. But that night, as Marco suggested a fuck, Roger made a counter offer. “I’ll give you a thousand bucks, right now, in cash, if you’ll let me piss on you,” he said, an uncommon lust in Roger’s eye. “I know we said we’d never speak of it, and if you let me, and you hate it—fine. I’ll buy you a condo anywhere you want, upfront, give you a trust, and you never have to speak to me again.”

It sounded too good to be true, which meant that it probably was, but the odd glint of arousal in Roger’s eye was matched by the unmitigated greed in Marco’s. Even if it wasn’t that bad, who cared? He could have his condo, his lifestyle, everything, without being tethered to this old fucker anymore. So he agreed. They went into the master bathroom, Marco got undressed, climbed in the tub, and Roger awkwardly waddled to the edge, pointed his soft cock at Marco, and after a few moments of silence, started to piss all over the young man, huffing with excitement as he did, leering down at him as he sprayed Marco in the face. 

And much to Marco’s surprise, he found himself getting…turned on. The smell, the sensation, the warmth—by the time Roger had finished emptying his bladder all over Marco, his cock was rock hard, he was hornier than he’d ever been in his life, and he couldn’t stop himself from bending a very willing Roger over the bathroom counter and fucking him then and there—using the old man’s piss and a little spit as lube. When they’d finished, Marco took the cash from Roger, feeling like a whore in a way he’d never felt in their relationship, but he’d clearly enjoyed himself too much to try and make the case that he was going to leave. Instead, he retreated back to his own rooms, took a shower that didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have, and climbed into bed, feeling like he’d lost something without knowing what.

He’d expected Roger to gloat, or try to pressure him more, but nothing seemed to come of it. Things just kept continuing along as they always had, mostly. Marco was struggling in the gym—not with his gains, those seemed to be easier than ever, but with his body. Something was wrong with him, he was sure of it somehow. His abs were getting lost under a layer of flab that he couldn’t seem to lose, even as his muscles were growing larger. That, and the hair he was growing all over his body. He asked Roger about it, but the old man told him there was nothing to worry about. Bodies just changed as they got older—he knows better than anyone. The answer didn’t sit well with Marco, but when he brought it up again, he had another moment of lost time that he couldn’t seem to explain, and didn’t mention it again—though whenever he looked in the mirror, he found it harder to pinpoint what, exactly, was different from before. 

There was a growing fuzziness to his thoughts in many ways. He found it harder and harder to concentrate on anything other than lifting weights, or sex. He spent hours in the gym now, it was the only thing that could seem to keep him occupied, because as soon as he stopped, he would just get horny, and start jacking off, if Roger wasn’t around to fuck instead. He’d noticed at some point that the house staff had stopped coming in to clean his room, and at he also realized he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d taken a shower. He went into his bathroom, tried to turn on the knob, and the water didn’t even flow—something was seriously wrong. When he went to confront Roger about it though, he lost another chunk of time, and the next thing he knew, he was back on his knees in the tub, letting Roger piss all over him, and then pissing all over himself, and then fucking the old man’s hole like a beast, before being sent away to his messy room, still soaked, where he climbed in bed and couldn’t stop himself from jacking off all over again from the scent clinging to him.

That was the first night he wet the bed, but hardly the last. Roger banned him from his own rooms on account of how dirty he was, and how much he smelled, and would instead come to his room and bathroom for rounds of piss play and fucking every night. The dynamic began to shift though. Marco would fuck him less, and sometimes just spend hours worshiping his old patron’s fat body, and the more time that passed, the more attracted he found himself to the old man—his scent, his gut, his piss, his cum, he found himself craving all of it in a way he never had before. He was losing more and more time now, entire days seeming to disappear in a haze of sex and working out, stuffing his face with whatever the staff could scrounge up from the kitchen, and worshiping every bit of Roger that he could.

He only rarely accompanied Roger to parties these days, but when they did, he was forced to scrub up—though now, being clean felt…wrong to him. He would get dressed up in a suit or a tux several sizes larger than the ones he’d used to wear, ones that seemed a bit too small for him, if anything, and go and listen to men of industry prattle on—though now, Marco struggled to follow any of the conversation. Before, with his looks and charisma, he’d often been the life of these parties. Now though, he felt like a freak and an idiot, dragged along mostly so Roger could humiliate him—and perhaps drag him to the bathroom, and force Marco to serve as his urinal, which was often the lone bright spot of these evenings.

When the accidents became more common, and started to happen in the gym, and the hallways, Roger insisted that Marco start wearing diapers. He was mortified, but unable to resist the older man’s demands, and so he started padding up each day—though he struggled to figure out how to get them on himself. Embarrassed, the only way he could seem to get them changed was if Roger helped him with it—which often forced him to wander the halls in a sodden diaper for hours, until Roger was available to help. Their usual vacation to Mexico only served to give him anxiety, and once there, he discovered that Roger had brought him along for a little light surgery. Marco tried to object, but couldn’t seem to withstand Roger’s more commanding presence. In the end, he went under the plastic surgeon’s knife, went home in his bandages, and a week later, it was time to unveil his new face.

Only when Roger took off the bandages in front of the mirror, he whispered something else in Marco’s ear, and much of hypnotic programming he’d been using on Marco lifted as well—and when he looked at himself, he screamed in horror. He looked like a pig! His human ears were now the flapping flesh of a hog, his nose and mouth had been contorted into a snout, and his eyes shrunken into his skull. He was hideous—and he finally saw his body as well. He was bigger, layers and layers of fat and muscle that had built up over the last year, thanks to the steroids and growth hormones Roger had been pumping into him while he’d been unaware. He was easily 350 pounds himself now, and covered with matted hair all over. 

He tried to scream and shout at Roger, but his voice was garbled and bestial. He tried to tackle him, rip him limb from limb, but the hypnotic commands stopped him from even laying a hand on him. Roger waited for Marco to tire himself out, and then made him his offer. “I have nothing wrong with keeping a dirty, gold digging pig like you around, you know. I’ll make sure your every need is catered to for the rest of your natural life. Or, if you so desire, you can leave here—but if you do, I’ll erase every memory you have of me, and you’ll be nothing other than an ugly pig roaming the streets, looking for cock. But, if you want to stay with me, there are two things you need to do, piggy… First, I’m going to need you to take a big, nasty shit in that diaper of yours…can you do that piggy? Want to show me what a dirty pig you are?

Marco pleaded with him, but there was no bending Roger’s will. From the gleam in his eye, Marco realized this had all been one long con, from the very beginning, using Marco’s own greed against him, to reduce him to this. Horrified at being cast out, he eventually squatted down, and dropped a massive load of shit into his diaper, smelling the mess, and finding his cock growing hard at his own debasement, grunting a bit in excitement.

“That’s a good piggy—now, all that’s left is to do a little digging. I know how good you are at finding gold—so let’s see you work on finding brown from now on, you nasty fucking pig.”

Roger bent over, presented his ass, and let loose a rank fart. Marco hesitated for a moment, and then dug in. After all, what choice did a gold digging pig like him really have?