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After all this time, it was finally happening!
You’d heard rumors about that wonderful place—the sty—but you couldn’t believe it was real. Not until you saw it for yourself.
Mud that made people into cute, stupid porkers… blissful, happy livestock, content to eat slop and fuck and do whatever else dumb silly pigs do. For you and your girlfriend—two burnt out failgirls with a perverted streak—it was a dream come true.
No more rent! No more bills! No more work, or words, or anything but hog heaven. You could just be pretty sows together, fucking and playing in the mud, forever.
It took a couple weeks to get everything sorted. There were friends to say goodbye to, accounts to settle, jobs to leave. It was a headache, sure, but you’d never have to do it again.
You held your girlfriend’s hand as the bus carried you there, carried you to your forever. You knew this was the right choice. You knew you wouldn’t regret this, but… you were still revoking your humanity. Making the biggest change anyone could possibly make.
Would you be okay?
She squeezed your hand. Hands that’d be cute trotters, soon.
“It’s gonna be alright,” she said, her voice as warm and gentle as always, “it’s gonna be more than alright. This is what we’ve always wanted!”
“I don’t know,” you squeaked, staring out the window. You were far from the city, now. You could see farms, fields, hills. It’d only be a few minutes, now.
“Hey.” She leaned in close, close enough to whisper. “You remember, on our first date? You wanted to get the poutine, but thought it was too heavy for you. So I ordered some for the table, and—”
“And… I ate every last one. You didn’t get a lick in.” You chuckled, remembering how stuffed you were, that night. And how much more you ate the next, and the next, and the next.
“Well, that’s what life’s gonna be like, now. All the poutine—er, slop—you could ever want. No worries about where your next meal’s gonna come from. It’ll be right there in the trough. And… I’ll be with you, too!”
She beamed at you, and took both your hands. Scooted the littlest bit closer. Inches apart from you, now.
“We’ll always be together. Just a couple of silly, happy hogs.”
You couldn’t help but smile, too.
“Yeah. Hogs.”
You kissed. For a brief moment, you forgot about the sty, and the city, and everything between.
All that mattered was her. The taste of her lips, the sound of her voice, the beat of her heart.
How lucky you were to spend forever with her.
Ding. You felt the bus slow to a stop.
You were here.
---
“Ready?”
You stood in front of the open sty. About a dozen pigs were spread around, inside. Some rolled in the mud, content to bathe in the sun and show off their big, smelly bodies. Some snorted and sniffed in the trough, digging up bits of apple and turnip, slop splashing on their snouts. A couple, even, were cooped up in the corner, lazily fucking the way hogs did, with lots of squeals and grunts and wiggling legs.
That’d be you two, soon.
“I… think? I’m still a little nervous.”
“Yeah… me too.”
You were silent for a moment.
Even when you’d always been a pig, in an internal sense, even when you’d always wanted this, how could you just walk in? Your human life, for all its faults, was all you knew. And from what you understood, you’d lose more than just your body once you stepped in the mud.
But, was that so bad? Was a simpler, docile life so terrible? The two of you were already hedonists. Why not take it as far as possible? Humanity was no gift, to you, it was an obligation. Your only choice.
This was your future.
You were gonna be a big silly piggy.
Your girlfriend took your hand. She’d made peace with it too.
“Here,” she said, perhaps the last time you’d hear her human words, “let’s walk in together.”
And you did.
Hand in hand, steps in sync, you tumbled into the pen, mud smearing over your clothes and getting stuck up nostrils. You rolled, and rolled, instinctively. You’d be a piggy! You already could feel it. Already could feel the bristles on your body. Already could smell the rich odor of the sty.
You looked at your partner, and saw her own porcine features creeping in. An upturned snout, and cute piggy ears, and trotters for fingers!
“S… snrt…”
She probably could still speak. But why bother? Oinks and snorts worked just as well.
You were ready to join her. You could feel your face changing already, cheeks getting super chubby. What’d be a whole-hogged snort came up from your throat, up to your lips, and…
“Pfbbbbtttt!”
You belched, instead. Belched in a way no human—or porcine—mouth could.
Could you call it a belch? When it sounded like that? When it smelled like that? Tasted?
You could taste it. It was horribly bitter, horribly rich. You could make out innumerable nanoscopic flavors, as though your flatulent outburst were a meal from a five-star chef. Not that it tasted good. Oh, no, no, it was foul. And unmistakable.
Ass.
You knew it wasn’t a person’s ass—it was too strong, too wild. And while you’d never tasted a pig’s rear end before, you didn’t have to imagine what it smelled like.
You couldn’t feel your fingers. Your arms went numb. In fact, your whole body seemed to contort impossibly, bones shrinking to nothing, organs sloshing and rearranging, all else going null and featureless.
And the smelly, rancid burp-fart. You knew it didn’t come out of your mouth.
You could feel it twitching. Round, sensitive, inhuman in design. It reeked like a farm. It reeked like a pig’s anus, because it was a pig’s anus.
“Sn… snort!”
Your girlfriend trotted, excitedly. You felt legs—what used to be your legs, but were now too short and stubby to be anything human—trot along with her, in sync.
You couldn’t move. Not on your own. Your whole body was muscles and nerves and fat, attached to something bigger. No butt—and certainly not a smelly gross pig’s butt—could move of its own volition. They moved wherever their owner, piggy or otherwise, demanded.
You wondered what she looked like. But you couldn’t look in her direction, anymore. Your vision was spread over your cheeks, radiating out in a dull, hazy aura. The middle, even, was completely dark; all you could see was the inside of your own fat silly piggy cheeks.
You’re a piggy’s butt.
You might’ve been a piggy, if you’d been more careful. If you’d held off on this, you’d still be human. But no! Just a piggy’s butt. And you knew that, once you were in the sty, you stayed in the sty.
Forever.
Always a piggy butt.
To a lazy, horny loser like you, did it really matter whether you were a whole pig or not? A pig’s butt would be gross and dirty all the same. And the vestigial bits of thought that pigs did have, butts didn’t. They just sat around being fat horny butts with silly smelly pig puckers.
Knowing that made clinging to your personhood so much harder. Butts had no brains, not a single neuron to think. They were butts, without any agency, without any identity. Whenever you saw a pig’s butt, before, you hardly even thought about it. You weren’t a unique entity, anymore. You were part of one, but that was all. Forever!
You wanted to hold on so badly, since you knew what being a piggy butt entailed. You knew you were in for a gross existence. Your eternity was piggy gas and piggy shit and piggy mud. But some deep, desperate part of you still craved it. It was so, so good to be an anus and cheeks. To be reduced to something even lower than a piggy, even more pathetic.
And you had your girlfriend—your owner.
She already was snorting contentedly, mind in a piggy haze. She didn’t need to do anything but snort, snort, sniff. Trot, waddle, sway. Wiggling her big, silly butt everywhere. Enticing other pretty sows. Perhaps she thought so much like a hog, already, that her transition to pig-brain was near instant. You’d hoped for that, yourself. Always thought you were so much like a dirty smelly silly pig.
You knew better now. You’re just a piggy’s butt.
Pffffbttt!
Your silly, twitchy, sensitive anus blew out a massive, rancid fart. The flavor had gotten even more intense, more complex. Rich, textured.
Pfffbtttt.
And that one, that one was more wet. It made your giant cheeks wobble and jiggle everywhere, and your silly hole burn from sensation.
You realized, too, that your hole was wet.
Pfffbbbbbbbtttttttttt.
A thin, watery stream of shit squirted from you. Using you like a butt. It tasted worse than anything you’d ever even imagined. It was the only thing you’d ever taste again. No more food, not even slop. Just digested, piggy shits.
This was heaven.
As the pile of pig shit grew taller, beneath you, the last bits of people-thoughts dripped out with them, memories still smeared on your anal folds. You didn’t need them, anymore. Being an ass was all you needed. Being a shitty, gassy piggy ass was your life, your everything. All you ever were and all you ever would be.
And you were your former-girlfriend’s ass. Even if you couldn’t remember that, couldn’t remember her, you were exactly where you needed to be. Together, in everything. A faithful, lowly part of your piggy goddess. Barely conscious, but full of love. Blissed out on its simple existence.
How lucky!