Roughing It
I had been looking forward to vacationing at the coach's place in the woods for a while now. Sometimes you just need a break from the day-to-day grind, and this was one of those times--after a few hard months at work with no real time off, a long weekend to recover was just the ticket.
The cabin wasn't too far out of the way--maybe a couple of hours from the city--but, as I drove down mountain roads flanked by trees fading to dead autumn colors, I found it felt like a whole new world altogether.
The sun had already sunk behind the mountain horizon by the time I reached Coach Pink's cabin, though it still wasn't all that late. I parked my car off the gravel driveway, pulled my weekend bag out of the car, and went up in the fading evening light to knock on the door.
The pig was slow to come to the door and it looked like he wasn't ready for company, but the grin he gave me as he stood there in a stained wifebeater and striped boxers told me he knew exactly what effect he was going for. "Musky!" he said.
"Hey Coach."
Coach Pink was on the older side, mostly hairless, and sported a hefty beer gut. His official coaching job was at one of the local high schools, but you'd never see him indulging himself in fun during the school year ("not till I get my transfer to the university," he'd say): it was over the summer he'd go hog wild.
At least, 'hog wild' is what he called it. I'd kind of observed that his off time still consisted of training people, just like his day job--though admittedly in a much different way.
I came inside and pressed my snout against his, sharing breath with him a little before planting a kiss on his lips.
He smiled. "Guess you're ready for this weekend already. Your room is--well, just go ahead and toss your stuff in that corner room over there."
The corner room was basically empty, but I figured I'd be spending the nights closer to him anyway. As I came back to the main room, though, I noticed how empty it was as well. "Not a lot of furniture up here?" I said. "I mean, I figured we'd be roughing it a little--I wouldn't have expected a home theater or anything--but no chairs even?"
Coach Pink came up to me and slapped my rump playfully. "Don't be rude. A skunk is good enough furniture anyway. Training time."
At the sound of those familiar trigger words I felt a rush of pleasure through my body while at the same time I lost any control of it whatsoever. "It's good to submit," I said reflexively.
"Good boy." He led me back to a room that looked like a kitchen, though it didn't have any appliances at all--just a counter with some grocery bags on it. "Now, you're right, we are kind of roughing it out here. Gonna need some help getting work done around this place before playtime."
With that he made me sit against the wall where the counter ended, and opened up the little gold locket around my neck.
Coach Pink had been fascinated when I'd told him about it--the morphichron, a device that allowed some measure of arbitrary shapeshifting. He was even more surprised to find how rarely I used it. When I told him there weren't as many safeguards as there are for people who have their own magic to use and that I might get stuck if I tried transforming without supervision, he seemed to make it his personal mission to change me into something every time he saw me.
And now he was paging through the icons inside it as my mind was lost in the bliss of Training Time.
"Here we go," he said, and gave it a tap.
I felt the change begin to take effect almost immediately. How could I not? The first thing that happened was my mouth being forced open to enormous proportions. I don't mean just a bit of working the ol' jaw--I'm talking stretching my whole face till my mouth was an open square, larger than the whole rest of my body had been a moment ago, my tongue sticking out stiffly a good ways in front of me.
I sat there, still unable to move as the change progressed to the interior of my body as well, the cavity that was my mouth expanding inwards, leaving the whole of me, as near as I could tell, little more than a giant, cubical box filling up the whole space between sections of countertop.
"Atta_boy_," he said, hand in his boxers and stroking himself as he watched me change into a large appliance. I felt the amazing tingling sensation of fur fading away and organic parts turning into metal, my tail snaking up to plug itself into the wall before the movements in my body stopped and I was complete.
And then Coach Pink grabbed hold of my snout--or at least, something that used to be my snout--and gave it a few twists.
If I had been animate, I'm sure I would have blushed at the touch. Even as it was, though, I felt myself heating up a little.
And then, a lot.
The coach grabbed hold of my tongue--my door, now--and closed it while I preheated.
I couldn't move to look after him, but from the sound of the shopping bags rustling I gathered he was preparing something on the countertop as the air in my mouth grew hotter and hotter.
After a few minutes of listening to him I heard a loud ding in my head that announced that I was ready.
And I really was. Something about the heat building up in me made me incredibly... hungry, in a way. Whatever he was making, I wanted it in me.
Coach Pink came back around and pulled my door open.
Coach Pink laid a rather large pizza on one of my racks (I have racks?) and shut my door again.
The taste was maddening. I could smell the mix of bread and cheese and tomato and subtler toppings as they baked inside me, an ever-intensifying flavor I couldn't get the satisfaction of actually eating.
I held on to the aroma a short time after the pig turned off my heat and removed the pizza, leaving me to watch as he leaned against the counter opposite me and ate the whole thing, the bulge in his boxers only becoming more apparent as the meal went on.
Tease.
When he finally came back over to cancel the transformation, I got up and looked at what was left in the grocery bags. "You've got food for me too, right?" (Nothing like being essentially a hollow cube for half an hour to make your stomach feel empty.)
He smirked and came up behind me, grinding under my tail a little as he leaned in over my shoulder. "Absolutely," he said. "You've still got more training time, after all."
I slumped forward over the counter as the trigger took effect, leaving my body at the mercy of the coach's commands. "It's good to submit," after all.
"That's right. Right this way, stinker."
I already had a good idea what to expect as the pig led me out of the kitchen, and my guess was validated as he brought me into the cabin's bathroom.
It was a small space barely distinguishable from a closet, given that--save for a tiled floor--none of the stereotypical fixtures were in place.
And he pointed out my seat, an empty space on the floor over some exposed piping.
Roughing it indeed.
"Chop chop," he said. I tried to get comfortable on the pipe but the coach's hands were already exploring the morphichron's options. "I have a... personal interest in getting this change done quickly, after all."
It didn't take him long to activate the right icon, and I felt my rump melding to the pipe as I started to change.
The pig didn't even stop to wait until I was done before he dropped his pants and started grinding his bare ass against my snout.
I felt my mouth opening up again in response, wider than really ever ought to be comfortable, my lips stiffening into a hard ring that surrounded the coach's firm rump, snugly fitting just under his curly tail.
He rested his weight on me harder, and as my body solidified and took on a hard porcelain texture, he started to release his piss into me.
The taste of it was rank and powerful, the dark yellow stream mixing with the water pooling in the back of my throat as most of my body disappeared, leaving me nothing more than a toilet bowl and tank. The piss tasted ... good, somehow. I mean, I could tell it was a strong drink I'd have had trouble swallowing if I were animate, but... as a toilet, it just tasted right.
And now it was time to really get used.
I felt the coach brace himself against my rim as he grunted with the effort of moving his bowels. The remains of my mouth filled with water a bit more as I anticipated the load to come.
It was too dark to see much under the shadow of the pig's body, but I could hear the slick sounds of the first turd sliding through his opening tailhole.
The splash when it hit my water was an intense sensation, the smell and the taste of shit filling me and making me feel that strong contentment you get when you're following your calling.
It was good.
There was hardly time to savor it, though, because the pig still had more to unload. Each splash as he filled me only escalated the powerful scent and flavor of the muck.
The onslaught of the pig's shit was, on the one hand, interminable as my bowl filled up with it, but on the other hand, it ended far too soon.
I'm a good toilet--I could handle way more than this, I thought, as the coach wiped his ass and added the paper to my pile, but I had no way to communicate it to him.
Coach Pink stood up, pulled his boxers back up, and turned to flush me--but stopped as soon as his finger was on my handle.
"Actually," he said, "we shouldn't be letting all that good waste go to waste..."
He moved his hand instead to where the morphichron was incorporated into my design, and cancelled the transformation.
Nausea immediately struck me as a full toilet bowl began to turn back into my organic digestive system. The coach was by my side, speaking my deepening trigger as I struggled to swallow shit, piss, and paper.
"Training time, training time, training time..."
My stomach continued to churn as Pink's waste began to stew there, but the constant call back into obedient trance helped me keep it all down as I finished turning back into myself, even if the revulsion kept me from fully responding to the trigger.
I breathed in deeply as I managed to stay together, my stretched-out gut rumbling uncomfortably.
"Wow," the coach said. "You've come a long way since I started working with you, stinker. So proud." He leaned in and added, in a soft murmur: "Filthy beast."
"OINK." At the new phrase--was it a new phrase?--my rebellious stomach flipped its signals immediately. I wasn't nauseous now--I was hungry.
"Wasn't enough, was it?" he said. "You want more, don't you, filthy beast?"
"OINK." My mind began to cloud over as the stronger trigger took over. I could barely string two thoughts together, but I knew what I wanted: more. "Feed... me..."
The pig was already looking through my morphichron. "Oh, don't you worry. I will."