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Another gift, for a different friend from Canternet IRC. I'm certain that he won't imagine himself in Nick's position; after all, he isn't himself a barely-eighteen year old man drooling over the thought of a fat, dominating daddy using him as a seat...

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The boy couldn't have been more than a month past eighteen--an adult by law if not by experience. To the observer, it wouldn't be obvious if his anxiety stemmed from his first visit to such a place, or if it came from the fact that he was here illegally. After all, Pigg's Iron was a gay bar, 21 and up only. But Nick had read on a number of forums that its patrons, staff, and owner often turned a blind eye to age checks on weeknights, and so he had decided to try his luck.

So far, no one had noticed as the blond-haired youth had roamed around the dark, smoky club. Even though he was the same height as these men, he felt inferior to them; their heavy guts, the bulging muscles of their arms, the masculine scent of sweat that poured from them, all were badges of a maturity that he wouldn't have for a few years.

That is, if he ever had those features at all. His lithe body, so thin that his ribs showed when he sucked in his breath, seemed like a permanent curse. Despite chugging protein shakes and gulping down weight-gain supplements, his body refused to increase in mass no matter how much or what he consumed.

Finally, Nick had decided that if he couldn't have the body that he wanted, he could at least see and experience it first-hand, and so he had trekked to Pigg's. Now, moving through the crowd, he felt those sweaty stomachs rubbing against him through his thin t-shirt. He frequently caught glimpses of the matted, hairy pits of the men who had discarded their shirts to show off their fuzzy paunches; as they walked around the darkened club their blubbery stomachs jostled and jiggled constantly. At one point, he saw one of the older men stripping off his pants, leaving him strutting around in nothing but a sweat-slicked natural fur coat, a massive lard-stretched belly, and a stained, bulging jock that left his plump, fur-covered ass bare to the world.

Although his intention was just to observe, to collect fodder for his fantasies, Nick secretly had hoped that one of these plump masculine gods might spot him, notice his slim, youthful form, and drag him off to the bathroom stalls, to do . . . well, whatever he wanted to do to the near-teen. So far, though, no one had given him a second look, and he was beginning to think he'd have to settle for gathering memories for use during his private wank sessions.

Suddenly, he felt wood against his back, and spun around. The tides of the grinding crowd had carried him to the bar in the middle of the place. It was an oasis in a sea of jiggling, hairy males and at first he'd thought it would be the best place from which to people watch, but he didn't want to draw undue attention from the staff, regardless of what the forums might have claimed. Thus, he'd intentionally avoided the bar, worried that the staff might notice him--and yet thanks to the wending currents in the sea of men, he'd wound up right next to the thing!

His worries multiplied exponentially as he saw the main bartender turn and start toward him. The guy was a perfect specimen of Homo homo ursus--the gay bear man. Corpulent arms heavy with both fat and muscle and a beanbag-sized gut covered in a thick pelt of black hair peeked out from beneath a too-tight, too-short tee that bore the bar's logo; similarly, heavy black hair coated his arms and a bushy goatee ringed his mouth. He made for an imposing sight.

Yet as the mountainous man approached, he flashed a smile that was barely visible through his facial hair. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly melodious, not nearly as bass-heavy as Nick would have expected from a man of his stature. "Hey boy, can I get you something? Water, soda?" He winked and added, "I'd offer you a shot but I'm pretty sure that'd get me arrested, eh?"

Nick blanched, terror showing in his eyes. The portly barkeep held up his hands, laughing; "Whoa there, kid, don't puke. Don't fret; if anyone else notices, they won't say anything. Staff decides who stays and who goes--and since the staff all report to me, well, you ain't going anywhere."

"At least, nowhere you don't wanna go," he tacked on with a sly grin.

Nick finally found his voice and squeaked out, "Um - I'd take some water if that's okay."

The bearish barman nodded and turned to the back bar, scanning it for a clean glass. He finally spotted one and bent down to grab it off a lower shelf. As he leaned over, Nick caught a glimpse of an expansive, fatty ass barely constrained by denim; the deep, woolly valley of the man's crack disappeared down into the jeans. The youth bit his lip, feeling his cock straining against his own pants at the sight.

The man turned back and filled up the glass with ice and water, then dropped in a twist of lime and handed it to the boy. Taking a sip, the anxious youngster found the nerve to ask a question: "You said - you said the staff reported to you. Does that mean you're-"

"Yep, I'm Bruce Pigg, owner and proprietor. Just call me Pigg. This den of sweaty bears and immorality belongs to me," interrupted the barkeeper cheerfully. He gazed around the place as a king might survey his domain, and then looked back to Nick, who chugged down the water thirstily.

Pigg let him finish his drink before asking, "So, mind if I give a guess why yer here?"

Without waiting for a nod of consent, he held up a hand, ticking off each point on his sausage-like fingers: "Yer gay. You just turned 18. You like big, fat, hairy men--bears, as they're usually known. You prob'ly want to be one, but you ain't got the genes for it. And so you came in to add the memories of some real men to yer spank bank."

Raising a single finger back up, he concluded, "Although yer real hope was that one of these big ol' hairy fags would drag you off and abuse your slender, barely-legal body. Did I cover everything?"

Nick gaped at the man for a moment, and then nodded hurriedly. Pigg laughed, his corpulence shaking with each guffaw. "Don't look at me like I'm a mind reader, son. You ain't the first one come in here for that. I think that every 18 year-old cub and would-be bear chaser winds up here."

He leaned down to look the youth straight in the face and added, "But yer one of the lucky ones. Know why?"

His throat dry despite his recent drink, the youngster asked, "W-why?"

"Because I noticed you." The bartender leaned in close and whispered, barely audible above the din of the clientele, "And the boys I spot get something special."

The kid gulped and muttered, "S-something special? Like . . . like what?"

Pigg straightened up, and then hollered at one of the barbacks. "Keith, take over; I got somethin' to take care of in the office, alright?" Without waiting for a reply, the big man lifted part of the bar and stepped out, then glanced at Nick. "You coming? It's yer choice. Always yer choice."

In a near-trance, Nick nodded again and followed the bearish male. The throng of flesh seemed to part in front of the massive-stomached man, and the kid followed in his wake. It took them but moments to reach a door on which hung a sign that said "EMPLOYEES ONLY"; Pigg opened it and stepped through, Nick following on his heels.

The bartender led the boy through a narrow hallway, so cramped that that the giant man barely fit through the passage. At the end of the hall, he was ushered his guest into a spacious if somewhat messy room the size of a studio apartment--an apt description since a bed was set up against the back wall.

Answering the unasked question, Pigg said, "Yeah, I sleep here sometimes. Easier to crash out in here after a real long night, especially if I got to be back early the next day." He sat down in a chair, the wood creaking in objection, and motioned for Nick to sit across from him on the bed. The youth sat down obediently on the plush mattress, his hands clasped nervously in his lap.

"Now, lemme ask ya, son: What are you expecting to happen back here?" the portly barkeeper inquired.

Nick responded in a quavering voice, "I'm n-not sure, honestly. I didn't really think something like this would really happen."

Pigg leaned forward and put his hand on the youth's knee; the contact sent a shiver through the slim body.

"I'll tell ya what's gonna happen back here: Only the things you say yes to," he said quietly, smiling. "That sound good to you? Like I said, it's always yer choice."

The boy's cheeks blushed red as he nodded yet again. He swallowed hard and then, finding courage that surprised him, he stuttered, "C-could I - could I see you without--y'know, without your shirt?"

The bartender didn't reply verbally; instead, he responded by gripping the bottom of his t-shirt and pulling it up and over his head. He threw it on the bed next to Nick; the youth could smell booze and and cigarette smoke and the bitter odor of sweat emanating from it, but he didn't care. He was busy drinking in the visage of a god.

Pigg's barrel-like abdomen was blanketed by a pelt of deep, ebony hair; patches of pale pink skin peeked through in one or two places, seeming almost embarrassed at their nakedness. The bristles on his sagging pecs glittered with sweat; the swath of fur thinned around the chestnut-colored areolae and dime-sized russet that crowned them. The twin mounds drooped down to rest on the swell of his gargantuan belly--a massive sphere of flesh that was easily the girth of two ripe watermelons. The hirsute balloon lolled down over the man's belt line a solid six inches. With every breath, the lard-stuffed gut wiggled slightly, never quite remaining still.

Nick sat, immobilized by awe, for several minutes; he sought to memorize every fleshy curve, every inch of that shrine to bearish virility. Eventually, the barman broke the silence, uttering softly, "If you want, boy, you can touch it. See what a real man feels like."

In a flash, the youngster had bolted forward, throwing himself at the mound of blubber to wrap his arms around it. The expanse was simply too great for him to embrace. Sinking into the warm lard, he buried his face in the coarse black hair and inhaled the smell of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and the salty funk of sweat.

It was like embracing the very essence of masculinity. Nick lost himself in a frenzy of indulgence, rubbing his face and hands over every inch of the tremendous stomach, worshiping this idol to gluttony with his head, chest, arms, and hands; he stroked it, moaned into it, even lapped at it, tasting the salty skin.

When he finally drew back to sit on the floor in front of the quietly grinning bartender, Nick realized that all he could smell was the musky, potent scent of Pigg's body. It seemed to have permeated his very being. He hoped that the fragrance would linger forever.

Suddenly, the boy felt a booted foot against his chest; it pushed him back against the bed so that his head and upper body sprawled onto the soft mattress. The barkeeper stood up with surprising spryness, and as he stepped forward, he growled, "I think it's time fer you an' me to get better acquainted, son."

Darkness engulfed him as Pigg straddled the half-prone youngster and dropped his pendulous gut right onto the young, eager face. Hairy flesh smothered Nick, who found himself trapped joyfully in a world consisting only of warm, wobbling flab. He pressed against it, nuzzling the squishy walls of his prison with delight.

Just as his vision grew dim around the edges from near-suffocation by tummy, the weighty stomach pulled away. Freed from his voluntary tomb of belly, Nick gasped in lungfuls of fresh air. Lust glazed his eyes; he was elated at the erotic experience but crestfallen that his fantasy had ended so quickly.

As he regained his breath, his head lethargically swiveled back to gawk at the bartender, who just grinned. "Y'alright there, son?" He glanced down, noting the prominent lump in Nick's pants, and chuckled. "Yep, yer perfectly fine."

In a hoarse voice, the youngster croaked, "More. P-please . . . sir. Do whatever - whatever you want to me!"

In a vaguely sinister tone that Nick missed entirely, the barman inquired, "You mean that? Remember, I'll only do what you ask."

Nick replied again, feverish desire glowing in his eyes: "Yes. I-I'm 18, I'm legal; I consent to whatever you want to do with me and to me."

His grin widening further at those words, Pigg stood, looming over the kid. "Get yer ass up on the bed and lay back," he ordered forcefully.

As Nick climbed onto the bed, the bartender undid his belt and unzipped his denim jeans. He let his pants sink to the floor to puddle around his feet, revealing cellulite-stippled legs that were just as pelted as the rest of his body; each of his thighs were each as thick as the youth's waist. He wore a pair of sweat-stained navy blue boxers; the undergarments barely contained the breadth of his enormous ass, and the heavy bulge in the front indicated an endowment in proportion to the rest of his body.

The barkeep truly was a perfect specimen of maleness, and the kid actually moaned at the sight of him. He reached down urgently to grope himself, but yelped when his host smacked his hand away and chided, "Nope, hands off that for now. You be good and you might earn that later."

With a needy whimper, the lad dropped his hand reluctantly back to his side, and then asked, "So what's next then?"

Pigg kicked off his boots, leaving himself clad only in dark gray socks and damp blue underwear. Then he grinned a somewhat unnerving smile and softly replied, "Now you find out why they call me Pigg, son."

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but the words lodged in his throat; something incredibly strange was happening to his host's mouth. Two yellow points were emerging from above the barkeeper's fat upper lip; the toothy protrusions jutted outward slowly until they were nearly six inches in length. These strange tusk-like canines curled up slightly at the tip and transformed the man's devilish grin into a far more demonic visage.

The next metamorphosis was harder to spot, but as the fear-restrained youth gazed on, the already hirsute man's body hair thickened into a coarse, fur-like black coat. The bristling hairs left only his hands and face bare, but even the skin there darkened, blackening and gaining a rough, leather texture. His pudgy nose flattened across his face and then extended into a pig-like snout that twitched as the changing man breathed in deeply.

A sickening cacophony of popping and snapping followed quickly on the heels of the last alteration, the sounds causing the boy to flinch in sympathy despite the bizarre situation. For the first time during the transformation, Pigg seemed to be in some pain; he moaned and snorted with discomfort as his feet grew longer, stretching his woolen socks taut over the elongated extremities. Simultaneously, the bones of his legs slithered about visibly under the layers of muscle and lard; his heels drew upward, tearing his socks to shreds and leaving him standing upon the balls of his feet in a far more bestial stance.

The fragile bones continued to writhe inside Pigg's body as the big toe on each foot lengthened even further. The yellowed nail on top of each elongated digit turned a glossy black before widening; the other toes fused together behind the hardening mass, while his pinky toe drew up to his heel and shrunk, becoming a small claw-like protrusion.

As the change completed, the contortions left the barman standing on massive, cloven hooves. He stamped at the floor and snorted, staring at Nick as he rubbed his black-nailed hands over the girth of his gut, which soon began to inflate like some hideous, fatty balloon. It expanded more and more until the bloated sphere of muscle and blubber was easily as large as the boy's entire body. There was a soft pop as the elastic of his boxers snapped, followed by a shredding noise as they burst asunder, unable to contain the swelling of the terrific, trunk-like thighs and hips.

The transformation seemed finally to be complete. The barkeep was now some sort of gargantuan boar monster--an actual pig--standing nude before the human youth. Every inch of the creature seemed to wobble and jiggle flabbily, from its flapping jowls, to the obscene glut of its stomach, to its vast lardy thighs and hips. Beneath the flabby overhang of the tremendous gut hung a foot of black-skinned cock sheathed in a long, veiny foreskin; two cantaloupe-sized balls hung down several inches in a pendulous, leather scrotum that swung idly to and fro.

The beast growled then, licking its ebony lips with a long, pink tongue and in a gruff voice rumbled, "Still here, boy? You ready for more? After all, you said I could do _anything_I wanted."

The words snapped the youth out of his trance; he stammered in terror, unable to form a coherent reply, as he scrambled backward and banged against the headboard. He had nowhere to go, caught between the wall and the monster that the barkeep had become.

The boar stalked over, hooves clattering on the floor, then climbed onto the bed; the tortured springs squeaked in protest as he stared predatorily at the boy through eyes the color of dried blood. Nick recognized a smirk on the jowly, tusked face as Pigg pointed toward the kid's crotch; "Why you actin' so scared? Seems part of you liked the show."

The youth looked down to find that, despite the horrible metamorphosis he just witnessed, his own shaft was still rock-hard and leaking in his jeans. He opened his mouth to protest, but all that emerged was a pleading whimper; whether he was begging to be released or for a release, he was unsure.

At that, the piggish monster spun quickly round on the bed, showing surprising speed and dexterity; the youngster caught a glimpse of a curly tail above a monumentally hairy crevasse before the prodigiously girthy ass rushed straight toward his face and head.

Nick tried to squirm out of the way but the beast was too quick for him. The initial impact dazed him for a second; when he regained his senses, he found his face imprisoned in a damp, musky canyon of hairy, quivering flesh. The weighty mass of each cheek settled around him, pressing up against the smooth wooden headboard to leave his head sealed inside the pig-man's cavernous ass crack.

Utter darkness and perspiring, jiggling meat surrounded him. Every inhalation drew the bitter, salty stink of the boar's nethers into his nostrils; the porcine musk burned into his lungs and seemed to saturate his very being. The stench was overpowering and disgusting--at first. He reached up, trying in vain to dislodge the pig and escape.

But as each breath drew more of the pungent smell into the boy's airway, he began to find it strangely . . . arousing. Some traitorous part of his brain whispered to him that it wasn't nasty; it was the scent of pure male virility, of sweaty, obese, god-like masculinity. The fragrance filled him, soaking into his every cell; the funk penetrated into his brain, filling it with a thick miasma of lust. He felt drunk, his thoughts sluggish and incoherent.

Pigg ground his monumental rear against the entombed youth's face, squealing low commands in his graveled, piggy voice as he did so: "Breathe that in, boy. Feel that hot flesh pressing all around you. That's what you want, ain't it. It's what you've always wanted. No, it's what you've always needed."

Nick moaned weakly against his fleshy cell; the sound made the monster chuckle gutturally. "Yeah, give yourself to me. You gotta have this, and you'll say yes to whatever ol' Pigg asks as long as you get it, won't ya?" he growled. He felt the youngster nod his head feebly in reply even as the human continued his feeble struggles.

The beast kept his seat for several minutes, letting his corrupting perfume permeate his new servant thoroughly; all the while he droned commands into the boy's pliant, inebriated mind: You have no life other than bein' my Boy. You belong to me. You love to serve at the bar--and to service any of my customers in any way I order you to. You got no name other than "Boy". You live for me, your "Sir". You belong to Pigg, and whatever he wants, you want. Your only purpose is to serve and service me, your god, your everything.

Finally, the monstrous barkeep felt the youth's body fall still and limp--all except the towering pillar at his crotch, which had soaked the denim restraining it with a load cum which had erupted from his straining cock without any physical stimulation.

Pigg squealed with glee; the boar had been hoping for a new servant, ever since he had gotten hungry and devoured the last one whole. He knew he simply had to be patient; one always came to him eventually, and they always gave themselves to him freely. He lifted himself heavily off the lad and hopped onto the floor, moving to stand in front of his newest Boy.

Hair mussed, face flushed and sticky with the pig's pungent perspiration, Nick gazed slowly around the room as though seeing it for the first time. When his eyes lit on the mountainously obese pig, his Sir, a smile creased his cheeks and he slurred out drunkenly, "Sir, wha 's I doin'?"

"You just had yerself a little nap, Boy. You feelin' better now?" responded Pigg. The kid nodded; he must have been tired to sneak off to sleep like this; after all, it was the middle of a shift! The realization that he might have been shirking his duties had him clambering off the bed flash, ready to dash out of the room.

However, as he did so, Boy glanced over to see that the boar's giant cock was dribbling; Sir's thin yellowish precum dripped from the lengthy, bunched tip of his foreskin to puddle on the dirty floor. That just wouldn't do; his god came before any customer!

He required no order; the boy dropped to the floor and crawled toward Sir like a good servant. First he lapped up the sticky mess from the tile, savoring its bitter-salty taste as he swallowed ever drop. Then he dragged himself over to nuzzle reverently against the god's enormous balls and colossal shaft.

In the very back of his mind were vague visions, maybe remnants of a dream he'd had while asleep. As he hefted the elephantine cock in his hand, though, and wrapped his lips around the snout-like foreskin, the tainted, burning juices splashing onto his tongue, those memories faded like the bad dream he knew they were. He was Boy, and he was with Sir, subservient and worshipful. He was exactly where he wanted--no, where he needed--to be.