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"One more pizza for tonight, George, and then you can take off. Okay?" I nodded, mumbling softly under my breath. I didn't like my boss--a large, sweaty rhino, in his late forties and starting to show it. His skin, although already wrinkled enough simply by virtue of being a rhino, was dry and lifeless. His horn was showing its wear and tear from his decades of having it. His flesh had begun to sag, his bones had begun to weaken, and his eyes had started to take on a milky white tint--cataracts beginning to form.

But that wasn't why I hated him. I'm not that shallow. No, I hated him because he worked me to the bone. I worked in a hot pizza shop for eight hours a day while he sat in the back next to an industrial fan and did nothing. Not, of course, that he had any reason to; he owned the place. All he did was push me around. I was always taking orders, making pizzas, running the orders out as fast as I could. And what did that work get me? Minimum wage, with a few bucks occasionally taken out when I pissed one of the customers off. Not that I could help that. I knew I wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I sometimes got in shouting matches with customers when they insulted my intelligence. And then I got docked money I absolutely needed. That was no way to live, but I had to do it.

I just had to get out of my parents' house. My mother was a steaming drunk who laid around the house and bitched at me when I didn't do exactly as she wanted exactly when she wanted it. Then she got my dad to beat me. I didn't hate them though; they did feed me and bought me clothes. Still, after high school I knew I had to get out of there. I applied all across town, and the only one that would consider hiring me was, well, Jerry Beckham.

He was a horrible man, to be sure, but I couldn't quit--trying to support myself proved to be difficult, even with the meager pay I was receiving. And he didn't want me to quit either. He "needed" me.

"Oh, and George? Actually, before you go, I want to see you in the back." He grinned at me. I sighed.

"But, Jerry? You just said I could go!"

He walked over to me and grabbed my muzzle with his thumb and index finger. He turned my face so my eyes were locked onto his. And then he kissed me. I closed my eyes, letting it happen, hating myself for it as his tongue slid into my mouth, hating myself more as I felt his hand drop close to my crotch and squeeze, feeling my pig meat through my shorts and underwear. When I thought that I couldn't stand it any longer, he stopped and backed away from me.

"You'll do it, Georgie Boy. You don't have much of a choice. Now get cookin', pig. Them customers ain't gonna feed themselves." He turned around and went through the plastic screening connecting the front of the shop with the back. My chest heaved, tears forming in my eyes. I choked them back, though, and went to the oven, to make my last pizza of the day.

It was quick work: pepperoni pizza--really simple stuff. The customer, an average-sized meerkat, smiled and thanked me when I handed him his order. I tried to strike up last-minute conversation with him, to delay the inevitable, but it was awkward enough that I at last just let the guy go. I turned off the lights and locked the door behind him, turning the sign from "open" to "closed." I put my hands in my pockets and watched as he drove away, my eyes sliding up towards the moon. I didn't linger there too long, though, for fear of keeping Jerry waiting. I turned away from the serenity of the darkness beyond the pizza shop window, and parted the plastic curtain, walking into my Hell.

Jerry waited for me on a chair by the fan, which for now was switched off. He was naked, his half-flaccid dick resting between his hairy balls, which themselves were sitting on the wood of the chair between his legs. Upon seeing me, his head--and his cock--rose up to meet me. "You've procrastinated long enough, faggot. Get your sweaty ass over here." He didn't raise his voice higher than usual. That wasn't his style. He simply ordered me, and I always did what he told me.

"The customer wouldn't stop talking, boss. It's not my fault he wanted to chat." I removed my shirt, letting my rolling mounds of fat flop out into the open. He licked his lips and looked me over.

"What'd I tell you about calling me boss? You'll call me Daddy if you want a job here!" He grinned and stroked himself to full hardness, waiting for me to get undressed--waiting for me to be his toy.

Ever since I got out on my own, I stopped buying underwear. Without parents around to snoop in my drawers, I was able to buy and use diapers on a regular basis. It was a large chunk of my income, sure, but it was one of those things I was eager to try. Hell, I could walk around in just a diaper all day if I wanted to, but of course Jerry saw to it that I was working eight hours a day, so I had to cover up.

Then one day, a week after I started working there, Jerry began to sexually abuse me. He randomly walked up to me and slapped my ass, and squeezed it, breathing down my neck while I worked one of the ovens. He felt my diaper though, and he ordered me to the back room to pull down my pants for him. He called me a sissy and a baby after he saw that I had wet myself. He told me that he was going to be my daddy, and that I'd be his baby. I didn't argue with him, even though the sight of him was enough to make me retch. I needed a job, and he needed a cock-sleeve. He raped me, then and there, forcing me to suck his rancid dick, to lick his sweaty, hairy ass, and then he fucked me, rubbing my dick through my diaper, telling me I was to be a good baby boy for him, or else he'd spank me. I cried the entire time, and when he finally came, and I felt his sickening jizz squirt into my tailhole, I vomited. I vomited everything that was in my gut. And I did it for over twenty minutes. He waited calmly for me to finish, before pulling me off of his cock and throwing me into my sick. He told me to clean it up, and then to go home. And whenever he wanted to, he told me, he'd fuck me, and he said that I should try my best to enjoy it, because lube was out of the question.

It went on for a while after that. He'd randomly pull me into the back room and ask to see my diaper. If I had wet it, which considering that he never let me use the employee bathroom was always, he would spank me. As the days wore on, he gradually got me to voluntarily shit myself. I hated doing that in public. People tend to notice when there's the stink of shit around. And I knew he'd blame me if we lost sales because the customers thought there was something wrong with the food by the smell of the place. But he didn't care. He told me to shit myself, so I shit myself. And when I was messy, he'd spank me harder and piss down my throat. Later, he started to use me as a full toilet, and shat into my mouth whenever he got the urge.

It was disgusting. I love scat-play, and I love watersports. As a matter of fact, I loved everything he did to me. But I hated when he did it to me. I found it horrible when he sat on my face and shat in my mouth. I found it terrible when he held my face close to his stinking ass and farted on me. I loathed him when spanked me, when he fucked me, when he called me his baby. But I kept my mouth shut. I wizened up to what he wanted me to do and I tried to make him happy. I deep-throated his rhino dick, rimmed his ass, called him my daddy, and rode him until he filled me as full as he could. And when he threw me to the floor after he came, and spit on me, and told me I meant nothing to anyone, I lay there and took it. And the scary thing was, I started to believe it.

His breath caught in his throat when I pulled down my pants and revealed my sagging yellowed diaper. He jerked himself a few times and squeezed his nipples when I kneeled in front of him and spread my knees, as I was taught to do. I looked up at his face, seeing how stupid he looked when he was horny. His eyes glazed over and he started to drool.

"Hey there, Piggy, Piggy," he said. "You're a little wet there, ain'tcha? What did I tell you about little pigs who piss themselves like babies?" He squeezed himself harder waiting for my answer.

I gave him the best one I could. "You said you'd sp-spank them, Daddy. . ." He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yes. I did, didn't I? But I don't think I will. Not yet anyway." He looked me in the eye and grinned. "Because I know you're feeling a little bloated now, aren't you? You feel like you have to take a real big poop for me, don't you?" He stood up and pulled his chair away from me. I kept my eyes on him, not sure what exactly he was getting at.

"But, Daddy . . . I don't have to make a poopy! I'm trying to be a big boy for you, Daddy!" I knew it as soon as I said it that I had made a mistake. He walked behind me. I lost sight of him, and was completely unprepared for what was next. He kicked me in the back of the head, sending me falling down to my hands and knees.

"You don't tell me that, shit-whore. You don't ever tell me that. I want you to shit your diaper like a good little baby, and if you don't . . . well . . . let's just say you wouldn't like me anymore. Understand?" He rubbed my padded ass while he waited for a response.

What I understood was that I hated him, that I wanted to drive that smirk right off of his face. But I knew I couldn't do it. I had to obey him, or else I'd be out of a job, out of my life. "Y-yes, Daddy. I understand." And I started to push. Jerry knelt behind me and stared at my ass, jerking his dick and drooling. A loud, wet fart came sputtering out of my ass first. Jerry stuck his face in my rump and inhaled. I felt sick. After a few moments, I felt a large log of shit come sliding slowly out of my ass. I blushed as I pushed it into my diaper. It coiled up against the seat and pressed against the fur of my ass, staining it a darker brown.

It was humiliating. My friends and I, back when we were all still together, did this kind of stuff all the time. I remember a few distinct times when I was home, doing this exact thing, but with Jeff and Stephen behind me, smelling my expanding diaper and lovingly nuzzling my face as they took turns mounting my scat-covered ass. But Jerry was far from those guys. He was cruel, demented, evil. When he fucked me, there was no love in it. Only lust. When he fucked me, it was to get off. I was nothing more to him than a glorified fleshlight, but a fleshlight that could double as a toilet. I was nothing.

"That's it, baby hog," he said, feeling the bulge in my diaper's rear. "You pooped yourself like a good baby should. But you're not a baby, are you George?"

I closed my eyes and steeled myself; I knew what was coming. "No, Daddy."

He licked his chops. "What are you, George?"

I swallowed, but I had no spit left in my mouth, "A grown hog. A freak who likes to poop in diapers like a baby, Daddy."

He slapped my ass hard, grinding the shit into my left cheek. "That's right, George. So now, I'm gonna give you a spanking. Since it seems you can't act like an adult, I'll just have to treat you like a baby!" He stood and sat back down on his chair again, motioning for me to come to him.

I went; I knew my place. He smiled as I lay across his lap and grabbed his ankle (as he told me to do) and lowered my head. I felt his erection press in into my stomach, and it twitched when my stomach brushed against it. "P-please spank me, Daddy . . . show me how much of a pathetic little sissy I am!" It was a line I had repeated almost every night for a long time.

The first crack of his paw on my diapered ass didn't hurt--I didn't expect it to. But I cried out all the same, whimpering like a naughty pup, inadvertently egging him on. He stroked the back of my head and whispered softly to me: "There, there, little piglet. If you weren't such a little sissy, perhaps I wouldn't have to hurt you so badly!"

The second hard slap drove those thoughts into me. If I had ever felt like I was worth something before, that idea was quickly leaving me. As stroke after stroke rained down on my ass, as his disgusting precum wet my belly, as his derogatory remarks came spilling out of his cruel mouth, my self-respect drained away. I thought--I knew--that I was a pathetic little bitch--his bitch.

The beating went on for longer than I want to remember. More humiliating than painful, they made me regret leaving home all that time ago. His hand slapped me hard, and I imagined my warm bed and my AC/DC poster on the wall. I thought of the warm meals I used to eat, as opposed to the ramen and pre-baked chicken I had at my shit-hole apartment. But I knew those days were over. This was my life, and I knew I had better get used to it quickly, or it would eat me alive.

Jerry was a big man, and a fairly old man, and he couldn't keep up such a pace forever. I gradually felt him slow, and his whacks on my abused rump became softer until, with a great gasp of air, he rolled me off of his lap onto the hard, unyielding floor. I cried out, more from shock than from pain, and lay there on my back, defeated.

I barely even noticed when the first warm trail of urine splashed against my face. It was a dark, sickly yellow, and when a few drops inevitably fell into my eyes, I grimaced at how much it stung. This was his mark. The horny motherfucker did this every day to me now, to remind me that I was his and his alone. Hell, I barely even smelled like my normal self. I smelled like him. Always and forever, I thought, I would smell like him.

He guided the stream to my mouth, and I obediently opened up for him. It tasted worse than it smelled. I should have expected that, after so long, but that fact never really registers until it's washing over my tongue, sliding down my throat, drowning me in murky yellow water. It tasted like sour beer, like rotten fruit. But more than that, it tasted like submission. Like humiliation. I pulled it down my throat and into my waiting stomach. I gagged. It spurted everywhere. Jerry knelt down and rammed his length into my mouth. The rhino pissed away the last of my drink into me.

"Aw," he said. "No more baba for you, you little faggot." I looked up at him, no expression on my face but a deep loathing in my heart. "But how about I get you something to eat, huh?" He smiled a shit-eating grin. No, not quite. That was to be me, I feared. Sure enough, he turned around and crouched in front of me. His large, grey ass descended until those round globes were perched on either side of my muzzle.

I must admit, even given my position, I had to admire the view. He was wrinkled--yes, even there--but there was something to say for a man with a full ass. I felt a few small stirrings from within my wrecked diaper. Of course, anything that might have been was immediately shattered by the low sputtering sound--and the smell, the smell of rotten meat--as he farted in my face. I closed my eyes and let him, too tired to fight anymore, even as that rancid stink flooded my nostrils and filled my lungs. I started retching at the smell.

"Oh, stop that, fuckmeat! That's just an appetizer. You'll get your meal when it comes." He sniffed at the air and held his nose, wincing a bit. "God, I don't know how a freak like you can want to eat shit. What's wrong with you?" He passed gas for a few more seconds (sounding much like a trumpet that has gone a bit flat), while he waited for my answer.

"I-I don't know, Daddy . . ."

He grabbed me and rubbed my face in his sweaty, musky ass. "I think you do, shit-hog. I think that you just looove to be reminded of what you are. Worthless. And how can I, mortal that I am, show you that you are? I treat you like a fucking toilet and a sex toy, but even that's too good for you! Am I right? Huh?"

That did it. The tears started falling, stopping me from even answering him, though God knows I didn't want to. They stained my cheeks, leaving streaks down my face. That was the lowest I had ever felt. Well, almost.

"Oh, fuck," said Jerry. "You cryin' now? I was only tellin' it like it is. Here, let me cheer you up!" He crouched down lower and broke wind in my face again. That time, the fetid gas didn't go anywhere but up my nose, overriding my senses, and driving even more tears from my eyes. I weakly pushed up at him, but his legs had me pinned. I couldn't move.

"Awww. You ain't goin' anywhere, little baby. You still need your--ungh!--main course!" He bore down and immediately his hole widened. I saw through watery eyes the large log of rhino shit come slithering out of his ass. It was horrible. I shut my mouth as tightly as I could get it. Jerry's shit paid my closed mouth no heed. It touched one cheek as I tried in vain to escape it. I could only shut my stinging eyes as the warm, unwelcome rhino waste coiled itself on my face. I wanted to die.

I felt undulating pressure on my chest and stomach and I realized, with humiliation and horror, that Jerry was masturbating atop me. I could hear the slap-slap of flesh on flesh and his low moans. He was enjoying every second of my misery.

He finally sat back, crushing my face below his filthy, shitty ass, squishing his waste in my face. As he jerked himself, he rocked back and forth, sliding his crack along my face. I begged him, as well as I could, to stop, that I would work overtime every day for a week if he would get off of me then, but I knew it was of no use. I knew he would abuse me until he was finished.

"You want me to stop, faggot?" I heard him ask me. "You want me to quit? Then you gotta lick. I want you to lick my ass, until I tell you to stop. Do it good. Do it deep. If you make me jizz, I'll get off right now, hose you down, and send you the fuck away. If you don't, well, that little poopy butt of yours is mine, understand?" He moved forward and peeled his ass off of my face--with a lewd squelching noise--so that I would have room to talk. And to lick.

"Yes . . . Daddy. Please. Just this, and then I g-get to leave?" He nodded. I smiled weakly, before extending my relatively clean tongue to touch his brown-stained pucker. It tasted horrible, but I hadn't expected it to be chocolate. I drug my tongue up his crack slowly and deliberately, trying to elicit moans from him, trying to make him cum as fast as possible. Every lick left a clean streak along his flesh. Finally, I knew I could delay it no longer. I plunged my tongue into his filthy shit-hole, ramming my muzzle against his slobbery crack. My tongue swept along his anus, working through his shit to get at his anal walls, and then teasing them, eliciting moans of pleasure from Jerry. I changed it up, darting my tongue in and out one minute, and then slowly pumping the next. I've been told in the past by my friends that I give good rimjobs. I hoped I was good enough for Jerry. I hoped.

At length, Jerry pushed my head back and stood up. "Sorry, bitch. That shitlickin' tongue of yours did a good job, but I'm never gonna cum at this rate. Turn your ass over."

I couldn't. Not then. Not after all of that abuse. I shook my head and backed away from him as I started to cry again, great, racking sobs depressing my chest, making it hard to breathe. I backed away farther. Jerry didn't like that. Jerry didn't like that at all.

"Come here, you sorry little fuck!" He dove down at me and I cried out, slapping at him as he pinned me down. "Your ass is mine, George! Mine! Jerry Beckham always gets what he wants! He punched me hard in the gut. Once. Twice. Three times. The last time I screamed. He punched my face hard to shut me up. I was winded. I was dazed. He took that opportunity to undo the tapes of my messy diaper, opening it up and spreading it out. Slobber poured from my mouth. I hurt in so many places. And Jerry was about to make it one more. He guided his rock-hard dick to my tail-hole, still caked with shit. He dropped one hand over my mouth. And he pushed. My mess was a poor lubricant for him. I screamed into his hand as he forced his way inside me, not bothering to tease my hole as he usually did first. He hilted me straight away. He looked at me with disgust, like I--_I!--_somehow offended him!

He rocked his hips back and forth, bucking into me hard and unceremoniously. I felt every inch of him drag gritty dung along my walls, invading my darkest recesses. His free hand roamed along my body, rubbing my stomach, finding and groping my ass, squeezing my nipples. Then he stared beating me, even as he was fucking me. He slapped my face, drove his fists into my diaphragm, grabbed and crushed my balls. When I looked up at him, through the film of red that had flooded my only non-swollen eye, I saw that all the sanity had fled from him. Jerry was gone. In his place had been sent something much worse.

"You fucking little shit! You're my whore! Mine! You don't talk to me like you have rights, like you have feelings! You're my property! If it weren't for me, you'd be homeless or dead. And this is how you fucking repay me? If I want your ass, I get it! If I want your dignity, it's mine! Take this, shit-breath! And this, and this!" He pounded me, and fucked me, and spat at me, and I lay there and took it, not because I had any strength left in me, but because I had nothing left. Nothing.

He screamed my name one final time and thrust one final time. I felt his cum spurting into my abused tailhole. I saw that moment of ultimate pleasure on his face. Then he pulled out of me. Jizz and diarrhea gushed out, soaking the base of my tail. I didn't move. I didn't dare to.

I saw jerry stand and go to the door to retrieve the hose from the back to clean us both off. When he did, when the door opened, I saw a vague black and orange blur come into the room and tackle Jerry to the ground. In my woozy state, I didn't know what to make of it. My mind registered that it happened, but not its significance. I merely caught onto the idea of dying there, and tried to will it to happen.

I heard a tumultuous racket behind me--words were thrown, though I couldn't make them out. There was a sickening crack, and then a howl of pain I'd never heard before. It almost sounded like Jerry. But that couldn't have been it. Jerry was untouchable. He was my better, my Master, my Daddy. He was a god, a cruel, merciless god.

The next thing I remember was being turned gently onto my back. And then . . . tears? But they couldn't have been mine. I was all out of tears. And sobbing? I was fairly certain that I had torn out my vocal cords from all that screaming. I reached a paw slowly up to my good (though bloodied) eye, and wiped away what I could, as I heard what I took to be words, chanting, over and over, "I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry." My arm fell away, my eye momentarily clean of blood.

Kevin?