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Popper Friendly

Scott was busy doing some recommended reading, and was far too engrossed with it to pay attention to whatever was going on outside his surroundings. The loaned copy of, “Men Are From Mars, Bulls Are From Uranus” just seemed so tantalizing and engaging that he couldn't be bothered to put it down for anything, as it shed light on their shared relationship.

In fact, he was so distracted that he didn't notice the pounding on the windows and door, assuming them to be some handybull projects that Apollo had been working on to spruce up the lil ol' farmhouse. Not even the slight tremors and crunching bothered him as he felt his room shake about, the unsteady base of the reading lantern teetering just a bit, but not enough to fall. It was the afternoon, anyway, so he didn't need a light to see by. “I wonder if Apollo will be impressed by my ability and dedication in trying to 'udderstand'his territorial mental pathways of dominance.” He spoke aloud, humming happily to himself while completely oblivious to the landscape outside his window growing miraculously larger until blades of grass were the girth and height of telephone poles

The tremors started up again, but Apollo had caused the house to shake a fair few occassions, so again, he wasn't bothered. Scott wasn't roused from his trance of study until the call of nature had sounded an alarm on his bladder. He saved his place in the book with a nearby crumpled pay stub and went off to his door. It wasn't locked, but it was certainly sealed, most likely with some wooden planks and nails as he'd heard the busy bull pounding on earlier. Thinking nothing of it, he went to his windows to try his luck with them, thinking he might be able to sneak out and circle around to the front door, but no dice. He was locked down tighter than a virgin in a Sultan's harem.

With his options severely limited, his attention immediately went to an old twenty ounce coffee cup. It wouldn't be good forever, but at least it would hold his piss until he had the opportunity to do something else with it. It was a surprising steamy relief as he emptied his bloated bladder into the thin-walled paper cup and its cardboard heat-grip, setting it aside on the nightstand while he sat on his bed and considered his options with a bovine prankster ahoof. Really, the only thing he could do was get back to reading his book, as shouting for help or assistance had never garnered him any support in the past.

He went back to reading and settled in for the long haul, but it was a much shorter wait than he first assumed for the human to figure out what was happening. His eyes were hovering over the top of the outspread pages in his book, so he could catch flickers of movement well enough. Scott dropped his book, his jaw falling open in disbelief as he bore witness to the biggest anthropomorphic hog booty in history. At first he thought he was staring at one of those macro mutants that terrorize cities, but then more flashed past his window as he realized that he was being taken someplace.

Wherever he was, it had to be the pig district, more than likely. Perhaps their hedonistic nude beach where they did all their nasty fucking and watersports. And if he was at the Hogshaven Beach, then that meant these weren't macro pigs he was seeing, but rather that the cheeky bull had shrunken the whole house and taken him here. The only question that lingered in the silence of disbelief was why, exactly?

Some loud crashing came from above, deafening and so loud that he had to cover his ears for fear of going deaf. A close conversation, no doubt: some kind of negotiation between Apollo and a nameless anonymous pig was taking place. Some semblance of answer was coming up quite quick as he smelled the most awful stench that one could imagine: pigshit portopotties in the hot sun. The wafting fumes alone were enough to leave him gagging in desperation, but things were quickly about to get a whole lot worse.

Above, his ceiling shook and plaster flakes fell free as something was driven through the center. It turned out to be a big sharp nail the size of an average tower fan jabbing and poking its way through, wiggling about to make the hole even wider while making cracks in the surrounding plaster. Scott didn't have much chance to enjoy the gentle amber slashes of sunlight spearing into the room as the nail was ripped out with a jarring flourish, soon replaced by an object that Scott recognized all too well, albeit in a much larger size than he was used to.

He stared at the transluscent jellyfish-looking thing as it hung down from his ceiling like a big shower curtain of latex. The seethrough shape of the used condom seemed to be taunting him, fresh hot boar semen already pooling into the reservoir tip to make up a few gallons of viscous batter. The rubber sheathe was as big as he was, and as Scott poked it with cautious reservation, it still retained some warmth and musk (not to mention a few trace smears of porcine poo) from whatever gay pig lover's butt it had just been shoved up.

Why was there a pig condom dangling from his ceiling!? It just baffled the shit out of him to no end. Here he was minding his goddamn business, and some sneaky bull just happened to think this was a funny trick to play! The human was just about to put the pale intruder out of mind and get back to reading his book, when more distracting thumping came from above. It took him a few confused seconds to react to the wide lips of a plastic funnel being scraped and bullhandled into place to form a passable seal between it and the porky hat.

Now the human had reason to panic, as there was only one purpose to use a funnel, and in his case, that tended to lead to sticky situations. More rumblings from above; pigs on their way to use various bathrooms as there was a hard loud thump from above. Although it sounded like the echoing report of a cannon, it was probably more likely the dropping of a simple toilet seat into place. Things were getting interesting: now he appeared open for business.

He had a few minutes of relative calm and peace before things happened much too quickly for his liking; the sharklike circling of butts pouncing on any portopotty in a storm. His abode was shaken asunder like a storm as something heavy collapsed atop and made the tinder of his room crunch under the strain like so many toothpicks and popsicle sticks creaking out in protest. They could hold that porcine posterrior up, butt just barely. Above came a loud grunt like two mountains fucking up against one another in geological coitus, followed by a loud bellow of rumbly farts that sounded similar to blasts from a pressurized air hose in an auto body garage.

All of those bodily contrived noises on steroids, however, could not distract him from the monsoon rains of diarrheal pig manure splattering against the plastic sides of the funnel and gushing down into the condom like so much corn-filled mud like a landslide contained. The mass of mess quickly filled up the initial dimension of the condom before the shit weighed it down and pooled the latex out on his carpet like spreading pancake batter. From there, the condom seemed to bloat out and make room for all of that liquified pigshit like a humongous dinosaur-sized water balloon. If Scott were very fortunate, he might be ignored for the rest of the day, or if it got any bigger, he could hopefully keep from popping the damned thing. It seemed to be a crapshoot, either way.

Once the balloon began to bloat out a bit and expand no further, the micro-sized human thought he was safe from any further expansion. Of course, this being a bathroom alley on a busy beach, he wasn’t. Right after the first pig left him and Scott felt somewhat ruffled in his safety, the nail returned, this time poking a hole in the side of the wall and nudging another condom through the crude hole. This one was different, having been taped around some clear plastic tubing that went off somewhere. He didn’t have long to question its purpose before several gurgling squirts of semen found itself gushing down the line and into the reservoir tip to weigh it down.

By itself, the second condom didn’t seem as bad as the first. The toilet rubber would find itself ballooning up faster than one being filled by errant wanks. It wasn’t so bad until he saw that jizz wasn’t the only that would end up in the latex sack; a steamy golden stream quickly slurping into the condom with one focused heavy stream. There must’ve been a pint or so of piggy piss in there, the thinwalled latex exuding all of that strong body heat like a porcine oven. He didn’t even have to touch it to know how hot it was, nor would he want to. In fact, as he found his prime real estate dwindling to the two body waste inflating balloons, it became increasingly difficult to manoeuvre around them as they very slowly began to fill the empty space with jiggly warmth like an expanding cancer.

He was safe from their contents only by virtue of the fact that they were within incredibly stretchy condoms, and those things very rarely failed or busted. At least, as long as they weren’t pricked or punctured in some way, and at that moment he realized that his room wasn’t as “balloon safe” as one might imagine. His eyes fell on any suspect object quickly, sending him into a flurry of desperate motion to hide every pointy thing under his bed where they would be safe from popping the two rubbers. Just as he finished that task, another pig urinated into the second balloon while the first one was accepting a more greenish-tinged load of murky diarhea, bits of spinach stems and leafs sticking out. The two loads then mingled into a cloudy grey murky mess, bits of corn and beans swirling around inside like a shit lava lamp.

The condoms seemed to fill out roughly equally, like an upside-down set of multi-colored jiggle titties. As they rubbed against one another amidst the jostling of his captive box, it caused a squeaky squeealy screech like some kind of parrot that hurt his ears. Between them, he’d only been given a two foot square space to stand in once they’d taken up the rest of the room and smothered the walls in unrelenting squishy mass. Between a wall, and a monster collection of pig excrement in a dick helmet, he really had nowhere else to go. There were a few stretch marks on the condoms, showing long vertical tiger stripes of discoloration, but overall, they seemed very sturdy and up to the task. A horse could use these same condoms without fear, if he wanted to squeeze into something much smaller than what was intended for his species in the first place.

When there was nowhere to hide, and their squishy heat was slowly pressing into his miniscule body, he found himself trying to push back against them in vain to take his room back, but the only thing he succeeded in doing was poking holes into both condoms with his nails, shaking his head and reeling as four or so spurting streams of piss and liquefied hog slush sprayed against his face like four beams from super soakers. Scott immediately learned to regret his action as the fluids began to pool around his feet until they were up to his ankles. It was a small taste of what was to follow, as even if he hadn’t poked holes into the latex, they’d still burst eventually since there was no space left to expand their awful influence.

Just as he was thinking things couldn’t possibly get any worse, things suddenly got dark. At first it seemed like the sky had grown overcast or there might be a solar eclipse afoot, butt no. The hairs attached to that mortally obese boar ass were ridiculously huge in size and number. This was it: there was no way the condom would survive whatever onslaught this ass wrought. Scott had enough warning to brace himself against the next filling even as the funnel itself choked a few times on the muck and had to be rammed down with a stick to clear it. “Someone wake me from this nightmare,” and within a few seconds of the prayer, pop went the manure balloon, filling every bit of the room in a foul liquid so thick that it was like swimming in molasses. Scott floated himself to the top, using a chunk of shit speckled with cor n skins like a desperate raft, gagging and heaving his way to the top through the acidic muck.

When he made it to the top, he had about a foot of empty space between the shit slurry and his ceiling to breath, even as the rough acidic muck made his skin itch and tingle as it very slowly tried to digest him. As long as he could find a way to escape this senseless torture before he got sick, he would be alright. It was a reasonable hope to have, until that same bile-ridden gunk that was nibbling at his skin also got to work on the other condom, tons of piss flowing freely into the enclosure along with another fresh torrent from another pig. Finally, the tiny room had enough and his door was flung open before a tsunami of filth bursting free all over an outside sand-covered sidewalk. Along with the corn and other heavier pieces of crap came Scott at the tail end of the torrent, sliding and skidding around along a trail of diarrhea like a shit n slide.

The monsters that called themselves pigs stared down at him, as surprised as the human by the turn of events. Compared to them, he looked like a G.I Joe in full head to toe camouflage kitted out in a full bandoleer of cor n kernels across his chest. Everyone was surprised, that was, except Apollo, who had kept a respectable distance from the car nage that had issued forth from his dilapidated dollhouse room, very much amused and grinning. “You ready to go back home after your fun little adventure?” Where could Scott begin dignifying that statement? In the end, he was far too tired to care as he spit up some leftover piss and muck cocktail in his lungs before passing out on his side.