Chapter 1
Cockpig (noun)
1. A subspecies of Homo Sapiens, a cockpig is a subhuman variant, socially ranked below beta males, females, and animals. Cockpigs are born to serve and obey superior males, worship cocks, and suffer. Naturally submissive and inferior, their normal habitat is at the feet of an alpha male.
The cockpig came to me a virgin. Never been fucked. Never sucked cock.
I know that's hard to imagine, looking at it now. It's hard to even imagine it as a person, walking around free, making its own decisions and interacting with others as an equal, but that's what it was like when we met. It's been a long, slow process to get it to what you see now, this thing that grovels at my feet, waiting for whatever I choose to do with it.
When we met, the cockpig was a timid, needy young fag. It had a name, but I don't really recall what it was. Evan, Eric, Ethan...something like that. He hit me up on Recon after reading my profile. Told me how much he wanted to serve me, how much he needed to grovel, all that stuff. The usual online BS from needy faggots. Most are flakes, just looking to get all hot and bothered and beat their useless little dicklets. I figured this was more of the same, but he didn't go away. Kept sending me these messages, begging for the chance to serve. So, I gave him my phone number and we started texting. Had the little fag send me some videos of him with his naked ass in the air - showing me his hole, fucking himself with his fingers, then sucking them clean while looking dead at the camera. When he didn't hesitate at sticking his own ass-covered fingers in his mouth, I knew he had potential. He had the look I like as well: 20 years old, about 5'6, with a slight build and a nice tight little bubble butt. High cheek bones and full lips, he has one of those innocent faces that looks so great with fear written across it, and even better with desperate need. And red hair. I do love a ginger. He had that pale skin with a sprinkling of freckles like most gingers, the kind that takes color from a beating so easily.
The kid didn't have much going for him, other than his looks. His family was poor and didn't put much stock education, so he barely finished high school and never gave college a thought. His best job prospect, working at the local factory like his dad, disappeared when the economy tanked and the factory closed. He managed to find one menial job after another. No future in it, but he made just enough to pay for a shitty apartment he shared with a friend from high school and a beat-up old car.
He was scared. Most virgins are, especially those who remain virgins as late as he had, always pretending they are "too busy" for sex or some other bullshit excuse, when in reality they are too scared of their own desires to have sex with anyone but themselves, until finally the need becomes so strong, they bust out of their shell, sometimes in a dramatic fashion.
I kept talking to him, making him beg, giving him duties to perform each day. Each day I became more demanding, his duties more degrading. Edge yourself on cam while telling me what you want me to do to you. Buy a dildo, fuck yourself with it, and send me the video. Go lick your toilet clean and send me a pic of you doing it. Piss in a glass and drink it live on cam. He begged me over and over again to promise I wouldn't show the pics or videos to anyone. Sure, he balked at some of it. That didn't surprise me. But all I had to do was ignore him for a few days, and his need to serve a real man overcame his fear and disgust. Sure enough, he'd come back and grovel on cam, begging for another chance. Once I overcame some of his initial reluctance, I decided he was trainable. I had an old chastity cage and padlock I sent him in the mail, then ordered him to put it on for me live on Skype. He was reluctant, of course, since I didn't send him the key, but finally obeyed. The moment he heard that padlock click into place, and knew that shit just got real, was a big step for him.
After I had the pussyboy locked, I started retraining his mind. Making him refer to himself as "it" instead of "I". Explained to him that the little locked up nub between his legs wasn't a cock and should never be referred to as such. No, real men have cocks. Cocks are for fucking, I explained. Since he wasn't a man, and was never going to fuck anything, that nub wasn't anything but a drain. Once he started calling it that, I could see in his eyes that the mental transformation was starting to happen. Every time he had to sit to take a piss because of the cage, he was thinking of me, thinking about what I was making him into.
I kept him locked up without any release for almost a month. For a faggot used to jerking off two times a day, it was a powerful lesson: his pleasure didn't matter. Only mine did, and his increasing need was what pleased me. I could see the desperation in his eyes each evening when we Skyped; I could hear the need in his voice. His feeble little faggot mind was wrestling between his need to cum and his need to please and obey.
Then came his first real test: I gave him orders to come spend a long weekend with me. He lived about two hours away, so it was a good chance for me to test whether his pathetic need was enough to overcome his fear. I gave him directions meet at a shopping center near my house, and sent him a nice big butt plug, with instructions to wear it for the trip down. Nothing like a long drive with a stuffed, stretched hole and full balls to put a faggot in exactly the right mindset.
The little pig was prompt, I'll give him that. He texted me when he arrived. I was deliberately half an hour late, giving him time to sweat and wrestle with his decision to meet me. I wanted to see if he would stay or run back home before I arrived. He stayed.
I'd ordered him to park in the edge of the lot, near the main road. When I pulled up, I told him to get out of his car and stand by my window so I could inspect him. Before he left home, I gave him specific instructions on what to wear: a small green tank top that barely covered his belly, some red spandex shorts, and flip flops. Nothing else. Nothing to cover up his body. Nothing to make him look decent if he had to stop somewhere and use the bathroom. Standing there in the parking lot next to my window, dressed like a slut and clutching his cell phone, wallet, and keys, he looked exactly like a little fuckboy, all right. Those spandex shorts were designed as underwear and hugged every inch of his virgin ass. They clearly showed off the outlines of the cage locked on his little drain, including the padlock which secured it. Anyone that saw him standing there in the lot would easily be able to see his dicklet was under lock and key. He turned bright red from his head to his toes, standing there in public on display. I could see his ass cheeks clinch from the stress, squeezing the plug and adding to his discomfort. He was so nervous he couldn't make eye contact, which was fine by me. I let him stand there for a bit while I looked him over from the driver's seat of my car, instructing him to turn this way and that, then bend over, so I could see the bottom of the plug profile against the spandex. Made him take off the tank top and leave it in his car. He turned even redder, being so exposed right next to a busy road. I could see some of the passersby staring at him -- and, more importantly, he could see them staring, too. But the little bitch didn't run. He stood there like an obedient cunt and did what I told him to do. The need to obey was already that strong. Just the way I wanted it.
I finally ordered him to get in my car. Once inside, I told him to lose the shorts and flip flops.
