”Actions and Beginnings”
By, Adobe Fats and Kevin Rooste
Series 2006

It began as on of those days when Greg had that weird feeling he should have remained in bed. His day got off to the wrong step right off, when he stood up next to his bed and turning to walk toward the bathroom, he slammed his little toe into the bedpost.

Toppling over, Greg lay on his back, left leg tight to his chest and gripping a foot that screamed of pain.

Lying there he cursed the day that began by giving him such pain, and calling on higher powers as if they were his to blame for his discomfort.

As if insult to his own injury, Greg worked his own small farm, and again cursed the very day he was born, as he pressed a sore foot into a high and tight cowboy boot. The tight fitting boots, the pointed nose of each boot crimped that sore toe, reminding him of his bad luck with every step.

Even when he fixed his morning oatmeal breakfast, his finger slipped when pressing the time into the microwave, making a two minute cooking time into twenty. The resulting explosion kicked the machine door wide open, sending a hot spray of globs and creamy milk all over the kitchen floor.

Greg was needless to say, angered by his second misfortune, turning on one boot’s heel to attend to the mess; he slipped on a hot glob, sending one boot and leg across the kitchen floor. Maybe it was the massive scuff mark his boot heel left on the floor, or how he sunk to doing a full sitting slit, but this too warranted his cursing the day.

Half of what was left for his breakfast became a small meal for beginning a day of work upon any farm, but that is how Greg began!

The morning duties of feeding his livestock had him tired and near exhaustion by only nine in the morning. He had fed the four steers, placing them out to pasture after they gorged on a bucket of steroid enhanced grain.

Next, was his sow pen, he mumbled about being so darn drunk two Saturdays back and forgetting the difference between a sow and his prize boar, as he slaughtered the boar for the Lion’s club pig roast. This fool and stupid act left his sows horny and his farm minus a way to produce more hogs.

Again he accidentally slammed his sore toe, the one jammed tight in a boot; when he by pure dumb luck got made at a sow. Greg tried to give the loathing animal a swift kick, but she moved suddenly with haste, as he ended up giving a fencepost the ole’ football goal type sendoff.

When he grabbed for an aching an screaming of pain foot and sore toe, Greg tripped and fell, butt first into a morning dump of one of those warm and loving sows.

Greg by this time was in as foul a mood, as was the seat of his jeans having a foul and wet stench.

Chores called and left little or no time for returning to the house and changing his jeans for some that were clean. Instead he climbed aboard his tractor, felt the wetness as but touched the leather seat, and grumbling of his day, he started the motor.

The summer day on a farm is with hot weather, and warm plus sweaty work. Greg went about chores until he saw a sports car turn off the road and drive up his gravel driveway, parking in front of the barn doors. He sat on his tractor seat, watching as this long legged, slender woman stepped out of her BMW.

A well dressed business woman, to Greg the epedemy of what he hated most, women in business, it was of their type gave him a shudder!

She called to him, asking in a frank but business like manner of some driving directions. Standing with a map book in hand, she was trying her best to stop the whisking breeze from flipping up her mini skirt, and showing to a long and lonely man what she had hidden, but not covered all too well.

Greg dropped off the seat of his tractor and sauntered toward the young woman, as he continued to get a great view of something he should not see; let alone touch!

Again the young woman asked of directions from Greg.

The devilish thought of a ploy entered Greg’s male mind and giving the woman a blank stare, he walked past where she was standing, and then entered the main barn.

A brash and forceful woman followed Greg into the barn. She had stepped from the brightness of noon time sunshine, moving into the dark darkness of Greg’s barn. Her sunglasses that protected her eyes from the outdoors, were but as blinders to blind her sight while standing inside the barn.

Greg saw this as his big chance, he charged at her, knocking the woman off balance, and the two fell into a half gone pile of hay.

Fighting and clawing, the young woman fought with all her might. As if stunned by Greg and his sudden actions, and having yet her dark sunglasses fitted tightly over her face, she became at his mercy in short order.

Farm work and his years of body building had Greg the master of wrestling bull calves at rodeo, or young women into a pile of straw. His strong but nimble fingers could hogtie a steer as they did similar to this young woman, leaving her helpless and not too happy.

A bold relationship followed that was short on words, while having great muscle builder girth and the length Greg got from his Enzete pills.

Greg grunted with every hard thrust, his sound made the sows that milled within their sties to answer his calls.

One young business woman lay there feeling the ravishment of her body by someone seemingly using her for the purpose to work off the riggers of a farmer man having a bad day. Screams turned to moans, not those of one satisfied of and from the sensation, but as someone disgusted by being bred as if she were one of the animals in that barn.

When Greg pulled back and his mighty shaft yanked free, it sounded like a cork leaving the neck of a tight fitting bottle of Champaign.

Greg stood up, smiling and delightedly proud of his act of breeding. He tugged up his jeans, zipping in that monster than governed his mind and better judgment.

Quietly a smug and young business woman collected her torn garments, sitting for a moment before she rolled to al fours, and then stood up to face Greg.

One huff of anger and the young woman returned to her car, leaning over as she dug about in the backseat, as if search for something.

Greg thought she might be looking for a weapon, maybe a gun, and stepping up behind her cute and nicely rounded butt; he peered over her shoulder.

She felt his roaming hands touch her butt.

Greg was doing his utmost to be a vile person making this young woman indignant and ready to defend her defaced honor.

Whirling around the young woman had a small bottle of clear liquid in her soiled hand. In a quick action followed with several poignant words, the liquid hit Greg in the face and eyes, blinding him as had the young woman.

Suddenly the tables had turned, Greg stood flagging his arms and hands to wipe away the burning liquid that insulted his eyes. Yelling and cursing the young woman for not being a willing playmate, his taunting words of anger and disgust were cut short.

That nice babe shoved something into Greg’s open mouth. Her fist then hit the end of his chin sending him backwards, falling to his big butt, and making him choke and swallow what went into his mouth.
“Damned are you, I Dame San Delmar, princess to the second order of the Damask order, and by those powers to which govern my destiny curses you now! As a beast you dare to attack, removing my dignity, and then impugning my body with you seed. Your actions leave me little choice and no other alternatives. For this your vile act I curse you, to rid myself of a womb invaded by your sperm, I must make its donor to be other than what he was born. Therefore, be you cursed never to have been born as a man, but instead you shall learn to answer the cries of those horny sows, deeming them as your preferred choice, and leaving women to being treated with respect!” This so said and spoken, the young woman gave Greg a swift kick in his groin and got into her car to drive away.

Revving the engine of her BMW, the young woman ran down the drivers side window, then said to Greg, “Tomorrow the new owner will come, be good to him and he will be helpful to your desires!”

A spray of dust and rocks coated a grumbling and smugly upset Greg as he sat there on his butt, and in the dirt driveway.

Insult and injury, as Greg sat there in the dirt driveway the spinning wheels of that roaring car kicked a rock back, flying hard, and hitting Greg directly in the groin.

Now his foot hurt and that large tool he had so enjoyed throbbed too!

The near numbed his tool, leaving it throbbing and feeling as if that darn female had ruined his maleness forever.

Gathering himself up Greg returned to working his farm, giving the mean and spiteful words of that stupid bitch little worth.

Working on during the afternoon, Greg continued to rub and itch at his crotch. He felt oddly sick to his stomach, his testes ached while an injured shaft seemed to twist and give to sensations as something could be terribly wrong.

Hot and sweating heavily, Greg headed for the barn and to his small refrigerator packed with beer. He popped one can and soon had slugged down six more leaving him feeling no pain.

A sour mix of slurry made from milk, bread slices, and some grain, Greg slung the mixture into the sow trough. He stood there watching his sows grovel as they ate. His eyes caught sight to happy tails wiggling and their bristled tips tickling the leathered folds of each sow’s vulva.

He could barely remember his actions when later he knelt behind a sow, his might tool buried deep, and feeling oddly satisfied for having bred a female pig.

Greg sauntered from the sty, leaving his jeans to be trampled into the mire. His mind was ablaze with wild and bestial passions, as he stopped for a moment and gave consideration to mounting a pony mare he kept for the county fair and giving children rides.

Once in the hot sun his sweaty skin itched something awful. He stood scratching at his sore groin, rubbing at a gut that grumbled, and thinking of a mud bath rather than a nice hot shower.

An hour or so later Greg stopped his weaseling, rolling, and slinking in the mud of an unused sty of Boris, his unlucky boar hog, he had butchered by mistake.

Strangely alert, Greg sat up covered in mud and partially decomposed manure of Boris. The rank stench of pig urine and the mire was a sudden reminder to him where he was and to what he was doing. He staggered on stiff knees, sauntering to the side rail of the sty, Greg hunched over it to try and regain some mental composure. His head felt strange and worse he had some lusty thought about food.

The scent of some rotting corn cobs in with some leftover molding food of Boris soon had Greg chewing it down, his head buried in a trough.

A frantic human mind was screaming for some sibilance of reason, Greg wiped his mouth of the slime he ate, burped once, and felt the need to remove all his clothing.

Soon naked in the hot sun he stood up and taking a deep breath, screamed out of his feelings of anxiety. Greg stretched his arms forward, reaching out and while standing there he wiggled his cloven trotters. The strange sensation made him laugh, as he began to think how neat it would be to become and live as did Boris.

The squeal of a sow sent him back to those pens, as he felt a dire need to vanquish his built up anxiety, mounting, humping, and violating all forty two sows that resided upon his farm.

Tired and nearly sated of semen, Greg rolled in his sty, wallowing about in the strongly scented mire of Boris, and now frolicking with some of his own leavings.

A flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder seemed to awaken a dulled man to his wits. Greg felt the chilly feel of rain drops upon his naked body, it invigorated him; but then reminded him of where he was then sitting.

He scrambled over the short fence to his sty, and staggered like a drunk toward the house. His fingers had long since changed to cloven hooves, now his toes were just beginning to cramp his style. As he moved closer to the main house he was feeling a strange urge to return to the sty, it offering him some odd sense of him belonging there and not in a house.

Slamming inside the back door, the glass shattering, but he paid this little due. His human past was suggesting he shower, clean his body of filth and then rest.

Nervous and filled with a worried anxious feeling, Greg stood smearing his still changing body with liquid soap. The shower water seemed wrong, being his new animal ideals had it set on a chilly cold spray. He rubbed his hairy torso with soap, raising a hefty amount of lather. The massaging of flesh by cloven hoofs and the lower foreleg as of a swine only brought on more lusty ideas, and what was extra thrilling, he became mightily erect.

The shower water ran down his rounding head, as some filtered past those lopping ears and trickling in where it would impair his hearing.

Chilly water, soap, and the lathering bubbles that came from massaging his thickening body hair made Greg begin to laugh.

His laughing turned soon to strained sounds, coming from his guts and making him think and actually long for the sow pens, and those hot and horny sows.

Greg stepped out of the shower, stood before the bathroom mirror, dripping water on the tile floor. The common thought of drying himself had long since passed into oblivion. Instead, as Greg stood eyeing his bodily changes, he heard a voice call out his name.

Ken, a friend to Greg, lived or really just rented a room at the farm; but worked five days a week in the city. He called out to Greg, alerting the whole household of his arrival. He slammed his briefcase on the kitchen table, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and wandered into the living room to plop in a chair.

Standing before a full length mirror, Greg was in absolute awe of his many changes.

His head had become rounded, bearing a snoot like muzzle, upturned nose and nostrils, a gaping huge mouth, and as he smiled, what were a perfect dental health had become more distinct to a boar hog. Jagged teeth, huge molders, and the beginnings of tusks told his time of living within the realm of humanity was limited.

Leaning his front set of cloven trotters firmly on the bathroom counter; Greg ogled his eyes downward to get a frantic look at some gentiles which did not reflect anything close to being human.

His afternoon of mounting, humping, and breeding his small herd of sows had left an indelible mark upon his person. The thick skinned pouch that was grown and attached firmly to his lower abdomen, it being indeed a sheath! As from the sheath sprouted this hearty shaft, as if the duplicate corkscrew penis, belonging on one exceptionally fine sire, named Boris.

Greg stood rather enjoying his predicament, as he had spent time watching Boris work. He took note of the piece of torn flesh that graced one side of the sheath opening; this was where the sow that bore Boris, turned on her son in a heated moment, biting a chunk from his maleness.

As had Boris, on his sheath a piece missing, Greg had the same mark.
Boris being a mutant boar had the shaft of a boar hog but with the length and near girth of a pony stallion. This seemed to thrill Greg, since his afternoon was just a sample of what he might expect in coming weeks, months, and years being he continued to become a real live boar.

That burly chest of black hair had changed, becoming a mass of coarse bristles, properly growing on a hog and boar. Greg smoothed his forelegs over the thickening mass of black bristles. The sensation was not without its delights, nor was it minus the reaction a boar gets when feeling something sensual.

A broadening chest, shoulders turning rounded, back humped with heavy muscles, and a groin that only a sow could love; Greg felt a sense of satisfaction from all he could see.

Stumbling footsteps announced the coming of Ken, his bladder full, needing a release of built pressure, as he just walked into the bathroom and confronted his friend.

Stunned at what he saw before him, Ken began to laugh, turning to becoming near paranoiac, giggling; and then stepped closer to this strange creature, having felt a urge to be friendly. Eyeing his changed friend, a half drunken man saw one mighty shaft. His own personal desires were overwhelmed, making Ken fall to his knees.

A woman feeling insult and disgraced used her power to curse Greg. As he stood changing, held firmly near the culmination of her curse, any who came near could become also affected. Maybe it was with this point in time that when Ken entered the bathroom, the curse enveloped about another man.

Greg gave his friend a good view of a monster size boar hog shaft.

Ken peered up to give a gaze at his boar like friend, seeing the shaft, being ever so drunk, but of the two he was more perverse in his lonely manners of showing passion. He opened his mouth and began to suck upon the rod, this sending Greg into some wild anxiety to enter piggy heaven.

Moaning, Ken muttered with a mouth full of what he thought was the best pleasuring he had ever given to Greg; his perverted ideals were checked by the spell and curse. Ken heard himself beg Greg to help him find such a thrill, pleading in as much openly wishing himself to feel and know the rank sensations of what one has when becoming an animal.

Greg placed his fore clover trotters upon Ken, first over his head, and then pressing down over the shoulders. A purple hazing glow illuminated Greg, passing down and wrapping about Ken. It brought Greg to a pinnacle of lust as his body changed closer to becoming a boar. While in a way infecting Ken, driving up from his dark soul the desires he held for feeling dire sensual sensations and a longing to do sex in a bestial way.

Sensual turn wild as two friends enjoyed the strangely new attributes of the other. This pushed Greg into the next level of change, his thighs broadening, groin deepening, as too his rump rounded into the rear of a mighty boar hog, looking totally similar to a hog by the name of Boris.

The curse turned Greg to wishing he was a boar, exerting pressure, twisting minor perverse idea into a grand desire to be and feel life from the beastly point of view. As such it was this which captivated Ken turning his fantasies into a new reality, forcing him to lust and suck.

Greg felt a weird sense of pleasure as he brought Ken within the realm of his cursed life. The changes to his own self began to move, drawing his thoughts to realizing strange sensations. It was with his butt accepting the change, he felt his growing piggy boar tail whisking over the excited folds of his new pig anus.

The curse moved the tail, making it trace and tickle the touchy skin, urging Greg to delight in his new body. Salivating, with a white foam dripping from his boar lips, Greg could do nothing then but wish he was completely changed into a Boar.

Thighs changed and so did legs to hind legs, heels became hocks and feet narrowed, toes turning to cloven big trotters, his hoofs making Greg a boar, through and through!

Ken stopped his sucking just for a moment, granting Greg the thought to bolt from their house, and run to his sty, as he slammed right through the fence, and gather his sows around him.

Now alone and under the same curse, Ken began to feel his own urges to be more perverse, delighted in accepting and becoming an animal too!

He licked his lips tasting the acrid dried coat of hog sperm, it filling too his mouth in every corner and crevice.

The old grandfather clock standing near the front door to the farm house, chimed four times to tell the hour.

Ken shifted his eye toward the deep and formidable sound, as if it reminded the curse that time for Ken too was wasting away. The curse took all control sending a wild eyed man out of the house, eagerly searching for some animal to mate and join within its species.

Hearing the loving sounds of a boar hog rutting his sows in the barn, Ken charged in that same direction.

Once inside the barn his frantic desires spotted that pony mare standing alone, feeling her own time of equine estrus, sweating profusely, and more than willing to give of her self to the first male to come along.

Instantly Ken felt this wild excitement, it made him strip and rip off his clothing feeling a drastic urge to mate. The glowing purple haze grew so bright in was as a light helping to see in the dark barn.

Passionate human hands massaged the round rump of the pretty mare. Ken moaned his raw feelings, as he became aroused and erect.

The mare was near her wits end, having stood in her stall during this difficult time, wanting and needing to mate, but not a male worthy ever came near. She presented her rear with tail held high, and set off to one side a rump oozing of juices, coated in sweat, and longing for some satisfaction.

Greg had not totally lost all grasp with his former life, and seeing where his friend stood, he felt a thrill for Ken. Squealing a mighty boast from his own sensual mounting, Greg called to Ken and in his boar way, he would congratulate, wishing Ken to know what he was feeling, and enjoying.

At that moment Ken felt the changing tip of his penis touch the winking lips of a mare in need. With the sensation of feeling inch by inch of his maleness sliding ever deeper into the mare, the curse gained strength, beginning for Ken his entrance into the equine species.

Even as he watched his shaft disappear into the mare, felt the power of a curse enhance it, building girth, mass, length, and contours, as a human penis became the mighty shaft of a pony stallion. In Ken’s mind he had the horrid fear of watching what he was doing, knowing, understanding, that from this act he would cease being human.

Anxious cries and terrified whimpers were soon silenced by the power of that curse. Ken felt his maleness change, as the curse for him beginning there, and then spreading outward, changing him into the same breed of pony as was his chosen mare.

Mounted, humping wildly, and engrossed with his new passion, Greg ignored anything and everything around him, giving his all to being as good a boar hog, as was his best boar, Boris.

A BMW sports car pulled into the dirt driveway as the grandfather clock chimed nine times for the next day and morning had come to pass.

The young woman that had stopped the day before, stepped from out her ride; as too a young man came from the passenger side of the car, he standing up and looking around.

“This farm I own but do not wish or have the time to operate, it is up to you!” The young woman spoke, she speaking to her employee, as then offering him to reside in the house and do the work.

She turned her face to look into the dank and dark confines of the large barn. Smiling, with a certainty of the knowledge that Greg was then doing her bidding; he the vile rapist was then molesting to his best ability a growing herd of swine. Giving an audible laugh upon hearing and knowing too, what was a man by the name of Ken stood rooting a mare, this his sixth time since he began at four that same morning.

This was a turning point of the small farm. Its new manager and owner saw to the proper needs of all concerned, building the swine herd to a mass of nine hundred. This was accomplished by utilizing one prime boar to mount, mate, and indulge a dozen times each and every day.
Then too, was the growing stud farm and stables having two prized Dartmoor ponies, one mare and an exceptionally happy stallion.

Greg and Ken never totally lost their own identity of what they were once, but through the pattern of a curse did as their owner, master, and breeder would desire. As from a disgusting display of sexual want came the new beginning of two lives turned to openly display their wild fantasies. I think it unlikely that either Greg or Ken would now prefer to return to their human selves, but love the simple life, doing as and enjoying what is natural.


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