The Wrong Fear

So. You’ve been telling me about these fears you’re having. I think it’s about time we confront them for good. Shall we?

It’s an understandable fear, to be sure: being farmed, being preyed on — it’s a primal thing. That fear kept our ancestors alive in the darkness of prehistory for millennia; it’s no surprise its echoes would still haunt us now, even as civilization progressed.

And in a way, it’s still right and proper that you should fear.

You’re a pig, after all, a creature that’s been harvested both in the wild and domestically for as long as we have records. You fear being made into bacon; by the numbers, it’d be far more likely for this to happen than otherwise.

You’re trembling! No, this isn’t going to happen to you; I’m sure of it.

I just want you to know your fears are valid.

You’re not crazy — you have every reason in the world to be afraid.

And I’m here to help. It’s what I do, after all.

Usually I start with a little hypnosis. I find it ever so helpful at calming the mind and helping my patients be comfortable with my methods. If you’ll just lie down there on that couch and start taking in good deep breaths, we’ll begin.

Ten will start our countdown.

Relax.

Just close your eyes and listen to the sound of my voice. Nice and deep, let the words rumble through you.

Nine is good place to go from there.

More relaxed, more comfortable.

Why don’t you kick off those shoes? Just let ’em fall. It’s okay — I’ll do likewise.

Eight is the next step down.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Just like that.

Don’t mind if my feetpaws smell a bit — they’ve been cooped up all morning. It’s a soothing scent anyway, isn’t it? Like when you come home from a hard day at work, veg out on the couch, and relax.

Seven will be more and more relaxing. So relaxed you’ll have trouble staying on the couch at all. I know you’re a little on the hefty side and my little couch doesn’t give you much room to sprawl out. Go ahead and slip onto the floor. See how that lets you get a little closer to my voice?

Six is the sound of my voice, deep and comfortable and soothing, calling you closer. It’s the feel of your jowls between my thighs as you draw near on hands and knees. It’s my fingers stroking through your headfur. It’s the press of your snout into my big tanuki bulge, inhaling deeply of my musk and begging to see those balls hanging free. What a good idea.

Five is me slipping out of these confining pants and letting my poor scrotum get some air. Bury your snout in it, feel it cover your head up to the ears. Breathe in that relaxing scent.

Notice what’s missing? That smell you were loving earlier. The scent of my feetpaws.

Four is you hugging around my ankles, letting the scent of my soles fill you, mixing with the masculine musk that overshadows you. You want to stay there, don’t you, my balls resting on your back as you suckle eagerly on my toes?

Three, mmm. That’s all your worries melting away as you focus on your service to me.

Two is your conscious mind sinking into a deep oblivion as you focus on your obedience to me.

One is the final step. Lost beyond all recovery, deeply entranced in submission to me.

Isn’t that nice?

What a good pig. See? All of your worries were baseless. You belong to me now, and there’s nobody who’s going to turn you into bacon.

I’m not all that fond of bacon, after all.

Have you thought about what I will turn you into?

I mean, it ought to be clear by now; I haven’t exactly hidden my intentions. But maybe you’re too far gone. If there’s any part of your mind that hasn’t sunk into deep trance, maybe it’ll puzzle it out, maybe it’ll see your fate coming, maybe it’ll even try to resist.

You enjoying the taste of my toes down there? Good.

If there’s any part of your mind that hasn’t sunk into deep trance, locked away behind your eyes, pleading for release, well, nobody’s going to find it now.

You’re doing very well, by the way. Usually I get more fight out of my patients. Was that really your only fear? Or did I find, by merest chance, someone with a real and secret desire for the fate I picked out for them?

Don’t answer that — the speculation will intrigue me far more than a simple yes or no answer.

But I’ll give your conscious mind one last chance to escape. All it’ll need to do is make you stop enjoying my feetpaws. You’ll be fighting the rest of your body, though, which has been studiously kissing over my soles.

Go ahead and — — ooh. It feels good when you use your tongue like that.

Mmm.

No resistance? Fair enough, then. Let’s get to work.

I think, to start with, we’re going to have to get my feet inside you. It might be a little tight — it doesn’t feel like you can fit more than a couple of my toes in your mouth at once.

We’ll fix that.

Breathe in deep, relax, and let your mouth open as wide as your hunger for my feetpaws drives you.

Just like that. See how my foot slides in, filling your muzzle, my toes slipping into your warm comfortable throat? Imagine what it’ll be like to feel that every day, to crave feeling my big furry footpaw along your tongue. Think how lucky you are to get this chance.

Shame your mouth’s really only suitable for one foot, the way this works. But I know you’ve got another place I can fit you to.

Go ahead. Bring that rump around, those nice round hindquarters. Let me slip those pants down so I can see what I’m working with here.

Oh, that’s nice. So big, so plump, so smooth. Feel my toes sliding between your rumpcheeks? It’s real nice. So warm, so soft, so deep.

This next part might hurt a bit. Just keep focusing on the paw in your mouth, suckling it hungrily as you have been, and let ol’ Hatter have his way.

Let your trance sink deeper as my toes sink deeper into your hole, stretching you open wide enough for my footpaw. So warm, so soft, so deep. Right where it belongs.

You’re actually taking this one pretty easily, aren’t you? Feels like you’re a pig in more ways than one. I can hear you enjoying it, as I slide in… How’s that feel, to have that hole closing up around my ankle?

Mmm, don’t answer that either. You’re a good fit now — all we have to do is see you change into a more conventional sort of shoe.

Now, this is really going to feel weird. Just grip those feetpaws inside you as best you can — I’m about to start pulling.

Oh, this is the best part. Just to watch you stretching apart, like taffy — it looks like that feels incredible. I just love the way it sounds, that long, drawn-out creak before someone breaks apart with a final snap.

There it is.

No going back for you now, pig.

The tanuki got up from his seat — to the sound of pleasurable moans from what remained of his client as he put his weight on him — and laid himself out on the couch, feetpaws up on the armrest to watch the remainder of the change in action.

Already it was barely recognizable as a pig. Sure, you might be able to tell it was made of pig stuff, but the features had already begun to distort considerably: there was little left of the distinctive snout or curly tail, and his hands and feet had already fully withdrawn into his form.

But it wasn’t anywhere near recognizable as a pair of shoes, either. Most people, Hatter thought, would find the hybrid form distressing to contemplate — the contorted shape of the face around his ankle; the still-organic and slightly moist feel inside of what remained of the quondam pig’s mouth and asshole; the way the eyes hollowed out, contracting to form just one pair of the loops through which the laces would run — but as a therapist it was more or less his job to study the ways that people fell apart, and he took professional interest in watching the decay.

The pig’s flesh tones paled to a uniform white, and its form started to constrict to the tanuki’s feetpaws, forming the familiar outline of a pair of shoes.

Hatter wriggled his toes as they better conformed to the shape of his feet, watching as the pig’s headfur flowed together to form a lace for the one shoe and his tail stretched out to do likewise for the other.

As he watched, the changes building his shoes settled down, and there were no more of the unsettling movements — all that remained were a pair of perfectly ordinary-looking white sneakers, looking somewhat incongruous on the tanuki’s feet, especially without any socks.

“A shame you didn’t turn out to be my style,” he said, pulling off the shoes and putting them behind his desk, along with the original shoes the pig had come in with. “But I’m sure I can find someone who’ll wear you.”

He sat back down on the couch and put his pants and his own shoes back on.

“On the bright side, nobody’s going to be turning you into bacon.”

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