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by Creamyndmilky

Cumslut Affirmations!

Ladies! Do you feel like deep-down you exist to serve cock? Do you need a little help releasing your inner slut? I was inspired to make this file after spending time on the discord server belonging to @cumslutallie

Listen and repeat these powerful affirmations to yourself, before too long you’ll be the dumb submissive cumslut that Men deserve!

Transcript:

You can treat me like all the other toys Because I exist to please the boys On my knees where I obey I must do the things you say

You show me what I should be When you cum all over me You can do it on my face or tits Because I am just a stupid ditz

Make me dirty, make me wet I am just your mindless pet Cover me in all your seed I’m a slut it’s what I need

Girls are cumsluts, one and all We exist to drain your balls So much better pleasing men No more thoughts, just giving in

Squealer Originally posted on DeviantArt on Aug 19 2020 (woman to pig transformation)

Brianna had some inclination that Tony was in the mob when she started dating him, but he was so sexy, and so gregarious, that she had tried to ignore his business as long as she could.  That, unfortunately, ended when an FBI agent cornered her and forcibly drafted her into becoming an informant.

She didn’t like snitching on her boyfriend any more than she liked Big Tony’s business, and knew he had a reputation for dealing harshly with disloyalty.  She did it anyway, constantly feeling like she was on a dangerous tightrope; but Brianna was unwilling to abandon her life and friends in a possibly useless attempt to flee.  She didn’t know which side would do her worse for betraying them.

It turned out, she would never know.  But what Tony did would have been pretty hard for the FBI to beat.

Brianna came to groggily.  Had there been something in her margarita?  She didn’t used to be a day drinker, and wanted to quit, but with all the stress of… her trivial thoughts evaporated instantly as she took notice of her surroundings, and she quickly realized she was tied to a chair.   Some of Big Tony’s goons were in the darkened room, and they looked pissed.  She recognized one, vaguely, but didn’t know the other at all.

“She’s awake,” said the one she hadn’t seen before.

“Then it’s time to show the slut what Tony does to squealers in this organization,” his friend growled.

“Please!  I’m sorry!” she begged.  “I was forced into it.  I could work as a double agent!  I swear!  I love Tony, I promise!  My days of squealing are over!”

He just laughed, a harsh barking sound, and reached into his jacket.  Brianna knew a big fat Desert Eagle was going to come out, and then he’d press it to her head, or maybe even into her mouth, and pull the trigger.  Supposing they didn’t bother clean up the scene, there still wouldn’t even be enough of her head left to identify her by dental records.  It was all she could do not to pee herself in fear.

So she was surprised when he just pulled out a hypodermic needle, uncapped it, and squirted out any air bubbles.  He took her arm – fairly gently, all things considered – and gave her a quick shot.  It was over almost before she understood that her head wasn’t going to get blown off, and with her adrenaline pumping she hadn’t even felt it go in.

“There, Squealer,” he said triumphantly.  “Now you can do what comes naturally.”

Brianna was glad that she wasn’t dead, but the cryptic words made her feel uneasy.  What were they planning to do to her?  She was vaguely aware that when Tony disappeared his enemies, they typically weren’t found afterwards.  Was that going to happen to her?  And what in that needle would make her disappear, more than a huge slug to the head?

Brianna was beginning to realize that she felt hot – hotter than the dingy little cellar they had her in should warrant.  Was she running a fever?  In fact, she was kind of feeling sick.  A little nauseous in her tummy.  So this was what it was, she thought, depressed.  Poison.  I’m going to die here of poison.  Everything I still wanted to do in life… it’s all over.  I’m never standing up out of this chair again.  Two fat tears formed in her eyes, and slid down her cheeks.  Her bound body shook with sobs that were more physical than audible.

“Please.  Please.  If there’s any antidote… I’ll never squeal again…” she blubbered.

That harsh laughter, again.  “You can squeal all you want, Bri,” the first guy snorted.  “Squeal until the cows come home.”

“Well, until the pigs come home,” the other guy corrected mirthfully.  Dumbass, Brianna thought.  The first guy got the saying right.

But as her body shook, things started to feel… different.  As she pressed back against the chair, it felt like there was something trapped between her and the seat.  A wad of her shirt, wrinkled up?  But no… it felt… felt like it were her, a part of her, which was trapped.  She shimmied in her bonds uncomfortably, trying to relieve the pressure.  And then… then something flopped out, over the waist of her low-rise jeans that seemed to be riding lower all the time.  And out of her much looser denim shirt.  But it was still connected to her.  And then it moved, jerking on her back, and brushing against unforgiving wood and her denim-clad butt.  She could feel through the thing.

It was a tail.

Brianna had a tail.

Her head spun.  She wriggled, and her tail moved with her, twitching and coiling around.  She could feel her squirmy tail squished against the chair.  It didn’t seem like there were any bones in it; just flesh and nerves and muscle.  Some bizarre, alien appendage growing out over her butt.  She scooted forward as far as she could, and her tail twitched around, getting as free as it was going to get as it curled around her side, each brush against something sending disorienting new sensory information up to her confused and frightened brain.  But the men noticed it, and laughed at it boisterously.  They had been expecting it…

Brianna tried to put it together.  Her punishment for squealing was to be poisoned.  But not a poison that killed her; rather, it caused her to grow a disgusting, subhuman tail.  She sniffled.  Or rather, tried to sniffle.  It actually sounded more like a grunt.

“What did you do?” she snorted, fighting her bonds.

“Her hands and feet are changing, too!” the one guy said, pointing, to both of their mirth.  Brianna glanced down, seeing they were right.  Her middle fingers were swelling, capped with a hard, unfeeling surface at the ends, and her outer fingers were getting smaller and stubbier.  Her thumbs were just shrinking – although not enough to pull them loose from the ropes.  Something similar was happening below, and her feet pushed free of her pumps.  What the hell?

She grunted again, distressed, and felt her nostrils flare.  So much so that she actually saw the end of her nose in front of her eyes.  And it stayed at the bottom of her line of sight, getting bigger and wrinkles forming along the bridge of it.  Brianna gasped, her mouth dropping open, and felt her hair tickle her ears.  Or rather, her ears tickle her hair, because they were getting longer and pushing free of her soft dirty blonde tresses.

The unsettled feeling in her tummy suddenly burst across the whole of her midsection, feeling hot and fruitful.  Points of flesh rubbed against the fabric of her clothes, giving off sensations like her boobs when she didn’t have a bra on.  In fact, as she thought about it, it felt exactly like she’d added a half dozen or so nipples under her boobs.

She breathed heavily, her mind swimming.  Brianna felt overwhelmed.  A snout, a curly tail, lots of extra nipples – she was definitely becoming something subhuman.  Something… that could <i>squeal</i>.

She looked back down, past her growing muzzle, at the mess of her hands.  But she didn’t have hands anymore.  Instead, her hands were little more than a pair of pig trotters.  Her waistband and the ropes seemed to tighten, as her belly grew.  She was beginning to get a little porky, and her tormentors decided to rub it in.

“How about that, Squealer?  You still want to squeal on us?  Go ahead, let’s hear you!  Squeal!”  So the poor, pathetic sow opened her snout, oinking loudly in her new dialect.  They laughed hard and raucously.  As she snorted and oinked, her throat thickened, and she could feel the tenor of her voice deepen.  She cried, her squeals mixed with sobs.

“Please… spare me…  I don’t wanna be a pig…” she managed, amidst her oinking.  Her ears were getting quite big, flopping over under their own weight.  And her snout was starting to project forward, carrying her mouth along with it.  Inside, she could feel her tongue and teeth reshape; becoming more porcine.  She knew they would lead to a piggish stomach, as well, designed to process slop instead of caviar.

The ropes were getting tighter around Brianna’s once-svelte body.  She wasn’t just growing teats; she was getting fat, like a sow.  Her shoulders and hips creaked, protesting their bonds, as they started to resettle.  Her head tilted up a bit, moving towards its new orientation.

“PLE-EEEE-EAAA-SE!” she squealed, no longer able to articulate complete sentences.  And it wasn’t just her voice that was going.  The language centers of her brain were giving way to larger olfactory bulbs, and the whole thing flattening as her skull warped, bringing her eye sockets to either side of her growing, moistening snout.  Her jaw worked, grunting, as her massive rooter swelled to dominate her head, and the blue orbs in her sockets dulled to a muddy, beady brown.  Brianna leaned forward as best as she was able, deeply uncomfortable.

The men laughed at her, and the one she vaguely knew stepped forward and held her chin, getting a good look at her much less desirable face.  Except for her hair, her head and neck were entirely those of a pig, and she knew that she must be a sight.  He spat in her face, but then had mercy and cut her free of her bonds as her limbs twisted, changing position to be a fat quadruped’s legs.  She swayed and fell out of the chair, on her forehooves and knees.  Her body was closer in shape to a barrel than an hourglass, and she felt him slap her ass and yank down her pants and panties around her knees.  Her top was more stubborn, and he ended up cutting it off like the ropes.  Soon she was left only with her bra and earrings.

They laughed some more as she waddled drunkenly, squealing in fear and unable to process the cacophony of strange sensations her new body was feeling.  At last the unreasoning fear of a pig took hold of her, and she peed on the ground, managing to befoul her own pants in the process.  It was horrifying, but what could she do?  They roughly snatched them away, and unclasped her bra, too.  Her melons flopped free, hanging much lower than her other dugs, and they were quickly groped and slapped by the boors.  All Brianna could do was squeal.

As they took her pants away, the first guy was close to her rear, and he quickly drew the other man’s attention.  Apparently her pussy and butthole were almost totally porcine, and they wanted to mock them.  One pushed a finger into her wider butthole, frigging her uncomfortably, and the other spat on his fingers and yanked on her grossly swollen clit.  The poor pig struggled to get away, but her new body was definitely not optimized for speed.

Brianna knew that she was nearing the end, and with a tickling feeling, her hair finally regressed entirely.  She continued to add weight, her now barrel-shaped body fat and taut, and her squat hind legs finally pulled up enough to put her on all fours, instead of on her knees.  All traces of her sexy butt were lost in her new swine rump, which her springy tail whipped in a bestial drumbeat.  The pig waddled around, unable to escape her fate, feeling her flopping breasts shrink under her.  Soon, she was the proud owner of fourteen rosy pig teats, and no more human features at all.  The reluctant informant was now a true pig.  A genuine, literal squealer.

“What do you think?  You can squeal all you want, now,” the first man sneered.

“Yeah.  Go ahead, squeal… Squeal as long and loud as you want, to anyone who will listen…” the other added.

The sow snuffled pathetically.  Her days of squealing weren’t over.  In fact, they had just begun.

The next steps were professional, all things considered.  Her earrings were removed and she was given a little yellow ear tag, with a barcode on it.  Her clothes and possessions were taken to an incinerator – except for whatever Tony wanted for a trophy – and she was loaded onto a truck.  Soon she was dumped in a pigsty with a hundred other pigs, in a barn that contained thousands.  Brianna was now part of a huge herd of swine.  She wondered how many of her fellow pigs were other informants like her.  Suddenly, it was clear why those who crossed her ex-boyfriend were never heard from or discovered again.

The sow wanted to resist, but she was famished after her exhausting transformation.  Daintily, with as much class as she could manage on her hooves, she waddled over to the trough and satisfied her hunger.  Then she laid down, and drifted off to a fretful slumber.  It would not get better the next morning, as she integrated fully into the sty.  Her new home.

She discovered that she was a breeding sow, and thus not destined to become bacon anytime soon.  For the most part, she hated being a pig.  But the sex was incredible, and she had never orgasmed harder than when she was with the boars.  Big Tony would have been embarrassed to learn that he was just a second-class lover by comparison.  In four months, she had her first litter of piglets, and learned how to be a mother.

Eventually, the squealer adapted to her new low-stakes world, without the constant stress-filled tightrope walk between law and crime.  She wondered sometimes how much she was remembered or missed; what her friends or her FBI handlers thought about her disappearance.  But such things didn’t matter much in the life of a squealing sow.