Hog Roast

"Model needed." The ad read. "Must be size 18/20. 5'2" or shorter. Age 21-25. Pinkish skin color preferred. Amateurs welcomed."

That was me, short, fat, and pink. Sure, I was twenty-seven, but I looked five years younger. Being short and chubby had that youthful effect. But what really held my attention was the last sentence, "$250 per hour for four-hour job."

That morning my crappy car had given up and died. The mechanic had told me it was now worth more to a junkyard than as a vehicle. It would cost $2,000 to fix, and that money was better off going to a new (used) car.

Trouble was, I only had $200 to my name. And I wouldn't be starting my new job for a month. A new job for which I needed a vehicle. A vehicle I couldn't afford to buy without a job.

My mind had been circling this thought drain for an hour when I'd finally got the bright idea to search the classifieds for odd jobs. I had been looking for some kind of low skill labor gig that might get me $500 over two weeks so I could buy a new clunker.

And then I'd seen it. $1,000 for an afternoon of work. I couldn't imagine what kind of modeling job required a short, fat, woman. It was probably something degrading. It was probably something I'd regret ever being associated with. But I couldn't find anything else that suited my need for quick cash -- all the labor jobs came with the disclaimer "must provide own transportation."

Beggars can't be choosers.

I told myself resolutely.

Maybe I could get them to cover my head so at least I wouldn't be recognized as the face of whatever this turned out to be. I didn't want to start a new job under a cloud of media induced shame. But, when it came to the choice of public humiliation and a paycheck, or jobless, carless, and proud, I knew where my priorities lay.

I called the number.

"Hello?" A male voice said.

"Hi, I'm," I cleared my throat nervously. "I'm calling about the ad? For a plus size model?"

"Oh, yes," The man chirped, sounding inordinately happy to talk to me all of a sudden. "What's your size, height, and skin tone, darling?"

"Size 18, 5'1", and my skin tone varies between blindingly white and sunburnt." I replied dryly, wishing I sounded more like I was selling myself and less like I was making fun of myself.

"Perfect!" The man squealed, positively chipper now. "Do you have a portfolio you can send over?"

"Uh, no. Sorry. I've never modeled." Was there really enough of a market for women who looked like me that there were actual professional models out there with my body type? That seemed unlikely.

"No problem. Would you be available tomorrow for an interview? The event we're hiring for is next Friday - if that fits in your schedule?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm free." I agreed.

God, I hoped this was at least a legit job and not a ploy to advertise a new gym to fat girls, or something.

"Great, I'll text you the address and time. See you tomorrow!"

I hung up the phone and stared at my hand. Two minutes later I was still staring when it buzzed, alerting me to a new text message.

I googled the address; it was a restaurant. I frowned. Who held interviews for models at a restaurant? At least it wasn't a gym, I consoled myself.

After two hours of bus rides the next morning, I finally stood across the street from the restaurant. Further googling had revealed that this was an expensive and trendy new business that specialized in themed meals. Like, if you wanted a replica mashed potato sculpture of a mountain for an "Encounters of the Third Kind" party, you would come here.

I felt sick to my stomach. Mentally preparing myself for humiliation, I walked across the street and inside. The interior of the restaurant was done in an ultra-modern style, open and cold with bold blocks of color everywhere and exposed pipes and air ducts.

Gathering my courage, I walked to the reception desk, trying not to show how nervous I felt.

"Hi," I began.

"Oh, sweetie! You're absolutely perfect for the job! Oh, Margo is going to be so pleased. Come on." The man gushed over me.

I recognized his voice as the same person I'd spoken to on the phone.

"I'm Giorgio, by the way!" He called back at me, not slowing down at all.

I followed the exuberant host through the restaurant to an office. As short as I was, I had to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. I tried to look dignified, but I probably looked like a chubby toddler chasing after a treat. I sighed at the mental image. I wasn't usually so self-conscious, but this whole situation was bringing out all my insecurities.

"Margo! Margooo!" Giorgio hollered as he burst through the door.

"Giorgie?" The tall, elegant, thin woman seated behind the immaculate mahogany desk raised a delicate eyebrow.

"Isn't she perfect?" Giorgio purred as he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside the room.

Margo looked me up and down, her expression calculating. She got up and walked around me, looking at me from all angles as she tapped a long, polished, finger against her deep red lips.

"Hmm... Yes, yes. I do think you may be correct Giorgie." Margie stopped circling and stood in front of me.

"What is your name, dear?" She asked.

"Pearl."

"Well, Pearl. I'll need to see you nude, to be sure, but I do think you'll do nicely. Disrobe please."

"Nude?" I squeaked. "The ad didn't say nude." I tried to calm my nerves and speak normally but it didn't work well.

Margo flicked her gaze to Giorgio, "didn't it?"

Giorgio flushed, "I thought I put that in there, Margo. Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Margo dismissed him, "well, what of it? The pay is $250 an hour, Pearl. And if you're worried about photos, there will be none. Absolutely no photography allowed at this event, phones are collected at the door."

I swallowed. I really needed the money.

"Can you tell me what the event is?"

"No details unless I hire you, this is all confidential. So, disrobe or head on home. What's it going to be, Pearl?" Margo stated calmly.

I glanced at Giorgio who gave me a pleading look, clearly still regretting his mistake with the ad. I looked back at Margo who was tapping her foot impatiently.

I thought about my dream job, just one month and a working car away. No photos, she'd said, and I got the sense that Margo was a woman who got things done her way.

I closed my eyes and imagined myself buying a car. Keeping my eyes closed, I took a deep breath and pulled off my shirt. My DD breasts flopped free as my comfortable bra did not offer much in the way of support. I reached behind my back and undid the clasp, letting my bra fall to the floor as well. The cool air of the restaurant made my nipples harden immediately. I knew my face was burning red with embarrassment, but there was nothing I could do about that.

I shivered and unbuttoned my jeans. I pushed them and my underwear off quickly, trying to spend as little time bent over as possible. I kicked off my sandals, pants, and panties and stood up straight, trying to minimize the unsightly rolls of my stomach fat.

"Clasp your hands behind your head," Margo instructed coolly. "Spread your legs. Wider."

I did as instructed, feeling like a piece of meat on display.

"Open your eyes." I looked at Margo, waiting for her verdict.

"Giorgie was right, you're perfect." She said. "You may dress, and we'll discuss the details."

I hurried to put my clothes back on as Giorgio sagged in relief. I got the feeling that Margo was not a woman one wanted to disappoint.

"You may go, Giorgie. Good work."

Giorgio beamed with pride at the praise and hurried back to his post at the front of the restaurant.

"Please sit," Margo gestured at the chair in front of her desk.

I sat.

Margo flipped through a pile of papers on her desk and pushed several over to me.

"Here's the NDA and the contract. Sign those and I'll tell you about the job."

My skin prickled as I scanned the legalese on the NDA. I looked over the contract too, then back to the NDA, shuffling the papers.

Finally, I reached for a pen and began signing.

"Tell me about the job," I said as I kept my head down, moving my pen across the paper.

"It's a fraternity event, celebrating the end of COVID, the summer, and themselves. They wanted a Hawaiian themed hog roast, but instead of a hog, they asked me to get a fat girl."

I closed my eyes and sighed. It was worse than I'd imagined. I looked up at Margo, putting the pen down.

"Give me the details."

"Well, first they want to hunt their prey -- that'd be you. Then they want to have you tied up and spit roasted, pretend, of course. And then you'll be hog-tied and dressed like a fine roast pig that they can all stare at." Margo said flatly, her voice not giving away what she thought about all this.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. "Fine, I'll do it. But I'll need $1,000 per hour, not $250."

Margo smiled slightly, "Sorry dear, you've already signed the contract."

"No, Margo." I corrected her, "I signed the NDA. Now we can negotiate terms or I'll walk and you can find another 'fat girl' to degrade herself for a bunch of rich college brats."

Margo's eyebrows rose as she glanced at the papers in front of me. "Interesting..."

"A thousand an hour, or no deal. You don't just need a nude model, Margo. You need an actress."

Margo narrowed her eyes, "you'll need to pass an STD test, I don't want any chance of making our guests ill. And your fully vaccinated, I assume? I'll need proof."

"Yes, not a problem." I was feeling better now that we were negotiating. I could forget the humiliation to come and just focus on closing the deal.

"I'll give you $500 an hour." Margo finally said.

"No. Margo, your restaurant is new, started just before the pandemic. You probably limped along through it with your startup funds and some government loan, but you need to get popular fast, if you're going to stay in business. These frat boys who have enough money to spend on this ridiculous event obviously have rich parents. And you need those clientele. I'll be the best damn stuck pig you can find, Margo. Those boys will discover their secret fat fetish and will rave about you event, how you pulled off the stunt of a lifetime. But the price is $1,000/hr. and not a dime less."

Margo was silent, "just what do you do, Pearl, when you're not prostituting yourself?"

"I'm in acquisitions." I said. Well, I would be. In a month if I could get a car.

"And why would a smart girl like you want to take a job like this? What kind of trouble are you in, dear?" Margo asked, her gaze stony.

I sighed, "My car broke down yesterday and my new job doesn't start for a month. I need cash, quick. I'm not a druggie or an alcoholic or a gambler. I'm just poor, Margo. I won't embarrass you."

Margo stared at me for long minutes before finally nodding her head. "Fine, deal."

She reached out one perfect hand and I took it. We shook, the deal was sealed.

Fifteen minutes later, the contract had been updated and signed by both of us and I was committed. Four thousand dollars. If I just repeated that to myself enough times maybe I could forget what I was going to have do to get that money.

Margo had given me a $200 advance, but that was only because I needed it to pay for my full body waxing and all-around primping fest. I wished that I could look forward to a spa day, but that just wasn't my kind of fun. I hated being naked in front of people. I laughed, getting naked in front of a spa employee was going to be easy compared to what I'd be doing after that.

Friday morning I woke up early and could not get back to sleep. I laid in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and wondering why I had agreed to this.

You need a car. Four thousand dollars.

I repeated to myself in a mantra.

When I couldn't stand it anymore, I got up and started getting ready. I took a long, hot shower, scrubbing my body thoroughly. After drying and brushing out my hair I rubbed lotion into all of my skin. I was so smooth, everywhere. It actually felt great to feel how soft my skin was. Getting waxed had been horrible, but at least the benefits were good.

Same thing today, I told myself. The work would suck, but the benefits were great. Just four hours, you got this! I smiled wryly at my attempted self-pep-talk.

After scrubbing and lotioning up I put on a summer dress that was tight enough on my breasts to go braless. It flowed loosely down to my ankles. I didn't put on any underwear, what was the point? Sliding my feet into sandals, I glanced at my phone.

Two hours until my Uber. I had decided that taking the bus today wouldn't be a good idea. What was the point of being showered and clean just to spend two-hours getting sweaty on hot busses? The Uber ride would come out of my advance.

That left me with two hours of anxiety laden time to fill. I turned on the TV. Nothing was interesting enough to distract me from what I was about to do. I picked up a book, but I couldn't focus on the words.

Finally, I put on some heavy metal music and laid on my bed, just letting the anxiety ride me. At about my fortieth mental repetition of the mantra:

four thousand dollars, a new car

, my alarm went off. It was time to go.

I walked into Margo's restaurant noting the "closed for private party" sign on the front door. Inside, the place was decorated in an over-the-top stereotypical Hawaiian theme. The bar was made over like a Tiki hut, unlit torches lined the room, and there was a giant fire pit with a heavy metal spit mounted above it.

I imagined myself, tied to that spit in a couple hours, being slowly turned so that all the college kids could see every part of me. I cringed as I felt a little wetness in my pussy at the thought. I was going to be humiliated and some part of me was aroused by that. My face flushed.

"Pearl!" Giorgio flounced over to me.

"Giorgio," I said.

"Come with me, I'll introduce you to the team and we'll get you all fixed up. You are going to wow these boys; they won't know what hit them!" Giorgio gloated, with absolutely no sense of shame for what was about to happen to me.

I wondered if he would have felt degraded, if he was the one who had to act like a hog and be on display, or would he just enjoy the attention? Did he know that I was not that confident?

"This is Stefan, he'll be our rigger, you know, the ropes guy? He'll get you sorted out on the spit and for the display so that you'll be comfortable. Stefan, this is Pearl, your model."

Stefan was a bear of a man. He looked me up and down carefully, then held out his hand, "Pleased to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," I replied.

His hand was huge, thick, and calloused and felt wonderfully rough and solid in mine.

"And this is Charles, he's our food designer. He'll be arranging the display and making you look delicious!"

Giorgio leaned in towards me, "you already look delicious, darling, so you make his job easy!" He laughed joyfully.

I couldn't help it, I smiled. Maybe Giorgio didn't know how nervous I was, but it was hard to be anxious in his vivacious aura.

Giorgio wrapped an arm around me and hugged my shoulders, leading me to another group of people.

"Here is your make-up and hair team. Glen and Sam are the best!"

The androgynous duo looked me over critically.

"Sit down here, doll." One of them said, and then I was attacked, one person working on my hair and the other on my face.

"Oh look, there's your security team," Giorgio pointed to two very large men who were just entering the restaurant. He leaned in next to my ear and whispered, "you know, for if the boys get handsy."

Giorgio gave me a coy look, "but I can tell them to back off a bit if you want, I mean, if you want to enjoy a little touching?"

I opened my mouth but couldn't find words. Giorgio was making all this feel so normal and almost fun. I could nearly forget that the point of this was so that a bunch of rich frat boys could feel superior to a fat girl that they had dressed up and treated like a pig.

I laughed, "I don't think these guys want to touch me, Giorgio. They want to laugh at me."

Giorgio gave me a pitying look, "Honey, these rich college kids may pretend that they aren't turned on, but that's just because their repressed. Believe me, every single one of them is going to be sporting a boner when they see you.

"Why do you think Margo wanted you so bad? You're hot, honey. She may need their money, but Margo doesn't like these frat assholes any more than the rest of us. She wants to mess with their sad little minds a little."

"Uh... I am not hot." I protested. Cute, sure. Hot, no. I'd told Margo I'd make these guys want me, but that had been bravado meant to make a deal, not what I really believed.

Giorgio pouted. "Oh, sweetie. Yes, you are. If I were straight, I'd fuck you, like that." He snapped his fingers.

I laughed, "Ok, Giorgio. I'm hot." I agreed with him just so that he would stop pouting.

Giorgio perked up, "that's the spirit!"

I wished I could hold onto that spirit as the make-up artist fitted me with a prosthetic pig snout and ears. What little I had left of my Giorgio-infused confidence fled when Glen held up a butt plug with a corkscrew pig tail spiraling out of it.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said.

Glen narrowed their eyes at me, "I am not kidding," they said in a masculine feminine voice, or vice versa. "This is necessary. This is art. You will be a perfect piggy with this."

"Think of it this way," Sam interjected, "with that in none of the college kids will be able to stick anything else in your butt. Won't that be nice?"

I gulped. I had not considered that possibility.

"Fine." I agreed, my humiliation complete as I hiked up my skirt and pushed the pre-lubed plug into place.

Unbelievably, my pussy tingled with pleasure at the new sensation.

Stop that.

I told myself irritably. This was work,

degrading

work, it was not supposed to be pleasant.

Their job done, Glen and Sam left. Giorgio appeared in their wake and led me to the back rooms.

"Wait here, darling. The boys will be showing up soon. I'll be back for you when it's time."

I almost sat down before I remembered that I had a pink plastic spring sticking out of my ass. Resigned, I paced. My tail twitched my dress back and forth as I walked.

I looked in a mirror and studied my 'pretty piggy' face. I had to admit that Glen and Sam had done a great job. I looked exactly like a sexy pig. My hair was braided into twin French braids down each side of my head, ending in long pigtails. My eyes looked impossibly large and blue. My lips were plump and just a fraction pinker than my nipples.

Margo burst into the room, followed by Glen and Sam.

"Alright, dress off, dear." Margo said brusquely.

I slid off my sandals and eased my dress off my shoulders and down over my stomach, shimmying a little as I pushed it down over my hips.

Margo circled me. Instinctively, I put my hands behind my head and spread my legs just as she'd asked me to last week in her office. There was something about this woman that just made you want to make her happy.

Margo nodded thoughtfully. "Very nice. The tail was a good touch, you were right Glen."

Glen beamed.

"Can you make her nipples a bit pinker, and put a little blush on her ass, as if she's just been spanked."

Eyes sparking, Glen and Sam descended on me again. I endured as they brushed my breasts and ass with make-up. They obviously viewed me as an object, and not sexually. If this was what being a model was, I was glad this wasn't my career.

Ten minutes later both beauticians sprang back simultaneously and eyed me.

"She's ready." Glen declared.

"I'll let Margo know," Sam said as he walked out.

Glen, despite declaring me ready, continued to fuss over his art on my nipples until Sam returned.