"Hiiiii Stinky! Ready to join the piggy pen?"
I shuddered which made Goddess Tamara laugh. She's so cute when she giggles at me. Her lovely smile beaming, her pretty eyes lighting up, her whole body so excited and joyous.
I, on the other hand, look completely ridiculous. Wearing an absurd pink frilly dress with a huge tutu that barely came to my waist. All so I can keep my bright pink diaper covered in smiling pigs on display at all times. A wet diaper I can smell even with my stupid big piggy nose I'm wearing on my face, along with a piggy ears hairband, and lots of bright pink blush to complete my silly swine look. It's an outfit that altogether cost about £50, and that Tamara generously helped me find online, charging me only £2000 for the inconvenience to her ("1000 for finding the dress, 500 for the diapers, another 500 for the nose, and I'll throw in the ears for free. You're so welcome!")
It had arrived a couple months ago and Tamara had been making me wear it nightly ever since. Performing nursery rhymes for her, doing 'precious piggy dances', spending hours curtsying by the windows with the lights turned on bright for the neighbours while she giggled and enjoyed draining my credit cards.
Obviously I knew my addiction had gone too far. But since when did self-awareness ever help a piggy like me? No more time spent with friends, increasingly poor performance at work from staying up until the early hours every night oinking and burning through my savings, and obviously my romantic life wasn't exactly thriving ("OMG don't say that piggy! I'd be happy to make you a Grindr profile! Don't you worry.")
That Grindr profile, which Tamara had only charged me £800 to make, meant everyone around me now knew I was a pink piggy desperate to please. Tamara would login for me and send my piggy pictures and dances to any user who wanted them, then giggle as I moaned and blushed and filled her accounts with my loser cash.
"Does Piggy want to go on a date with this guy? He looks a little scary, but I think you two could have a lot of fun down at the public toilets!"
I had squealed and shook my head no. Tamara had made a sad face and said if I wasn't going to let her so kindly matchmake for me then she should keep me in chastity until I stopped being such a fussy piggy. I'd been dreading this proposal since the day I'd found her profile, as I knew I'd be powerless to say no. Sure enough, within a few days I was safely sealed in a tiny stainless steel cage. One key was on a necklace dangling around Tamara's neck, and the emergency spare Tamara had helpfully thrown away ("£300 key disposal fee piggy! Chop! Chop!")
Another torturous month of chastity, endless humiliation, and a rapidly dwindling bank account had led us to tonight's proposal - the ultimate sacrifice. Tamara just couldn't understand why I needed a nice big house for such a little piggy loser. Not when she had a perfectly good pigpen I'd apparently be far more suited too - a very special apartment across town that she was going to show me tonight.
"Are you ready to see your potential new home, piggy?" she asked sweetly.
"Yes Queen Tamara. Oink oink!" I said, squirming as I made another wet in my diapers.
Tamara noticed and giggled "ewwww stinky!" She said, waving her hand in front of her face. "Ok, I'll get the cam set up, piggy. Stand by the window and keep singing 'I'm a Little Teapot' until I call you back over."
A whimper. A curtesy. A thank you. Two oinks. And then I predictably did as I was told, swishing over to the window to humiliate myself to my neighbourhood (well, my neighbourhood for now). It probably took Tamara all of a few seconds to set up the camera - I could hear her in the background, talking to her friends on the phone, calling her boyfriend and buying him a new console with my card and talking excitedly about the wonderful sex they were gonna enjoy at the luxury resort this weekend, and just humming pleasantly to herself while I danced and sang "I'm a little teapot, short and spout - oink! Oink!" over and over and over.
Finally, after almost an hour of this torture, Tamara called me over.
"So here's the deal piggy. My friend Susan here is a solicitor. She's sorted all the paperwork necessary to sign over your house to me."
Tamara tapped a key and another cam came up on my screen. Susan was in her early twenties, giggling like crazy. She unmuted herself and apologised, clearly not used to seeing someone so pathetic. I blushed and curtsied.
"In return for your home - which I'm gonna have to go to the trouble of selling myself, ugh! So unfair! - you'll get to live here. Check it out!"
She tapped another key and two new camera angles popped up. It was a tiny single-room apartment. Literally a toilet in the room was the whole bathroom, and that rusty fridge was presumably the whole kitchen. There was a tiny mattress in the centre of the room, and in three of the four corners there was someone stood in my exact excruciating outfit. I gasped, causing Tamara and Susan to collapse in a fit of giggles.
Each of my fellow paypigs were standing in their corner, hands on head, staring at the wall. Tamara pressed a button and yelled "curtesy!". Her demand rang out from a small speaker on the wall, and each of the piggy's dipped a curtesy, their fingertips never leaving the top of their heads.
"See that empty corner, piggy? Doesn't it look sad and lonely? Aren't you just dying to stand in it?"
I was shaking. This was too much. My house that I'd spent years of soul crushing work saving up for, in exchange for this?
Tamara smiled sweetly at me and opened another tab on my computer. It was the last of my savings, about £7000.
"I think it's about time you sent all of this to me, don't you piggy?"
