Transcend

Mila smiled. She had Greg wrapped around her little finger. Long, sharp, red nails. Light on his neck.

“You should have killed everyone at the Pony,” she said, “But Victor is pleased… So I won’t punish you…”

Greg had been a hero for the Volkov. Had his dick mentally sucked off by the whole clan. Dmitri looked satisfied. Victor laughed and rubbed his tummy.

“Fucking Mr. Accountant! You have made me a very happy man,” Victor smiled. He slid his gold ringed fingers through his blonde hair. He was very pleased. It would’ve been rather boring to gut Greg like a pig for failing. He hadn’t killed everyone. But Alice Moorfield! Oh that was gold. That bitch was dead!

Alice Moorfield had killed three Volkov. Victor lost his uncle that day. A fucking legendary man. And for a ten year old brat to shoot him in the face. It was only fair that a pathetic pig killed her.

Mila had Greg tied up. Cock caged. Dancing nude. Her DD big tits swaying and squeezing. This was the start of their master-pet play. He was her little training project.

Mila was a constant presence. A dark whisper in his ear. Yes… I killed that slut… Alice Moorfield had it coming to her…

But he kept getting this recurring nightmare.

A brownie. It sat on a white table in a black void. It smelt good.

“Hey Hobo? Are you alright? Want to come in for a brownie?”

It was the shape of a woman in white light. She had two holes in her chest. Red marks. She looked at him. Her hand motioned him to the table. A brownie… He wolfed it down by instinct. Then he looked up, she was looking down at him. A gentle smile.

Then he woke up sweating. He went to the kitchen to binge eat. A comfort. But not enough.

“I feel regret… I feel like a pig,” Greg said.

Mila slapped him, “Don’t you dare say that to me…”

“I’m sorry… I don’t know how to let this side of me go…” he said.

Mila held him by the cheeks and kissed him. Gentle concern.

“I know just the way…” she said.

A mask. Iron Warthog. Made of black-grey metal… Imperfect and scuffed. Rusted edges. Brutal sharp tusks. Mila brought it for him.

“Let go of Greg… Become more than a pig… Transcend…” She handed him the mask.

He looked in the mirror. Looking at the balding, fat creep. Hatred.

Then he put on the mask. A good fit. He breathed in the stale metallic smell. The Iron Warthog looking back.