It’s been months. Months since I was kidnapped and brought to this underground bunker; months since I’d seen the sun; months since I’d seen anyone but HIM.

The man who brought me here, I know only as Master, and ever since he brought me here, I’ve only known myself as Fuck-Pig...

... All six webcams around the bunker are on. All pointed directly at me. There are also monitors facing me, allowing me to see everything that happens at every single angle. And whatever I see on the monitors, hundreds of Master’s viewers will see too. My shame is live streamed on the dark web every single night for those who can pay.

I’m a long lean woman with wide hips and pale skin. I have straight dark hair that Master keeps in a sloppy ponytail. I’m always dirty, my face, arms, legs, and tummy always streaked with grime. I am a filthy fuck-pig that lives in a filthy pen.

Despite my slim frame I have massive heavy tits, that at the moment, are roped off. Leather binds are wrapped around each breast, constricting the fatty tissue until it’s engorged and boasting colors of purple, red, and blue. My nipples are elongated, weighted down by a heavy chain that’s crowded with padlocks. The whole contraption is shackled to my bulging tits with two savagely sharp nipple clamps. My arms are tied behind my back with a leather belt.

I am leaning forward, almost completely bent over, bouncing up and down on a nine-inch dildo that Master has mounted to the wall.

He’s making me fuck my own ass.

But the most striking thing about this scene isn’t the dildo on the wall or me fucking my ass on it, it’s the pig mask I’m forced to wear.

It’s not an ordinary pig mask, no, it’s the face of some diseased half-starved pig, its rubbery texture molded with unnerving realism. The hide is grayish pink, stained with grime that has settled into every crease. Its snout juts out in a blunted hideous mass, the flat nostrils almost wet-looking despite being nothing more than painted rubber. Asymmetrical ears droop from the top of my head, their curled edges bouncing as I flail up and down on the dildo. At the bottom, however, the illusion falls apart. Beneath the grotesque muzzle of the pig, my mouth is totally exposed, my lips fixed open with a rusty old ring-gag.