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February 6, 2011
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Dancing Pig
By Digital Circe

(woman to pig transformation)

Story warning: nudity, humiliation, religious themes


Circe had been vacationing in the United States for a few weeks, enjoying her annual sojourn away from her island kingdom in Aeaea.  She had been growing steadily more impressed with the human world over the past century or so, as their technological accomplishments had begun to rival the finest achievements of her magical peers.  In her opinion, most of those like her – deities – missed out by not keeping current with what the mortals could do, could achieve.  It was exhilarating, after a fashion – like watching a child grow up.

She had been shopping for groceries, and decided to enjoy a longer-than-necessary walk home.  Music seemed to pound out of every other apartment window, car stereo, and personal iPod.  When people had still believed in her as a goddess, such a diversity of music was unknown.  There were plenty of amateurs, but skilled musicians and bards were less common, and rarely faced competition for people's ears.  Now, their recorded works dueled for attention.

She wasn't in one of the better parts of town, but she liked to take in all of the culture, even the seamy sides of it.  Grubby pawn shops and sleazy bars and their rough clients could scarcely hurt her, after all.  Even the laws of physics knelt down to her.

As Circe passed a rundown church, she noticed a few congregants loading a truck with supplies for the local food pantry.  Quietly, she passed two of her bags of groceries to one of them and moved on.  She didn't attend services there very often, but still felt moved to help with their outreach.  It was a pleasing change, to world culture – systematic assistance to the poor.  In her heyday, such collective impulses were almost nonexistent, beyond one's own family.  Of course, the world was richer now.  People could afford to be generous when they didn't struggle to cook enough of their own bread and carry enough of their own water each day.  Exhilarating progress, indeed.

So she was in a fairly good mood as she turned the corner, watching a few young teenagers playing in the spray of an opened fire hydrant.  She passed worn down shop fronts, looking in their windows as their various goods and services.  Most were bars, tenements, tattoo parlors, and strip clubs.  Suddenly, she stopped short in front of a strip club.  Posters covered the front, depicting the dancers with only little black boxes protecting their modesty.  One in particular, though, had caught her attention.  One of an attractive blonde girl, big in the bust and wearing a vapid smile that she took to be sensuous, curled around a metal pole.  The girl's name was on it, and her schedule at the club.  There, in big letters, was a slap in the face to the tourist goddess.  Circe.  The little tart was calling herself Circe.

Obviously, she hardly expected worship or veneration from mortals these days.  Hell, most of her pantheon didn't even regard themselves as gods anymore, merely powerful beings.  But something about the misuse of her name rankled at her.  She tried the door, intent on giving the manager a talking-to he wouldn't soon forget, but it was early enough in the day that it wasn't open yet.  Her eyes narrowed, and the general good mood of the morning evaporated.  She thought for a brief moment of blowing open the door and leveling the place.  But no, she reigned herself in.  She didn't often resort to her powers when away from her kingdom.  With a furious tirade playing in her mind's eye, she turned and stalked home to her apartment.

She had fretted over the insult all afternoon.  She knew that she shouldn't take it so hard, but it was preferable to be forgotten than debased.  She rarely saw her name in the modern world – an obscure variant of chess, the occasional story by someone like Nathaniel Hawthorne – nothing very significant.  But then, she had never been a popular subject for the artists back in ancient Greece, either.  The Cyclops adorned many more pots and tapestries than she did.  And she liked the comparative anonymity.  People knew who she was, but not usually enough to intrude or annoy.  Probably, someone like Aphrodite had long since become used to her name being attached to unbecoming things, because she had always put herself out there.  Of course she would expect satire and insult, as the price of fame and respect.  But Circe didn't ask for either.

Finally, she determined to go to the club and see the whore that dared identify herself so inappropriately.  She remained in a black mood all through the evening, until darkness fell and the stripper's set was scheduled to begin.  Well, as dark as a modern city ever got, anyway.  In Circe's day, the world was lit only by fire at night.  Now, the cities could be seen from space.  Circe walked the ten blocks in sullen silence, the night warm and humid.

***

Mandy hurried into the club, running a little late as usual.  "Circe, you're on in fifteen!" the DJ hissed, annoyed, as she rushed through his booth, pushing a wrinkled printout of the songs she wanted played for her sets tonight.

"Sorry, I'll be ready!  Going to dress right now!" she said, and scrambled back to the dressing rooms.  A few other dancers were back there, chatting and relaxing – but not too many.  Most that weren't dancing were working the floor.  

"Late again, Mandy?" asked Elizabeth, amused.  "Need any help getting ready?"

"No, I'm fine," Mandy replied, shucking off her clothes and pulling on her black thong and garter belt.  She arranged her makeup in the mirror – enough to have an effect on the dark and blacklit floor, and fluffed up her hair.  Then she pulled on a slutty schoolgirl outfit for her first costume of the evening, and laced up her boots.  Elizabeth passed her a bottle of the perfume, and she liberally spritzed herself with it.

Elizabeth smiled.  "You get ready faster than anyone I know," she said, a laugh in her voice.  "Of course, it helps when you naturally look good even stepping out of a thunderstorm."

"Ah, I've just got the routine down pat," said Mandy.  She was a little embarrassed that the other strippers were jealous of her looks.  It wasn't like her body didn't have flaws – everyone's did – but she had always had a sort of effortless beauty about her.  Besides, the low light hid most imperfections, and the alcohol did the rest.  The patrons wouldn't notice anything less than perfect with any of the strippers.  But since their income was directly tied to their looks, most of them fretted.  Elizabeth felt her hips were too narrow and boyish, her rear not plump enough.  She quietly envied Mandy's attractive backside.  

"Well, I need to hit the floor and start selling lap dances," said Elizabeth.  "Walk me up?"

"I'll be up in a second," Mandy replied, doing a few last minute touch-ups to her makeup.  

Another stripper, Dakota, was on stage when Mandy emerged.  Dakota was gyrating, her huge boobs swaying hypnotically.  They were fakes – she was naturally flat – but they had been done well so you couldn't tell the difference.  Dakota could tell the difference in her take-home pay, though, and highly recommended implants to the lesser-endowed dancers.  She and Circe were among the most popular at the club, and coincidentally also had among the most substantial bustlines.  

Elizabeth – known up here as Tempest – was with a customer in the corner, gyrating in his lap, so Mandy didn't bother her.  She hurried over near the sound booth, waiting her turn.  "You're cutting it close, Circe," the DJ whispered.

"Sorry," she said, and looked back at Dakota on the stage.  Her song was winding down, and she quickly gathered up her money and discarded clothes to give to a page so she could start making the rounds of the tables.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that again was Dakota!" the DJ said into the microphone.  "Show her your appreciation, and if you liked what you saw, let her know you'd like a little personal attention!"  Dakota smiled and waved, and a patron was quick to offer her a drink.  She sat down to chat, sure to quickly be bought for lap dances.  "You're on, kid," the DJ said, giving Mandy a firm swat on the butt to get her moving to the stage.  She squeaked, hurrying up the stairs.  

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for our own bewitching Circe!  And don't worry about being a little piggish with her, this little blonde goddess likes a man with a little animal in him!"  The crowd applauded as Mandy strode onto stage, hands in the air, her soundtrack beginning behind her.  

She began to sway back and forth, her hips always moving, as Shakira's "She Wolf" pounded behind her.  Eventually, her hands found the pole, and she began to curl and uncurl herself around it seductively, looking directly at the men and smiling lasciviously.  Her heart was beating quickly.  She loved dancing, and performing in front of a crowd – she'd never had the discipline to be a professional dancer, but stripping let her indulge it without dedicating her whole life to the art.  Cheers and wolf-whistles spurred her on, and she danced close to the edge, bending low to let the men see her assets as she rubbed her hands seductively across her body.  

Slowly, sonorously, she peeled off her top and miniskirt, letting the guests see her underwear-clad body.  Men who laid money on the stage in front of her were favored with a personal close-up, as she danced around, careful not to stay in one place too much.  Her breathing quickened, both from the exertion and the emotion, as she swayed left and right, her long legs swinging elegantly and her breasts threatening to pop out of her bra.

Mandy turned and pirouetted, hugging the pole as she let herself sink to the ground, then popped back up, launching herself into the routine again.  Smoothly, she unhooked her bra, slowly pulling it away to reveal her big, bouncy boobs in all their glory.  She heard cheers, and shook her shoulders, making her breasts dance, and then pressed them around the pole, moving them up and down it.  The guests easily caught on to her subtext, and she continued her tour of the edge of the stage, bending over to jiggle her tits in the face of anyone laying money on the platform.  Although she still had several more minutes dancing, she was as bare as she was going to get for the routine - it was an alcohol-serving establishment, so the dancers were required to wear thongs at all times.  Not that the skimpy things concealed much.  From the back, Mandy's was barely a string, disappearing entirely in the cleft of her butt.

She smiled at the cheers and whistles, shaking her merchandise for all she was worth, feeling the beat and almost letting it move her glorious body for her.  She felt a certain happiness out here.  Not for any of the specific patrons – although she had regulars, they were just customers to her – but for the feeling of being desired, being desirable.  They wanted her.  Mandy couldn't help but feel that her stripper handle was appropriate.  If there was anyone who could turn a man into a beast, it was she.  She bounced around with the chorus, feeling electrified.

***

Circe wasn't feeling nearly so happy.  Alone at a table a few feet away from the stage, she nursed a beer she had no intention of drinking.  A cover charge and a one drink minimum – this institution had quite a racket going.  People were willing to pay quite a lot just for the privilege of paying more money to a girl to take her clothes off.  And then what?  It's not like the patrons could buy the love or interest of any of these jiggling girls.  It seemed like it was a place of infinite frustration, and she couldn't comprehend how these things were so ridiculously popular.

Circe was surprised that the DJ had strung together that little bit of mythological introduction.  Maybe he was a classics major and tried to liven up this job with some small intellect so he didn't die of tedium.  Maybe the girl had written it, after having cracked an encyclopedia for the only time in her life.  Still, they made it clear – she was explicitly the one being mocked by this little routine.  They had contrived to present this jiggling, bosomy blonde tart as the goddess to the room full of drunkards and perverts and lonely losers.  As Circe sat and watched the stripper dance, she fumed.  She deserved nothing less than to be a fat, smelly, sty-dwelling sow.  She should see the power of a real goddess.

"Drink not taste good to you?" a waitress asked amiably, and Circe turned to look at her.  The girl appeared to be about seven months pregnant, and was probably normally a stripper, downgraded while her body wasn't in dancing shape.  Circe forced a smile.  A girl wouldn't work here while she was expectant unless she really needed the job.

"I'm not big on alcohol," she said.

"I'm sorry – weren't you offered a Coke or something?  We've got bottled water, too.  I'd be glad to exchange it for you," the girl tittered, seemingly genuinely concerned.

"Its fine, thank you for offering," Circe replied.  "Hey, can you tell me about that dancer?" she asked, nodding her head towards Mandy, who was continuing her routine.  "Where'd she choose a name like 'Circe'?"

"She's been here for a couple of years.  She's pretty popular, especially with her boobs."

"You're not without charms, yourself, though."

"Me?  I've just got mommy boobs.  They'll go back down after the kid.  Besides, nobody wants a pregnant stripper."

"But they do want her."

"Yeah, well, she's beautiful and talented.  What guy wouldn't want to be with her?"

There seemed to be something reserved about the waitress, something not completely honest – even resentful.  She decided to apply her powers.  "What's she really like?" Circe asked again, gently magically nudging the waitress towards the truth.  

The girl sighed.  "I think Mandy's stuck up.  She's always running late.  She doesn't share her profits with the bouncers or waitresses like most of the dancers do – I don't know if she does it consciously, but she doesn't seem to see us as real people.  She makes fun of me sometimes because I'm too fat to dance right now – I know she thinks it's a harmless joke, but I just go home and cry."

"What's your name, honey?" Circe asked, sensing a kindred spirit.

"Kristen," the gravid waitress replied.  

"What did you call yourself, when you were dancing?"

"Glory," Kristen answered.  "I liked that it sounded exotic, but like it could still be a real name."

"It's pretty.  It suits you better than 'Circe' does her."

"Yeah, well, she knows she's 'bewitching'.  So she took a magic name."

"Well, goddesses aren't to be trifled with.  She might yet get her comeuppance."

"Yeah, right.  The prettiest girls always win in the end.  But I appreciate you saying it."  Kristen looked back to the bar, where the bartender was signaling to her pointedly.  "Well, looks like I need to go.  People aren't gonna get themselves drunk," she sighed.

"Thanks for talking with me," said Circe, pressing a tip into the waitress's hand.  She turned back to the stage, where Mandy was completing her routine.  She gathered up her cast-off clothes and money, pushing them into the hands of a page in her eagerness to start making the rounds.

***

Mandy was breathing heavily, but far from exhausted.  Dancing always seemed to give her energy.  She smiled brightly, bouncing over to a table and greeting a few guys there, and accepted an offer of a drink.  They stared openly at her heaving breasts, and she was careful to move around a lot so her big boobs would continue their hypnotic dance.  Unfortunately, the guys seemed a bit shy, and it didn't look like she'd be propositioned for a lap dance, so she made her visit short, moving to another table.  She smiled at Tempest, who was guiding a man to a secluded couch, and found herself looking at a table with a single woman seated there.  She stopped.

Normally, female patrons were only marginally profitable.  It was worse, if they were there with a boy, but still, a dancer didn't make as much money for her time investment with a woman.  Still, there was something odd about this one.  She was beautiful, in a strange, indefinable sort of way, and Mandy found she couldn't look away.  

The woman looked her over from head to toe, taking her time.  Sizing her up.  

"Hi!  Did you like my show?" Mandy asked, feeling strangely transfixed by the woman's stare.

"I found it very interesting," Circe said, in a tone that didn't make at all clear to Mandy whether she was being sarcastic or not.  "So, you call yourself Circe."

"Yep.  And I'm still turning men into pigs, after all these years," she bragged.  There was a flash of something inscrutable on the patron's face, so quick that it barely registered with Mandy.

"Is that so?  Are you saying that you're the 'real' Circe?"

"Yeah – I'm the goddess of bringing out the animal in people."  Mandy felt something slightly off about the woman, and suddenly had the desire to leave.  She felt like she was being quizzed.  "Well, I better move on," she said.

"Wait.  I'd – I'd like to impose upon you for a – lap dance," Circe said carefully, struggling not to choke on the words.

"Really?" the stripper asked, smiling brightly.  "Sure, right this way."  She took Circe's hand and led her over to a secluded couch, gently sitting her down.

"Let's explore those animal urges you were talking about," Circe said tonelessly.

The girl smiled vibrantly, her disquiet much reduced.  She pulled her g-string out, and Circe pushed her money into it.

Mandy chatted idly for a few minutes, utterly unconcerned with her own nakedness, and Circe realized that she was waiting for a song to begin.  These driving rock ballads were how she tracked time in this dark place.  "You ready?" Mandy asked huskily, gently laying Circe's hands at her sides and pulling her hips to the edge of the couch.  The goddess could only nod.

Mandy started to writhe sensuously in Circe's lap.  She raised herself up, massaging her heavy boobs against her face, letting the plump weights slap against her cheeks.  The stripper's cheap perfume filled the goddess's nostrils.  She rose, her tummy filling Circe's view, and then moved her breasts in again, swaying left and right.  "I love your hair," she said, playing with it as she worked her firm tits against Circe's face.  

Eventually, she bent over, and bit Circe's right nipple through the fabric of her blouse.  It was unpleasant, but she didn't discourage her – she let Mandy continue biting and nuzzling for a few seconds.  Then she knelt down in front of the goddess.  Circe looked down at the blonde vision, plying her trade submissively.  She bowed her head deeply, then pressed it up against her patron's lap.  Circe was surprised by the feeling, having not expected her to use her head in that way.  Did she do this with men, too?  More came, as she tilted her head up, bringing her sweet face against Circe's crotch, rubbing herself back and forth, giving her patron plenty of time to take in the sensation of her submission.  Eventually, the busty blonde beauty raised herself, and planted herself in Circe's lap.  She gyrated her full ass around against her crotch, and then sat down hard on her.  She bounced her big firm butt up and down, using her assets to great effect.  The girl was sensual, talented.  Despite her disgust, the goddess could see some genuine skill in the mortal.  

Mandy settled down, sitting hard on her lap for a moment, then slid off, her butt sliding into Circe's open left hand.  She smiled innocently, wiggling her magnificent boobs, then bent forward into another nipple nuzzling, laying across her laterally.  Again she rose, and recommenced grinding her wonderful endowments against her face, taking a hold of her head and pressing the firm feminine weight against her.  The dance continued, a routine of choreographed but seemingly spontaneous movement.  

Mandy rubbed her breasts against Circe's, and again she pressed her head, and her face, against her lap, kissing her there, bowing and rising as if in an act of submissive devotion.  That alone troubled Circe - the sensation of the beautiful girl worshiping her.  It would feel good except that this tart was implying that a goddess should be submissively worshiping the bodies of lonely drunk perverts.  Mandy was implying with her name that Circe's place was on her knees, being submissive to losers.  Even kissing their private parts.

"You're very talented.  Don't you worry about what men think of you?  Of selling yourself short?" Circe asked quietly.

"They're putting me through college, and getting me a down payment on a house.  No, I don't care.  Besides, why would I be bothered by men who are so enamored of me?  I have all the power here.  It's fun."

The stripper continued, unperturbed by the interruption.  Eventually, Mandy turned around again, and pushed her full butt against her.  She pressed her whole weight down, bouncing up and down on her lap.  She rose slightly, letting her butt rub against Circe's belly, adding a slight circular motion to the bizarre caress.  At her apex, she stroked her butt against Circe's bosom, eventually settling back down to rub and sway in her lap.  Finally she turned, giving Circe another view and smell of her cheaply perfumed breasts, and kissed her gently on the cheek as the second song ended.  

"Thank you.  That was a lot of fun!" Mandy said huskily.  

"Wait, don't go.  I'll buy another lap dance."

"Really?  Wow, you must really like me.  Sure!" tittered the stripper.  Circe dug out more money, pressing it into the dancer's garter.  Happily, Mandy returned to her performance, shaking her shoulders and causing her big boobs to bounce fetchingly.  Circe took a moment to take in the girl's body – the bouncing breasts, the taut belly, the gently rounded thighs.  She was indeed quite pretty, and skilled at strip dancing.  But it wasn't enough to make the goddess excited.

It wasn't that Circe was unused to romance, but she was accustomed to lovers of the caliber of Odysseus.  However talented this girl might be at shaking her bottom, she wasn't in the same league.  She looked at the stripper's beautiful face, now slightly flushed from exertion.  Mandy smiled, as she gyrated, mistaking Circe's interest for ardor.

"You can touch me… we really only don't want the boys touching us," she whispered.  Tentatively, Circe raised her hand, caressing the pale, perfect rear end of the dancer.  Her flesh was so bare, vulnerable – whatever her talents, the goddess was sure she was selling herself short.  She squeezed the bottom slightly, imagining her with a tail.

"So, what's your name, Miss?" asked the stripper.  

"I've been going by the name 'Circe' recently."

"'Kirke'?  That's kind of like my stage name."

"No," Circe said, feeling her anger swell.  "It's the same name.  I'm just experimenting with pronouncing the Kappas hard."

"I've certainly never heard it said that way," the stripper said mildly.

"Ignorant girl.  Every few hundred years, you'd desire a change, too."

"Hey!  I'm not stupid!"

"You take your clothes off for money.  How smart can you be?"

"Like I said, I'm getting rich!  Way more than I would as some office drone!  And who are you to judge me?  You're the one who can't stop sticking money in my garter belt!"

"I am Circe, the goddess you mock.  You claim to have the power to turn men into pigs?  Well, I have the power to turn you into one, you filthy little beast!"

"Are you high on something?" Mandy asked, a hint of derision in her voice.  But there was a hint of something else as well – the words had come out shriller than the stripper had intended – a touch of a squealing overtone.  She swallowed, forcing herself to attribute it to hoarseness.  

Circe pushed harder, willing the changes to begin in earnest.  It was time to see this beautiful girl as the sow she really was.  She squeezed the fleshy cheek of her butt, and Mandy writhed, unable to break away.  A warmth started spreading through her bottom, but the stripper was helpless to do anything more than jiggle.  

Slowly, a nub of flesh pushed out over her thong, and the panicked dancer shook her butt to try to get it off.  But it was a part of her – and in torturous detail, she could feel it twist out, turning into an energetic, wiggling corkscrew of flesh.  Mandy swallowed numbly in terror, feeling her new pig tail twitch and slap lightly against her lower back and the tops of her cheeks.  It was real.  She really had a pig's tail.  This strange woman wasn't lying or stoned or crazy – she really had the power to turn a person into a pig!

Overwhelmed, she tried to scream, but only a high pitched squeal passed her lips.  Wide-eyed, she felt her nostrils flare and turn upwards, as her pert nose started its metamorphosis into a snout.  She squealed again, long and loud and terrified.

At Mandy's shrieking squeal, several of the bouncers started towards them, other patrons and dancers looking their way.  It wouldn't do at all for them to get involved.  Gently reaching out with her magic, Circe started to block their awareness of what she and Mandy were doing, but then thought better of it.  The little exhibitionist deserved an audience.  She reached out again, subtly making everyone in the room eager to watch Mandy's downfall, excited about seeing her turn into a fat pig.  Bouncers, waitresses, strippers, and patrons, all looked over, murmuring excitedly to each other and pointing at her springy tail.  None would help the little tart now.

Mandy was looking around wildly, unable to comprehend why no one was helping her.  Couldn't they see that something was wrong?  She felt her nose swell, getting quite a bit larger.  She could smell the air with her new pig nose, and the smells of cheap perfume and alcohol and male arousal suddenly resolved in her sinuses.  She felt disoriented, and squealed again.

"A snout, a tail, and a voice," said Circe, proud of her handiwork.  "Enough so that everyone can tell exactly what you're going to become.  But the easy part's done with.  I'm going to go slow, just for you, sweetie.  Everyone is going to get to enjoy the show.  Cherish each moment, for in each you will be more human than you ever will be again."

"Please, no!" Mandy squealed, in tears.  Her words were barely distinguishable amid her porcine oinking.  

"Yes," said Circe, smiling and squeezing Mandy's hand.  The girl staggered back a few paces, snuffling through her larger nose, still breathing heavily from her exertions.  Only now, she was snorting like a sow.

Mandy looked over at the bouncers and squealed, trying to get them to deal with Circe, but for some reason they just stood there and smiled.  She tried gesturing, and one of the men laughed at her antics.  "Look at that fat pig!" one said jovially.  "You think she wants to be fed?"  Mandy flushed.  How dare he call her fat!  But she was beginning to get plumper.  Not much, and it wouldn't have been noticeable had she been wearing clothes; but her bare body was clearly becoming softer, less defined.  And she knew it.

"You may want to get down on all fours, little stripper," said Circe.  "It'll make some parts of the transformation a little easier on you."  Mandy tried cursing at the goddess, but only a tearful squeal came out.  "Suit yourself," she said, and tugged on Mandy's tail.

The poor transforming stripper squealed loudly at that, jerking away from Circe and struggling to keep her balance.  Her feet were changing in her boots, becoming larger and more like on tiptoe.  Of course, it helped that she was in high heels for that, but not much.  She wobbled around clumsily, all her dancer's grace gone.

"Yeah!  Make that fat pig squeal!" Dakota yelled.  Mandy grunted in misery as her friends and coworkers turned on her, cheering her transformation into livestock.  She tried to hide her face in her hands, but noticed that her fingers were growing together, becoming thick and calloused.  Her nails were turning a dusky, dirty color, and thickening over the surface of her fingers.  The reality that she soon wouldn't have hands at all pierced her like a knife.

"I think she just realized what she's turning into!" one patron laughed.  

"Well, she's always late to everything else," added the DJ.

"Squeal for us again, piggy!" called another stripper.

"Hey, pig!  How about a lap dance while you still have a butt anyone would want to touch?" another man yelled.

Mandy tried to stagger away from Circe, leaning against the couch for support.  She was uncomfortably aware that her broadening backside and silly tail were pointed directly at her old customers, but there was little she could do about that now.  She felt a tickling sensation flower across her belly, and looked down past her slightly sagging boobs.  She was growing more nipples.  Circe tickled one cruelly.  "These'll come in handy with your nice childrearing hips," she said, and Mandy jerked away from her again, managing to fall with the brisk motion.  With a start, she realized that she was on all fours.  She flicked her ears, trying to get her bearings, and realized that they were now long enough to move on their own.

But before she could acclimate herself, Circe slapped the fattening pig on the ass, and with a squeal, the poor sow skittered away, towards her former coworkers.  But a bouncer smacked the sow's bloated butt, too, laughing, and she reversed course, struggling away from him, and grunting in panic as more people laughed at her.  "Squeal, piggy!" yelled Tempest, spanking the pig again, and again the terrified Mandy took off in another direction.  The plumping piggirl was surrounded in a ring of tormentors, and each direction she ran, another slap on her flank or fat ass made her turn and run out of instinct.  Her mind was too dim to figure it out, as a patron swatted her on the thigh, causing her to turn and waddle towards the pregnant Kristen, who also favored her with a sharp spank on the butt.  The pig struggled away in fresh terror, the sound of laughter filling her ears.  

She collapsed near the center of the human circle, still unsteady on her shifting, shortening limbs.  The heckling and catcalls increased, and Mandy wailed, overwhelmed.  She panted in exhaustion, noticing that she wasn't sweating anymore.  Her belly continued to grow, bulking her torso out into a kind of barrel shape while her shoulders and hips sunk into her new flesh.  Her head swelled, tipping upwards, and her mouth grew out with her huge nose to form a common sow's snout, wet with snot and tears.  She could feel her teeth change, reshaping to fill her snout, and her eyes dimmed, casting the world around her in less vivid colors.  Her scent and hearing had increased to cover the loss, but it was still a profoundly disorienting sensation for Mandy.  

She tried to pull herself back up to her half-hooves, finding herself unable to rise from all fours.  Her bottom was a little higher than her head, but it lowered as her legs continued to shift, regularizing in length.  She squealed at the people in the circle, almost in warning, and turned slowly, looking at all the people jeering her.  Her thong was growing very tight, and she pulled her hind legs entirely out of the awkward boots.  Teats bulged behind her flopping breasts.  She backed up a little, flipping her tousled hair out of her eyes, and looked around nervously.

"Looks like there'll be bacon tonight!" one of the patrons laughed, and Mandy cringed at that.  She didn't want to be a pig, but it was preferable to being dead and eaten!  Would they – could they do something so horrible to her?  Her face pulled out into a full wedge shape, tears drying as her tear ducts evaporated from her new eyes.  Her bulk rounded out, big beautiful boobs deflating fully into two more teats sagging from her underbelly.  Her fingers and toes finished solidifying into masses of bone, and her blonde hair faded away, leaving her scalp bare.  Mandy squealed as her g-string snapped off, leaving the fattening stripper quite naked.  She felt her insides squirm, as everything settled into its new place, and then it was done.

The fat pig squealed helplessly, listening to the cheers of all the spectators, some of whom she had considered friends.  She had been turned into a filthy, rooting sow.  The pig was so embarrassed that she wanted to crawl into a hole in the wall.  She hung her head, grunting sorrowfully, unable to meet the gazes of the mocking, laughing strippers and staff and customers.  She couldn't bear to even look at them.  People nudged her, delighting in her humiliation and wanting to feel her pigflesh for themselves.

Circe looked down at the fat, snuffling pig, and felt her anger evaporate.  She felt a little bad for the sow, a little embarrassed that she had cared so much.  Mandy had deserved her transformation, but the humiliation was over the top.  Circe cleared her throat, magically augmenting her voice to be agreeable.  "I'm afraid without her thong, this dancer has violated your dress code.  I'll just take her away," she offered, and everyone seemed to think that was fine.  The fat sow squealed pathetically, not knowing where she was going to be taken.

Circe picked up Mandy's earnings and shoved the wad of bills into Kristen's hands.  "Make sure it's shared with all the waitresses and bouncers," she said.  Kristen's eyes got big, and she nodded, quickly moving to pass the money out.  Meanwhile, Circe fashioned a makeshift leash, and slipped it around the neck of the fat, squealing sow.  

"You'll be well taken care of, Mandy.  You'll always be a sow, but you'll have a pleasant enough life," she said gently.  The pig grunted nervously.  

Then she turned, and headed for the exit.  The pig in tow, Circe noticed a poster for another stripper, this one using the handle of 'Lorelai'.  Perhaps she would have to alert her Norse counterpart to the infringement – she expected the siren's revenge would entail a much worse fate than her fat new companion had undergone.  

The night was warm, and Mandy found that it wasn't difficult to keep up with Circe's pace in her new quadrupedal body.  She trotted along quietly, her mind reeling.

Circe had time to think and reflect as she walked, still upset about the insult to her name, but also embarrassed by her own reaction, nudging the crowd to taunt and humiliate the stripper.  She hadn't created those emotions from nothing – Mandy had clearly never been liked or respected by the people she surrounded herself with – but it should have been enough to punish the girl and stop her blasphemy.  She shouldn't have had to throw in petty cruelty, as well.

As she walked, they passed the rundown church.  Circe felt uncomfortable in its shadow, dark bars protecting its modest stained glass windows from vandalism.  On a whim, she magically caused the door to unlock, and led the sow into the smallish sanctuary, sitting down in the back pew.  She hadn't been inside in a few weeks, but nothing had changed.  The cross and altar and religious iconography sat at the front, shrouded in the dimness of night in a city.  The pig grunted nervously, perplexed.  She tried not to draw too much attention to herself.  

Circe looked towards the front sadly.  Blasphemy was one of His big ten.  Should she treat it any differently?  She looked down at the snuffling pig.  A lot had changed since this faith captured the world.  She should know – she'd watched it happen firsthand.  And it had gone through as many phases as her own veneration.  There was a time when His ministers and advocates would have rewarded blasphemy with torture and death.  She remembered the robed cleric-judges of bygone ages, trying to divine how to better the world with blood and fear.  Of course, those men were long since dust.

Was that progress, too?  Tolerance?  His people had been judicious about blasphemy for a few centuries, but these days, even with three billion adherents, they were all satisfied that when others blasphemed Him, it was merely a roadblock to personal righteousness, and not an executable offense.  Were blasphemy laws there for the benefit of people rather than gods?  She felt very small, with her pig victim.

The sow trundled around, nervous.  She couldn't understand why they'd stopped in a church, or what was about to happen to her.  She desperately hoped that she wouldn't be butchered.  She looked up at the vengeful goddess she had inadvertently offended, and was surprised to see her near tears.  She squealed at the beautiful woman, curious.

Circe looked down at the fat sow.  "Have you learned your lesson, pig?" she asked.  Mandy cocked her head, unsure of how to answer.  Her voice didn't sound cruel anymore – more worn-out.  She shifted around a little, her three hundred pound bulk sitting strangely on her unfamiliar hooves.  

"You blasphemed me, little pig," the goddess continued.  "Spat on my name.  You tried to paint me as a whore, submitting to any man with a few dollars to spare.  Needless to say, I was quite insulted.  But it was a crime of ignorance, wasn't it?  Before today, you didn't know I existed.  Your porcine body pays back that dept completely."

Circe was quiet for a moment.  "Of course, your crimes against your coworkers remain unforgiven.  Your petty cruelty towards Kristen and her weight.  Your rudeness and lack of respect, as evidenced by your frequent tardiness.  You may not reflect on it much, but you treat everyone around you as subhuman.  As an animal."  The pig squealed sadly, shaken by such an unflattering characterization of her.

Circe sighed.  "If I were to turn you back into a girl, would you be a better person?  Would you try to be kind to your coworkers?"  The pig winced.  All the sow could think about was the hooting, heckling people in the club.  Could she face them again, now that she was a pig?  Even the ones she had thought liked her had been happy to see her transformed and humiliated; had thought that she deserved to be a pig.  She shook her head, scared.

"They won't hurt you," said Circe softly.  The sow grunted, nervous.  Living the rest of her life in close proximity to people amused by her being a pig seemed worse than living the life of one far away from their laughing, cruel eyes.  She did want to be human again, but not around the people who knew that she had been a fat, grunting hog.  

"But," Circe continued, "if you wanted to be my sow, you will have a good life there.  It will be a pleasant and fulfilling life, being a pig.  I promise you comfort and happiness.  Pigs are very agreeable animals, and you'd never want for company.  Did you know, mother sows even sing to their piglets?  If you chose to stay as a pig with me, you'd never regret it.  And if you chose to take a lover… well, a sow's orgasms far eclipse a woman's, and motherhood would suit you well."

Circe fell silent.  The fat sow cocked her head, considering her options.  She was surprised that she might have some.  Live as a contented pig, or as a humiliated girl.

"I would prefer that you remain a pig forever," Circe finally continued.  "I think you make a better pig than a woman, and would love to have you in my sty.  You are extremely beautiful, by the standards of pigs.  But I'll change you back if you wish.  Sleep on it, my little pig.  We'll decide tomorrow."  And Circe led the sow back to her apartment, retiring for the night.  

She struggled with the uncomfortable, unexpected emotions.  The pig was a troubling symbol to her, that she couldn't quite articulate.  Not entirely of guilt, but a sense of being somehow lessened.  She wasn't quite certain how to rid herself of the feeling.

In the other room, the fat sow struggled to sleep.  Be a pig, or an outcast?  The choices were not ideal.  But her pig body was growing more comfortable, more familiar, the longer she was in it.  If other pigs were kind, there was an appeal to being cared for, to living a life of leisure and quiet.  And she was mortified of being ostracized, of people knowing this horrible thing about her.  But deep down, she didn't want to hide.  She hadn't chosen by the time she finally drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Circe gave the sow a wide berth, giving them both more time to think.  But eventually, they both had to face the question.  "Well, pig?" she finally asked.  "Do you want to go to the sty, or the club?  Do you want to be human again?"

After some hesitation, the sow bobbed her head, not entirely content with the answer.  Circe just nodded.  "I'll take you back tonight, and you can make amends with your peers," she said.  Then she touched the pig's neck, and restored Mandy's voice to the fat sow.  

At dusk, she led the fat pig back into the strip club.  There was immediate excitement at their arrival.  People who had been there the night before started their catcalls, and guests who hadn't been there strained to get a good look at the stripper pig, hoping to see a similar spectacle.  Circe cleared her throat, and silenced them all.  

"This pig has some things she wants to say," explained Circe.

The sow waddled forward, bowing her head in front of the pregnant waitress.  "I'm sorry, Kristen," the sow grunted.  "I never should have teased you or looked down on you.  Can you forgive me for my rudeness?"

The waitress looked at the talking pig for a moment, stunned.  It was Mandy's voice, if a bit deeper and infested with grunts and squeals.  She reached out, and awkwardly patted the sow on the side.  "Uh, sure, Mandy," she said awkwardly.  "I, uh... yes.  I forgive you."  The fat pig nuzzled against her hand for a moment, and then Circe led her towards the DJ, and the bartender, and the other strippers.  Each time, the pig acknowledged her specific sins against her coworkers, and asked for forgiveness.  Most of them gave it, stunned by the spectacle.  A few didn't.  Patrons of the club, especially ones that hadn't seen the previous night, still hooted and heckled her, but the pig tried to ignore them.

"I'm satisfied," Circe finally said, dully.

"But I haven't apologized to you, yet," the hog squealed.

Circe shrugged.  "No need, now.  Last chance, my sow.  Last chance to opt out, and stay as the beautiful pig you are."

"Please, change me back," the sow grunted, still not entirely sure that she wouldn't be better off as a pig.

"No!  Leave her a pig!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"Get that fat sow some mud to play in!" called another.  "Make her squeal!"

Circe ignored them all, and kissed the pig gently on the snout.  After a moment, the plump animal started to slim down, her legs lengthening.  She snuffled a little, but the heckling died down, as people watched the transformation in reverse.  Her head slimmed and turned down, blonde tresses flowing out as it reset from a wedge to an egg shape.  Her blubber melted off, hips, shoulders, and butt rounding out, and her front teats swelled back into large, firm breasts.  She flexed her fingers as hooves softened and separated, and her wiggly tail retreated back into her spine.  Circe helped her stand as her snout receded, and her shrinking ears disappeared under her tousled hair.  Within minutes, the fat sow had turned back into Mandy.

The stripper bowed her head, unexpectedly embarrassed by her complete nudity.  She crossed her legs, uncomfortably.  Circe turned to the club manager, who was staring in awe at the former pig.  "I'm sorry I took away one of your dancers last night," she said.  "I've returned her, safe and sound, to resume her duties.  I trust you won't hold her to account for my occupying her for the day."

"No problem," he managed, his mouth dry.

Circe turned back to Mandy, and reached out, smoothing her hair down.  "I've turned you human but for a pig's heart, dear.  Let it be a reminder to you, and be grateful for the mercy.  You need to comport yourself like a lady from now on, and not like a pig, or you might find yourself in my sty after all."

"Yes, Circe.  Thank you," the humiliated stripper squeaked, her face flushed red.  "I promise I'll be a good person."

Circe nodded.  "And one thing more.  You'll never call yourself 'Circe' again."

The girl nodded, on the verge of tears.  The DJ spoke up.  "We'll call her 'Piggy' from now on," he said.  Circe looked up sharply, but she could detect neither malice nor deceit in his voice.  He was using the name as a reminder, not a taunt.  Mandy sniffled a little, but didn't object.  "Your new stage name is Piggy, then," agreed Circe, taking hold of Mandy by her shoulders.  "Behave yourself, child," she said, and quickly turned and exited.  She was still disquieted, dissatisfied with the resolution, and wanted to put as much distance as she could between her and the stripper as possible.

She walked purposefully until she got back to her home, and slid down onto the floor next to her bed, sighing.  Her shoulders shook a little with sobs that didn't quite come.  Perhaps she would cut her vacation short this year.  Certainly, this trip had given her a lot of unpleasant things to think about, about gods and mortals.

Back at the club, Elizabeth silently handed Mandy a thong and garter, and Kristen brought her boots up.  The stripper put on her uniform quickly, trying to lose herself in her work.  She still felt mortified, but there was nothing to do but keep going, and put one foot in front of the other.  She quietly thanked them, determined to start behaving more like a friend.

It was an unusually successful night for her, perhaps due to her sudden notoriety.  But at the end of it, she remembered to share some of her earnings with the waitresses and bouncers before going home.
(woman to pig transformation)

Story warning: nudity, humiliation, religious themes

A beautiful stripper going by the moniker ‘Circe’ provokes the wrath of the original, and the witch can think of no better punishment than to publicly reduce her rival to a fat, grunting sow.
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:iconforcedlactationlover:
Forcedlactationlover Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
A well told tale. Both Circe and Elizabeth seem to have learned something here. I can see only one worse fate for Elizabeth if she fails again, to turn her into a human pig, a dancing 'fatty' with too many porcine traits, but remaining physically just human enough to realize that her fate is now as a public 'Piggy', with her piglike traits always exposed to others' view.
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:iconadris:
Adris Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist

Wow. That was... sobering.

The Tale of Dancing Pig was sexy, edgy, and classically written, by Modern and Mythical standards!


Very well written! The Characters, the way everything written--

painted the picture of a Modern Day Fable, like a legitimate continuum of the Tales

of Gods and Men.  Like an Odyssey for modern times, complete with "The Morale of The Story"!


The Moral here being:

Don't insult power beings, lest you court their ire.

Don't treat others like crap; karma's a harsh mistress.

Don't take life for granted, because... (insert pearl of wisdom here)


Circe is herself very stunning as a Goddess, in beauty and ability, and with her powers,

I would not want to be on her bad side! 


However-- if I could meet the real Circe; 

I would have 2 requests: 1. to gain the ability to morph into a half beast, and a back again!

If I had to choose a creature; The Lizard Man (Like Dr. Conners of Spider Man)

2. Make my lady Character: Thera-- a real life being!!


A man can dream right?

  

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:icongatorx1930:
Gatorx1930 Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2013
Well for me writing would probably always remain a past time. I have other careers I myself am considering.
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:icongatorx1930:
Gatorx1930 Featured By Owner Aug 16, 2013
A well spun tale. Truly a work of art that you must have worked hard on. Have you given thought to publishing, if you decide to write a novel or a collection of short stories? Keep writing. :-)
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:icondigitalcirce:
digitalcirce Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2013
Sorry, but no - I've never considered going pro.
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:iconstarfallvulpixgirl:
StarfallVulpixGirl Featured By Owner Jun 28, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Awesome job!
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:icondigitalcirce:
digitalcirce Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2013
Thanks - I'm glad you liked it! :)
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:iconstarfallvulpixgirl:
StarfallVulpixGirl Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Like? LIKE?! I LOVED IT!
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:iconstckhlmsyndme:
stckhlmsyndme Featured By Owner May 22, 2013
Bravo!! That was fantastic!
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:icondigitalcirce:
digitalcirce Featured By Owner May 22, 2013
Thank you very much!
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