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Message-ID: <41716asstr$1049814604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "DB_Story" <DB_Story@att.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Encounters: Pig Girl" {DB Story} (M/F, rom, furry, ScFi)
Date: Tue,  8 Apr 2003 11:10:04 -0400
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ENCOUNTERS: PIG GIRL
By DB  ( DB_Story@att.net / http://home.att.net/files/Authors/db_story/www/ )
Copyrightc 2003 by DB.
ASSM/ASFR (M/F, rom, furry, ScFi)

(This story contains Constitutionally protected material intended 
for adults over 18 years of age in the United States of America, 
and whatever passes for adult status in other countries.  If you 
are under legal age, acting under legal age, not allowed to view 
such material in your area, or easily offended, please do not 
continue.  This is not for you.

(The only rights granted are to view this story.  You are not 
allowed to reproduce, post, or otherwise redistribute this story 
without permission, except for non-profit Usenet archiving sites.

(To purchase for publication, place on your web-site devoted to 
this style of fiction, or for permission to link to my posted 
material, please contact me first at the above email.)

- - -

Author's Note: Encounters (formerly: Animal Genes) stories 
involve relations between humans and animals in various guises 
and transformations - all different.  Proceed at your own risk.

A special thanks to Gorgo his excellent and much appreciated 
proofreading.  All remaining mistakes are mine.

- - -

When you live out in the country, you know a lot about animals.  
It's instinctive with us.  And when you farm, you learn a lot 
about pests.

I was sitting on the porch while the day faded into evening.  Had 
my double barrel across my lap looking down the hill over my 
crops.

My family has lived on this land and in this house for five 
generations and our shack-cum-house dates back to the beginning - 
though in the good times it's been fixed up a lot.

I like sitting out on the porch in my grandma's favorite slider - 
kind of a rocking chair to those of you who don't know what a 
true slider is - in the evening.  I listen to the jar flies 
making noise while lightening bugs flicker over the crops.

I grow corn, plus my government-allotted two rows of tobacco.  
And if that corn gets turned into liquid corn by some backwoods 
still, well that's just how folks get by here in these southern 
hills.

The house is on the top of the hill, giving me a perfect view 
down the slope to where the cornfield ends at a dark row of 
trees.  Beyond that you go a bit further to reach the river.  
It's all a man could want, or need.

Shining through the window behind me is grandpa's kerosene lamp. 
 It's not that I don't have electricity; we got that back in '35 
with the rest of the country.  But since the government put in 
some secret buildings a few miles down the road a couple years 
ago, the electricity just hasn't been the same around here.  That 
lamp hasn't failed us since before my daddy was born.

Don't know what those government fellows are doing.  They've got 
a bunch of big steel-sided buildings with no windows, and a tall 
fence with barbed wire on top all the way around them.  Lots of 
lights at night make it bright as day, and suck up everyone 
else's electricity.  They've promised to fix the problem, but it 
hasn't happened yet.

Nobody really knows what goes on there.  Rumors are that they're 
breeding new strains of farm animals, but nobody knows for sure. 
 Sometimes you can hear barnyard animal sounds there, but nobody 
has actually seen anything.  Around here folks mind their own 
business anyway.  Maybe that's what they like about this area.

I don't mind the electricity problems.  I've got all the modern 
conveniences and my "shack" is actually a modern, comfortable 
home if you step inside.  But I'm particular on whom I invite in. 
 And if the power is out again and I can't run the dishwasher for 
a couple of hours, it ain't no big deal.

For the past two nights however, something's been eating on my 
corn.  That is a big deal1  The corn is ripe and sweet, full of 
the sugars and starches that will be fermenting soon enough at a 
place I won't specify.

I figure my "pest" may be some kids.  If so, they'll go home with 
a leg full of birdshot - and a lesson on leaving other people's 
stuff be.  No one will say anything about it afterwards.  That's 
how we settle things out here.

Other varmints get the buckshot barrel.  Them I'm not trying to 
teach.

- - -

When she stepped out of the forest I froze in the chair.

When you're stalking something it's second nature to freeze when 
you sight your quarry.  Nothing sends your prey bounding away 
faster then a sudden move.  

My first thought was that it was a wild pig.  Not that we have 
many around here.  Hunting them is too popular.  But a country 
boy knows animals, even when it is just a flicker at the edge of 
your vision.  Movement, position, and a hundred other tiny clues 
tell the brain all it needs.

My mind shouted, "Pig".

And even after she stood up to reveal something very different, 
my mind still insisted "pig".

She was over a hundred feet away with the light was mostly gone, 
and she was beautiful.  I could see dark hair, bare arms, and 
long tanned legs.  She was wearing what appeared to be very 
short, tattered denim shorts, and some sort of short top pulled 
around her breasts.  And she moved cautiously, like a wild 
animal.

It took her a long time to decide to move from the shadow of the 
tree line and across the few cleared feet to the nearest row of 
corn.  She looked and listened, and seemed to be sniffing the 
air.

Gradually I was able to fill in her features, especially after 
she finally stepped out onto the cleared ground.

Her bare midriff showed a tight waist that flared out into 
generous hips.  And the hints of her face looked completely 
human.  Could even be beautiful.  Her hair looked like she tried 
to keep it under control, but it was unkempt enough to fit her 
wild nature.

When she got to the nearest cornstalk where I had first seen the 
missing ears she stopped again and looked up right at me.

But in the shade of the porch, with the kerosene lamp shining 
dimly through the window behind me, all she would see would be a 
dark, unmoving figure.  Pigs don't see that well anyway, even in 
the daylight.

I think she was overcome with hunger now.  Or felt it safe enough 
to grab an ear of corn, and focused her attention on it.

She used hands and teeth to strip it open and wolfed it down 
moments later, kernels and cob.  Two more quickly followed.

Then, even though I hadn't moved a whisker, she suddenly looked 
up in startled fear as I heard a car pass by the entrance to my 
property a quarter-mile behind me.

She grabbed a couple more ears and was gone back into the trees.

I sat there for another twenty minutes, but she didn't reappear.

Finally I got up and went inside to get an old blanket.  I 
carried it down to the edge of the trees.  I could feel her 
watching me from not far off, and feel the fear that kept her 
hidden.

That was okay.  I put the blanket down by the nearest tree and 
trudged back up to the house, closing the door and drawing the 
blinds.

The next morning it was gone.

- - -

I didn't see her the next day or evening, but evidence in the 
corn told me she'd returned again.

And she was back the evening after that.

- - -

Pigs are smart animals.  If you know pigs, you know they give 
away nothing compared to dogs.

This time she came out more confidently.  A quick look around and 
she went straight to my corn.

I didn't bother with the shotgun anymore.  I let her finish a 
couple ears, then made just enough noise up on the porch to let 
her know I was here.

She jumped back five feet and darted into the trees.

I didn't pursue.  Instead I waited.

After another fifteen minutes, all of which I'm sure she was 
watching me from just inside the shadows, she emerged again.

Without removing her attention from me for a moment she gathered 
three more ears of corn before fading away for the night.

- - -

Because she is so very obviously wary, but not scared of me at 
least, I figured her instincts were at least as good as my own.  
She realized I wasn't hunting her.

The next night I set my chair halfway down the hill towards her 
favorite entry point.

It was dark before hunger finally overcame her and she came out. 
 My ears tracked her progress.  I stayed in my chair so she'd 
understand my intentions.

- - -

Two nights later I was sitting ten feet away when she emerged.  
The glimpse I finally got of her was startling.

She has beautiful clear skin.  The features of her face from her 
dark exotic eyes to full lips that have never been touched by 
cosmetics seem entirely human.  The deep tan on her legs told me 
she is outdoors at least most of the time.

Where or how she got the ragged shorts and torn top she wore I 
would never find out.  She was barefoot, and really didn't seem 
to know how to wear her top properly either.  It hung loose on 
her, only a couple buttons fastened.  From what I could see of 
her bust between the darkening evening and the shadow of that 
shirt, it matched or exceeded the impressive flare of her hips.

And one other thing, much to my surprise: she didn't smell.  The 
breeze wafted towards me and I expected it.  But it wasn't there. 
 Her clothes looked clean as well.  She must be washing herself 
in the river daily.

But her mind was that of a pig.  I never doubted it for a moment. 
 Though I'd never even imagined anything like this cross between 
pig and woman, there were just too many clues telling me the 
obvious.  And she was in significant discomfort.

I watched her come out in careful half steps, keeping her full 
attention on me as she edged towards my corn.  She could easily 
see me now that I was this close.

But her whole attitude had said she was not afraid - just 
watchful.

When she reached the edge of the field she took her attention off 
me long enough to grab several ears.

She fumbled with her hands and again used her teeth to pull off 
the husk.  But instead of taking a bite, she looked again at me 
closely and slowly edged back into the forest.

I let her go, although I could see she needed help.

- - -

The very next night she surprised me.  I had expected the process 
to take several more days.

Again she watched me sitting there as she moved over to gather 
her evening meal, but she seemed more relaxed about me tonight.  
Perhaps her discomfort was distracting her otherwise.

When she started to edge back to the forest again, without rising 
I held out my hand to her.

It was a simple gesture, yet she froze immediately.

I didn't move further, nor did she.  It had to be minutes that we 
stared at each other, each guessing what to do next.

I expected this first time that she would quickly break this 
tableau and again dart into the darkness, but no cars came along.

At one point a bird screeched.  But she only looked over her 
shoulder for a moment to see that all was okay, and then returned 
her gaze to me.

Just when I thought this had to end, she suddenly put her corn 
down and in mincing half steps came over to me until she reached 
out and touched my hand.

I started making soft, soothing sounds like I do when working 
with skittish horses and she responded to them, although she made 
no sound herself.

Soon I was stroking her hands and forearms while she seemed 
almost mesmerized by my touch and tone.

Finally she had moved close enough that I could reach up to touch 
one shoulder when she made what I can only call a whimpering 
sound and she pushed her chest towards me.

I knew what her problem was.  I'd seen the way she walked these 
last couple of nights.

I carefully pulled at the shirt she was wearing.  Though this 
made her uneasy enough to pull back a bit, she didn't move her 
feet away.

I finally coaxed her top open enough to reveal the most rigid 
pair of breasts I have ever seen.

They were large, like half-cantaloupes.  In fact, that's what 
they looked like, two large half spheres properly placed on her 
chest, along with the most rigid erect nipples perched right in 
front.

As I brushed my hands lightly over them she looked at me 
intently, her stare pleading with me.  She needed something 
apparently only I could give her.  She was clearly in pain with 
her breasts full to bursting from milk.  Whoever was supposed to 
be taking care of this hybrid woman had not milked her for far 
too long. 

I wondered why she didn't just milk herself.  Then I remembered 
the clumsy way she handled the ears of corn, and the unbuttoned 
shirt.  I realized she just didn't have the manual dexterity to 
manage this.  Or maybe she never thought of doing it to herself. 
 It must have been intended for her to be penned up, taken care 
of, and milked regularly, like any other animal.  Somehow she had 
escaped that life. 

I squeezed her nearest nipple and was immediately rewarded by a 
spurt of white, creamy milk.  And I felt her relax.

Expertly I coaxed a steady stream from that breast with my 
fingers, finally cupping and squeezing the breast to keep the 
pressure up.

She seemed to enjoy this.  She got a dreamy expression on her 
face as her eyes closed and I thought I was seeing the start of a 
smile.

Then she pawed at my hands and turned to push her other breast at 
me.  I gave it the same attention.

But I had barely made a dent in the pressure in that one when 
there was the crack of a stick breaking somewhere in the trees.

She jerked awake again and jumped back from me.

I didn't move, but something was rustling amidst the leaves.  
That was apparently more then she could take and she quickly 
backed away to her pile of corn, gathered it up, and faded again 
into the forest, her shirt still hanging open.

- - -

If this was her problem, I felt certain she'd be back.  And I was 
right.  This time though I left my chair halfway back up towards 
the house.

She emerged, grabbed and ate a couple ears of corn quickly.  
Finishing that immediate need she easily came up the hill to me.

I wanted to spend more time gently approaching her, but her need 
was urgent.  Perhaps last night's relief had re-stimulated her 
production.

Now she was bold about pawing at my hands and pushing her chest 
towards me.  As I pulled open her shirt her breasts were again 
very firm, and very warm.

I cajoled her to sit on the edge of my chair by gently 
positioning her with my hands.  Then I started in again with my 
fingers.

This time however as soon as I got her milk flowing I moved to 
put my mouth over that tight nipple.

It's much easier to suck milk out this way, and though she seemed 
startled at first, once she realized how well this was working 
she didn't move a muscle until finally pulling that teat away and 
turning to push the other one into my mouth.

Afterwards she gathered some more corn and sat at my feet eating 
it while I stroked her hair.

Afterwards I tried to coax her up towards the house, but she 
wouldn't come any closer.

I finally gave up and walked away leaving her.

She watched me without moving until I disappeared inside.

- - -

The next night I sat on my porch.  She came out earlier the ever 
before, but wouldn't come to the house.  She came near, but 
apparently it frightened her.

I stayed on the porch.  She would have to come to me there.

- - -

It was two more nights before her greater need overcame her fear.

When she finally did decide to come up, she only hesitated a 
moment before stepping on the porch and climbing onto my lap.

She made little begging sounds down in her throat as she again 
pushed her chest up against me in an obvious appeal.

Her breasts were full.  I'm surprised at just how much milk she 
is producing.  I wonder what role someone intended for her.

I could feel the heat radiating from her body as I again drank 
from her breasts.  Her begging sounds soon muted into soft sighs, 
but she never attempted to speak any words.

Again she pulled one breast away and shoved the other one at me 
as the pressure was relieved.  This time however she then went 
back to the first one, and later again to the second one, until 
the flow dwindled to a trickle.  And the more the pressure was 
alleviated the more relaxed she became.  This may have been the 
first time in days that she was not in some distress.

And as I drank from her I started stroking the outside of her 
bare leg.  It was as hot as the rest of her.

Soon I was working on the inside of her thigh, and finally 
running a finger up inside those very brief shorts around her 
very human sex.

At first she didn't seem to be responding to that touch.  But 
finally as she pulled her breast away without offering me the 
other one again I felt some faint tremors and the flow of some 
moisture.

I had not been looking at her while she had her breast in my 
face.  Now I peaked up to see her watching me intently.

I continued the same slow motions with my fingers between her 
legs and felt her become quite slippery.

For a moment I reached over with my free hand and pulled her 
breast back to my mouth.  Though not nearly as firm as before, 
her breasts remained heavy and only sagged a little bit.  I 
gently squeezed it to force out one more mouthful of her milk, 
and got both another sigh and a warm rush between her legs.

She seemed to finally be taking full notice of what I was doing 
between her legs, and seemed to like it as she shifted to push 
against my hand.  I saw her looking down there now as intently as 
she had watched me earlier.

I finally slid a finger into her sex and gently rubbed the well-
lubricated digit up against where I expected her clitoris to be.

She had all her attention focused there now.  It was as if she 
had never experienced this before and her brain was struggling to 
understand just what was happening, and what it meant.

I thought that if she really was some amazing cross between a 
woman and a pig, then maybe that pig's brain was working overtime 
to understand something as complex as sex on demand for pleasure.

She continued to watch what I was doing.

A couple times she seemed to quiver and her eyes lost their 
focus, and I noticed her nipples which has gone soft as the milk 
had gone out of her breasts were fully erect again.

Soon I slipped my finger further inside and found - unexpectedly 
- a yielding barrier.  My pig girl, it seems, is a virgin.

While that didn't stop me - most girls out here lose their 
virginity soon enough after they start bleeding that it just 
isn't a big deal - it did convince me that I'd rather complete 
this in a more appropriate place.  It also further reinforced my 
other beliefs about her.  Woman this pretty just ain't a virgin 
this late in life unless there's something real different about 
her.

She looked taken aback when I pulled my finger out and made to 
stand up, but she stood up as well.  I kissed her softly, which 
seemed to confuse, though not scare, her.  Then I took her hand 
and led her to my door.

She followed me that far, but she wouldn't come inside.  She 
balked, and when I tugged her hand to lead her in she pulled back 
instead.  Whatever frightened her, it seemed related to either 
civilization, or confinement.  I wasn't going to force her, so I 
let go of her hand.

She stood there and we looked at each other in the near darkness 
for a long time.  Then, even though I didn't hear anything 
myself, something startled her.  With a single wide-eyed look she 
dashed off into the darkness.

- - -

The next night however there was no question of her coming up on 
the porch.  She did it as easily and naturally as if she had been 
doing it her entire life.

I reached for her breasts, expecting her to need this attention 
first.  Although they were taut again, she only let me suck on 
them for a few moments before she pulled back, wanting something 
else instead.

Though she couldn't talk - and really would never learn how to - 
she had no trouble making her wishes perfectly clear as she 
grabbed at my hands and pulled them towards her waist.

I barely touched her there before she was wet and inviting.

This time I took her pants off, and soon had three fingers gently 
inside her.

I put my other hand around her back to hold her, and started 
squeezing her breast with it, getting a trickle of milk out.

I soon saw her hands pawing at her other breast as well, trying 
to duplicate that attention I was paying her.

It didn't take long before she started bucking her hips.

I quickly pulled my fingers back out to avoid breaking her hymen. 
 This caused her to forgot about playing with her own breast and 
reach down to try and put me back in.

By now she was as wet down there as I could ever imagine a woman 
being, and I was at the limit of my own self-control.

I stood up and held her tight to me so that she wouldn't bolt 
while pulling the cushions off the rocker to create a makeshift 
bed on the porch.

I put her down on those cushions and pushed myself inside her.

I felt the resistance of her maidenhood and pushed right through 
it.  Then I wondered if I'd hurt her and started to pull back 
when she jammed her hips right up against me.

After that we both started trying to push against each other.  
She had some trouble with this initially, but eventually seemed 
to be able to get her body to do what she clearly wanted it to 
do.

After that there was a long time of both of us fucking the other 
as hard as we could manage.  Between us we accounted for several 
orgasms.

I must have dozed off afterwards because I only half felt her 
slip out of my arms.  When I finally stirred enough to look for 
her, she was gone.

I picked up my stuff and went inside for the night, more content 
then I could ever remember being.

- - -

The next day she came walking up to me at high noon.  I was 
working the field since harvest was less then a week away.  In 
the bright light she looked prettier then I could have ever 
imagined.

She imitated the kiss I'd given her, then walked right up to the 
house and waited for me.

When I followed her, she boldly went inside and walked through 
the entire place -- it's not that big -- looking around wide-eyed 
and curious.

When she got to the shower she obviously recognized it because 
she got inside, clumsily pulled off her pants and top, and pushed 
at the controls.

I quickly turned on the warm water and watched in amazement as 
she leaned back with her eyes closed in enjoyment.  She was 
obviously familiar with this experience.

After watching her for a couple minutes I stripped and joined 
her.  She only looked at me for a moment when I stepped in before 
going back to enjoying her shower.

Soon I scrubbed her entire body and washed her lovely hair.

She seemed disappointed when I finally turned the water off, but 
enjoyed it as I carefully toweled her body dry afterwards.

Then to my surprise she led me to the bed before lying down on it 
and looking up at me expectantly.

I was still naked from the shower and did the obvious next thing.

Afterwards she snuggled contentedly in my arms until night fell 
and I got up to make us some dinner.

She ate the simple meal I provided, even making attempts to use 
the knife and fork.  Afterwards she pulled me back to the bed 
again and pressed herself tightly against me.  We made love again 
until we both fell asleep.

She was still there the next morning, and never left again.

- - -

Life became much better after that, though in some ways strange.

Though she would never speak, there was never any problem in her 
communicating exactly what she wanted.

Though I thought of her as some sort of wild animal, she knew how 
to use a toilet from the very first day.

She would follow me around on everywhere I went, and would try to 
help with whatever she saw me doing.  Sometimes it actually was 
helpful.  Other times her mistakes were hilarious.

She needed to be milked regularly, and became quite amorous every 
time we did that - though she was always willing to enjoy sex any 
other time I was interested.

In fact, if she felt she was being ignored she would come over, 
paw her top off, and rub her breasts up against me until I would 
give in and start fondling her.  She is so very sexy that once I 
started that I'd always find myself carrying through.

The corn turned out to be a bumper crop this year, which was good 
because that is clearly her favorite food and I was able to both 
pass along the usually amount for conversion and keep plenty for 
her.

She quickly became my companion in all ways.

- - -

One day the government men came.  Steel gray sedan.  White shirts 
and ties despite the hot, muggy summer weather.

I heard the car bumping its way down my dirt lane while I was in 
the field.  When I turned around she had disappeared deep into 
the cornstalks.

They asked a lot of questions while I just played dumb.

They wanted to know if I'd seen anything unusual.  When I asked 
them what they meant by unusual, they clammed up and wouldn't 
even say what they were looking for.  Strikes me they were being 
dumber then I was.

They also wanted to know what I knew of the government buildings 
down the road.  I spun them a story about how I was certain that 
it was important government work to protect us against the 
scourge of global Communist domination.

It took them nearly a half hour - mainly because they tried 
asking each question about five different ways - to decide that I 
was just a dumb country farmer who didn't have a clue about 
anything important.  That was fine with me.

They finally left and have not ever returned. But I got more out 
of it then they did.

They want my pig girl back.  They've done something they probably 
shouldn't have done, and it got away from them in the process.  
Now they just hope nobody ever finds out about it.

My girl didn't return again until near nightfall, and she was 
shaking.  She obviously knows those people well, and wants 
nothing more to do with them.  But she knows she's safe with me 
now, and she has never left my side since.

- - -

To this day I wonder how old she really is.  Pigs mature much 
faster then people and she might only be a couple years of age.  
In fact, I wonder if that would be why someone would create 
someone like her in the first place.

But I don't really worry about that, or anything else.  Out here 
we pretty much mind our own business, and she and I are each 
other's business now.

I think she's pregnant, which would be no surprise given how much 
we've worked at it.  I'm hoping for a daughter just like her 
mother, and the start of a sixth generation to continue growing 
corn here.  Maybe soon now she'll finally get to put those 
always-full breasts to their proper use.

<end>

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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