Story commissioned by Karwood, based up on art drawn by Kuma. The art is down a bit, into the story–I don’t want to spoil it! Kuma is a super amazing furry artist, and the rest of his gallery can be found on Furaffinity right here. (If you don’t have an FA account, much of his art will probably be invisible to you–if you want to see if, you’ll have to create an account and enable adult image viewing in your user preferences.)

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Blake should just give up, but that damn buck had been such a beauty. Eight pointer, would have looked fabulous on his wall, but he’d never quite managed to line up a clean shot all day. His main fear was that some other hunter might get something off first, but he liked this area because it was a bit deeper into the woods than a lot of guys liked to bother travelling, and so he didn’t really have to worry too much about other people around. He liked the solitude, the quiet–tracking the prey was almost as much fun as the adrenaline rush of the kill. But he’d lost it–he’d snapped a twig, and while the buck hadn’t been completely spooked by him, it had taken off at a good gait. If he made too much of a racket, then it really would have been gone. He’d managed to follow it by trail for about half a mile, but now he’d lost it. Looking around, he also realized he had a bigger problem–he…wasn’t quite sure where, exactly, he was.

He tried to get his bearings, but the dense canopy made it hard to orient himself, he pulled out his compass, and knew that if he just kept heading west, he’d hit the highway eventually. This part of the state had a few large patches of private property which he’d been hoping to avoid, but if he stumbled across anyone, at least they’d be able to get him back to civilization, right? So he set off, still angry at himself for getting so caught up in the pursuit that he’d let plenty of opportunities to get off a half-decent shot go by. Still, maybe it was for the best. He’d have loved a new trophy, sure, but give that big boy another season or two, and then he’d have a real magnificent head for his wall. The early fall was already starting to develop a chill, and he pulled his coat tighter around him, and checked his compass again. How far had he gone off trail, exactly? Blake wasn’t at all sure how far he’d hiked, and the buck had led him around in a few circles, but had he really gone in this deep? Certainly he didn’t recognize anything he was passing–even if he did find the highway, he’d still have a long trek back to his truck back along the road. It was already afternoon, judging by the light filtering down, and he dug out some food from his pocket to stave off his hunger.

The trees began to thin, letting in more light. Up ahead, he could see a clearing–that might help him better judge where he was exactly in the forest. As he came to the edge of the trees, he saw a field dominated by tall grass and a few shrubs, and there, a few hundred yards in the distance, he saw a couple of men talking. He started to signal them, but paused and took a closer look, One of the men was dressed in fairly typical hunting garb–his back was to Blake, and so he couldn’t see much of him–but the other guy was…naked? Or just shirtless? It was hard to tell through the grass. But as he watched, crouched in the trees, the naked guy started to…shift. It was difficult to describe what, exactly, was happening, but the rather thin young man’s face started to contort and push out into a muzzle, ears growing larger and floppy, and his skin was changing color…or rather, he thought as he watched, it was hair growing all over his body–on his back, in was reddish brown, and on his belly it was white. What in the world was he watching? In a matter of moments, the man was gone, replaced by what would seem to be a perfectly normal foxhound had he not witnessed…whatever in the world that had been.

The hound jumped up on the man, and he could hear barking from him and laughter from the man. The man turned around, and that was when he gasped, because the man wasn’t really a man at all, but some…strange abomination. It…was standing like a man–of all things it was even smoking a pipe!–but the face, it looked more like his old labrador retriever than a man. What in the world should he do? Run? Hide? Tell the police? He wasn’t even sure of what he’d just seen, and who would even believe him? He could hear the hound barking now, with more urgency. The strange man looked down at the hound, and then up, his eyes scanning the line of trees where Blake was hiding, and all at once, he realized he was both upwind from them, and that his gasp might have been more of a scream. The grass was waving now, obviously the foxhound was on the case, and searching him out. Did he really have a choice then? He stood up and ran back the way he’d come, heart pounding in his chest, not at all wanting to be caught by…by whoever, and whatever they were.

The forest was much easier to traverse when he wasn’t running in fear of his life. Roots kept rising up from the fallen leaves to trip him, and that damn dog wouldn’t stop baying behind him. It was so loud in the dense wood that he couldn’t accurately judge how far away it was from him. It could be right at his heels, or yards and yards away. He checked over his shoulder, and in the crashing and rustling of foliage that assured him he was still being pursued. He was trying to heft himself over a fallen tree, half rotted, when he heard another bay immediately behind him, a weight slammed into his back and sent him tumbling over the other side of the log, flipping heels over head and landing on his back, the hound alighting in front of him, turning and staring at him.

They just…looked at each other for the longest time, Blake in terror, and the hound with an intense curiosity, before the hound started to chop–short, clipped barks in pairs, signaling his master where he was, and that the prey had been cornered. Blake tried to scramble up, but the hound jumped on him, pinning him to the floor with a snarl–eyes curious, but not above using force if necessary. Moving as little as possible, he reached down, slipped the band off the hilt of his knife, and with one attempted fluid motion, pulled it out and swung for the hounds throat, but it hopped to the side, Blake scrambling to his feet, looking for an escape route. He didn’t get one step further. The master leapt up on the log behind him, and before Blake could turn around, the butt of the shotgun slammed into the side of his head, and he was out before he hit the ground.

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He heard something between a sigh and a quiet whine, the thump of a tail against the ground.

“Oh would you stop giving me that look? I know you think he’s cute.”

Blake let out a groan. His head was throbbing. The last thing he could remember was the strange…dog man thing looming over him, and he tried to move–but his hands had been bound behind him, his feet and legs tied up similarly, and he’d been set up against the trunk of a tree. He opened his eyes, but he wasn’t sure where he was–the light had dimmed a bit further, but it was still sometime in the late afternoon or evening. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long. He looked over and he saw his attackers a few feet away. The one who still looked a bit like a person had set up a cooking stove, and something was simmering in a pot. It smelled strongly of earth and mulch, whatever it was. He tried to fiddle with his hands as quietly as he could, but the foxhound’s ears perked up, and he bounded over, planting a foot in his chest and letting a low growl escape his throat. Blake stopped moving, and the hound…smirked, and started licking his face. Blake tried to fend him off, but he kept licking for a moment, and then bounded back to his master, and nuzzled at something on the ground by the dogman’s boot.

“I already told you, no. We’re just going to send him on a trip, and dump him by the highway–it’s easier.”

The foxhound started baying then, over and over, even when the lab told him to hush. Blake just stayed still, feeling out his bonds, wondering if he’d get a chance to try and escape.

“God, you are just…fine, alright? If it’ll make you happy. But I’m gonna make it strong–I don’t need another halfy like you giving me a headache. Two of you would just be insufferable.”

The foxhound gave a sharp bark and jumped at the dogman, licking his face, nearly knocking the pipe from his mouth.

“Alright, alright! you know what I mean, I’m sorry.”

He picked up something off the ground, the thing the foxhound had nudged, and dropped it into the pot. Blake kept fidgeting, but these ropes were well tied–he wasn’t going to be able to slip them. His one chance then, might be to try and reason with whatever the hell these things were. “I…I won’t tell anyone, please, you can just let me go.”

“Oh I know,” the dogman said, letting loose a plume of smoke, “You aren’t the first hunter to wander onto my property.”

Blake watched him stir the pot for a moment. “What is that stuff anyway?”

“Mushroom broth. It’ll help with your head. Sorry about that, but I can’t be too careful with this one,” he gave the hound a pat on the rump, “He gets excited. Couldn’t have you hurting him, you know. Mycology has always been a hobby of mine–don’t worry, it ain’t poison. Anyway, that should do it.” He poured off the broth into an aluminum cup, and brought it over to where Blake was sitting, and held it under his nose. This close, the vapor and smell was much stronger…and made him feel a bit woozy all of a sudden. “Now, if I untie you, you’re going to be good, and do what I say, right?”

Blake nodded, not even really aware that he was. The dogman bent him forward and loosened the knots around his wrists. Blake rubbed some life back into them, and then accepted the hot cup from the man, who told him to drink all of it. The taste was pungent, and not at all delicious, but once he got a taste, he found drinking the whole thing wasn’t too much of a struggle. His head did stop throbbing. If anything, the pain felt…distant all of a sudden, like it was happening in some other body he was only somewhat attached to. In fact, his whole body felt that way, numb and not his own. His head lolled a bit, the cup rolling out of his hand, and the one sensation he felt at this point was an overwhelming, undeniable horniness.

“Well boy, you’re the one who wanted him so badly–why don’t you help him out?”

The foxhound walked over and used his teeth to open the fly of Blake’s pants, and then ripped open the front of his briefs. Blake, however, wasn’t sure anymore what was real, and what wasn’t. Everything felt so full of light all of a sudden. Squinting up at the beast looming over him, face wreathed in smoke, he thought he said, “Who are you? What did you just give me?” He didn’t get a reply, and so he wasn’t at all sure that the words had actually gotten free of his brain and mouth.

He felt the hound licking at his cock now, and he tried to push him away with his hands, but they felt like putty. He wasn’t even sure how to move them. He wasn’t even sure he had hands anymore at all. However, he knew that what he was seeing at his crotch had to be a hallucination–it looked like, instead of his usual human cock, it had been…replaced, and instead, he had a furry sheath, and thick red…something was pushing out of it. Whatever it was, the foxhound was licking it eagerly, and it did feel good.

“Ya know, boy? He is kinda cute, now that I get a better look at him,” the man said. The smoke was…everywhere now. He couldn’t get a look at anything, it was all too hazy. Something pushed it’s way against his mouth and he tried to resist. “Now now, be a good doggy and open up for master.”

It looked like a bright red mushroom, but it was so warm and slick. Blake opened his jaw slightly, disturbed by the sudden crack of bone and tightness of tendon, but he allowed the head inside his mouth. It looked like…like his own, new cock. Was he turning into mushrooms? Everything felt so strange, nothing in the world was making any sense. He wrenched himself away from the two dogmen, his heart pounding, and crawled away from them, skin burning, eyesight blurry, like the world was slowly being drained of color. He tried to speak, but the words came out as inhuman gibberish, but then the lab was beside him, running one heavy paw down his back…and it felt good.

“Who’s a good boy?” he asked.

That voice. Before it had sent chills and unease through him, the gruffness, the odd inflection of vowels forced through his odd snout. But hearing it now, it made him feel safe and happy and…calm. He arched his back a bit and leaned to the side, unaware that his legs were shortening and growing thinner, the tattered remains of his pants slipping off his ass as his knees left the ground, and he found himself standing on his hands and feet, and it was so comfortable, so…normal.

“Come on boy, daddy still has a bone for you…” the lab said. The voice lulled him in, and even though the world had turned to a swath of dull greens and blues, the cock in front of him gleamed. He licked the head, his tongue extending much further than it ever could before, and then he opened his jaws again and allowed the lab, no, allowed his…master to push it in deeper into his maw, to the beginning of his throat, while the other dog came up behind him, sniffed Blake’s ass for a moment, admiring the short tail already growing out at the base of his spine, and then wormed his way underneath Blake, forcing him off their master’s cock for a moment, and Blake found his cock pressing up against the hound’s own hole.

“He’s always loved having other mutts ride him, that’s how we met in the first place,” the lab said with a chuckle, the hound giving a short, indignant chop in response. “Go on then, you know what to do.”

Somehow, he did. It didn’t feel like he knew much anymore. So much of his mind seemed to have simplifed and smoothed out while he wasn’t paying attention. What he’d mistaken for euphoria had been more than just pleasure, it had been his cares, memories, goals, everything human, everything that had made him Blake, slowly dissolving away. There wasn’t much of him left now, enough to be aware that something had happened to him, that this was wrong, that he was no longer…a person. He looked down at his front legs, at the dark brown fur running the length, at his paws. Everything was as it should be, and yet nothing was right.

“I said fuck him boy,” the lab said, the said to himself,  “God, I hope I didn’t make ya too stupid, or training you is gonna take ages.”

He slipped his cock inside, then deeper. It felt…amazing. The foxhound gave a long bay, as soon as Blake slipped in deep, humping a bit wildly, not quite sure how to slow down his instincts. His master’s cock appeared in front of him again, and he licked it, the foxhound beneath him gritting it’s fangs a bit at the size of Blake’s shaft, and then he was suddenly cumming, and he let loose a howl he could barely believe had come from his own throat, and a moment later, the lab shot, coating Blake’s face with his own seed. Blake licked it off, enjoying the taste, and then tried to extricate himself from the other dog’s hole, but for some reason it was difficult to remove, like something had inflated, keeping them tied together. With a pop, they finally managed to come apart, Blake landing on his back, and he was able to look down at himself, at his new body…and yet it was the only body he could recall having. In his heart he knew he was different, that he had been something different, a…a master, even. But that wasn’t what he was anymore.

“Well, now we went and wasted the evening–I hope you’re happy,” the lab said, looking down at the foxhound who was panting, eyes bright, Blake’s cum still dribbling from his hole. “Come on, let’s go home and kennel up our new friend here. The lab gave a whistle, Blake’s ears perked up, and he got back on all four feet and trotted off after his master. He didn’t know where they were going, but one thing he knew for certain, was that his Master knew best, and that he’d follow him to the ends of the earth.