Symbiotic Justice (Part 2)

When Lief woke up, it was dark outside. He could barely open his eyes, and his head was pounding–it felt like someone had scrambled everything up in his head–so much so that it took him a few minutes to remember how to make his fingers work, or perhaps that was just the toxin still lingering in his system. Still, he could move again, in any case. He looked down at his hands, but while they were smeared with blood, there was no sign of any of the cuts or punctures he’d seen when he’d tried to pull the thing off of him.

Fuck, the thing–he sat up as quickly as he could, looked down at his crotch, and breathed a sigh of relief. His cock was there–just like he remembered it, just like nothing had ever happened. He reached down with his hands and ran his fingers along the shaft, feeling the bristly skin shudder at his touch, and he lifted it in his hands, feeling the heft of all two feet in his hands, curling it around them, enjoying the sensation–

No.

No, this…this was wrong. This wasn’t his cock, the thing–the thing had dissolved his cock, it had fucking eaten it. He tried to think back and remember what it had looked like, but the memories–they were gone. All he could remember now, was this…monstrosity attached to his crotch, the heavy sack of fluid hanging below, taut with seed…

The thing constricted, and then unwound from around his hands all on it’s own–Lief couldn’t quite tell whether he was controlling it, like some prehensile tentacle, or if it was doing it on it’s own. The wide, spade shaped head turned, almost like it was looking at him, surveying him somehow, and he…heard something. Almost like white noise at the back of his head, an itch he couldn’t quite sense or scratch. It wasn’t sound, not really, but he could hear it–a voice. Garbled and indistinct, but whatever this thing was…it wasn’t just attached to him, it had dug its way into him.

He needed to get help. He needed to go to a hospital.

Sensing his thoughts, however, he felt every nerve all along his body release a massive blast of pain, and he bent backwards, certain his spine would shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment–but just as quickly as it struck, it was gone, leaving him panting and shuddering on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes.

No help then–he’d figure this out on his own.

He wrapped his cock high around his thigh, disguising the extra length, and then pulled up his boxers and pants, checking his phone. It was nearly eleven–he needed to get home so no one worried. That, and he was hungry. Really hungry, actually, hungrier than he could remember being. He grabbed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder, traced his way back to the trail, and set off for home, trying hard not to think about the strange creature wrapped around his leg.

He got home, and saw his parent’s car was gone–were they out looking for him? He let himself inside, only for Erik to appear at the top of the stairs. “There you are, faggot,” he said, “Mom and Dad went out for a date–they told me to tell you you’re up shit creek when they get home, for not calling them about where you were.”

Erik was a bulky, hairy jock–only around 5’9”, but solidly packed with muscle, and known for his dirty techniques on the wrestling team, techniques he’d honed for years picking on Lief since they were kids. Lief…well, he thought Erik was sexy, but he wasn’t prepared for the sudden rush of…attraction that welled up in him at the sight of him on the stairs. Not just lust, really, but that same hunger he’d felt when he woke up, his cock writhing at the sight of him.

“Yeah…fine, I’m gonna…eat something,” Lief said, hoping his brother wouldn’t antagonize him tonight…not with this…thing on him.

“Whatever, don’t fucking disturb me, I’m playing a game.”

Good–that would keep him occupied at least, while Lief tried to figure this out. For now though, food. He went to the kitchen, found some snacks, but…nothing sounded good. Even when he tried to force himself to eat something, it just…tasted bad. Rotten, even, and he’d spit it out, even as the hunger grew. Oddly enough, he wasn’t feeling the pangs in his stomach, like usual–it felt…all pervasive, a needling, constant pain and tug, a need, a desire. He felt shaky, and sat down at the kitchen table, closed his eyes…and saw something.

He saw his brother, upstairs, playing games at his computer. Then, he saw him on the ground, naked, and Lief was fucking him with his cock, driving in deep, rough, feeling good, feeling pleasure, eating his fill…

He opened his eyes with a gasp. No–No, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. He tried to eat again, but nothing stayed down. He held out for an hour, as the tremors and pain grew worse, and then he snuck quietly up the stairs, cock uncurling from his leg, willing to do anything to make it stop.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 8)

Raury stared at the man, feeling all of his desires welling up, both earnest and twisted, and he nodded. He didn’t care–he needed him. If he could have Jared, then everything else would be fine, he was certain. The beasts raised a great cry of joy and excitement, and the music picked up again, a new tune, and Jared kept dancing, faster now–wild and crazed–in the clearing, surrounded by beasts. The song was similar to the one before, when Aarin and Jared had fucked in front of him–it had far more power and force behind it than their usual music, and even Raury found himself jiggling and swaying to the beat where he was lying on his throne, guzzling wine. He would catch a glimpse of Jared’s eyes every few cycles, and they were wide with terror and confusion, though it wasn’t long before his concerns faded away, the beasts coming closer, nearly blocking him from Raury’s view. It was just a mass of flesh and fur, hand and hoof, until with a great clamour the beasts stopped and retreated back, leaving…something else in the midst of them, something not even Raury had seen before, in the thicket.

His first thought was that it had to be a centaur of some kind, but that wasn’t quite right. The beastly thing was bent over on all fours, with the rump and ass of a donkey, including a tail still swishing along to the beat that had been playing moments before. The torso was still human however, and the face, while twisted somewhat, was recognizably Jared’s. Still, it was clear that not much of Jared’s mind remained–the beast’s eyes were crazed and hungry, and when it caught sight of Raury, of its Bacchus, his low hanging donkey balls began to churn, and his massive cock slid free of his sheath. “My Bacchus, my great, beautiful Bacchus. Please, I was wrong, let me serve you, let be one of your beasts!” it cried and stumbled forward, not quite certain how to make his new body work right, but Raury was all too happy to oblige his lover. He rolled over and presented his ass for the donkeyman, and after a bit of work, Jared managed to throw his hooved hands up on to Raury’s back, shove his cock deep into the Bacchus’ hole, and begin rutting.

Raury knew he should feel guilty, that he’d witnessed some strange, otherworldly horror, but just knowing it was Jared fucking him, rutting with him…it was worth it. After a few minutes, the donkey came, and it felt like fire burning into his guts. His body…it felt more real, the fat hanging off his body carried real heft, and the stench surrounding him was more pungent than it had ever been. He felt renewed, or perhaps ruined–it was difficult to tell. Something had changed, and while it worried him at some level, he was too thrilled to have Jared inside him again to really care.

“A new compact!”

“A new beast!”

“Our Bacchus forever, a true Bacchus!”

“What did you do to me,” Jared groaned, his cock still spewing, “What the fuck is happening to me–AWWW,” he brayed, and two satyrs pulled him free so they, too, could have a turn at Raury’s hole. He looked about for the rest of the night, when he could, trying to find Jared’s face again, but he had been swallowed into the morass of beasts servicing him. Still, he could feel them. There was a connection between them, Raury…owned him, in some strange way. He felt that, should he need him, he’d be able to bring him forward again at a moment’s notice. Once again, Jared was his, and that, at the moment, is all that mattered.

Waking came slowly–much more slowly than it ever had before, in part because it took him a while to realize he actually was awake. Before, the differences between his real body and the body of his dream had been so wide that he’d always been able to tell he was awake because he was smaller. It was no longer surprising that the massive body he’d had while asleep had suddenly felt so real to him–it was because it was real. Something had been keeping the beasts’ magic from fully affecting him, he realized–it must have been Aarin! Was this part of his plan too?

“No Bacchus, this is better now.” A satyr said, bleating on the couch beside him. He wasn’t certain if the thing was actually there with him, or just another figment of his imagination. “The gypsy, we had a deal, a temporary deal. A Bacchus for a year, to balance the burdens of his life, a punishment for you, but a small one. But a new deal! A deal for all of us! A true Bacchus–we haven’t had one in so long. But now, with you here, we can exist in your realm again! Your true servants, your lovers, your worshipers. You are our god, Bacchus, and we will find many more men, and beasts, to serve you now than we ever could before.”

Raury tried to force himself up from the couch, but his new weight was too much. In the more flexible reality of his dreams, he’d been able to move with difficulty, but the weight of reality had made him entirely immobile now.

“Don’t worry our Bacchus, just relax!” another satyr said who’d appeared, looking around the apartment, “You can hear the drums, can’t you? The others dancing, waiting to follow you? Relax and listen, dear god, and let them through–we will please you here now–you’ll never need to sleep again.”

“Please–Aarin…the gypsy…” He huffed, but speaking was difficult. He could hear the drums, and it was soothing. He allowed his head to fall back, and he could…feel how thin the world had become here. If he could just…bring the woods here, he’d be able to move, and think, and dance…right?

“Yes, our dear Bacchus–we hate him too, for trying to deny us what we truly need. We will find him, and bring him to you. He will be a beast like us, and serve you. After all, that would be true balance, would it not? Can’t you see it, Bacchus? Him as a beast like us, worshipping you, as he should have always done?”

He could see it. He could see so many things. The drums were louder now, the barrier thinner. He could lift his arms, and breathe a bit easier. Soon, they would all come through. They would all come through and together they would dance and revel in these streets, and all men would dance to him tunes, forever.

Feeder Drones (Sketch)

“He’s out there again, isn’t he?” Max asked, when he saw Daryl fuming at the window of their apartment. It wasn’t a very good view by any means, facing another building in the complex, but that wasn’t the real problem. What Daryl was staring at the the massive fucker who’d moved in across the space from them, who right now was at the window, staring at the window, masturbating. He’d been doing it constantly, and always while looking at Max and Daryl. They’d reported it to the management, but no one had done anything about it, and it had gone from annoying to making Daryl, in particular, absolutely furious. Max figured that if they just didn’t respond, the guy would get bored eventually–he was just a pervert or something, right? But Daryl, he’d always hated fat people, and the guy had to be close to 500 pounds. The idea that someone that big could be attracted to him or his boyfriend was a deep, personal offence.

“No, fuck this, I’m gonna go solve this fucking problem myself,” Daryl said, and headed for the door.

Max tried to stop him. “Daryl, don’t fucking start anything! We’ll be the ones who get in trouble.”

“Fucking pervert just needs to be taught a fucking lesson!” Daryl said, flexing his muscle and pushing past Max and heading out the door. Max knew better than to get in Daryl’s way–he’d…gotten a couple black eyes from him by saying no before, but things had gotten better over the last year. Still, he felt sorry for the guy–Daryl wasn’t known to stop after one or two punches, especially as angry as he was.

Daryl hurried over to the other building and leapt up the stairs to the landing and pounded on the guy’s door. Should be break the fucking lock? That seemed like overkill, but it would sure as hell teach the fucker he meant business. He tried the knob, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. He pushed it open and went inside–the place was filthy, and he felt…like he’d been in here before at some point. It wasn’t just the fact that all of these apartments had the same layout either–he’d been in here, but when? Something was wrong, but the man was there in the doorway, leering at him. “Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to Drone conversion complete as of 3:48 this morning. Flesh form has been archived as ‘Daryl Version Zero’.” Daryl heard his voice say, but he hadn’t told himself to say that, had he? And why had his voice sounded so fucking flat?

“Good, Assume neutral form from the neck down, drone.”

Daryl felt his entire body shiver–just just his skin, however, but everything…inside him, as well. Something was wrong with him, but he couldn’t even begin to understand what. He looked down at his hands and arms, and saw that what should be flesh…wasn’t. It looked like he had on a skin tight latex suit, but he could sense that…that it was rubber, through and through. He was rubber. He was made of rubber, he was a drone, he was…was Master’s drone. What the fuck was going on? He was trying to breathe, but he no longer had lungs. Master walked over, smiling. “Remove those clothes, drone.”

Daryl did as he was told, and saw that everything from the neck down–his entire body, was the same solid rubber as his arms. It still had the same shape as his body–well, aside from his crotch, which was completely flat. He ran a hand down the front of him, hearing the slight squeak of rubber on rubber–knew the sensation should make him feel sick, but he wasn’t…feeling anything.

Something in his eyes must have conveyed his terror, and so his Master offered an explanation. “I wiped it from your memory banks, slave, but this is actually the second time we’ve met. The first time you stormed over here, I infected you with my drone serum. For the last week, your flesh has slowly been converting to smart rubber–you’re not a person anymore drone, you’re just an object–my object, to be precise, and I can make you be anything that I want. But I want you to keep your mind, for the moment. I want you to know you’re mine, and I want you to service me, drone, with that tongue of yours.”

Daryl tried to fight his body, but it was no longer under his control. He got down and he leaned in, pressing his mouth to Master’s fat pad, and started sucking on his cock. He was fighting it, trying to deny it. This had to be some horrible dream, it couldn’t be true, could it? This wasn’t possible, right?

“Yeah–you and that pretty boyfriend of yours–you’re going to be two excellent drones. I got found out a few months back–had to disappear. Ended up losing almost fifty pounds! But with the two of you as my new feeder drones, I’m sure I’ll put that back on in no time. I just won’t…recruit as actively as last time, as sad as that is–so the two of you will have to be multipurpose. Drone, generate pleasure skull number one.”

Daryl disappeared, quickly, as his head turned to the same black rubber as his new body, and his face…dissolved. Mouth growing wider, his tongue growing long and falling to his chest, slick with rubbery lube. Master turned around and bent over, pushing his massive ass and crack towards the drone’s face, and it responded as it had been programmed, driving it’s thick tongue into Master’s hole, fucking him deep. It didn’t pay any mind when it heard the gasp behind it–Max had come to investigate what was happening with his boyfriend, only to find the obese man and some…rubber monstrosity with the door open.

“Fuck, I forgot to shut the door…this is what I need drones for!” Master said, “Lucky it was you. Step inside, drone, and shut the door behind you.”

Max did as he was ordered, unsure why he was obeying the massive fucker standing there, but unable to resist.

“Drone, report conversion process.”

“Flesh to drone conversion at 92%,” Max said.

“Almost there. No worries–you can watch, and when you’re finished, we’ll put you both into proper service. Dig deeper drone–you know how I like to get tongue fucked.”

VIP Package (Part 10)

WARNING: DARKER STILL! Scat, incontinence, furry, snuff, abuse.

Every few days, Gerald–in the middle of the night–would cart his filthy body downstairs to collect the mail from their box. However, after several paranoid rants, he’d been forbidden from opening any of it before Sammy had inspected it–and so it was Sammy who gave a squeal when he found the letter addressed to them both from Gay Fantasy Cruise Lines. It seemed to Gerald, that he’d been expecting it for some reason, and so he was filled with terror as his petulant master read the first note aloud with great excitement.

Dear Samuel L. Prescott and Jeremy T. Lute,

We want to thank you again for participating on our VIP Package Program on your recent cruise with us. It requires all of our hard work to ensure that our VIP guests truly have the cruise of their fantasies. The VIP who purchased you as part of your package, a certain Mr. Bishop, was so pleased with you both, that he has requested that you be added as a part of his package on his next voyage! The details of his next trip are outlined below:

Cruise Destination: VIP Exclusive Six Month Around-the-World Trek.

Departure Date: January 18th

Arrival Date: June 23rd

It should be noted that terms of service for VIP exclusive treks are somewhat modified from standard voyages. We are required to inform you that due to the length of the voyage, any Salon Modifications maintained for an extended period are likely permanent. Given this fact, VIP members are given the opportunity to craft new post-cruise identities for individuals who are a member of their package. Any individuals who are removed from a package early, or who are not provided with a post cruise identity, will be converted into standard crew personnel at the end of the voyage.

Your VIP has included a personal message for you both. If you wish to join us in helping our VIP’s experience their perfect fantasies, please register your affirmative consent online, and we will arrange travel for you to join us.

Sincere thanks for sailing with us,

Gay Fantasy Cruise Lines

On a second sheet attached to the cover letter from the cruise line, they found the letter Master Bishop had included for them both. Sammy read this one silently, and then read it again, demanding Gerald masturbate him while he did. Only after he’d cum, did he allow Gerald the chance to see what details Master Bishop had added for them.

Dear Sammy and Gerald,

As I told you both, my fantasies are complicated. I must say that the two of you have been developing quite well, over the last year, and I have…enjoyed much of the footage I’ve gathered from the cameras I had installed in your apartment before you arrived back at home. That said, I want the two of you to know exactly what I have planned for you both–and I do emphasize the word both. I simply won’t sail with just one of you. If one comes without the other, I’ll be forced to do without–you’ll be slave gym bunny like all the rest of the waiters after the first day at sea. But if you both come, well, then we’ll all have some grad fun.

Sammy, my sweet boy. After six months at sea with me, I’ll be proud to call you my son. In fact, you will be my son–or rather, my genetic duplicate, with a few extra splices to keep things interesting. You’ll be groomed into a proper sociopath–unfeeling and uncaring about the needs and emotions of others, consumed by your own desires, greedy, deceitful, lustful, proud, completely incontinent and full of rage. While you’ll always prefer having daddy’s cock plowing you into oblivion, you’ll be given a sizable endowment of your own, and learn how to use it very effectively. Yes, balls the size of grapefruit, a cock over a foot long and permanently erect. My son, you will become a proper freak as well–covered with tattoos and piercings, obsessed with violence and pain. You will be one of my masterpieces, and live with me and my other sons for the rest of my life. You will enjoy them, I promise–our special family is like nothing you can possibly imagine, but it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of having for a life.

Gerald, on the other hand–there will be nothing on this ship for you but misery, though I can assure you that you will enjoy every moment of it. The Salon has been doing some amazing work with animal splicing, something I have been desperate to try, and watching you over the past several months, seeing you fatten up and stuff you face…I can’t help but imagine you as a disgusting hogman. Weighing over a thousand pounds, castrated, nearly mindless, utterly filthy, living life on all fours, your body no longer capable of standing upright, hands and feet and face all twisted into monstrous caricature. It will be a slow process. You will witness yourself lose your own humanity–it will horrify you and thrill you, in equal measure. Watching you suffer this loss will bring me such pleasure, however, and I know that is most important to you–it always has been, right Gerald? Sammy, of course, will have the honor of castrating you himself. But in the end, if you please us well, I will give you what you desire most. I will fuck you, once. I will ram my massive cock into your new piggy cunthole, where your balls had been days before, and you will squeal so deliciously. You will have the most powerful orgasm of your life, as the last remaining bits of your human mind die, and you will be left as nothing more than a filthy pet for me, and especially my new son, to abuse until he likely butchers you in a petty, childish fit of rage a few years–or months–down the road, depending on his eventual temperament.

With that, I’m sure I have secured your mutual interest. After all, what else is left for either of you, besides a life with me in my fantasy? I’m eager to receive notice of your affirmative consent, and will see you on deck in a month for our very special cruise.

Regards,

Master Bishop

Gerald tried to throw out the letter, but Sammy refused. Sammy wanted to go, Sammy saw nothing wrong at all with anything that their Master had told them. Gerald was terrified. He wasn’t terrified of what might happen to him if they went–he was terrified by his own desire to experience it. He had spent the last year constantly fantasizing about his master’s cock, but he’d given up on ever receiving it inside him, and that had made it easier to consider leaving all of this behind him. But now…now he had a chance at happiness, didn’t he? Isn’t this what he’d wanted? At least, that’s what Sammy told him he wanted. But simpler than that, this is what Sammy wanted to do, and what Sammy wanted, Sammy received–like always. In the end, Gerald’s resistance lasted only a few hours, and they both sent in notification of their consent that evening, and sealed their fate.

A month later, Gerald watched the Florida coast recede, while Sammy was having his first reunion fuck with their Master on deck. Soon, all that surrounded them was a brilliant blue haze, the sea and the sky melding together at the horizon. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, mouth pressed to his husband’s stinking hole, feasting on Master’s cum at his favorite trough. At least, if nothing else, they’d be together until the end.

Twelve Months ‘til Christmas (Part 7)

~~June & July~~

Summer at the North Pole was an odd kind of misery, particularly for those who hadn’t experienced it before. The sun never set, it only traced a strange, wavering path in a circle around the sky, never quite rising fully, and certainly never setting close to the horizon. It made every day blend together, particularly because sleep was largely impossible. As immortals, the inhabitants’ bodies had entered their own kind of perpetual state, with no need for the basic necessities which had governed their entire lives before. Now, their bodies had no need for anything, and with the sun never setting, sleepiness never came, leading to a strange twilight of the mind, the sensation that this was a day doomed to last forever.

For the workshop, this strange mania was necessary–from the month of May to September the elves largely worked non-stop in the omnipresent sunlight, producing nearly all the toys and gear for the next Christmas in those few bright months. It was a time for Stanta and the head elf to be near constant presences on the workshop floor, but with the sudden, unexplained disappearance of Timmy, that left the entire task of guiding the elves to Stanta himself. Of course, all of the elves knew what must have happened to Timmy–even if they didn’t know the details. The last several years of strife led them all to presume Timmy’s plan of subjugating Stanta had failed, or backfired, and he had been taken out of commission as well. It was lucky, in some ways, that their new Stanta possessed a strong authoritarian streak, or production would have been derailed entirely–they likely would have never made their yearly quota. This was complicated by the fact that Timmy, in a breach of protocol, hadn’t bothered to name another elf to act in his place should something happen to him–this meant that the elves would need to hold elections for a new head elf, but they were barred from doing so until 90 days had passed, placing the election date in early August.

Inside the house, a different sort of hell was emerging for John. Despite having dealt with Timmy, his father still had not returned to free him from his forced cohabitation with Santapig, and he was quickly learning that the effects of the mirror pendant he was wearing only grew more intense with sustained contact. His only way of juding the passage of time in the room, without the presence of night, was to try and keep track of each time to sun passed through the single window in the room, shining across the increasingly filthy room each day, where the two men spent nearly every moment fucking. Santapig was insatiable, and clearly, his mind had been relatively shattered by his experiences over the past few years. He insisted on addressing John by the name Claude, and would grow violently angry should John try to assert his true identity to him. But to make matters even more confusing, the pig harboured deep, emotional sentiment towards both of the Claudes in the room–John was certain, in fact, that the pig loved the strange urinal on the wall far, far more than he could ever love him.

The pig insisted the urinal be fed–he claimed that he could hear when it was thirsty, and he would milk Claude’s cock into the thing’s funnelmouth, demanding that he piss for him, demanding that he feed his lover, demanding that he feed himself. John found his own mind beginning to warp–at first, he thought it was simply the fact that he was trapped with this insane pigman as some form of Stockholm Syndrome, but he became convinced, with time, that it was largely the doing of the amulet. He was, it would seem, still changing. Each time Santapig grew unhappy with him, or dissatisfied with his performance, John would change a bit more. He wasn’t even sure that the pig was aware of what he was doing to him–at least, he never mentioned it, but as the months wore on, John noticed that as his mind was beginning to twist, his body was shifting slowly as well.

His cock was the first thing he noticed. First, it was massive–after all Santapig, despite his control over the entire relationship, had remained a resolute bottom in bed. He demanded constant satisfaction from John, and in turn, found himself in a state of constant horniness, needing to fuck at all times to even be able to think about anything else. But he noticed, soon, that at some point his cock had ceased to be human, and had taken on the same corkscrew shape as the pig’s. He noticed other shifts as well–increased muscle mass, short tusks pushing out from his mouth as his skull began to form a snout. He was becoming the same sort of monstrosity as Santapig, and worse, he…liked it.

His mind was slowing. He didn’t need to worry about anything, really. He just needed to be Claude–or half of Claude, really. He could never be complete, he knew that, somehow. He too, found himself developing an odd attraction to the urinal, but rather than wanting to care for it, he found himself…mourning it, somehow. Trapped within that rubber, was himself, a piece of himself he needed to reclaim in order to be complete. He could only ever really be Claude’s body, but his soul was there, deep inside, and the loss he began to feel was indescribable, even as he desperately tried to tell himself it was deeply irrational. It was in late July that John noticed something else–the urinal…something was happening to it. Around the base, where the body adhered to the wall, strange bulges had appeared–and more began to appear as well, all over the surface. Once, he felt one of the bulges stir, as though something inside it was alive. In his strange midsummer dream, he felt an odd sense of joy–part of him, it was alive, there, in these strange mounds of rubber. They continued to grow, however, and alongside the joy was a constant dread. They were eggs–he knew that, somehow. He also knew, that he didn’t want to be in this room when they hatched.

The Facility (Part 4)

Kerry glared at him, growling a bit, and then gestured at his whole body, as a way of demanding an explanation, and the doctor sighed. “Yes, I was getting to that. It’s…a long story, however, so it would be best for us to proceed with your treatment in the meantime. X-9, please restrain the patient, while I prepare to administer Serum B.”

Kerry let out a growl as the robot approached him, slashing at its prehensile appendages with his now clawlike nails, but the robot shrugged off his attacks and wrapped him up, hauling his immobilized body off the ground and laying him back on the exam table, while Dr. Sondew prepared a syringe.

“Serum A, which you’ve already been administered, is more of a…transitional form, you might say.” the doctor said, while Kerry struggled, “X-9, perhaps a minor sedative?”

“Yes doctor,” X-9 said, and Kerry felt a needle slide into his neck, his body immediately going numb and relaxed, though he was still acutely aware of his surroundings.

“Thank you, that’s much easier,” Dr. Sondew said, shaved a small portion of Kerry’s arm, and began searching for a vein. “As I was saying, the first serum merely…shall we say, scrambles the recipient’s genome. The results are a bit difficult to predict, but what has happened is that the building blocks of your body have been broken apart and jumbled up with a multitude of others–the one which arose in you was canine, but other subjects display different results. For me, I looked like a proper minotaur, when they caught me and forced me to take it.” He slid the needle into the vein, and despite Kerry’s whines, he shot the second serum into his bloodstream. “Now this second serum–now that we have your standard form broken up, we can begin tailoring your body to particular specifications. They weren’t quite at that point with me–they were still trying to figure out what was going on, when things went south.”

Kerry’s arm felt like it was on fire again, and it was spreading to the rest of his body. He wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach. He growled and tried to lash out, but the sedative reduced his protests to meek grumbles.

“I was told we’d be doing good work, curing disease, unlocking the secrets of our species. Instead, I found a laboratory full of…victims. Illegal human trials, some of them so…twisted, and it was obvious the entire goal was aimed not at medical application, but new, disturbing forms of warfare. I tried to leak it to the press, and so they made me one of their subjects. Still, it was only a matter of time before things went awry, and I was ready, when it did. The lab had a failsafe, a pathogen released into the air, which killed everyone indiscriminately–I only survived barely, but no one else did. I hid down here in the basement labs, refining their research in the meantime on myself, and now they’re back to pick up where they left off, and I can’t let them do that. I realize…I’m doing to you exactly what they did to me, but I’ve already compromised myself. This is more important than me or you. This company has to be stopped, and you’re going to help me do it.”

The heat had spread further now, but was still most intense in the arm which had been injected. Kerry was able to lift his head and he could see that the muscles in his arm were spasming, but he couldn’t feel them do so through the sedative in his system. Already his arm was thicker and stronger than his other one, the burning crossing into his chest, running up the side of his neck to his face, as well as down his torso towards his belly, groin and legs.

“I’d feel more sorry for you, to be honest, but you’re working for them too. You know what you clean up, I know you’ve seen things that don’t seem right, but you’re just doing your job, right?” Doctor Sondew snorted, “Fucking banal. No–better you help me than help them. Not like it will matter much to you anyway, soon enough. I don’t need you feeling mercy, or doubt, so we’re going to be getting rid of most of those higher order mental functions. By the end of this serum, you won’t have ego left–just blind obedience to me. You’ll do whatever I command, and we’re going to get revenge on those fucks together–they’re never going to even see it coming.”

The serum had reached his face, and was beginning to penetrate his skull. Kerry renewed his struggle as best he could, as weakly as he could, but the robot’s arms held him too tight, he was too weak. His first arm was changing more now, especially around his hand, looking less and less like a paw and more like a hand, though the skin was leathery and tough–more like a gorilla’s. At the same time, his chest was filling out, his fur growing longer and shaggy, even as he packed on pounds and pounds of muscle and fat, nearly screaming as the bones of his spine thickened and grew, stretching his body to a taller height. His body had been missing a tail, but what burst out above his ass was by no means canine–it was thick, covered with scale and spikes, corded with muscle. It wormed it’s way out from beneath him as his awareness started to fade, moment by moment.

“You’re going to be my vengeance. You are going to put those monsters in their rightful place, and make sure that they never hurt anyone ever again.”

His snout was pushing out further, teeth longer and sharper, but retained its basic shape–now the face of a true wolf, shaggy grey fur covering his jaw, cheeks and head, eyes twitching until they turned yellow, with black pupils, the humanity fading from them as the serum began shutting down portions of Kerry’s mind. He could hear the doctor continue speaking, but suddenly he couldn’t understand anything that he was saying. He tried to hold onto himself, but it wasn’t long before the beast was all that remained. Kerry was gone–and he would never be coming back.

The Facility (Part 3)

When he next woke, it was with some relief–the pain and discomfort he’d felt the last time he’d woken before was gone for the most part. No, not woken–what he’d dreamt, of course. Certainly it had been a dream–nothing like what he’d seen could have been possible…so it had to be some odd coincidence that he was now awake in the same room where he’d fallen from his bed and had his second encounter with that odd robotic monster. Maybe…maybe it was a hallucination? Something drug induced? The company which was employing him had its fingers in any number of industries, including pharmaceuticals and genetics. Some strange vision fueled by a drug addled mind–it was the easiest explanation.

What it did not explain, was the fact that his hands, which he saw when he sat up on the edge of the bed, weren’t not, in fact, human.

“Don’t panic. Don’t…fucking panic,” he thought to himself, “Just…just a hallucination still, that’s all.”

“The patient is advised,” the robotic voice said behind him, by the door, “That he may have free use of the room and facilities within, but may not leave without being restrained and sedated. Doctor Sondew has been alerted that the patient is awake, and will be meeting with the patient soon.” He looked over his shoulder at the strange robot standing there, and then looked away.

All Kerry wanted, however, was a mirror. The room, now that he was clearer eyed, resembled a standard hospital room, and off to the side was a door which was ajar, and within, a small bathroom. He got off the bed, nearly falling over because of the strange form of his feet–he had a hard time wrapping his head around them, but the looked like…paws. What it felt like, was that he was being forced to walk on the balls of his feet, his ankles and heels lifted off the ground by force of tendon and flesh. Carefully, using bits of equipment to help him balance on the slick tile, he made his way into the small side room, and found the mirror there, and a strange, howling and moaning cry erupted from his throat, at the sight of his new face.

It wasn’t human. He wasn’t human. He didn’t know what he was, exactly, though the word “werewolf” came to mind, or perhaps more accurate, “Weredog.” He had a snout, tipped with a black nose, floppy, hairy ears on either side of his head, and without really noticing, he had been panting, a long tongue hanging out slightly. The rest of his body–he’d lost weight, which he supposed was one fact for the pro column in all of this. He’d had quite the gut before, but now he was quite lean, the black and brown hair running all over his chest, abs and back. His torso seemed largely human still, as did his arms–though his hands. He still had thumbs…sort of. He’d be able to, say, open a door–but anything more complicated, like holding a pen, would be out of the question. He was naked, and so he saw his genitals had changed as well–his cock no longer hanging out, but pulled back into a furry sheath, with two similarly sized, but furry, balls hanging below. His legs were muscular, and the joints seemed all out of place from what he was used to, but walking and standing was easy enough, now that he’d gotten used to the sensation.

“The doctor will be arriving in two minutes. The patient is advised that any violence or attempt to escape will be met with restraint and sedation.”

Kerry hadn’t seen the doctor during his brief period of waking before, but he had heard him speak, and something had seemed odd–or had seemed odd to him, but he’d been in the thick of this…transformation, so who knew what he’d heard exactly. Still–regardless of what the robot had said, he needed to get out of this insane place. Maybe, if he could find his workmates Quinn and Holden, he’d be able to convince them that inside this strange body, he was Kerry. That, or they’d probably kill him, which would almost be a relief, in some ways. He had no idea if he’d be able to change back after all…and hadn’t the doctor mentioned another serum? If it came to that…no, he’d worry about that if it came to that.

The door opened, and then closed again. “Greetings, Doctor Sondew. Subject Eta One is in the restroom.”

“Looking at yourself then?” the doctor said. It was strange–garbled somehow. “Come on out, when you’re ready, and we can chat. Or I can talk at least–I don’t think you have much ability to speak.”

Kerry emerged from the small room, keeping distance between him and both the doctor and the robot, trying not to gawk at the man’s face, and body. Indeed, Doctor Sondew’s speech was garbled by two large tusks jutting from the man’s lower jaw. Perhaps man was the wrong word, in fact, but he was as much a man as Kerry was, at this moment. Still, the doctor’s body seemed like a mismatch of various animals–the tusks were paired with a short pig’s snout, but the rest of his head looked more like a black bear, with the two rounded ears on top, as did the top of his torso. His arms were thick and corded, with short fur on a thick hide, his fingers more like hooves, and about as useless as Kerry’s new hands. The bottom half of his body was similar, but with different colored hair, the thighs thicker, and distinctly equine hooves where his feet should be. He wasn’t naked, however, wearing a set of loose fitting scrubs over his body.

“Hello there–I would ask you your name, but I don’t think–”

“Kerroo,” he tried to say, but while it was close, it frustrated him that he couldn’t even get his name across.

“Here,” the doctor said, placing a piece of plastic with the alphabet printed on it, along with the numbers zero through nine. “Use this. I’ll try to keep my questions to yes and no.”

Kerry pointed to the letters of his name, and the doctor nodded along.

“Kerry? That’s your name?”

He nodded.

“Good! You understand.”

The Muse of Fantasy (Part 4)

Nick felt it, the heat of it, burning and searing in his guts, and he screamed. The bull was still cumming, emptying his balls deep inside, and while some cum was dribbling back out, much of it remained within, bloating Nick’s slim belly–but even as the bull’s flow slowed, the bloat kept growing. “Oh god, oh god it hurts so much…” Nick said, panting with exertion, his skin sweaty and clammy as the heat expanded through him. It swallowed his groin, his balls and cock on fire, down his thighs and ass which began to expand, the bones swelling and cracking into new positions, and up his chest, filling out with muscle and more and more fat. “Oh god, what…what am I becoming?” he moaned to himself.

Oliver wasn’t quite sure–he hadn’t been that specific in his fantasy, and he was as eager to find out as any of them in the room. He checked under Nick, and saw his cock, now covered by a sheath, lose it’s human shape even as it grew, balls purging the remaining humanity from them even as they swelled with monstrous seed of their own. It looked like, as it grew, the shaft was twisting, almost as a corkscrew. “It would seem you’re going to be a very handsome piggy.”

“No–No no no!” Nick said, “No, I’m not going to be some fat fucking pig-*Groink*!” he squealed, as a shirt tail erupted above his ass, slightly curled and whipping too and fro. “No, please, you have to help me.”

“There’s no helping you Nick. In a few minutes, you aren’t even going to exist anymore–you’ll just be another dumb, mindless animal, like your boyfriend back there.” Oliver could see the changes becoming clearer, Nick’s skin becoming rough as large patched darkened to a deep brown, leaving him with a clear piebald pattern on his skin. His haunches had filled out as his legs shortened–still thick, but certainly no longer capable of holding up his mass on two legs. His hands changed less–the finger’s shortening, his palms coated it hand black bone to keep from ripping up as he crawled about on them. All that remained of Nick was his head, but even that was losing the battle–his hair falling out in clumps, ears growing larger and floppy as they shifted to the top of his head, breathing more and more labored as his mouth and nose twisted and pushed out into a stubby snout. Nick tried to speak, tried to plead, but he could no longer make recognizable words, just grunts and squeals.

“Hush now, piggy, I know what you need,” Oliver said, pressing the tip of his cock to Nick’s snout, watching the drool form immediately, the pig’s tongue licking the head, hungry for it, even as Nick fought against the beast destroying his mind. His resistance didn’t last long, and the beast crawled forward, the still fucking bull inching ahead with him, to swallow Oliver’s cock, hungry for cum, and cum at all. “Look at me–fucking look at me!” Oliver shouted, and the pig looked up as it slobbered all over his cock–he wanted to look into it’s eyes, watch the awareness dull as the last shreds of humanity left them, and when all traces of Nick were gone–he pushed deep into the pig’s mouth and fed it a load of cum, listening to it gulp everything down. Only then did he step away, and realize from the moans in the room that Amoredie had been enjoying the display as well, and they stood up, crossing the room to Oliver, pressing into him, kissing him, and the desire he felt at that moment–it was indescribable.

“You are the mortal I have spent millennia searching for,” they moaned into his ear, and Oliver wanted them. To fuck them, to be fucked by them, to imagine with them, and when they slipped away, out of his grasp like water, he was only left with an indescribable need, but they had moved over to Oliver’s creations, the two beast still fucking, as the bull had found a second wind, the pig mindlessly thrusting back, eager for more. They touched them, explored them, examined them, and suddenly, they began to dissipate, and in a few seconds they were gone.

“Where did they go?” Oliver asked.

“Oh, I’ve sent them to a pocket of forest. Far enough from civilization that they won’t be slaughtered, but close enough to encourage..legends, and the growth of the herd. Don’t worry–if you would ever like to visit, we can arrange that, but don’t consider joining them–after all, I can’t lose my greatest artist in generations to his own work quite yet.”

They approached him again, sliding back into Oliver’s embrace, and he felt a fantasy of his own filling him. He lost a couple of decades, his body filling in with muscle, his cock growing larger. “Consider it a reward,” they said. “Now, your muse has needs, my artist. You have other clients, don’t you?”

Oliver did indeed–and quite a few wouldn’t object to an unexpected appearance by their favorite makeup artist and fantasy enabler. But he was done with their silly, idle desires. No–Oliver had a new mission for himself, and his muse. From now on, he would be enabling his own fantasies–and he had so many stored away, he was neither sure where to begin, or whether he could ever plumb the depths entirely.

“Calm yourself, my eager artist,” Amoredie said, “Bed with me first, my love, and then we shall see about improving this dull world of yours with your best dreams and nightmares.”

The Muse of Fantasy (Part 2)

Inside, the room was quite dark, aside from two electric torches flickering on opposite walls. The bed was in the middle of the room, covered in grey upholstery cloth–to make it appear like stone Oliver supposed–but the illusion was weak at best. There was a chair by the door; he sat down and pulled out his cock, while Noah rolled over on the bed, dressed in his bedsheet toga, and got his first look at his minotaur boyfriend. “Oh no!” he cried, “The minotaur has found me–I have to escape!”

He made a feeble attempt to flee off the bed, but Kyle stalked over with a few rather nice grunts, grabbed him by the hips and hauled him back over the bed, running his cock up his boyfriend’s crack, and said in a deep voice, “I’ll eat you later Theseus, but first, you’re going to get bred like my cows! If you’re good, maybe I’ll keep you as a slave.”

The rutting started, and the two of them dropped their acts rather quickly, each lost in their own imaginary version of the scenario. Oliver toyed with himself, enjoying the effect of his makeup work. It wasn’t fabulous, of course, but in the darkened room, Kyle’s face did look rather bestial, and even sexy. Too bad he wasn’t a bit more built, and bit hairier–still, it was enough for Oliver to set his mind running, getting lost in his own fantasy, watching both young men shift and change at his direction into something new, something inhuman.

“I must say, I have always liked your art, but it’s your fantasies which I find most enjoyable.”

Where had that voice come from? He was still envisioning his strange sexual thoughts, but now, some stranger had appeared, unbidden. Young, wearing just a thin robe, voluminous enough to make Oliver rather unsure whether the figure was male or female. Still, this was no thought of his–he pushed the fantasy away and opened his eyes. Kyle and Noah were still themselves, still fucking, but the stranger was standing with them all in the room, like they had simply stepped out of Oliver’s thoughts and into the real world. They looked over at the two men, neither of whom had noticed the stranger’s appearance, their nose wrinkling in slight…disgust? Boredom? It was difficult to gauge what the expression was, but they weren’t particularly pleased.

“Don’t know why you waste your efforts on these two; they’re so shallow…so basic, as people seem to be saying these days. So strange, how quickly the world has been changing lately–I’m so sorry I haven’t introduced myself sooner. I’m Amoredie–a spirit of fantasies.”

Oliver wasn’t quite sure what to say, or what to do. “I…you mean…Have you been watching me?” he said, quietly, hoping neither Kyle nor Noah noticed him speaking to something which had to be a figment of his imagination.

“Why of course I’ve been watching you! You’ve only grown more interesting with age, so I’ve been letting you ripen, but at this point, you’re wasting yourself. So many ideas in that mind of yours, it goes unappreciated! Take these two for instance. This one,” they motioned to Kyle, “So much effort put into dressing him up, and he’s not even involved in the fantasy you’ve helped create! It’s really quite rude. Here, I’ll show you.”

It was rather difficult for Oliver to explain what happened next. At first, a halo of silver grew around Kyle’s head, as he thrust into Noah’s ass, oblivious to what was happening, and the halo grew larger, expanding until it was two or three yards in diameter, containing Kyle and Noah, with Oliver and the stranger on the outside. Oliver could see that everything inside the ring hovering in the air, had simply…changed, somehow. It seemed a bit duller, and somehow, Kyle had been stripped of his entire costume–and Noah was gone entirely. In his place was Aden Baffie–a movie star of moderate popularity–putting on quite a show of bottoming for Kyle.

“This one again–he shows up everywhere! Every era has their fantasies, but still, I have to wonder about people’s judgement,” Amoredie said.

“I don’t understand–what happened to them?” Oliver standing up and walking to the liminal edge of the strange halo.

“Everything inside is Kyle’s fantasy. His mind. What he’s picturing at the moment. He has no real interest in Noah’s strange desires, but he humors him.”

“So…none of this is real? How is this even possible?”

“Someone hasn’t been listening…” they said, wagging a finger at the older man, “As for this not being real–it certainly could be real, if I wanted it to be. But I find scenarios like this so dull! Everyone wants to be with Aden all of a sudden! Why can’t anyone want something original?” In exasperation, they passed into the fantasy and flopped on the bed where Kyle was fucking–but neither man noticed their entrance, “After thousands of years of existence, this becomes a bit weary, and that’s why I like you so much, Oliver! Because you imagine things that still seem new to me, and that’s why I’m here–because together, we’re going to have so much fun!”

Locker Room Spirit (Sketch)

No one thought anything strange was going on at first. Sure, there were several awkward incidents, as the spirit settled into the walls and lockers, the floor, the sauna, the toilets and the mirrors. As it investigated the space and the men inside it. Occasionally, as they were changing a man might…lose focus for a few moments, idly rubbing his cock, only to break from the odd trance a moment later, embarrassed but thinking little of it. But the spirit began to feed in earnest soon, gripping the place tighter as it gained strength, and before too much longer, things became a bit stranger–not that the men inside noticed anything wrong. In their minds, they would walk into the room, change, and leave, just like they always had. They might not remember the details particularly well, but it was just a locker room, after all…right?

However, as soon as they entered, the spirit would grip them, and begin bending them to it’s will, urging them to strip, urging them to become horny, urging them to cum. All around the room, men were on benches, kneeling on the floor, their hands wrapped around their cocks, standing around the drains, shooting their loads down them, and into the spirit’s gullet below, feeding it, allowing it to become stronger, and each time they shot, the spirit would grip them a bit tighter. Men who only occasionally bothered to change at the gym suddenly found themselves needing to go in every time, somehow…excited to be changing. It did seem strange to them, but harmless. But spirits like this one–they want to feed, yes, but more than that. They want to spread and expand, and to do that, well, let me tell you, it isn’t pretty, watching it happen to an unsuspecting person, not after all of these years doing this work.

Hopefully, I can catch them early, around this point. Pull the spirit out by the root, before it can do any real damage, but I can’t catch everything, and sometimes…sometimes these spirits are smart. And this one, it’s the smartest one I’ve seen in awhile, as I’ve been investigating it, watching it, watching the men enter and become its victims.

Spirits like this one, they can get you in two ways. The first is, in many ways, the better fate–at least in my opinion. Or perhaps, it just seems quicker. Certainly it’s the one most spirits prefer. The longer a human spends under the sway of a spirit, the deeper a hold the spirit has on the person. It can start eating away at their soul–their thoughts, dreams and desires–replacing it with the spirit’s instead. So, in time, the men who were in the locker room the most…well, they found their minds overwhelmed with desire for sex and cum and fucking. Men would enter the room to feed the spirit, and were often fucked and abused by these avatars in the process, until, in time, they were fully taken over, their original soul corrupted beyond any sort of recognition. Several bodybuilders–they were held in there for a week by the spirit, fucking each other nonstop as the spirit absorbed them, and then sent on their way, mindless, to seek out other places where the spirit might take root. It wasn’t enjoyable, putting them to rest, but there quite simply wasn’t anything human remaining inside them.

But the other fate–that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Should someone be able to resist the spirit’s mental hold, and be able to recognize what’s happening within its domain, the only way they can be contained is physically. The men inside will secure them, and the spirit will begin to…incorporate their body into it’s own physical form. For two weeks now, a young man has been chained to the wall by the urinals. I…doubt he remembers being human at this point. All of his body has been sucked into the wall, leaving only his head, which has begun to contort, becoming identical to the other urinals beside it with each load of piss the men feed him and the spirit he is now connected with.

The spirit, in the end, is a simple mind, governed more by instinct than any real intellect, though the more men it absorbs, the smarter it becomes. I do, at least, have the advantage of surprise, and thankfully I found it before it had grown any larger, or I would have had a sizable challenge on my hands. Still, only a fool would run into a place like that, magic blazing. No, I have to size this thing up first, and that’s why I’m waiting for it to send out another drone it’s been preparing. I won’t kill this one, but merely capture it, so I can better understand the nature of this thing, and how best to contain it before it gets further out of hand. In fact, looking through my scrying pool, I can see the drone is preparing to leave now! If I hurry, I can intercept it, bring it back here, and proceed with my analysis.