What Goes Around...

Arriving a healthy twenty minutes late to the office, a healthy amount of his own beer already drunk, Chris pulled himself out of his car and fixed his collar. Looking at himself in the reflection of the window, he smiled, the smugness palpable in the air. As he ran a hand through his slicked back blond hair, he made his way toward the entrance, scanned himself inside, and made his way down the hallway toward the series of offices where the party was taking place. The buzz in his head was comfortable and distant, making him warm and happy, excited for the night ahead.

The sound of conversation, music, and laughter echoed down the carpeted hall, and Chris straightened his back. Tonight, he had decided, was the night he was going to bring Anita Parsons home with him. She had been evading him all year, playing hard to get, and now he was sure he could charm her back to his bedroom. He could picture her now, easing out of one of her skimpy dresses and revealing the massive breasts he knew she hid behind those cardigans. Flexing the powerful muscles on his back, feeling how they stretched against his shirt, he snapped his fingers together and rounded the corner and walked straight into Peter Morris.

"Jesus," Chris snapped, pushing Peter away from him as the man struggled to keep his balance. "Find someone else to put your hands on. Fucking pillow biter." He muttered the last part half to himself as Peter backed unsteadily into the wall and averted his gaze.

Chris scowled, moving swiftly past him and thinking seriously about going to the bathroom to wash his hands. The fucking creep was always looking at him. He could feel it even when his back was turned, and Chris had told him more than once to stay the fuck away. Management refused to do anything. Always looking out for those freaks more than regular people.

As he headed toward the toilets, he passed an open door and stopped, distracted by the sight of Anita standing in the far corner, a cup in her hand as she spoke with Maria Camden. She was wearing a bright green dress that fell above her knees, and over her shoulders was another one of those cardigans. As she turned to speak, Chris saw the heavy shape of her breasts beneath the material. He felt his dick stiffen slightly, and ran his fingers through his hair again before walking into the room.

On the other side of the room was a table with a variety of drinks and snacks. Chris passed over the bowls of chips, pretzels, miniature sandwiches, cheeses, and fruits, and poured himself a cup of the spiked punch at the end. A sip told him it was weak, and he pursed his lips in annoyance. He looked back at Anita and licked his lips.

"Hey, Chris!"

Mason Teague clapped him on the shoulder and clinked cups with him. Chris nodded. "Hey, Teague."

Mason followed Chris's gaze to the woman in the corner and chuckled. "Looking to finally score tonight?"

"You bet."

With a whistle, Mason shook his head. "How're you going to convince her?"

"She'll be convinced. You can count on that."

"You been pregaming?"

Chris finally took his gaze off Anita and winked at Mason. "What do you think?"

"Well, good luck." Mason slunk off into another room, as Chris made his way toward Anita. He took another sip of the drink and flexed his arms as the liquid warmed his throat and stomach.

Anita began to move with Marie toward the door, seemingly oblivious to him. Chris wove quickly through a number of people and grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Hey, darling, not so fast. Mind if I steal a few words?"

Anita stopped and stared at him, her face a blank slate. He could imagine the ecstasy she would be feeling later that night. He looked at Marie, who had stopped as well and now hovered at Anita's side. "Mind giving us some space, sweetheart? The adults are talking now." Marie was a new hire, fresh out of college and unsure of how to carry herself around the older workers. She looked uncertainly at Anita, who eventually sighed and nodded. After another moment, Marie stepped out of the room and disappeared.

The corner of Chris's mouth curled upward. He took Anita's arm again and pulled her back into the room. "How are you?"

"Fine." Anita did not use many words around him. It pissed him off, because he knew she liked to talk plenty with her female coworkers. He could find her gossiping and giggling with the other women in the break room, and even at their desks when they should have been working. He could excuse it with her because she was so beautiful. Even now, staring into her dark brown eyes and her tan skin, her plump red lips pursed and her eyelashes fluttering, his cock stiffened again in his pants.

"Are you liking the party?"

"Sure."

"Talking with Marie?"

"Yes."

"It's kind of a bore, isn't it?"

Anita paused. "What?"

Chris smiled, brushing his hand against hers. She pulled it away and he felt a rush of anger pass through him. Teasing him again. He shrugged his shoulders and waved his arm around. "I mean, look at it. Standing around with these losers and this shitty music? They don't even have real liquor here, just this shitty punch. How about you come home with me. I've got Guiness, whiskey, maybe even some high shelf gin--"

"No thanks." Anita's voice was bright, and she tried to turn away before Chris grabbed her again.

"Hey, wait. Don't fucking walk away from me." He grabbed her arm and pulled her harder.

"Excuse me?"

Chris rolled his eyes and snapped, "Why the hell don't you want to come back to my place?"

"Oh," Anita said, and almost looked a little sad, "I guess you weren't invited. Maria and I are going back to Peter's place in an hour or so. Unfortunately I'm not free to 'go to your place.'"

Chris couldn't believe what he was hearing. Peter's? What was she, a fucking homo? After all the planning he had done, all the cleaning to make sure his apartment was presentable to her, she was going to ignore him again? "You're going to the fag's house?"

Anita cocked her head and blinked. She looked him up and down, and the corners of her mouth cocked into a smile. Chris sighed in relief. Of course, she was only joking. She wasn't going to leave him in the dust like that, wasn't going to finally give in without a last little fight. He smiled, stepped toward her, and pressed his hand against her breast. He bit his lip as his penis hardened again, pressing against his pants just enough to touch the material. The feeling of her soft, fatty tissue beneath his hand was enough. He spread his fingers and then squeezed them into the skin.

Then Anita's hands were on his shoulders and pushing him away, stronger than he had thought her. It was scarcely enough to move his massive body, but it took him by surprise. His hand dropped away from her and he held his drink away from her hands.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Anita hissed, stepping away from him.

"Are you kidding me?" Chris hissed back, following her.

"Don't fucking touch me."

"You're fucking leading me on."

Anita laughed, breathless. "No, I am not." She continued out of the room and down the hall to a less populated area of the building. Chris followed her. He could feel his cheeks reddening, feel the rage building in his chest. The nerve she had for continuing to lie to him. Anita turned right and whirled around as Chris nearly walked into her.

He took her shoulder and she shook him off. "Don't lie to me. You know you liked it."

"Didn't ask, didn't want. Leave me alone."

"You lying bitch." Chris raised his hand to slap her, but she caught his hand, digging her nails into his skin. He froze in shock for a moment and tried to pull away. She held tight and squeezed tighter, causing him to groan in pain. "What the fuck?"

"You lost your chance," she said, gazing coldly into him. "You should have lost your chance five chances ago tonight. You should have lost it months ago by now. But I was content with letting it go. Harmless, I thought. Just a fool and a creep who keeps his distance most of the time. He doesn't deserve it yet, I thought."

"What?" Chris gasped. He weakly tried to pull away again, but she had done something to him, made him unable to escape her. Her gaze cut through him, filling him with ice, leaving his feet frozen to the floor. The places where her nails dug into his skin burned. As she held him there, fear began to lick at the edges of his mind.

"You're a creep, you're a bigot, you're not afraid to use slurs," she continued, cocking her head again. "And you are ready and waiting to do physical harm, both sexual and aggressive. I'm not sure there's anything left of you to save." The burning in his wrist began to spread up his arm, as if there were tendrils of hot pain wrapping themselves around the inside of his arm. Chris groaned again and the pain increased. He opened his mouth to scream for help.

"Shh," Anita said, and Chris's mouth snapped shut. The pain spread up his elbow and into his shoulder, and then exploded through the rest of his body. It raged like fire into his chest and up his neck, blistering the skin on his face and reducing his penis to charred remains. Chris lost his footing and collapsed, but Anita still held his arm in the air, gripping it with all the strength in the world. Chris's vision wavered, fading in and out of focus as he tried to think of something other than. Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

And...

Arousal?

Drool dripped from his mouth as he lost control of his saliva glands. He hung limply from Anita's grip and whimpered as the pain began to move in the terrible beats of his heart toward his cock. It hurt, but it hardened, standing to attention as he lolled over the ground. He could feel his balls churning, eager for orgasm. His hips rocked once and he screamed silently as the fire ripped through his body again, tightening around every muscle, every organ, every bone inside him. His cock bobbed in front of him, tenting his snug pants. His toes burned, and then tingled, the tension building.

"Cum," Anita said, bored, and Chris cried out as all of the pain rushed into his cock, exiting him as semen burst from him and his body was shrouded in pleasure. His body stiffened, and then went limp, and Anita dropped his arm as his limps shook with tremors and his cock continued to leak cum into his pants.

Chris's eyes fell open, struggling to focus as Anita knelt down beside him and caressed his cheek. Her hand tickled the sensitive skin and his jaw twitched. "Enjoy the changes," she said as she brushed a lock of greased hair out of his eyes. "Try not to make too much of a fool of yourself."

Then she stood up and walked back toward the party, leaving him to fall into an uneasy and shallow nap.

Five minutes later, Chris's eyes shot open and he sat straight up. Groaning as he felt his sensitive penis pressing against his pants, the erection finally fading, he looked around in confusion. Trying to piece together what had just happened, he found himself horrified and scared. Goosebumps rose on his arms, and he looked down at his damp pants. The dark color thankfully hid the stains, but he could smell his musk. It filled his nostrils, and his head grew foggier. Chris shook his head and looked around for his drink. He found it spilled on the ground, and rolled his eyes.

The bitch couldn't even keep his drink intact when she tortured him psychologically. That was what it must have been, he thought. Some kind of fucked up trick to make him think he was in so much pain. And so much pleasure. Maybe she had hypnotized him. He scowled and pushed himself onto unsteady feet. His legs felt like jello, but he managed to keep himself balanced as he looked himself over.

Other than the dampness in his pants, he looked all right. He pushed his hair back into position and pulled his shirt down so the buttons appropriately pulled against his pectoral muscles nearly to bursting. Then, peeking around the corner to make sure no one had noticed something strange hand happened, he walked as casually as possible back toward the room with the drinks. Just one drink. He needed just one drink and then he would leave, leave the party, leave that twisted bitch to her freakish friends. He greeted a few people who had arrived since, pulling his face into a smile, and the more time passed, the more pissed off he became.

How could he have let her do that? She was just a tiny little thing, and he was this hulking beast compared to her. She should have been grateful that he took interest in her. He knew he was a catch, knew he could have had any chick he wanted at the bar with his physique. She didn't respect him, and that made him want her all the more. His dick began to harden again, and he pushed it down and out of his mind as he slipped back into the office.

He downed a cup of punch, feeling the alcohol burning down his throat. It felt stronger than it had before, and he could taste the high quality liquor. Then he poured himself another cup and downed that one as well. As he dropped the cup on the table and turned around, his head spun and his skin prickled with heat. His heavy eyelids pressed against his eyes, and he tripped over his foot and fell backward against the table.

"Whoa, watch it, buddy," came a voice from his left, and Chris saw Mason at his side, pulling him away from the table. "How much of that did you drink?"

Chris shook his head to dismiss Mason, but his eyes caught on the man's amused smile. Something about it fascinated him, and he didn't quite know what it was. He had never noticed what a nice smile Mason had, how perfect and soft his lips were. Chris touched his own as he thought about it, smiling as the sensation sent shivers down his spine. He saw Mason's mouth change as it spoke words, but he didn't hear them. He could only think about how delectable they looked, how firm they were when they formed words. The alcohol sat warm and heavy in his belly, and he leaned forward to kiss those perfect lips.

"Woah, what the fuck?" Mason's voice cut through his stupor, bringing him back to the present. The man in front of him stared with confusion and growing disgust. "What... the fuck were you doing?"

"What?" Chris asked, blinking away the fog around his mind. As he realized he had nearly kissed the man, his eyes widened and he stumbled backwards. His stomach lurched and he held his stomach, sure he was about to be sick.

"Were you about to kiss me?" Mason demanded, now outraged.

Chris shook his head slowly. "No?" The answer came out too much like a question, too unsure of itself. What the fuck was he doing. How could he have just done that? How could he have wanted to do that?

"You fucking drunk," Mason spat, shaking his head and stepping away from him. Chris tried to follow him, desperate to find some excuse to make him see the truth, but the truth was he had almost kissed a man, and he had wanted to do it. His cheeks burned red, and he looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. If they had, they had already looked away.

Chris swallowed and wiped his forehead, finding it damp with sweat. Fumbling for the cups, he clumsily poured himself another cup of punch and drank it. He needed to forget about this, and alcohol was the easiest way to do it. He decided to find a place to sit, to blend in with everyone and to calm down before he left. Stumbling over to an empty chair in the corner of the room, Chris laid his hot cheek against the cool wood, closing his eyes and slowing his breaths.

As he calmed himself, the muscles in his chest and arms puckered and shrank slowly, pulling into themselves. His broad shoulders began to shrink, loosening the tight shirt that stretched around them. Chris sighed in relief, wiggling his ass into the seat and finding a comfortable position. As each of his muscles weakened and thinned, tiny fat deposits formed in his ass. They grew, plumping him and softening the hard lines of muscle. His cock hardened again, and he bit his lip as his hand reached down and began to press at it from over his pants.

The sound of laughter arose him somewhat from his rest, and as he opened his eyes he pulled his hand away from his crotch. Gasping as he felt the pleasure in his core, and glancing around to see if anyone had seen him, his cheeks flushed again. He couldn't believe he had been so close to masturbating in public. Maybe Mason was right. Maybe he had had too much to drink. He shook his head and rubbed his face.

The short, rough hairs of his beard fell off as he rubbed and scratched, leaving smooth, soft skin behind. His cheekbones softened and his jawline smoothed as the skin became round and plump. He looked more boyish than before, youthful and innocent and pleasant. His ass swelled again, and the fat spread down his legs to grow in his thighs. They thickened, pushing against his already tight pants, and added pressure against his half-hard cock. Chris whimpered softly, kneading his palms on the table and trying not to touch himself.

The muscles in his chest shrank to almost nothing, leaving his shirt baggy and his shoulders narrowed. His heavy chest hair blew from off his skin like dust at every touch, until his chest was smooth. Chris arched his back as a single bone unfused in his tailbone and pressed against the skin in the small of his back. He rubbed his hands across his chest, shivering each time he passed over his hardened nipples. As he massaged the soft, pudgy skin over his chest, one hand crept lower, rubbing over his smooth stomach before pressing once more against his crotch.

His cock hardened, wet with warm precum, and Chris's nostrils flared as he smelled himself. He pushed and massaged his cock over the tight material, groaning as he wanted for more. Then he unbuttoned his pants and pushed his hand down past his underwear and gripped his penis in the cramped space.

He whimpered, squeezing his nipple over his shirt as he rubbed his thumb over the tip of his sensitive cock. The bones of his pelvis grew, widening his hips against a tight waistband to match his fat ass. The seams of his pants stretched, nearly to breaking point, and creaked with each movement. A single honeyed brown hair pierced through the skin over his tailbone, long and soft.

Chris wrapped his hand around his cock and began to move back and forth on it. His hand was slick with precum and his legs quivered with the sensation. "Mmm," he moaned, his deep baritone voice catching before it slid upwards to a slightly higher register. He pictured himself fucking someone, first Anita, and then the image changed. Her hair shortened, her breasts shrank, and suddenly he was smaller than her and she was fucking him with a penis twice as large as his. His mouth fell open as the image changed, and drool dripped from his lips onto the table as he masturbated.

The roots of his greasy hair darkened slightly, turning gold before they darkened further to a beautiful honeyed brown. The hue spread up the shafts of hair, absorbing the grease, until his head was covered in soft, brown hair. A second hair sprouted on the small of his back and a bone pushed further out. The tips of his ears, barely perceptibly, began to sharpen and lengthen.

"Hey, look at Chris," came a distant voice, and Chris turned blindly toward the sound.

"Is he jacking off?"

"That's fucked!"

Chris opened his eyes fully, the once blue irises now a chocolate brown, and the realization of his situation hit him like a truck. His eyes widened and a panicked, strangled sound came from his throat. His head spun as he pulled his hand from his pants and tried to stand up. He needed to leave, he needed to get out of here. What he was doing?!

His legs twisted around themselves as he rushed out of his seat, and he tripped. His body careened to the side, falling toward the ground, and as he landed with his fat ass in the air, he heard the ripping sound of his pants tearing at his hips. The waistline was pulled halfway down his ass, freeing his oversized shirt and revealing a crack surrounded by plump, white skin.

Laughter. He heard laughter. He tried to push himself up on his arms, but his weakness surprised him. He lost control and his chest collapsed against the ground again. As his legs tensed to push himself up, they spread open and his pants tore down the crotch. His erect cock was suddenly free, poking up over his underwear and hanging beneath him, his testicles nestled between fat thighs. The sensation sent an uncontrollable tremor through him, and he bucked his hips.

"Mmehh!" He bleated, the sound beyond his control as it pushed itself out of him in a high, frantic voice. The sound came again, somewhere between a bleat and a moan, and he bucked his hips again as he came, spurting cum across his stomach and soaking his shirt. A thick line of soft, golden brown fur burst forth from along his backbone, and his nose grew bulbous as his jaw pushed forward. He sneezed as his nose and mouth moved together, a short, rounded muzzle beginning to form, and he came again.

"Ahh--mmh--mmehhh!" He whimpered and rocked his hips back and forth. The bones in his tailbone curled and lengthened, pressing painfully against his skin, and Chris whimpered again. His eyelids fluttered as his relaxing body opened up access to his brain again. He--he had just... cum." He shuddered, and then his eyes snapped open.

Struggling against his tight, ripped slacks, which held his legs together at the knee, he pushed himself up ass first, and managed to pull himself onto two feet with the table beside him. His hands shot to his junk, covering his warm, still erect penis. The liquid heat of shame flooded through him, making his eyes tear up and his cock pulse beneath his hand. Chris hugged one arm around his abdomen and whimpered, shivering as he felt the skin of his arm press against soft, wet hair on his belly. Everyone could see how damp he was! His soft, cream-colored hair, ruffled and sticky with his cum... oh, it was so humiliating! Chris's cheeks burned a deep pink as he panted and began to hobble toward the door.

Each time his heavy thighs pressed against his sensitive cock, he spurted out a stream of precum, and his penis began to shrink. First ever so slowly, then quicker, his massive, heavy cock shrank beneath the cupped hands that tried to hide it. Chris moaned at the feeling of his foreskin sliding wetly along his stomach, his legs quivering, barely strong enough to keep him standing. He managed one more step, his knees still locked together, his thighs still pressing against his balls, but his cock jerked and sputtered as a thin, red tip emerged out of it. It was wet, and shone in the fluorescent lights, flaring wider as it protruded further and pointed upward. Chris drooled as the sheath beneath his red tip thickened, and a thick covering of white hair grew over his sheath and balls. The skin above his scrotum shifted, and his cock slowly dragged upward until it pressed against his furry belly. His body gave a great shudder, and though he whined and begged, his mouth fell slack as his cock jerked again. His large testicles roiled, and he sagged to his knees as his back arched and he came again, painting his chest with his semen.

Chris's head lolled on his neck, his long tongue hanging out of his short muzzle. With his eyes crossed, his vision was blurry and wreathed with stars, and he blushed as he looked at the round shapes moving before him. As the tingling in his body faded, leaving his muscles warm and weak, he tried to remember what exactly had led him to feeling so good. His legs were splayed beneath him, his ridiculous pants ripped to shreds. After all, what was he thinking wearing something like that to a party? He would have been much more comfortable in a skirt... wait, a skirt? That wasn't...

Chris bleated in realization and covered his face with his hands as he saw his coworkers staring intently at him. He jumped to his feet, leaving behind the remains of his pants and underwear, and covered his penis with one hand. As he leapt toward the door, his body blindly careened into another figure, one who grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

Looking up, Chris saw the wide eyes of Mason Teague, and smelled the humid heat of his cock.

"Chris?"

Chris nodded, nearly collapsing with relief into Mason's arms. Of course Mason could help him out of whatever this was. Mason was so smart, about to be promoted kind of smart. He would definitely know how to help Chris with... with... what did he need help with? He looked down at himself, held up almost completely by Mason's strong arms, and rubbed a hand along his narrow chest. God, he couldn't even remember! Chris giggled and leaned forward, letting his body fall against Mason's leg. His crotch was so hot, right? And he needed help... Chris began grinding slowly against Mason's leg, his red cock pressed between his stomach and the wool trousers... he needed help with...

"Will you...?" he asked slowly, unsure of himself, his alto voice shaking slightly. He looked up into Mast--Mason Teague's stormy blue eyes, before his gaze slid down to the smirk on his face.

"Will I, what?"

It sent the burning, concentrated heat straight to the cum churning in his balls. "Fuck me!" he breathed, and exhaled a deep moan, before he jerked his head away and stopped grinding. "I mean--no! I didn't mean that! Fuck, Teague, something's... mmmh... something's wrong. That bitch Anita--need a--s-she did something to m-mme."

"What, made you a breedable little slut?"

"Ahhh?!" Chris whimpered as Mason slapped his ass and his penis dripped more precum. He hung limply in Mason's arms now, confused and foggy-headed. "No? That's not... right." He shook his head slowly and blinked his eyes. He was... a man. But of course he was a man. Peering down at himself again, he saw his flat, soft chest and his furry sheath, giving his balls a quick affirmative rub. But maybe he should have been more... muscular? Yeah. His cock should be bigger? Mmmnn, yeah, he could use a bigger cock. "I'm supposed to be big," he murmured, his words slurring together as he tried to imagine himself tall and muscular. He looked pleadingly at Mason. "I'm big and strong."

Mason smiled and grabbed Chris around his sensitive ribcage. "Are you? Big and strong?"

Chris gasped, sinking into Mason's touch as his hands pushed against the short, brown fur that spread up his sides. His heart jumped in his chest. He tried to pull himself away from Mason's grip, but the strong, towering man held him fast. "Yes!" he squeaked, trying to meet Mason's gaze. "Mm--I'm tall!"

"You look like a delicate little girl to me," Mason sneered, and Chris squirmed when his dick pulsed pleasurably. "I could eat you right up."

"Nnnooo," Chris moaned as Mason pulled him forward and began grinding against his belly. The sensation of his massive cock hiding beneath his pants sent shockwaves to his own penis, its red tip peeking out from his thick white sheath. He had to stop this, he had to get away--why? Why did he have to--he looked up at Mason's angled face and saw the man was laughing.

Chris squealed and tore himself away from Mason's half-hard cock, lurching toward the door again.

Why the hell had he let that happen? Why the fuck did Teague do that?! Why hadn't he resisted, why... why had he... why had he liked it? "Ohhhh, fuck," he groaned, shying away from faceless bodies, faceless laughing bodies. Something was very wrong, and once he figured out what it was, that witch was going to get it. He would make her pay, make her turn him back into... into himself.

As he ran, he heard a commotion behind him, before a gravelly, recognizable voice called out, "Hey, sissy! Don't you want me to rub your freakish little cock? Don't you want me to fuck your puffy, black asshole?"

With a cry, Chris tripped and staggered forward in leaping steps toward the door. His limbs quivered perilously. He was running, and he didn't even know what from. The tips of his ears stretched upward until they were too heavy, and the weight pushed his ears away from his head at an angle. He flicked one as his brown curls tickled the inside, and his wide nose twitched. His ass shook as he loped toward the employee exit, his face burning and his ears swiftly covered with fluffy hair, tipped in the darkest brown.

He turned the handle frantically, not noticing that his fingers were sticking close to each other in, rather like the Star Trek pose, as if the bones had fused somewhere in his knuckles. Pretty brown hairs sprouted from his knuckles as he pushed the door open, and marched up to his short fingernails.

"Ah--mmmhh!" he bleated when he splashed through a deep puddle that had formed in a sudden rain. He tripped again and landed on his knees with his ass in the air. The dirty water splashed against his face and stained the white shirt that hung loosely over his tiny body.

That was it! He should have been massive! His shirt! Why was it so small? Anita? Did she... she did! That cunt! Chris swore under his breath and pushed himself back to his feet, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes and snorting angrily. His large nostrils flared, his skin turning a dark, velvety brown that was much more sensitive to the air, and Chris's nose twitched again as his face pushed forward again, pulling his molars apart on his jaw. Chris snapped his jaws, annoyed, and pressed his thick tongue against his flat teeth.

God, he felt so--strange. He needed to get to Anita... and she must have already gone with that faggot to his house! He made a deep, disgruntled noise in his throat and stamped his foot. Luckily, he knew where the fairy lived, had driven to his house when he was first hired to make sure the freak wasn't too close to him. He would have moved if he had been within a mile. Moved... closer? T-to watch him better? To be able to see him after work, and suck--and make--make sure he wasn't getting up to trouble. To punish him if he was a bad boy? To tie him up and give... give him the key? Let him... mmehhhh... use me? No, no of course not! Um, to let him... fuck--let him fill me till I'm bursting? Mm-ahhh!

Chris shook his head and pawed at the ground, rubbing his hand roughly against his erect cock. He whimpered and cowered as two points of pressure seemed to drive themselves against the top of his skull. Fuck, he was so horny! How was he--so--?

"Meh-aiii?!" Chris mewed as he fell to all fours, his fingers landing in three points on the pavement. He arched his back and whimpered as small, velvet-sheathed antlers burst forth from the top of his head, pushing aside his hair. They split, the longer fork curving forward and up. His soft, babylike antlers were small and fuzzy, and incredibly sensitive.

He shook his head again and collapsed clumsily onto his plump ass, feeling a strange weight disturbance on his head. He reached up and froze when his fingers brushed the velvety growth. The slightest touch sent electric bolts to his cock, and he began to rock his hips. Slowly, he gripped the soft, round antler; his body shuddered, and then he pulled it, letting his head drag along behind with a drunken thrill. It felt so good, felt so... wrong? Felt like antlers were--wrong, right? He didn't have antlers?

*Idiot, you can feel them. Obviously you have antlers. *

Yes, but that's--not good?

*Not good? Don't they feel good?*

Um, yes... b-but that's not the point! I don't have antlers!

*I'm pulling on your antlers.*

Ah--stop! I need to go see Peter!

*Oh... Peter. Mmmnngh... You know what I mean?*

Ohh... I mean no! Eugh! I'm not gay!

*'I'm not gayyyyy!' Don't you remember Mason's cock?*

Mason?

*Twitching beneath his pants... that tent all the way down his leg. God, he really could have given you a good time. But you ran away. Think about how it would have filled your throat...*

No! Stop! I need to stop the changes!

*Of course you need to stop the changes. Which changes?*

Which changes? Well--

Chris looked down at himself where he sat splayed on the pavement. Behind him, his toes had melded into two parts and his dark brown nails grew thick over the tips. Which changes? That was an easy question! It was just his... bigness? He should be big? Chris stared at his hips, his pelvis far wider than his tiny shoulders now, and he touched his fuzzy brown thigh with a thick, heavy-nailed finger. But... his legs were big. He wouldn't want them any wider, would he? Chris furrowed his eyebrows and thrust his hips forward as he turned his head to look at his ass. Biting his lip, he rubbed his fingers through the soft hair on his fatty, round ass and pulled roughly on the tiny, fluffy tail erupting from his tailbone. God, he was already so big. But... he supposed he might like it bigger as well.

Chris grit his teeth and nodded, pushing himself up once more, determined to reach Peter's house. That... hussy Anita would really get it. He just couldn't wait to see her face when he pounded her into the dirt like she deserved. He stumbled along clumsily, walking blindly in the direction where he knew Peter's house to be. That b-bully! He would show her, he would pound her until she screamed, and then she would give him back his big curves, his round, pert ass and his luscious, delectable thighs. Chris drooled and shook his ass in excitement. She would give him his perfect curves, and then he would pound her again, this time with his big, thick thighs... squeezing her head... grind--grinding against her face. Grinding against Peter's--

Peter's what? Fuck, Peter's house! Chris shook his head and tried to clear away the fog in it. How could he have forgotten? It seemed to keep drifting away from him. Every time he tried to focus, to clear the glitter from his eyes and see the night sky, he seemed to get distracted by one thing or another. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the long, dark lashes rolling against the skin. As he searched for the nearest street sign, he realized he was still walking the correct way. Peter only lived four blocks from the office. He remembered the residential area seemed to appear out of nowhere. One moment he was driving along in a corporate parkway and the next he turned past a high-rise and he faced a quiet suburban street in the shadow of the business park.

Peter's house was the... first one on the right, that's right. An arts and crafts bungalow in vivid red with a subdued pine green around the windowpanes. Green shutters as well, he had noticed that when he drove past the first time, scanning the neighborhood until he saw Peter was locked up in his house by 6 pm.

Chris remembered parking across the street and looking into the wide bright window that opened into the dining room, watching as Peter ate his supper and washed his dishes, watching as he opened his laptop and masturbated to porn hidden from view. He hadn't--had remembered unzipping his jeans and gripping his own long cock, rubbing it slowly and rocking his hips into the leather seat, pumping to Peter's rhythm as he stared at the man's body in the window. He--he wanted to suck his cock, gripping his athletic thighs as he milked Peter's dick and letting every drop of his cum land warm and filling in his stomach.

Wait--what? Chris reared his head backward and stumbled up the stairs to Peter's front porch, all four of his pseudo hooves clip-clopping on the wood planks. He hadn't... whatever it was, he definitely hadn't done it. It's not like he was gay or anything. Yuck. He had had those thoughts, of course. But that was normal. Everyone had them. Sure he usually masturbated while thinking about men, but it was just one man, and that didn't make him gay. Sure he got hard every time he thought about the perfect cock hiding in Peter's pants, and he drooled incessantly at the smallest glimpse of his member pressing weakly against his khaki trousers. God, it was so fucking selfish of Peter to invite those two females over when he knew Chris wanted to fuck him. Just one fucking time and then he would know that he wasn't gay, even if he came.

"Peter!" Chris gasped, rapping on the door with two knuckles as his thick fingernails grew over the tips of his large, melded fingers. "Peter, I knowww--mmmnhh--I know you're in there! Open the door!" He would show them. He could get fucked by a fag and beg for his semen, and it wouldn't even make him gay. He giggled and pounded on the door again, resisting the urge to grind his cock against the doorknob.

When the door swung open, Chris turned his sweet eyes upward, but he was shocked to see a different figure standing over him in the doorway.

As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he blinked slowly and squinted up at--Anita. His round muzzle twisted into a pouty snarl. "You! You're the one wh--whooo...? You..." He began to pout as he cowered beneath Anita's bored gaze. Confused, he looked to her with a questioning gaze, but she did not answer, or perhaps she had nothing to say. Chris thought really hard, so hard that his face scrunched up around his delicate black nose. He... needed something. "I'm big?" He asked, hoping he had the correct answer. "You make me big?"

"You want me to make you bigger?" Anita asked, and Chris realized he had forgotten how beautiful her voice was. She was like a siren. He giggled. It sirens were real, he thought, then Anita definitely would have been one. He reached up toward her with open arms, and she took him in a warm embrace.

"Bigger," he agreed, breathing gently into her soft, feathery shoulder. Then he sat straight up, cleared his throat, and pushed himself away from her. She held him in her lap, much to his... annoyance. She still had the nerve, even after he asked nicely. He kicked meekly in her grip and tried to let her know how bothersome she was. She needed to know who was boss! Angrily, he stamped his hoof and ordered, "Now!"

Anita smiled, and scratched Chris beneath the chin. "Aren't you cute, baby?"

"No," Chris gagged. The idea was so gross. He wasn't cute! He was manly, right? Absolutely no one could look at a five foot tall m-boy with a wide black nose and a round little muzzle and think that was cute! That was the peak masculine form! He remembered all those TikToks--wide hips, dainty hooves, remember to brush the underside of your tail so you don't get matted! Antler oils, hydration creams, narrow shoulders: narrow mind (XD), shiny keratin is healthy keratin! How to keep your thighs thicc and your waist slicc. Femboys who are all furry are the cutest. How to reverse your genes and grow your own teats. A good femboy is a sweet and docile femboy. No--a... strong femboy? No, wait--femboy? What the fuck does that--?

He shivered as Anita dragged her fingers through his soft hair and clicked her tongue. "Oh, Chris, baby. I know it's hard, but I can help you. Do you want me to help you?"

"I..." Chris began, preening beneath Anita's hand. He knew he shouldn't, but she had said she would help. That meant she knew, right? Knew what needed to be changed. Chris's heart froze with anticipation, with hope. This was all he needed to go home. "Do you know what I... um... need?"

"Of course, sweetheart. I never go anywhere without it."

"Without... it?" Chris frowned, confused. That didn't sound right. Anita reached into her purse and pulled out a long purple tube. Then she reached down and pressed it over his erection. Chris bleated as his long red tip slid past delicate silicone lips and into a wet, sucking mouth. His hips jerked wildly and he grabbed at her flowing skirt, but she eventually had to drag him inside over the doorway, leaving him gasping in the entryway. He needed--he needed--he needed to teach that meanie a lesson!

"You're so m-mmmmm-mean!" he whined, groping wildly for the toy attached to his dick while she pushed his hands away.

"I'm only giving you what you asked for. How can that make me mean, baby?"

"I don't know," he whimpered. "You promised!"

"I never promise, sweetheart. You never want to get backed into something, do you?"

"I don't know..." Chris muttered tiredly. He had shut his eyes, exhausted with the endless debate. It was easier to just give in, right? His breath caught as his cock swelled within the narrow toy. It did feel nice, sliding wetly against his hard member as he twisted inside. His hairy testicles no longer hung loose on his body, attached below his upturned sheath and bulging out from under the skin as they filled with hot cum again.

He squirmed on his back as his hair grew thicker near the base of his neck. He shifted his shoulders and scratched out an itch. His neck felt thicker with hair than usual, and he giggled as he imagined himself like a lion shaking its mane. It was a little tiny mane, of course, like those adolescent males before they leave the pride. He was just a little deer; naturally, he didn't have much of a mane at all! Chris preened under the humor of it all. Imagine him, a doe-eyed little femboy, transformed into a young lion about to set off on his own. So strong and independent, God, that really was nothing like him! He wiggled his butt and snuffled amusedly.

"Rawr!" he growled fiercely, or as fiercely as any lion cub could manage. Then he sighed and looked about him, surprised to find himself alone. He looked down at his body and saw his dick was free of the toy. He was... normal. He thought. At least, there wasn't anything he could see that was wrong, but it was more of a feeling of wrongness than anything concrete. Maybe that was why he left the thinking to everyone else.

Stop putting yourself down! You're not that dumb! Chris took deep breaths and turned over onto his belly. "Ouch!" he gasped, and sat up quickly as something sharp caught on his skin. He curled over and looked at his belly. On the last hairless part of his body, right above his cock at the base of his tummy, two little spots raised up from the soft, velvety skin. He shivered as he touched the sensitive skin, and held his breath as he dragged his long, thick fingernail over one of the raised spots.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and moaned wildly into his palm. Below his fingers, his pink skin bubbled with new fat deposits, swelling gently beneath both n-nipples.

"They're my..." he struggled to say it, feeling almost as though it was wrong. But they were there, weren't they. That made them his. His. Chris moaned. "Mmmmyy..." He hiccuped once and giggled, his brain tingling with sensation. "My teats! Ahhh!"

Teats? No, no no no no, this was wrong. This was very wrong. Chris pulled his hand away from his crotch, his sheathed cock and his little... teats! Fuck! Oh God, he was a human! Humans didn't have teats, and men definitely didn't! He groaned as he pulled his heavy hindquarters up and stood, knees sagging against each other as his delicate hooves splayed out beneath him. He scowled, rubbing his legs together and pursing his lips when he felt the pressure against his sheathed cock. At least he wasn't hard right now. Chris looked left and right, unsure which way to go. He leaned forward as he walked into the empty dining room, trying to account for the size of his hips and the curve of his back. It probably would have been easier to walk on all fours, but Chris was stubborn. He needed to stay focused. All he needed to do was sneak up on Anita from behind and--and beg her majesty to let him... let him be big again! Yes! Big and curvy!

With his back up against a column, he rubbed his sheath and massaged his trembling dick. He was going to be so, so manly! All the women were going to love him once he got his curves back. No wonder he had lost all his confidence. Nerves leave with more curves, as he always said! He was really going to get it from Anita!

"Whoa, watch it--wait, what the fuck? C... Chris?"

Chris blinked up at the new voice, the new body that had collided with him around the corner. He--he knew that voice. That sweet, musical voice! "Peter!" he sang as his muzzle opened in a delighted expression.

"What happened to you?"

Chris blinked. He cocked his head and shuffled his hooves against the floorboards. He pursed his thick brown lips and sucked his teeth. "What do you mean? Is there something wrong with me?" He hung his head in front of Peter and sniffled. He had wanted to please Peter! Now he had ruined everything, and Peter was going to think he was some kind of freak! He had to prove that he wasn't! Why did everything always go wrong?

"Do you hate me?"

"What? Of course not! Chris, of course not! It's just that you look... well, different."

"What do you mean different?"

"Well," Peter began, his worried brows pushing even further together. Chris hated to see him so worried, and he wanted to make it better. But he also wanted to know how different he looked. He wanted to know how far he had come already, so he watched Peter intently.

Peter shrugged, "Um, I guess maybe you've got breasts down there. That's kind of... different."

"Teatssss," Chris moaned into Peter's chest. He reached down with both hands to massage the perky bags of fat, nearly grapefruit sized and oblong. His sensitive nipples doubled in length, already s-soooo thick. They grew in his hands, blocking his balls from view and pulsing with a heat of their own. Then he gripped them in all six of his hooved fingers and squeezed. Chris bucked his hips blindly and gasped as his cock slithered forward out of his sheath and pressed between his swollen teats. "Mmeh--fuck!" he hissed.

Ohhhkay, teats," Peter laughed, and Chris's skin rose in tiny pimples at the sound. "That's still... are you sure you're okay?"

"Peter," he whined. "I'm here to... mmmm... I'm here to have you fuck me."

"What?"

"To prove that I'm not gay," Chris whimpered, absently grinding his crotch against Peter's thigh. "Peter! Let's get going!" It was taking forever for him to start, and he was getting impatient. He should have been done with this hours ago. Instead, he was still here, practically begging a gay man to have sex with his tiny, furry femboy body. Why was it so hard? Why did it have to be so difficult to prove that he was a manly man with absolutely no gay thoughts? That's why he had come all the way here, after all, to prove to everyone that he didn't like getting fucked in the ass against a wall, his red cock grinding roughly against the brick as his teats dripped thick, warm milk? That was not something he wanted to do. Even if he was forced to, and even if the rough brick made his balls tremble, or the cock in his ass pressed hard against his prostate, or the warm, whispered breath on the back of his neck made him cum prematurely; that didn't mean he liked getting creampied or sucking dicks.

"The sooner we do it, the sooner it's over!" Chris urged Peter, nuzzling firmly against his crotch until the man pulled down his sweatpants.

"I suppose," Peter began, his voice catching, but he didn't need to finish his thought before Chris smelled his erection, felt the heat radiating from his crotch, and shoved his muzzle into his spandex boxers to huff his scent. He moaned into Peter's junk, licked at his growing erection through the material. Peter reached down to grab the waistband of his boxers, but Chris yanked them down suddenly, pulling them roughly over the man's large erection.

He shoved the man's penis into his longer mouth, excited to be able to take more of him. His ears fluttered at the sides of his head as thick saliva dripped from the edges of his lips. His eyes slid closed as he began to suck on the thick penis in his mouth. His flat teeth slid harmlessly against the veined skin, and he gasped as the tip pressed slowly against the back of his throat.

This was--unnecessary, wasn't it? He only needed to have it in his ass, he didn't need to... but, well... maybe it needed to be wet first. That does make sense. Chris shoved the cock back down his throat and gagged around it, though he didn't stop sucking. He coughed and whimpered whenever he had fresh air, but he knew that he couldn't--stop. He couldn't stop until he... until h-he... was satisfied.

Who?

Chris grabbed the shaft of Peter's cock and pulled his head backward, trying to think. Who needed to be satisfied? Shouldn't it be... both of them? Just... just him? He needed to please him. Please. "Mmm--please?" he managed to moan, and attempted to guide Peter's cock toward his thick black asshole, the plump, wet skin hiding beneath his adorable little tail. He just wanted Peter to grab him with his powerful arms and use him like a cocksleeve. He wouldn't cum, even if Peter came thick ropy strands into his ass until he was full, and that would mean he wasn't gay. That was his only job. And even if he did cum, it didn't really mean he was gay. Chris nodded to himself as Peter slowly lowered him over his cock, until his tip massaged the flesh at the edge of his asshole. It was so easy to prove you weren't gay! He didn't know why he had ever been worried! Even if the idea of orgasming until his mind broke, ejaculating until his cock shrank into a worthless little worm and his balls shrank to tiny raisins; even if the idea of his entire body orgasming forever until he forgot who he was made him feel excited, and made his cock get all red and hard. That didn't mean he, you know, liked boys or anything. Ewww! Gross!

With a musical, flowery laugh, Chris lowered himself onto Peter's big, thick cock and bleated when it finally entered him. He was so lucky that he didn't like boys. They were so, like, hard to understand, you know? Sure, he liked the feeling of his asshole being stretched open as his virginity was taken, but that was so different from actually liking the big, strong man who had the cock. Cocks rule, boys drool! He laughed again and flexed his hips forward on Peter's cock.

"Mmehhh!" he bleated, and covered his mouth shyly. Peter laughed and pushed his cock a little bit further into his ass. Chris moaned again and snorted happily. He could do this forever. Getting fucked day after day after... what? "Getting... no, getting rid of... aahhhnn... fuck, help--fuck me? Peter fuck me, please? Please, oh God, Peter, I need you to--mmeeh--fill me! Do it! Fuck me, Peter!"

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Chris opened his eyes and remembered squealing in delight as he sat up in a large, soft bed. He remembered the warm feeling of thick semen filling him, the sensation of his long, sensitive nipples spasming as his teats leaked milk. He remembered covering his and Peter's chests with his own seed, nuzzling Peter beneath the chin and nibbling on the sensitive skin at his throat.

He groaned and stretched his stiff muscles, wishing he had put even a little energy into working out his upper body. He scratched his fuzzy stomach absentmindedly and wondered how it was that he always ended up doing the same lower body exercises that made his hips and his thighs look so round. They were the easiest, sure, and they kept him in shape, but shouldn't he have been trying keep his ass small? No... no, that sounded dumb. Everyone wanted a plump, perky ass like his; he just happened to be really good at building that essential fat. Chris pushed himself up onto his knees, pointing his ass in the air as he stretched again. Then he clambered unsteadily to his feet, his balance off-kilter as he teetered between his jiggly ass and his shiny, new hooves.

It wasn't fair that he had to be so unsteady. He would have been able to walk just fine if he had a smaller ass. It's not like he was fat or anything! It's just that he... he had a big, furry ass and thick, delicious thighs. Had he... had he thought that before? His thighs were delicious though, like biting into a creme-filled donut, the filling spurting out onto your lips in white blotches. A custard donut would drip slowly down his arm as he rocked his hips and slowly sucked the off-white liquid into his mouth. The donut would be perfectly cooked, he thought, smelling faintly of the oil it was fried in, perfectly white and fluffy when he shoved bites of it into his cheeks ravenously.

Chris wiggled his butt, crushing his scrotum between his thighs and squeezing as heat flooded up from his toes. It was such a good feeling, he did it again. "Mmm--ahh!" he bleated, giggling when the tip of his tapered red cock peeked out from his sheath. He prodded it with a finger, and then rubbed his eyes with the large knuckle of his index finger. He only had three flat fingers now on each hand, tipped with thick keratin that... would have looked better if he stood on four legs? His tongue crept out of his mouth, curling upward as his muzzle opened and he yawned widely. But he wasn't supposed to stand on four legs... he was bi... bi... bipedal?

"Bipedal," he murmured, echoing the word in his head.

"Chris?" a quiet voice asked, and Chris spun around to find Peter curled up in the corner of his room, nestled under a crocheted blanket in the low, warm light.

"Hi, Peter!" he laughed delightedly, feeling his legs already go soft like jell-o. It struck him as strange that Peter was here in the chair and not... in bed with him. He... didn't want to? Even though he wasn't gay, the thought sent a pang of hurt through him. But he didn't want to sleep alone!

M-maybe he wouldn't mention it. Chris batted his long eyelashes at the man and wiggled his ass without even thinking. He didn't want to scare Peter away.

"Chris, are you..." Peter trailed off, his handsome face tense and worried as he struggled for words. "Do you feel all right?"

"What do you mean? I feel... I feel great!"

"No, I mean... um... your body. Do you... notice anything different?"

The cold ice of uncertainty began to crawl up his spine. Was there something wrong with him? Did he disgust Peter somehow? He looked down at himself, his slender, furry chest as it widened to his shapely hips and thighs, his round, pert ass and his fluffy tail just visible when he twisted. He squeezed his teat nervously, feeling how perfect and soft and sensitive the skin was, and shivered as his cock moved within his sheath. His thin, fragile legs below the knee as he balanced on his hooves and splayed his legs clumsily. Was he missing something? Was there something he had forgotten? Chris pursed his lips, his flat, dark nose flaring, and tried hard to think of something else.

He... he was a perfect specimen. Ready to be u-used and abused. He had been made perfectly to fit into Peter's strong, warm arms; so why did he feel like there was something wrong?

"I can't remember," he admitted guiltily, hanging his head. "Something is... different. But I don't know what. Can you help me?" In front of him, Peter bit his lip and laughed resignedly. His dark eyelashes framed his vivid blue eyes, and he smiled at Chris as if he had no idea what do do next.

"Yeah, I don't know what to say, man," he began, and you listened intently to his words. He spoke slowly at first, choosing his words carefully, but he began to speed up as more and more rushed out of him. "You... you're different. You don't seem to realize how different. I mean, there's nothing... wrong with you persay--don't cry--but, um, your body..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Chris didn't know why he was so upset.

"Peter, what's the matter with me?" he whimpered, holding his arms out and crawling into the man's lap beneath the blanket. "I'm a freak, aren't I? And I can't even remember."

"No, no! Nothing like that! You're--beautiful. But maybe you're a little less... Do you remember last night?"

"The party?" he asked, and nodded slowly as Peter gently wrapped his unsure arms around Chris's curled up body. Last night he was... what? He was a little less what? He was... he was... covered in hair? That wasn't right! Chris jerked away from Peter's comforting body and tried to pull away. This was really, really wrong. He felt sick inside his body, shaking his head wildly as he began to rock in his seat. His ears, his antlers?! His tail?! He was some kind of fucking sissy deer person! He had--! He had f-fucked a man?!

"What... the fuck!" he struggled through his restricted throat, pulling away from Peter as the man tried to hold him still.

"Wait! Chris, hold on, it's okay!"

"What the fuck did you to to me?" Chris groaned, holding his strange, three-hooved hands over his sheath and balls as his knees shook and he cowered away. "Why am I--a freak?!" He wiped his big doe eyes with the back of one hand as tears began to roll down them, and his face grew fevered with humiliation. Peter had seen all of him like this, all girly and covered in far too much hair. His thick, long tongue felt strange in his long, flat-toothed mouth; he covered his face as he whimpered, and snot dripped from his mouth as he burst into tears.

As he became more hysterical and inconsolable, his mouth overflowed with spit and his tongue swelled again, pushing the tip of his tongue out over his lower lip, and a line of drool hung from his chin. His hindquarters swelled just enough to make his ass stick out further, and he shifted forward on the tips of his hooves. It was... so hard to stand up straight with his body so mutated. He was such a mess!

"Wait, Chris, I swear I didn't do anything to you." Peter stood, letting the blanket fall as he took several strides across the bedroom to gently grasp Chris's narrow shoulders. His fingers nestled into the soft brown hair that covered his slight body. His thumbs rubbed circles into Chris's delicate collarbone, and Chris had to hold himself back from leaning into the comforting presence. Peter must have been nearly an entire foot taller than Chris now, and... more muscular than he remembered. He continued, his voice warm and soothing as he tried to find his words, "You're not--you're not a freak, okay? Don't say that. You just... had an allergic reaction or something?"

Chris wiped his raw eyes and stared at the man who held him. "Yeah, sure. Just had some peanuts and my body contorted into this," he laughed cynically, jabbing Peter lightly in the side. "Your--your..." *Your faggot ass would just love me to stay this way, wouldn't it?* He tried to say it, but the words seemed to get caught in his throat. Clearing his throat, and wiping his tears away in an attempt to make himself look presentable--he couldn't cry in front of a coworker he barely knew, even if they had...

Well, how could he resist a body like this? He was so petite now. His cock was hidden away like a cute little surprise and he had teats like some kind of female! Even now he could feel them hanging plump in the nest of his hips like his new set of balls, the soft pink skin rubbing gently against his velvety fur, slightly oblong to match his thick nipples. Chris bit his lip and whimpered, already feeling himself growing hard. He was weak to the sensation, even though he knew he should be mad. Of course Peter had something to do with this, right? He was the type to go around taking advantage of does like--men like him, wasn't he? Chris glared at Peter with as much malice as his tired body could muster. "You're to blame," he mumbled, stumbling backwards onto the bed and pulling his legs up in front of him. "You did it with them, didn't you?"

"Who?"

"Anita. And her little bitch of a sidekick Maria." Vaguely, he thought he remembered seeing Anita at some point, being so, so much lower than her. Feeling... beneath her. Embers lit in his core, fanned gently by his anger until it turned into something very different... He stamped it down, whatever it was, and shook his head to get rid of the fog.

As Peter drew closer, and sat tentatively on the bed, Chris squeezed his fists together as his thumb, already significantly thinner than his other two "fingers", pulled upward towards his wrist and shrank into a tiny protrusion reminiscent of a thick-nailed dewclaw. Each time he touched it, he felt a resounding ring throughout his body, and as he sat curled in bed, his shoulder bones shifted slightly to make it easier to walk on his hind legs. There was almost no reason for him not to be walking on his four clumsy legs now instead of two, except for the concern regarding his humanity.

"You know, Mason tried to do terrible things to me," he said, shivering as he began to remember the night before. Maybe he had been too drunk, just like Chris had been too drunk; he had liked it, after all. If nothing else that meant he had been under the influence. "But I... I liked it."

"What do you mean?" Chris finally raised his eyes to look into Peter's worried face. He shrugged, but this did nothing to alleviate the expression. "You know, I'm starting to think I've done terrible things to you. I don't even know if you were--"

Chris held up his hand and refused to allow him to go further. "I liked them," he said earnestly. "They weren't terrible."

"But Mason--"

"Did something terrible. But not you." Chris nuzzled his nose in between his knees and smiled shyly, stretching his hand out in case Peter wanted to take it. He did, and Chris couldn't contain a small tremor of delight passing through him. Peter rubbed his strong fingers up and down his delicate hands, gently swirling against the brown fur covering it.

"I'm glad. I'm really glad, Chris."

Chris blushed a deep pink. The gay man was making him strangely excited, and he tried not to tell himself what that meant--the night before notwithstanding.

"But I'll tell you what," Peter continued, reaching forward and scratching gently behind Chris's long, soft ear, "I'll help you figure out how to fix his. If that's what you want."

Fix this? Fix... what? Chris blinked innocently at the man on his bed and shook his head slowly. Then the memory of something else rushed into his head, and he flushed again. Something much more masculine and strong, something hot, humiliating, and... enticing? And then he thought of his small, delicate body, wrapped up in warm bedclothes and the oversized borrowed pieces from Peter's closet, and a glazed contentedness overtook him. He liked how small his body was, how small it had always been, and how carefully Peter seemed to interact around it, as if he were a precious object. His soft, questioning fingers moved gently through Chris's overgrown dark hair, softly massaging his skull, and Chris leaned forward, laying his chest on the warm, smooth one offered to him. His long face lay over Peter's heart and he slowly began to shift the rest of his body nearer.

He crawled unsteadily onto Peter's open lap, finally finding his balance on four limbs as the bones of his arms and legs lay more comfortably that way. It was unlikely he would continue trying too hard to remain on two legs. What was the point when he had everything he needed at the right hight anyway? Peter could make sure of that. Peter's hand stroked long and slowly along Chris's back, digging into the fur at the nape of his neck to scratch harder.

As Chris yawned, and buried his nose beneath one of his arms, and he shifted his round hindquarters against Peter's growing erection, Peter looked up to see Anita in the doorway. She stood in the shadows, scarcely visible, her eyes glowing the faintest white. A smile flitted distantly across her face before she inclined her head slightly and took a step backward, disappearing completely. Peter bowed his head as well, let his eyes wander back to Chris's dozing form, and let out a long sigh. At least there was one less man in the world to harass everyone around him.