FSE

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Thursday

2:22 pm

"Focus!" Aiden ordered himself, a seemingly impossible task. He had trouble paying attention enough in meetings, especially when it seemed everyone would insist on talking at the same time. When the meeting was tedious and had very little relevance for him or his work, he paid even less attention. But today it was worse: the words flowed through his ears, dissolving like ether before it could reach his mind.

He shifted his legs, trying to hide his erection. The overfilled meeting room, and the fact most of the meeting's participants were men meant a heavy masculine presence soaked over him. Aiden wasn't too sure he enjoyed this "second adolescence", with its random boners and the pounding in his head as erotic fantasies threatened to burst out.

"At least I got into work early today," Aiden thought, glancing up at the clock. His lips tightened: either there was a black hole nearby distorting time, or they hadn't gotten around to fixing the clocks. His face briefly flashed a grin: given how it seemed no two clocks gave the same time - unless they were connected to a network - maybe the black hole theory was the more accurate one. "Of course, you're rude if you check your phone, so you're damned if you do, damned if you don't."

Suddenly, Aiden was aware that the meeting was breaking up, and he quickly grabbed his notebook and, discreetly using it to cover his junk, joined in the exodus, giving the air another fast inward take to let the masculine smell roll around in his brain.

He didn't join in the knot of people making small talk outside the meeting room; instead, Aiden found his feet guiding him towards the lavatories. He didn't need to go; he just needed an out for a few minutes to clear his head, let the throbbing in his cock subside, and then he'd be ready to get back on to doing the actual work the meeting had kept him from.

On arriving at the nearest toilets, Aiden let out an annoyed grunt - a bit too loudly than he would otherwise - as the barrier announced that it was closed for cleaning. "It's always when I need to go," he grumbled, heading back down towards his desk. Although there were other men's rooms - and he still intended to go to one, or outside for a while if it came to that - it was always a bugger trying to find one when the first one wasn't available.

The next nearest ones, Aiden discovered to increasing annoyance, still hadn't been fixed, so he headed back out through the security doors on that floor to the stairwell. "If the cleaners are there," he deduced, "and they're not busted as well, the next floor up should have some." Panting up the stairs, Aiden leaned against the wall, only realising too lately that, in his annoyance, he'd potentially allowed the people heading downwards to see the tenting in his pants. "Ugh, fuck it," he thought, the fabric under his armpits snapping as he shifted his arms. It was unseasonably warm today and, with the combination of the physical exertion and his arousal, Aiden's armpits had grown damp. "At least it's only a couple of hours before I can leave."

Thankfully, the toilets upstairs were close to the entrance, didn't require a special pass to get into, and were available. There was even a stall free - after lunch, there'd always be a time when the bathrooms got very busy, but Aiden seemed to have missed it - and so he slipped inside, sighing audibly before securing the door behind him against unwanted intrusion.

Now isolated from the rest of the world, Aiden relaxed: he slipped his pants and boxers off until his sweaty, hairy thighs seemed to be enveloped in a cloud of mist, his red cock jabbing out into the air. He touched it briefly, his hand recoiling. It was just far too tempting, but he wasn't about to do that at work, even though his body needed release.

Instead, Aiden sat down on the toilet seat, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, letting the fabric flap against his sides, his hairy fat torso bristling. His insides felt like they were boiling: no wonder he'd been chugging water like mad. That, of course, had filled his stomach. As he rubbed it, Aiden wondered, "No wonder I didn't feel like lunch, not that I can't afford to miss a few meals." He didn't have breakfast either, but still didn't feel hungry.

Well, not in that way. Something about being here made his mouth water, and after last night he'd been thinking on and off about sucking cocks. On an earlier toilet break, he'd gone online, browsing for dildos and how to use them. Somewhere, some system was ensuring that, hopefully on Saturday, a plain box was going to arrive at his home and he'd get a chance to feel like what it would be to suck - and, if he was being adventurous - being fucked by another guy.

Aiden blushed, remembering one particular dildo he'd looked at, and couldn't help but get as a novelty. He'd stumbled upon some of the rather more exotic-looking dildos thanks to auto-complete turning "dildos for beginners" into "dildos dog beginners". He was about to backtrack, but his body tingled, and he'd investigated. By the time he'd flushed the toilet, he was now the not-so-proud owner of a few human-shaped dildos and a couple of canine-shaped ones.

Chuckling to himself, Aiden sighed, letting his eyes close briefly. There was something oddly comforting about being in the stall. "Sure," he thought, trying to stifle a yawn from last night's rough, broken sleep, "it's a public place, but it's like an island of privacy where almost anything can happen."

Just thinking about that made his cock drool excitedly.

He continued to stare at the large, throbbing canine cock pushed through the glory hole as he prostrated himself on the bathroom stall floor. Boiling black juices seemed everywhere: still dripping from the shaft, plastered over his face, pooling on the ground between the two, and even filling the air.

Licking his lips, he tried to catch his breath. It was too much: his face and throat - hell, all of his body - seemed to ache. Yet he wanted more, to have that wonderful gushing feeling roaring through him again, filling him up and burning him away, at least for a moment, leaving him as just a... a thing. A sex toy. Something for guys to use and then leave.

"Well, if you want that," the very male creature on the other side of the wall suggested, "then take off your clothes."

He sat there, mouth still gaping open and dripping with the barely-cooling semen that the owner of the cock had sprayed into him. He looked down, noticing for some reason he was still in his work clothes. His hands trembled slightly, but he still felt unable to move.

"Are you worried about this dick?" the voice asked, the hint of a chuckle in his tone. "It's definitely mine, I can assure you. We both know it: it didn't leave your mouth long enough."

His hand twitched again.

"If you're shy about your body, well, nobody can see you on the other side of the stall. Totally anonymous. I can be anyone. You could be anyone. Just two guys with two dicks and two burning needs."

The sticky floor crackled as he moved his hand, fumbling on the buttons around his neck. He was having trouble breathing. He watched the canine cock swing in front of him, still sticky with cum and yet hungry for more. Just as hungry as he was to have it in him, but he wasn't sure his mouth could take another beating like that.

"Don't worry," the voice reassured him, "if you keep coming back, you'll get used to it."

More and more of his body became exposed as his shaking hands trailed down his space. The voice should have been off-putting. So many assholes in his life had had that cock-sure tone about them, had made him miserable. But this was different; maybe he was the epitome of that, an actual monster of a guy who'd somehow pushed him so far down he actually started to enjoy it.

"Integer overflow," he muttered to himself.

"He speaks!" the voice grinned: he could almost see the lips of the speaker stretching out. "Well, Mister Overflow, now that you're feeling brave enough, I want to ask you properly: have you ever felt it?"

"It?" he wondered.

"That burning sensation around your hole," the voice clarified, "where you just want someone to come along and stretch it, feel something thick and meaty sliding in, thrusting in..."

He couldn't help but moan; it was as though the voice's words had wrapped around his still-throbbing, still-aching cock and were edging him closer. His fumbling fingers grew more confident as he started to feel the sensation described. If he hadn't already been feeling an increasing "must" to get naked, the itching in his asshole would have at least got him to take off his pants.

His shirt flopped open, drenched with sweat and stained in cum. As he wriggled out of it, the voice urged him on, "Trust me, I know what that's like. I know it very well. I just want to help you get in touch with something inside you, let out your own inner sexual beast."

He didn't need to fumble with his pants: strength seemed to surge through his arms, and he gripped the material. He briefly thought, "Jeans shouldn't rip." Here, at least, he was proven wrong: the need to get naked - now - was so strong the washed blue fabric gave way. He wrenched off his shoes. Both socks came off as he rolled about on the floor. Despite seeming small, the stall gave him plenty of room to do what he needed.

Reaching behind him, he dug his fingernails through the fabric of his underwear, scratching at his ass. He felt it twitching, begging to be used; he felt his sphincter loosening, as though his body knew just what to do. Sliding his finger in, he tore off his boxers, his arms flying out in front of him. He pushed back on the opposite side of the stall, sliding his rear down until he felt the warm throbbing shaft smack up against it.

3:58 pm

George yawned. It was hard to keep awake when your body was about half a day behind the rest of the country, but given how things had gone rather pear-shaped recently, it was all hands on deck. Plus, considering the idiots that the new party leaders had put in place, there was going to be a lot of work in the days ahead.

His yawn did not pass unnoticed. "Sorry, George," David asked irritably, "are all these trade negotiations with the rest of Europe boring you?"

George's face darkened. Thankfully, good old Kathy was there to back him up, pitching in by saying, "George just got back from Australia," which had the weighty tone of having implied, "and if you'd been paying attention to the meeting yourself, you'd have known that."

"Thank god Kathy doesn't have any political ambitions of her own," George thought. He didn't mind competition, but Kathy was an incredibly dangerous person: smart and efficient, and could be incredibly ruthless. When she said something, you paid attention, because she'd somehow know. Instead, she was a senior member of the ministry, a stalwart worker who used her amazing talent for the nation, regardless of who was running it.

George smiled at Kathy, and added for David's benefit, "Yes, I have my apologies, my mind's here, but my body's not so much." In truth, his mind wasn't here either. That young man in the gym had flickered in and out of his mind, during the quiet - and, increasingly, not-so-quiet - moments of the day.

George had immediately thought it was a put-on, and for all he knew, it still was. His heart pounded, waiting for the scorpion's tail to strike. But it had been exciting, and after the young man's initial bravado on barging into the shower of a complete stranger, George had quickly seen that there was a very insatiable need for some kind of fatherly approval in the young man's nervousness.

There was something incredibly satisfying in that encounter, something that had been missing in his sexual escapades with women. Seeing that strong, young bull begging for George to stick his cock into his mouth, then getting down on his knees, the muscular hands gripping George's water-slick legs as he was blown, had triggered something in his head. It was like an extension of The Great Game: gaining power over the strong, and using it to humble, if not humiliate, your opposition.

Below the meeting desk, his pants began to tent; George lent back in the chair slightly, his mind wandering along a tangent from the escapade earlier in the day, as his exhausted body wavered in and out of consciousness.

By now he was frustrated. Once again, the latex pig-man had taken him to the cusp of orgasm, then had let go of him, just moments before it would have been too late to staunch the flow. "What is it now?" he asked, irritably.

The boar chuckled, replying in a way that, on the surface, was light and pleasant, but with a twinge of an almost dangerous intensity. "It's not my idea. There's nothing I'd rather do than drain that nice plump cock of yours for hours on end. But you're going to be meeting a few other people, seeing a bunch of new bodies, and I'm sure you'd like to have fun with them. I just need to get you pumped up for that."

They moved around the maze of corridors. After a while, he stopped seeing windows into the naked space outside, and it seemed like they were going deeper down into the core of the station; that felt a little odd, as he'd been convinced it had been a graceful, elegant thing.

Quite unlike his guide, who'd stopped him on what seemed like a spur-of-the-moment change of direction. There wasn't anything particularly graceful about him: fat and round, stomping over the station on his hoofed feet. Then there was the grunting, and the way those orange eyes stared at him, as though he was the one who looked more like something one would eat. If the boar had been lying about everything else, the one truth would have been that he would have gladly sucked all the juices his testes could produce, and then some.

"Ah, here we are," the boar said, grunting under the effort of twisting a seemingly-stuck wheel on a hatch piercing through one of the heavy-looking metallic bulkheads surrounding them.

He waited patiently; even if he was inclined towards physical labour, there wasn't enough room for two people to get a good grip, especially when one was a stout latex boar. Instead, he just watched, his eyes unable to turn away, watching as his guide tried to open the door.

"Are there any muscles under there?" he wondered. Aside from the latex, half-boar, half-human shell, he didn't really know much about what was underneath. Was it a fat man in an elaborate costume? Was he actually some kind of human-animal hybrid? What were they going to discover on the other side of the door?

Apprehension started to sink in. He started to feel quite unsettled, as though he was on a plane with that briefly falling feeling that turbulence caused. He tried to turn away, wanted to go back.

"Aha, there we go!" the boar-man announced, just as a heavy groaning rumbled through the chamber.

The spell of panic had been broken; he found himself wondering just exactly he'd been panicking about. "Very stupid," he thought to himself, feeling the latex grip around his wrist, helping him through the opening in the hatch.

They stepped into a chamber that gave the impression of a changing room. A large shower head thrust out of the centre of the ceiling, branching off a thick water pipe. The floor, appropriately, was peppered with holes to drain away the water. Hooks on the edges of the room seemed to be for clothing or towels, but given there was no curtain, it seemed they'd get soaked regardless.

Before he could wonder where the room's illumination was coming from, the boar-man ordered, "Strip off and go stand under the shower. We'll get you washed off, and I'll start showing you the new bodies."

"New bodies?" he inquired.

Had it not been his almost plastic appearance, the boar's huge grin would have been uncomfortably creepy. "You didn't really expect you could live forever in your own body, did you?"

He supposed not, though still felt a little uncomfortable.

As if to assuage him, the boar added, "Trust me, we'll find one with all of the aspects you love about yourself now. Particularly that nice shaft of yours." His last sentence was terminated by the arrival of a steady shower of water entering the room, the clattering, metallic sound almost drowning.

He looked at his guide, the burning orange eyes staring right through him. They almost seemed to swirl with a lustful fire, the boar-man more than happy to see him in his full glory. Glancing down at his erection, he had to admit that the most private part of his "full glory" was already on display, and it wasn't like he'd lose all that much.

Fingers deliberately rose, as he pushed the buttons of his jacket through their holes, walking over to a hook to hang it up.

He felt the boar come up behind him: by now, he expected it, and enjoyed the caress of his erection by the misshapen, water-slick digits stroking him off as he tried to focus on undressing.

"Don't worry," the boar-man assured, "I've got such sights to show you."

Jerking in his chair, George got up. "Excuse me," he muttered, quickly realising he'd nodded off for a moment, "I'm feeling unwell." His eyes looked pleadingly towards Kathy.

"Don't worry, George," she answered, "I'll make sure you get the minutes."

Smiling apologetically at the rest of his colleagues, George quickly grabbed together his things and left the room. He quickly glanced around: the corridors were mostly empty, but he knew there'd always be people listening. The lie had come easily, and had just enough truth about it to be believable. He'd been sweating profusely, and had, at least, been feeling strange. At least, for him and not some teenage boy enjoying his imprisonment in a confusingly lust-fuelled body. Fortunately, he already knew all about it and what it meant.

And what he wanted to do with it.

George's steps paused briefly by the bathroom, wondering whether he should risk going in there. He leaned up, using his actual exhaustion to play up the role of the ill politician. His cooler head prevailed over the needy mess of hormones, and he continued along down the corridor. He couldn't be too careful: one-offs could be forgotten about, but when you deliberately set out to cheat - and with another man, no less - you needed to be a bit more private about your dalliance.

Being polite and brief to the people he passed, he called up, asking for his car to be made ready. By the time he'd made it through all of the security checkpoints, he hoped, it should be waiting for him. His forehead wrinkled; he hated having to be this careful when his body was this needy. He could already feel a trickle of excitement oozing down his leg.

George closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. All he needed to do was last long enough for the car to come. Once he'd been driven out far enough, he'd make a call to book a hotel room for that evening. The other call he'd have to make would require far more privacy, and take a while. A new numbers for appropriate services had floated about his colleagues, though George had never used them before. Thinking back to this morning, he cursed he didn't get that young man's number.

5:34 pm

Covered in lubricant and wrapped in gauze bandages, Piers didn't have much trouble staying as still as possible. That didn't stop Miles from nervously reassuring himself every few minutes that his lab partner-cum-model wasn't ruining their collaboration project as he applied the silicone gel over Piers' body. If Piers didn't want to ruin his chance at an easy "A", he'd have laughed and told him not to worry about it.

Not that he himself hadn't had things to worry about. The whole skin thing, which nobody else had seemed to notice, and didn't appear in mirrors or other reflections. It wasn't even captured in selfies he'd taken. The only thing apparently being fooled was his eyes. "I'm going crazy," Piers had thought. Getting out and about had helped; he hoped maybe he'd just taken something he shouldn't and it'd pass after a few days. If not, he'd already decided, it was time to visit a doctor.

"Hold still," Miles mumbled for the fiftieth time.

"I am," Piers insisted quietly. Miles had seemed nervous ever since Piers had gotten his kit off; Piers was used to doing it - sometimes he modelled nude for the school to get extra beer or pot money - and wasn't too shy about his body. "Then again," he thought "Miles is the professor's darling, so I probably should just be happy he has a major crush on me."

He looked down at Miles, down on his knees filling in the crevices of his toes and the other details with the rest of the silicone goo he was using to make the body cast. Piers bit his lip, feeling the blood rush down to his cock, thankfully packed down hard to prevent it from ruining the final body cast they were going to use as the base for the project. With nothing else to do but think, his mind wandered towards the carnal. "Uni is the best time to experiment," he considered, "and Miles would totally be down with it." The only danger there was that Miles' ridiculous crush.

"Done!" Miles announced, raising up with a grin and covered in nervous sweat and flecks of silicone mixture. He disappeared from Piers' sight, leaving him to stare out into the empty lab space. Although undergraduates usually didn't get to use the facilities, their professor had broken the rules for Miles: after all, not everyone was going to make a sculpture for this semester's assignment.

Behind him, he heard the sound of the hair dryer starting up, the warm air oozing over the curing silicone. Piers didn't feel much of it - he was already pretty warm, especially with his heart pumping furiously, trying to get his dick to break through the material wrapped around his crotch - although the constant thrumming sound and the occasional brushes of warm air across when the nozzle wandered close to his face was pretty soothing.

Of course, Miles had done this before, and told him it'd take a few minutes to finish. To fill in the time, Piers let his eyes close and his mind wander.

"Ooh!" he moaned as the dragon ran his tongue across the length of his body, the two tips of the forked flesh waggling over his ash-coated nipples. He let his body sag, joining a pile of treasure beneath him as his whole body shuddered.

"Intense, huh?" the dragon asked, lapping his body again. This time, the heavy, flexible muscle lifted him up, sliding between his buttocks as his legs fell, spreading apart.

"Yes," he agreed. The dragon's saliva soaked into his flesh, the liquid seemingly intent on drawing the fluids in his body to the surface. At least, those connected to fucking: his shaft strained rock-hard, his scrotum tight as the monstrous creature attended to his body. The dragon's large talons reached out over him, and he'd gripped them, pulling himself up enough to let the tongue slide underneath his body.

He vaguely recalled he'd been supposed to defeat this monster, but there didn't seem to be much point to fighting. Instead of wanting to resist potentially being pulled into the dragon's fire-producing mouth, he was almost - not completely, but almost - willing to let that happen. He'd let himself be disarmed and laid bare, and seemed to be paid back for that trust with a lot of very pleasant physical attention.

Thoughts of reciprocity started popping into his head: the dragon was feeling good, and he felt almost guilty for not doing something in return. Granted, he didn't have enough saliva to cover even a reasonable fraction of the golden-scaled body, but there had to be something he could do, some way he could show how much he was digging this attention.

His eyes wandered down: the dragon's massive black dick dripped slime underneath the massive golden chest, coating the loose treasure and the stony floor. Just looking at it made his head pound from the scents emanating from the dragon's exposed shaft.

It took him a bit of effort to roll off the massive tongue, and not just because it was as wide as his whole body. He'd enjoyed the way the coarse flesh had felt rubbing against his back: it had seemed to tease out all the tension he hadn't even realised he'd been storing. He thudded to the ground, landing on his cock with a hard thud, a jolt of surprised pain running up his body.

"And where are you going, bro?" the dragon wondered curiously.

He pushed himself up, crawling underneath the throbbing warmth. Draconic cock juices dripped against the back of his head as he raised up. "What the fuck am I doing?" he wondered. He was still on board for doing something pleasurable to the dragon - and what male alive didn't like getting his cock in somewhere warm and moist - but he couldn't even lift the massive thing. It slammed into him as he tried to stand, making him sprawl and adding to the oozing, pulsating mass his body had become.

He tried standing up again, rolling out of the way as the dragon's shaft crashed down again. His leg muscles tensed, and he leapt upon it. Electricity seemed to flow through the dragon's cock into his own, which looked pitifully small in comparison. But he didn't care too much about that: his whole body was probably smaller than the penis he rode like a horse.

The dragon seemed pleased; at least, he thought so as he felt the cock buck underneath him as he slithered along the length. He felt a grin creep across his face: the dragon had had him in his thrall, but nothing put a guy, even a dragon guy, in your pocket more than taking control of his dick. Grunting with the effort of the mustang-like jumps the dragon's shaft made, increasing in intensity the farther he got from the base, he managed to hump his way along until his head was close enough to the tip.

Shoving his face in, he quickly closed his eyes as the dragon coated his face in hot cock juices. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, pulling his teeth behind his lips and sending his tongue out to probe the dragon's large slit.

The dragon let out a deafening howl: chips of rocks dislodged from the cavern roof thundered down as it echoed around the chamber. He was protected from the debris, fortunately as he had to contend with a large reptilian cock resting between his knees, squirting hot fluids into his face and down his throat as he tried to keep as much of the opening in his mouth as possible.

"All done," Miles said.

Piers' eyes snapped open, clamping his jaw shut. Cool air rushed against his skin as Miles carefully cracked open the body cast, finally freeing him from his duties as model. Miles carefully edged the front half away from Piers' body, which stunk under the combination of his sweat and the stuff they'd used to make a replica of his body. "Thank god," he muttered, waiting patiently since half his body was still encased, eager to be free but not eager enough to throw his and Miles' grade into the toilet.

"It looks like it came out really well," Miles commented as he laid half the cast on one of the work tables. "I mean, we'll still have to do a lot of work, and we'll have some freedom to augment it with some designs of our own, but..."

"Want to come with me to the gym?" Piers asked quickly. He knew what he wanted - craved, really - and he knew Miles would definitely be up for it, but it was he who would have to make the first move. It's what they'd agreed to when Miles had first mentioned his attraction to him.

"Hm?" Miles grunted as he slid up behind him.

"The gym's the closest place with showers, right?" Piers stated. "I'm going to go there to wash this stuff off."

"Oh right," Miles acknowledged, slowly working the rest of the cast off of Piers' body.

Piers stretched and flexed before dropping on to the ground to rest. Standing still had taken a lot out of him, and he was desperate to get into the showers. "Well," he repeated, "I was just wondering if you might want to come along with me."

"And what," Miles joked, trying to play cool while his suddenly-clumsy movements belying his true thoughts, "watch you shower?"

"If that's what you want," Piers said, pulling off the underwear to stand naked and aroused in the middle of the workroom.

"I, uh," Miles answered inconclusively, turning after sliding the back half of the body cast onto one of the other large tables in the room. If Piers had expected a more coherent response, it seemed Miles would be disappointing him.

"We'll get some condoms on the way," Piers suggested.

7:10 pm

"Anything the matter, dear?" Selina asked, watching her husband stab a fork repeatedly into a lettuce leaf.

"Hm?" Philip asked, trying to return to the rest of the world.

"You don't really seem all here tonight," she wondered, trying to lead him into saying something.

Philip chuckled, "Just felt sore all day, must be getting old."

"Did you want some cream," she asked, "or should I make a doctor's appointment?"

"I don't think they've found a cure for oldness yet," Philip joked. Selina rolled her eyes slightly - although he noticed the twitching at the corner of her mouth - and he felt a bit more relaxed when she started eating again. "How was your day?" he asked.

He didn't want to let Selina know, but Philip was worried. His arms didn't seem to work right, and after he'd gotten home and asked if his fingers - or rather, finger, because it only seemed to be happening to the middle ones on each hand - had looked swollen, she'd given him a funny look and told him to stop being an asshole. He'd checked in the mirror before he hopped in the shower, but everything had seemed fine there too.

Whatever it was, at least it was Thursday evening: with only one more day of the school week left, he'd have a chance to at least sleep in. There was still massive amounts of grading and paperwork still to do, but he could do that while Selina and he watched movies, or while she sucked him off in bed.

Philip felt his erection kick in. He half-wondered if Selina had started cheating on him: as soon as he'd come home, the first thing he'd noticed was the smell. He thought it had been the cooking - which, to be honest, had also smelled pretty good - but it turned out to be his wife. If he hadn't felt so beat coming home, and if she didn't have gas flaming on the stove, something might have happened.

Selina noticed him staring at her, and she asked, "What?" as he got up, taking his plate over to the sink to wash.

"Just being a pervy old man," he answered, turning his head to wink over his shoulder.

For a few moments, he continued to fall, letting his limbs sprawl out as he tumbled through the dark. Then, moments before he was about to hit the water, he pulled himself into the shape of a narrow spear, plunging down as though to strike into the land beneath. "That's stupid," he thought, berating himself, "I'm not going to survive anyway."

Then the water was around him.

The first thing his body noticed was that the water wasn't as cold as he was expecting. Instead of the assumed icy blast, instead it was pleasantly warm. The next was that, despite the huge plunge he'd taken, he was very much alive. The third and final thing he sensed before his mind and body kicked into action was that he was completely submerged, and was quickly running out of air.

He kicked out rapidly, the water swirling around him as he flailed to the surface: whether it was the fall, the water, or the painful grip that had seized his shoulders, he wasn't sure, but his arms and legs felt slow and heavy. He stretched out his fingers, only not to get quite the force back when he pumped his arms, and his kicks, though powerful, felt more than a little bit like incoherent spasms.

Nevertheless, he breached the surface, gasping for breath as he bobbed in the water. He let out a laugh which echoed through his ears, allowing himself a moment's respite. Then, because it was the only stroke his body felt possible to make, he doggy paddled, choosing a direction to get out of the lake he'd fallen into. "At least, I hope it's a lake," he muttered; there didn't seem to be a current other than the bobbing his own body had caused, but that didn't mean he wasn't just paddling out deeper into some vast expanse of water.

While he swam, he felt things squirming in the water around him; thick muscular things, possibly eels or some kind of tentacles. Suddenly acutely aware that he had no idea what was in the water with him, and that his junk was flailing about unprotected, he kicked harder, paddling faster until his hooves struck dirt, and he pulled himself out of the water.

"Hooves?" he thought, somewhat unaware that he'd spoken it aloud.

Quickly, he checked himself. Sure enough, instead of where he expected his hands to be was instead hooves. A broken ring of dark, hard nail jutted out of the end of what felt like a huge finger jutting out of what he guessed was - or, he wondered, had been - each of his wrists. As his eyes traced up each arm, he noticed that the rest had changed too: although it functionally resembled an arm, and a lot of the structures were the same and it was about the same size as his arm should be, the musculature evident underneath had altered subtly.

He crawled out, pulling the rest of his body out of the water, too afraid to turn on his back or sides in case he couldn't push himself up with these strange forelimbs. He felt his toes dig in - with a heavy heart thump, noticing he was basically down to two of them - sinking through the wet ground as his back hooves helped to push him clear of the lake.

Sprawled on his front, he felt a strange queasiness replacing the exhaustion from paddling to the edge of the lake. His whole front was coated in a streak of mud from when he'd dragged himself out. The whole thing must have been impossible, yet here he was, having been dropped into a lake by some winged demon, and either the lake or the gargoyle had caused his limbs to transform into something altogether inhuman.

"Has anything else changed?" he wondered in a panic. Unwilling to turn on his back, he instead pushed up on all of his hooves. He felt stupid, and stumbled; despite having his limbs changed, he certainly hadn't been equipped with the familiarity of walking around on them. Once he managed it, though, he quickly figured out some of the awkwardness could be chalked up to the rest of him remaining the same. He hadn't gotten some strange new body, at least not completely. Instead, he was himself, only if he had horse limbs.

He wasn't sure they were horses, of course: they could have been donkey limbs, or some other animal he was less familiar with, but horses were the most frequent animal he'd seen with hooves like this, and until he'd learned more, that's what he was going to go assume until presented with more evidence.

Walking was awkward, but he didn't want to stick around. Here had to be a cure for this somewhere, and he desperately wanted to go back to being normal. He hated this child-like awkwardness, flailing around with embarrassment. He knew full well that colts and lambs and calves, all much younger than him, were able to walk around sure-footedly on the same type of damned things he was inching about on. As he tried not to trip over himself, he scanned about in the darkness. Choosing a direction that felt comfortable to travel in, he started to walk away.

Before he could get very far, his heart started to pound as the sound of heavy wings beating against the air grew louder as the gargoyle swooped down from the sky.

Philip moaned, eyes snapping open. "Fuck," he thought, "I don't even remember nodding off."

His thoughts quickly changed, though, a grin spreading across his face. Selina had unzipped his fly, and her hand had wandered down into his pants. Her gentle stroking had been what had aroused him from sleep. "What are you doing?" he asked dumbly.

"You seemed pretty tense," Selina replied, grinning as she added, "you dirty old man."

Philip chuckled, his limbs relaxing as he tried to ignore how wrong they suddenly felt. He reached up, wanting to touch Selina's face. Instead, he nearly punched her in the nose. "Shit," he quickly apologised, "I'm so sorry. Must have pinched a nerve or something. Ow!" Philip yelped as Selina squeezed a little too tightly on his sensitive, aroused cock.

"Watch what you're doing!" she berated him.

Philip's dick had started taking over his thinking, so he responded by grinning stupidly at her and suggested, "Well, if you take off your pants, I can apologise to you properly."

"Going to kiss my ass?" Selina asked.

"Well," Philip suggested, "something similar, only more around the front." He couldn't believe how well he made it sound like he wanted to do it for her. But after the shock of nearly hitting his wife, Philip's thoughts had quickly turned towards wherever that wonderful smell was coming from, and he was pretty sure it was Selina's privates. The idea of burying his face into her cunt, getting her nice and moist, send twitches along his inner thighs.

Besides, it would distract him from having to think about how clumsy and off his arms and legs felt.

Selina, giving him a curiously lustful look, stated, "Wow, you are a dirty old man tonight!" He noticed her squirm - the way she did when she got aroused by something, but was too lady-like to admit it - and relented. "Well, if you're sure..."

Resting his dark-nailed hands on Selina's hips, Philip glanced at his swollen middle fingers, bit his lip, then plunged his face into his wife's crotch.

8:46 pm

It took way too fucking long, but at least he'd gotten rid of Tonia. With a celebratory beer in his hand, Blake sprawled on the couch, stripped down to his boxers, the pause menu filling the TV in front of him while he tried not to accidentally touch the sensitive-as-fuck controller.

His now definitely official ex had tried throwing him out, but Blake got his landlord on the case. Normally the landlord wouldn't have given a shit, but Blake knew he was trying to rent out one of the other flats and it didn't take him much persuading to convince him that having some screaming harpy squatting in one of his flats wasn't going to be a good look. So he'd seen the dumb bitch off, thanks to a couple of cops who'd come by while he'd been at work. To celebrate, he'd eaten a pizza, stripped down to his boxers and played games. It was a great way to wind down.

Even though he was shattered, after getting some food in him he'd felt a lot better. Blake pulled his massive cock out, letting it flop out the front of his underwear while he played, enjoying the sensation of it thickening and elongating, his foreskin pulling back as he got harder and harder. His balls squirmed around, and he'd released those too. It felt fantastic to be out of those weirdly tight pants. "Gonna have to grab some new jeans and shit," his mind thought briefly.

Glancing at his wallet on the table, Blake wondered if he had enough to pay some slut to come over for an hour. He'd done it before, but it wasn't a regular thing since he started getting interested in girls; since they seemed to get interested in him right back. He scratched his thickly-muscled torso, wiping off his fingers on his legs. His cock was busy leaking a massive puddle on to his chest. "I need to fuck," he thought.

His touching went from idle to deliberate, slowly toying with himself. Blake felt good, but the day had been pretty shitty. At least it was Friday tomorrow, he thought, grinning at the idea of going out, hunting for pussy. Closing his eyes, Blake tried to come up with some fantasies to keep him going. Not that he seemed to need it, but his brain was going to fall asleep without the distraction.

A heaviness overtook Blake. His sticky-fingered hands fell down by his sides. Sounds from outside fluttered through his head as he stared at the dark underlining of his eyelids.

He wasn't falling asleep; Blake was being pulled down.

He was sprawled on the grass, covered in the start of a slimy wet trail that started from the puddle on his abdomen, oozed over his shoulder before zigzagging over his face - somehow just missing his eyes - before it became lost in the leafy blades that made the back of his thick neck itch.

He was confused: hadn't he been somewhere else, just a moment ago? He struggled to remember, his thoughts on the matter flowing away from him, as though he was trying to hold water together with his fingers. Not that he quite got where here was either, that too felt fuzzy.

Then he glanced up, over his shoulder, at the blue-flame-touched stallion. Suddenly, everything clicked into place in his head: he'd ridden away on the back of the horse, until it had started to get him aroused. Then the horse had stood over him, also aroused, which probably explained the sticky goo on his chest. Either that, or he'd missed another really great orgasm. Though, if that was the case, he seemed pretty hard and raring to go again.

The stallion wasn't alone; in fact, there seemed to be a whole herd of similar stallions milling about. The all had the same black hair covering their bodies, each of them only really standing out from the other shadows from the flames that surrounded them like a second layer of ghostly fur. The flames all seemed different colours - he recognised "his" stallion, since it was the only blue one in this particular group - and there were about twenty others.

Following the stallion he'd ridden with his eyes, he watched it as it sniffed the rump of one of the others; this one had deep red flames flickering over its massive hairy body. "Heh," he thought, "kind of like dogs meeting each other." When he noticed both sporting massive equine erections, the red one whinnying as the blue one rose up, thrusting at its rump, he chuckled. "Horny dogs meeting each other."

The fucking stallions didn't seem out of place; almost as though the arrival of the blue one had kicked off some equine orgy. Others seemed to pair off, circling each other before deciding which one was going to fuck the other, while the rest seemed to watch, their huge cocks slapping against their chests as they got more and more excited.

He started feeling excited too: he already had been aroused, but there was something about the sounds and the scents and the sights that was incredibly infectious. His eyes wandered back to the blue one - which he thought of as "his" stallion - who seemed to have found the big black butthole of the red one, biting the back of his burning back as their weight shifted under the heavy thrusts. The red one seemed to be into it: he could see its shaft squirting out strongly-scented fluids onto the grass. He wasn't sure if horses could moan, but if any of the sounds it was making were the equivalent of "yeah, fuck me harder," he was certain the red one was making those right now.

While he'd been caught up watching the horse orgy, he hadn't paid too much attention to his own actions. But suddenly, he seemed to be back in control of his own body, which was eagerly jerking his slippery cock off as he watched the demonic stallions fucking each other. There was something physical and raw about these beasts, not giving a fuck they probably shouldn't be doing this - fucking other males - but having a good time doing that or getting off watching the others doing the same thing. It felt good to him, too; just watching them go at it, stroking himself as he got caught up in the sights and sounds and smells of stallion sex.

His cock burned: it felt even bigger than normal, as though his full arousal had only been unlocked by this strange encounter in the middle of some dark field. Words and thoughts, and new feelings bubbled through him, carried around his body by his pounding heart as it worked to keep him huffing and puffing, his hand sliding over his oozing cock faster and faster.

Watching the stallions fucking almost - almost - made him want to join in. Wanking was always a good time, but there was something about putting your dick into someone's mouth or ... ass, he supposed - there was another word or idea that flowed through his head like the pre-cum flowing down his fingers that seemed less and less important or appealing - that always sated that particular hunger. Then again, he wasn't stupid: the horses were much larger and stronger than he was, and they'd break him, probably unintentionally, if he tried to join in.

After a loud whinny, his attention snapped away from himself and back to the horses. The blue stallion had ejaculated: his large body was slumped over the red one's back, still biting the other's mane and still thrusting a few more times instinctively. But copious amounts of glistening fluids trickled down between their legs, and he could barely see the pulsing of the stallion's shaft as it continued to pump more and more into the other's ass.

He started moving his hand faster, feeling somewhat jealous of the stallion. "Be fucking cool to be that big," he thought, his own massive muscles twitching and straining as he felt himself edging closer. He could swear his cock was growing even bigger as his nose filled with the hot scent of what seemed like gallons of horse cum ejaculating out into the air around him.

"His" stallion pulled out, his cock spilling out with a huge splash of cum trailing out of the red one's ass. The large equine turned to stare at him with those huge, fire-filled eye sockets.

He stared back, spreading his hips wider, almost inviting the stallion over. He grunted, swearing as he felt his balls pumping his sperm through his body collecting in his body, making it harder to keep himself contained.

"Fuck," Blake moaned, sitting up on the couch. His head pounded, and his cock and the wrist of the hand that gripped it ached. He couldn't believe he'd passed out while wanking, although he did feel like shit.

Licking his sticky fluids off with his fingers, Blake picked up the controller with the other hand. His balls ached: even though he was completely knackered, he just had to get himself off. It wasn't just his balls or cock that needed it; his whole body needed release, and he needed something extra to help him push through the exhaustion and aches that weighed him down.

He needed porn.

Forcing his console to wake up, he went to the browser. He'd bookmarked porn on the browser earlier, so it only took him a little while to pull up images of nude women on to his television. Blake spread his sweaty thighs apart, looking through the list for something that sounded good.

Something was gnawing at Blake: he was still pissed off with his ex, and as he stared at the big tits and felt nothing. "Women," he muttered. They always caused problems with their craziness and hormones. Feeling annoyed, he pressed at random, stroking his cock to keep edging towards orgasm as the page loaded.

The page that popped up after a few seconds was not what he was expecting: it was full of muscular, naked guys, and a list of obviously gay encounters. Grunting in confusion, he quickly toggled back, scanning the page until he noticed what had happened. While the site defaulted to straight porn, there was a while section for gay stuff. He must have accidentally nudged himself over to that site instead. "Whoops," Blake mumbled aloud, chuckling. If any of his mates had caught him looking at that stuff...

The idea caused his hips to buck.

Blake bit his lip. "Nobody would have to know," a voice in his head whispered.

He clicked the link again, grinning as he mumbled, "Whoops." Not wanting it to be too weird, he picked a video of just one guy jerking off. He picked a big, buff guy that looked similar enough to him. While it buffered, he yanked off his boxers, stretching out comfortably onto the couch. Once he was finally relaxed, Blake started the video. The guy in the video seemed like a decent bloke, just jerking off like he was. No women acting crazy about shit.

His cock seemed to ooze in approval.

10:22 pm

"No, mum, I'm not going out tonight" Tarun assured her, rolling his eyes as his mother's voice blasted out of the phone again. Recoiling back from the sound, he tried to interject, which made it sound a lot like he was stammering, "The - the - the - the doc - the doctor - no, mum, the doctor told me to take it easy."

The doctors hadn't told him that, at least not exactly. They'd told him about the damage his "lifestyle" had done to his organs, and that he was going to have to make some major life changes if he was going to live long enough. Tarun had been quiet when they'd spoken, but had already disregarding their advice. He was getting close to being fifty, a rather terrifying number, and wasn't it the case that only the good died young.

Tarun chuckled, hanging up the phone now that his mother was assured. "Well," he thought aloud, "then I must be very, very bad." He was two rings into another call - he had a lot of friends and acquaintances he needed to catch up with, and his mother wasn't making it any faster to get through that contact list - when the doorbell went off.

Hanging up immediately, Tarun's grin stretched: his present to himself had arrived.

His ad referred to him as Max, but Tarun doubted it was his real name. It had been almost quaint, seeing the ad in the magazine that had been in the care package his friends had arranged for him on his return. A care package that had contained lubricant and bondage gear wasn't exactly conventional, but his friends at least knew him very well.

Swinging open the door, Tarun greeted the large, handsome late twenty-something man standing there, "Max, hi, thanks for coming over."

"Hello, Tarun," Max almost purred in a delicious, velvety Latin American accent. His lips opened, flashing two rows of straight, white teeth. Max was about to say something else, but Tarun interrupted him, forcing a thick stack of notes into the escort's tight jeans.

"The bedroom's this way," Tarun replied, tugging the escort along behind him.

Tarun didn't waste much time, pulling off his robe and getting onto the bed on his hands and knees, but not before checking Max over. He was exactly as advertised, or close enough not to matter: Tarun had seen a variety of cocks before, and whether he was actually ten inches or not didn't matter, since Max's cock was just as big as the rest of him. He might not have been over six feet, or just a tad over two hundred pounds, but he was close enough.

Even when he'd had escorts before, Tarun had tried to woo them. Not today though; he'd been fantasising about a big guy with a big dick ever since he'd gotten back from the hospital, someone who'd come in and just ravage the fuck out of him. Everything was ready - including his body - and all the necessities were laid out on his nightstand. He closed his eyes, smiling as he felt Max's fingers touch his rear, hearing the slick sound of lubricated stroking as the escort prepared his tool for one of the condoms helpfully surrounding the bottle.

He sprawled on top of the minotaur, both of them sticky. Whether the creature was just very pent up, or this naturally "juicy", he didn't know, but he didn't care. It had been fantastic, or at least that's the way he felt. Even though it had only just happened, he was having trouble really remembering the details of all that they did.

His body remembered, though. He was sore in all the right places, and felt drained and used and exceptionally content. Looking at the bull-man's cock, massive even when limp - or whatever the equivalent was for bulls - he wondered how he'd managed to get it all inside any of his orifices. The way his jaw ached and his hole refused to close suggested that, even if he didn't, he'd given it a damned good try.

Unexpectedly given how fatiguing he expected ejaculating this much must have been, the minotaur was the first one of the two to make a move, snappily getting back onto his hooves, and offering a thick hand down. "I think you bought your ticket," the monster observed, "why don't you go enjoy the festivities?"

"Are you one of the festivities I can enjoy?" he asked.

"An old guy like you," the minotaur noted cruelly, "is going to need to take a break. Besides, don't you think you should see what other rides are on offer?"

He hated to admit it, but the bull-man was right; he was quite curious about what this place was about, especially from the small glimpses he could see from here. "Fine," he agreed, taking the minotaur's hand, and the large muscular brute effortlessly pulled him to his feet. "But I'm all butterfingers."

"I didn't complain about your fingers," the minotaur chuckled.

"Yes," he replied, "but I'm probably going to lose my ticket, and you'll just have to come and escort me off the premises again."

"Don't worry," the minotaur answered, "you're stamped for re-entry."

"I think you're missing the-" he started to respond, then suddenly a large throng of young, drunk revellers charged down the main thoroughfare just passed him. They only stole his attention for a fraction of a second, but it was enough: the minotaur had disappeared.

"Uh!" he yelled, the noise drowned out by the crowd around him, "I just wanted to fuck you again!"

Just as quickly, the throng had passed by, and now that he was alone again, he decided that he might as well have a look around. He didn't do so entirely willingly: the minotaur was a fantastic lay, though he was so infuriating in other ways. That just seemed to add to his charm, though; everything about him had been huge, including his attitude. But from the crowd that ran past, there was going to be no shortage of delights for him here, if he actually looked.

So he looked, stepping out onto the boarded walkway that snaked its way through the mass of tents that seemed to stretch off for eternity. Right across, he saw a tent where young men sprawled, a hookah snaking out between them. "Nice," he thought, even though a sudden uneasiness passed over him, "but not really for me right now." He was about to look away, then noticed that the young men were either not using the hookah correctly, or that it was something entirely different. Hazy smoke still came out of the mouths, but that's not where it started. Chuckling, he decided to move on.

The next tent contained an orgy - he started wondering just how many guys were at this place - and made a note of the tent, but passed by. He snorted; the minotaur had been right again. He was old, or at least getting that way, and needed more time to recover. Licking his lips, he almost felt the twinkle growing in his eyes. What he really wanted right then was to sit down, have a nice drink, and watch. This place simply had to have a place like that: even young people liked to sit down sometimes.

He wandered around, looking into each of the tents. A lot of fetishes were on display: no matter what your kink was, if it involved other guys, there was a tent for you. He was a little surprised how they managed to make one tent look like an actual dungeon cell for some very excessive BDSM play. Another tent, filled with guys in animal costumes - or, given the minotaur, actual animal-people - seemed to be having a good time together.

Lost in curiosity, he almost walked right into the signpost in the middle of town. The surprise meant it took him a second to register what it was. A smile appeared at his lips. "Finally," he thought, "a way to figure out what was going on where." The smile quickly froze, though. He recognised the letters. His hands went to his hips. "No wonder there's a minotaur here," he thought.

All the signs were written in Greek.

"Join me in the shower," Tarun insisted. Max quickly agreed. "At least he's good at listening," Tarun thought.

The sex had not been memorable at all. He was certainly sore from it, and there was plenty of fluids he'd have to clean up later - at least those that weren't going to be showered off - but his mind had started to wander almost immediately. Was he really getting so old that even this hot stud was just another notch on his belt?

Tarun's fantasy had proved far more engaging, though post-orgasm it was fading from his mind. Now, he was in desperate need of a shower, especially since he didn't want to be dripping man-juice out of his ass on the floor. Even though it was fun, the clean-up was a bitch.

With Max trailing behind him, Tarun went into the en-suite bathroom. The shower was well-equipped for two - or, when he'd felt more adventurous - three people in at once. Turning on the shower, he waited for the water to warm up. Max massaged his shoulders. "You might be a shit fuck," Tarun thought, "but it is nice having a big guy behind me.

As he looked at himself and the guy behind him, the mirror began to fog up. Despite the overdose and the night in hospital, Tarun thought he looked good. Amazing, even. There seemed fewer lines on his face, his skin looked tighter. "Not smoother though," he thought, rubbing the thick bristles that had sprouted over the last day or so. He tilted his head, enjoying the line of hairs covering his jaw. He was tempted to grow it out.

Max took it as a sign to kiss at his exposed neck. Tarun batted his hand away, and grinned, "Let's get cleaned up."

11:58 pm

"Good," Takeo thought, checking his phone, "I'm a few minutes early." The appointment had been for midnight.

He'd been to hotel rooms quite often. It usually meant guys who were out of town who wanted to have a bit of no-muss, no-fuss fun, or cheaters. Sometimes both. The hotel had been nice - expensive, but not ostentatious - which meant whoever had hired him for the evening was probably wealthy: you didn't splash out on beds when you were whoring, so only the elite would have considered this place for that kind of thing. Particularly as there'd be staff who'd talk if they hadn't been bribed. Takeo wondered just how much this dalliance had cost the gentleman who'd rented his body.

As instructed, he'd come in through a service entrance he'd been let through by a guy who'd clearly been paid off, escorted up to the door, and had promptly left. Not sure whether the client was a stickler for punctuality, or was one of those nervous new types who said they'd never done something like this before and had actually meant it, he lingered for another minute before knocking.

"Come in," a strong, rather distinguished voice of an older man called out, "the door's open." Takeo pushed the door; it swung open smoothly, and he slipped inside.

Takeo was slightly startled: even though he was old, the man sitting on the bed in one of the hotel's robes was very attractive, and must have been even more so in his prime. The square-jawed face with strong features, well-groomed grey, wavy hair, and a trim, tanned body - all, that is, apart from a pale band around his ring finger - had him genuinely getting aroused. "Tonight might actually be quite fun," he thought.

"Hello," Takeo greeted politely. "What would you like me to do?"

"Get undressed," the old man answered promptly. Takeo instantly recognised the tone: this guy was used to getting what he wanted. Nodding, he immediately slipped off his backpack, tossing it beside the closed door. Hoping the hotel staff obeyed the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door - neither Takeo nor this gentleman were likely to want a scandal - he slowly pulled off his t-shirt. The slender, toned muscles he'd somehow gained overnight gently tensed, the way he'd practised in front of the mirror. He hoped the client approved, slowly working off his belt.

It was hard to tell what the old man was thinking: he was obviously aroused, but he'd been that way ever since Takeo'd entered the room. As he lowered his boxers, he turned around, showing off his skinny rear.

By the time he'd turned around, the old man had disrobed. Takeo was even more impressed: the client was well-hung, even more so than the earlier bulge had suggested. He stood up, and walked over, grabbing Takeo's wrist firmly.

"I've got someone to introduce you to," the satyr whispered into his ear, "an old friend who is, apparently, very eager to meet you." With some coaxing, they both slid off the bed. "Have you had two clients at once before?"

"Y-yes," he answered with some hesitation. Clients sometimes wanted to do things in pairs, or groups: sometimes it was bored couples wanting something a bit different, sometimes two strangers just wanted a third, and one time he'd even been the stripper - and more - at a double bachelor's party for a gay couple. Despite the satyr being relatively kind, he started to feel a little apprehensive.

Time seemed to jump ahead: he didn't remember leaving the house, and he thought he definitely would have, considering he'd done so naked. Nevertheless, he was out there with the satyr standing next to him, grinning upwards. His nervousness increased, as he realised why they'd needed to come outside. The gigantic golden dragon towering above them wouldn't have fit inside, not even in that large mansion.

"Hi," the dragon rumbled, reaching down with his clawed hand.

He reached back up: he didn't really have control. Something else seemed to be happening.

An electric shock startled both of them: Takeo yelped, and his client flinched back. They eyed each other in confused wariness for a moment.

"Whenever I meet a new guy," the satyr complained, "he always wants to come along and push himself into the situation."

Takeo's whole body throbbed. He'd thought the client was handsome before, but now he felt something far more potent: now he wanted to be fucked by the client, to fuck the client, to do anything and everything nasty and lewd that popped into his head. The client, he knew, was thinking the same thing about him.

"Why don't you guys get started?" the satyr said, just out of frame. "Just to give you a taste of what you might be in for?"

They pulled each other together, lips locking as the fell on the bed. The moment their bodies touched, the same pulsating jolt sparked through them, ramping up in intensity the longer and more their bodies made contact. It hurt - not too much to be distracting, but enough to be noticeable - but Takeo had to ignore it. Not because he was being paid, because he knew, right then, this was what he wanted.

At first, he thought it was the bed creaking beneath them as they rolled around on the bed. Takeo was too caught up in the passion of his tongue and his client's' sliding against each other in the combined warmth of the chamber their locked lips had formed. But that chamber, and those tongues, were beginning to grow. Spiky teeth started to jab into his tongue no matter where he moved it in his mouth: he could feel the ghostly forces pushing or pulling against his teeth as new ones seemed to slide out over them.

Takeo tasted what he thought was blood, but didn't care enough to check. Things ached, but there wasn't the searing pain he'd expect if something important had been cut. His hands slid up from where he'd squeezed the handsome, elderly stranger that had excited him, reaching around to caress his face. The ears felt unusually small, at least from the rather vague memories he'd had of the man; Takeo figured that he'd just not really noticed him properly when he'd entered the hotel room.

His own ears flopped against the fabric of the bed, the client's hands sliding around the large, diamond-shaped outline of them. Takeo moaned, kissing him harder: they were acutely sensitive, and he adored having them touched. It was almost like they were swelling under the client's caresses, another part of his body growing in response to the arousal filling his body.

The kiss paused for a moment as the two men shifted positions. Both their faces had pushed out; Takeo stretched his neck back, allowing his client's muzzle to trace under his chin, a large, forked tongue tasting the sweat that exuded from him. The space in between their bodies was filled with boiling air and almost equally-hot fluids: thick saliva oozed across Takeo's transforming face, and his smooth, muscular belly was coated with the excited emissions of lubrication from his cock and the massive erection of his client's.

Takeo's elongated tongue slipped out. The air smelled fantastic: heated by their coupling, the scent of their sexually-primed bodies was heavy on his nose as his large nostrils twitched. He could smell it all: the different scents of him and his client as they mingled together, the mixture of sexual fluids forming on his body as he lay on the hotel bed - which was itself a mass of scents, many from erotic encounters of the past - even the smell of the toiletries the client had used earlier when he'd checked in. Beyond that, his nose picked up the scent of some food being brought up to one of the rooms by a rather pleasant-smelling hotel employee, which was unfortunately dosed in the dour scent of cigarette smoke.

Their lips locked again, like two parts of a chemical compound shifting chirality. His client's firm, reptilian lips pressed against his, their fangs stretched apart to let their tongues slide around against the roof and floor of the mouths, like two aroused men trying to fuck in a weightless environment.

A wave of arousal flowed through, blasting out from the core of their hot bodies. Takeo's ears pricked up: they weren't the only pair in the hotel spurred into acting on their passionate impulses. His ears twitched, trying to figure out the location of each new moan or muffled whisper: the guy in the room next door roused from sleep by his insistent erection, the new husband trying to wake his wife for another round of marital bliss, the bus boy who'd become a little too eager to answer the call from the cougar he'd taken the luggage for that afternoon. Even the rats in the alley behind the hotel were screwing a little more eagerly underneath the piles of boxes and rubbish.

All those sounds and smells of sex reinforced Takeo's desires: a feedback loop of fucking. Their lips pulled apart, his client's hands dipping the bed down between them. Takeo looked up into his reptilian-shaped face, the nostrils enlarged on the tip of his angular snout. His tongue slipped out of the end of his muzzle to give it a playful, inviting lick.

They'd changed, both of them: he couldn't see his own, aside from the end of the hairless canine muzzle thrusting out of his face, but could tell his head had been altered by their contact. Somehow, the satyr - which Takeo now remembered quite easily - had managed to pull him and the dragon together, both in dreams and reality. Or maybe he'd just used the coincidence to his advantage.

Questions buzzed through his head: had the client known this would happen, or had he been equally surprised? How were people going to react when they left looking like this? What would his father say, and what would he do when he found out?

All the what-ifs and hows and whys melted away as the dragon-faced man descended upon him, ready for more kissing. "No!" Takeo blurted out, not wanting to stop it but unable to stand the intense throbbing from his cock. "We need to do more!"

Takeo's client looked at him down his draconic snout, and simply nodded in reply.