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Capering Corgi Chaos For FriskeCrisps By Draconicon

Crisp had had a long night, and he wasn't entirely sure that it was over yet. Not when the guy he was dating was coming back home with him.

The wusky blushed as he glanced at the corgi out of the corner of his eye. The other dog was always staring back at him when he looked, always staring at him with those deep, green eyes. They seemed to shimmer whenever they looked at each other, and the wusky blushed whenever he looked away.

It's not like he's...he's gonna do that, he told himself. Not like he's going to be doing anything...untoward.

Even so, he couldn't help but remember the various erotic things that had happened to him through the night already. From the little stopover at the restaurant where his shoes had gotten tied together and he'd fallen over, having to hide a boner as he got back to his feet, all the way to the strange game of sort-kinda-footsie that they'd been doing, shoes on shoes that still somehow caused him to get hard.

The corgi had never said anything about it, but that smile had never dropped, either, almost like he knew what he was doing but wasn't saying anything about it.

It didn't help that he hadn't seen any boners on the other guy through the night, either. The fact that he had been the only one getting visually excited was a bit disconcerting, almost making him feel like he had been doing something wrong, but if the other guy hadn't said...

"So, uh, Peter?"

"Yeah, Crisp?"

"Are, um...are we going to be...you know..."

"What, having some 'fun?'"

The wusky blushed, but made himself nod. After all, he had to know, even if they were on the bus in a semi-public area.

Peter chuckled, shaking his head.

"We aren't...but I might be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll find out."

The corgi laughed, something else that he had been doing through the night. So much laughter, so much easy hilarity for the other guy, and Crisp never saw the reason for it. For now, he just nervously laughed with his date.

Eventually, they got off the bus. The wusky's house was only a few doors down, and he crossed the threshold, quickly. Before he could kick off his shoes, however -

"Ah. Hold on a moment, Crisp."

Peter stepped inside, putting his hands on the wusky's shoulders. He squeezed gently, and suddenly, Crisp felt a tingle in the air. A tingle that he hadn't felt for a very, very long time, and one that sent a chill down his spine.

"You didn't think that you'd be just kicking it there, did you?"

"You...you're one of..."

"Oh, aye. A little clan of corgis that joined the leprechauns a right old way ago," the other dog said, his voice dripping with a sudden brogue. "But ya know, it's not that hard to find one of those touched by the wee folk, you know. You're all so..."

Click.

"Green."

Crisp shivered again, feeling a sudden heaviness to his shoes that hadn't been there before. He looked down before he could stop himself, seeing the shimmering emerald colors of the Green Shoes starting to spread across his feet.

"Oh no, no, not again..."

"Ah, what's the matter, laddie? Feeling outta practice?"

The corgi's mischievous grin only made him feel that much more nervous, and he desperately tried to kick at the back of his shoes, pulling down on the heels with the toes of the other shoe. He almost managed to get one heel free before Peter clapped his hands, calling to the shoes.

And the shoes answered, suddenly dancing forward, their heels clicking off of the wooden floor. The rapid clackety-click was all the more humiliating as he was dragged through the house by them, pulled forward by the impromptu tapdance. He could feel every impact through his ankles and heels, but the worst thing was the continual transformation of his sneakers back into the Green Shoes.

He remembered them, the heavy, thick-toed shoes that were big enough to look almost clownish. The emerald color of their creators had already spread across from the heel to the middle of the shoe, and it was still pushing forward towards the toe. Sparkle, twinkle, and a bit more green followed.

The laces were the only exception, turning a jolly yellow gold as they were taken by the magic. The laces themselves came loose, but the tightness of the shoes never faded, just as he knew that they wouldn't.

Bit by bit, the laces flicked up his legs, and his outfit started to change with their touch. His socks turned into something more like stockings, tight to his legs and running up further than they should have, past his calves and up to his knees.

"Peter! Stop this!"

"Why, boyo?"

"Because...because this is embarrassing..."

"Yeah? Your boner don't seem to say so."

That was the most embarrassing part about it. His mind was embarrassed, but his body was obviously turned on. His cheeks were as hot as they could get, but his dick was pressing against the front of his pants - no, his shorts, now, as the laces went up further - and was making them tent forward to a ridiculous degree.

His shorts got tighter and tighter, greener and greener, until they were a complete parody of anything that anybody would wear. Emerald green pants clung to his hips, hugging his butt and his crotch to an insane extent. They might as well have been painted on for how little they actually hid.

"Hehe, knew that you were a boner boy, ever since I saw it spring up the first time," Peter said, the corgi slipping by him and sitting on the couch. "Bouncing happy, ain't it?"

"This isn't fair! Let me go!"

"Not a chance in hell, laddie. You're mine, now."

"You...no, please, just..."

"Dance for me, boyo. Let Peter see the pecker dance."

Crisp was whipped about, his body spinning in place for two, three, four circles before his heels suddenly clicked together. The sudden stop and the hard hit back there made his boner jump, making the bulge and the tent swell all the harder.

Oh no...oh, no, not again...

He was familiar with this dance, and knew that it was going to leave him throbbing hard all night long. If he got any rest, it'd be between the dances, and his legs would be beyond sore in the morning.

But that was what happened when one dealt with leprechauns.

The wusky yelped as he was suddenly kicked into the air by his own shoes, the emerald green footwear kicking off the ground, hard. The heels came together again, another click, another throb, and he came down with a bounce.

Click, kick, tappety-tap. The dance went on, his body following helplessly as he was dragged through the motions.

The laces continued warping his clothes, putting him in a white shirt that was as tight as could be, and with supports that went from the shorts up to his shoulders. A bow-tie popped in around his neck, and his hands were sheathed in white gloves.

Through it all, the corgi continued to laugh, grinning and patting his own bulge. Crisp tried not to watch, but every time he turned his head away, his body found some way to dance around to bring him back to face his date. The corgi chuckled every time, and seemed to take great pleasure in groping himself in the face of Crisp's predicament.

"Heh, ain't it grand, boyo? You're a good dancer, you really are. Should have kept to the stage, shaking that around for everyone."

"Mmmph...I'm not...not a stripper, though."

"No? You dance like one."

The corgi laughed again, slapping his knee as Crisp was forced to 'dance' forward in a series of quick hops, each one thrusting his boner up and then bringing it back down, grinding against the inside of his underwear. The sensation was insanely strong, and every time that he felt the little grind, the hard rub, he shivered, feeling his boner get that much harder.

Oh god, oh god...

His cheeks were burning so hot, and he didn't know if he could take much more humiliation. Was the leprechaun going to make him cum hands-free from this dance? It wouldn't be the first time. They were horrible for this sort of humiliation, absolutely horrible about what they could put him through.

Peter clapped his hands, and suddenly, the clicking, dancing tempo sped up, his heels clicking faster, the jumps coming sooner. His legs burned as he was made to swing himself about, flaunting his boner and his body at the same time with leaps and bounds, sways and shakes, and even the occasional butt jiggle of a twerk thrown in ('Just to make it modern,' according to Peter).

The humiliation kept on building, and the dance kept on going, long into the night. Crisp kept moving, unable to stop, unable to rest, as Peter kept flicking him about and directing the dance with no more than a finger.

He moaned as his boner danced, twitched, throbbed. It had been hard for hours, now, rising and never falling as Peter's humiliating diatribe continued. He was the boner boy. He was the dancing boner boy.

And he trembled as Peter finally called a halt, knowing that something worse was coming...

The End