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Thursday

3:11 am

Aiden's Adam's apple jack-rabbited up and down, bulging out as he gulped down the large glass of water. It didn't seem to help: his head still throbbed, and his mouth still felt dry. At least he felt somewhat full; he'd been so flustered after missing his stop that, by the time he managed to get home, he felt exhausted, passing out on the couch well before he'd planned to, and not having dinner. Now, trapped in the early morning hours, he found himself unable to return to sleep.

He'd tried his bed, rolling and thrashing around beneath the duvet cover. He'd tried opening the windows, until the aggravating sounds from the drunken louts wandering the streets nearby flooded in, and he was forced to shut them. He tried showering: the warm water did feel good, and he found himself getting quite aroused as he soaped himself off, but that just left him awkwardly staring at his overweight, out-of-shape body dripping water onto the tiled floor, his flushed round face getting close to matching the ever-receding red hair that his genetics hadn't yet claimed.

Aiden's last resort was trying to get rid of the cottony dryness that had settled in his mouth by drowning it. His body felt like it was boiling up inside. He prayed he wasn't getting sick; trying to make it to the weekend feeling like this all the time would have made work even more of a gruelling slog.

Infuriatingly, his cock didn't seem to want to go down. Aiden had gotten used to not being particularly sexual - he had a low libido, and there wasn't much interest in him in that way anyway - but ever since he'd fallen asleep on the train, his body was apparently ready to flush him with all of the stores that should have been used up twenty years ago, when his voice was cracking and he got the incredibly modest changes in the dimensions of his genitals.

So, for the first time in his life, Aiden went hunting for porn.

It wasn't too hard to find; what was harder was deciding what he - or rather, his body - wanted. Since he'd never really thought of sex very much, Aiden had no idea of what he would be into. With the unfortunate glut of things erotic, stumbling across something to scratch the incessant inner itch was going to be a challenge.

Aiden decided to start with something relatively vanilla: a guy and a girl, nothing too fancy or specialised. Settling into bed with his laptop and a supply of tissues, Aiden waited for the video to buffer. A few seconds later, he growled, a little louder than he'd meant to, "Come on, hurry up!" Ten seconds later, with an exasperated sigh, he unpaused the video, quickly turning down the audio, feeling an embarrassed flush rush into his face.

The video did its job, lubricating Aiden's imagination enough to get him going. The clip was short, only a few minutes long, but there was something satisfying about the loud - if faked - moans of pleasure. The guy certainly wasn't faking his orgasm; Aiden jumped back a little to watch a back shot, cock oozing at the sight of the almost snake-like undulations of the actor's muscular back. Something about the man's form was intensely arousing.

The male actor's porn handle was listed under the video, a link to other videos he appeared in. Aiden clicked the link, awkwardly tapping on the touchpad as he tried to make up for the lack of visual stimulation with an acceleration of his hand. The skin of his cock felt hot, not just from the natural heat of his erection, and he wasn't leaking enough fluids to help ease that off.

A video of the actor jerking off was the first one that came up; Aiden hadn't realised that was the case until the video was already loading. Not that he found himself minding; the toned guy's body was pleasurable enough to watch on its own. There was something both relaxing and invigorating about watching those muscles rise and contract on his torso, the huge fat cock twitching in front of them as the six-pack oscillated just out of focus.

Aiden leaned back; even though he never looked at porn before, he had jerked off irregularly, and knew enough to know when he was getting close. His head was swimming, his mind filling with the idea of attractively-muscular men with huge cocks parading bare before him.

"Don't worry," the voice promised, "I'll feed you again."

Immediately, he parted his lips: he was back on his hands and knees in the bathroom stall, the juicy giant manhood sticking out of the glory hole. His hands pressed against the walls; the paint seemed to be wet, as something wet squelched under his hands. But he didn't mind. Nothing mattered to him, except for that cock.

The dark, smouldering fluids that had been leaking a trail down the wall had trickled down his chin; the penis seemed just as needy as he was for some attention. He pressed his face into the wall, sucking it into the empty cavity of his mouth. It evaporated slowly off of his tongue, filling his mouth with enticing smoke. When he had arrived, he'd already been aroused; now his own cock ached for attention, straining at his skin like an over-stuffed sausage. The dark pre-cum that had pooled between his legs - before he'd taken a good amount of that cock into his mouth - had turned into a heavy miasma that seemed to massage his taint; the puddle now seemed to be feeding off of his own natural lubricant as the clear, sticky liquid dribbled down his red, throbbing shaft.

He pressed more and more of his body up against the wall; it was almost like he was getting sucked through it, into the neighbouring stall to join the guy on the other end of this cock. He could just imagine him. Huge balls to match the rest of his large equipment, ready to unleash more of that lava-like cum. The body would be tall, toned and thick with muscles that would clench and flex beneath his body, dimples on his ass cheeks as he thrust at the wall. Nice fat nipples sitting on top of his meaty pectorals, possibly pierced as he definitely seemed the type to push himself. The dark red skin covering his body would be smooth, or possibly hairy enough to reinforce his obvious manliness. Large hands would, if they were on the same side of the wall, would be ready to take the guy on the end of his dick and guide him for maximum effect.

The cock was slamming him in the back of his throat; it should have bothered him, but here the bounds of the flesh seemed to be breakable. As they neared the peak of their interaction, he almost felt the mushroom-tipped end of the cock flare up, thickening in his mouth as it stretched outwards. The extra girth shuddered down the length of the manhood, forcing his jaw to open wider when a thick bulge squelched through the glory hole. Right now he was just a tool, a fuck-toy for the penis speared through the wall; a warm hole to thrust into until it was ready, and then to fill him up with the smoky, surreal fluids.

He found that he didn't mind that at all.

As promised the orgasm filled him up; if he'd needed to breathe just then, he'd have collapsed as his body was flooded with impossibly large quantities of semen. Some - not as much as he expected - managed to escape his lips, singeing his chin as it dripped down to burn into his torso from without as well as within. Smoke poured out of his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, his lungs seeming to burst into flames.

Falling back to gag for breath, he glanced down at the penis stuck through the glory hole, still throbbing and oozing in front of him as his mouth hung open, his jaw and throat sore and oozing with the slimy, burning semen. Very little about it resembled the cock he'd stuck into his mouth: the skin was still red, but now it seemed far more fleshy - rawer - with deep veins marbling the smooth surface. The once-mushroom-headed end had flared up, sprouting into a prodding, pointed tip coated in a mixture of saliva and seed. At the base, a huge bulge had formed: no wonder his jaw was aching, his throat ravaged, with the swelling alone enough to fill his mouth.

The inhuman cock throbbed, adding to the growing pool of sexual fluids on the floor of the bathroom stall. It still seemed ready to go, the glory hole locking it into an aroused position. Around the edges of the base, he could see a large ring of flesh, some kind of sheath out of which protruded the monstrous cock aching for more relief.

It should have repulsed him, but that strangeness made it all the more appealing.

Aiden squeezed down on his short, thick cock one final time, moaning loudly as his ejaculate poured out of him, splattering over his wide stomach as his hand cranked away. He'd forgotten to get a tissue out; he couldn't remember why he'd bothered with them. Feeling the hot fluids splattering on to him was satisfying.

"Be better if there were other guys doing it to me too," he wondered idly, one of the many lewd ideas that popped into his head. A cork had popped inside of him, releasing the frothy, bubbling head of a sex-starved monster lurking inside Aiden's subconsciousness. Now that it was out, it seemed unwilling to let up on him.

With his racing heart beating painfully fast in his chest, Aiden sprawled on his bed, mind unable to wait for his body to recover from the orgasm he was still unleashing before wanting to go again. He'd fantasised something - he couldn't quite remember what it was, only that it was intense, and involved an insatiable cock - that made just jerking off feel meaningless.

Feeling conflicted, Aiden twitched, reluctantly rolling onto his feet to shower off. Even if it wasn't semen, having the hot water rolling over his body would be a nice simulacrum, and it would at least let him skip the morning shower before work. Moving the laptop to avoid having it fall off the bed, he went into the bathroom with the advertisement for sex toys suddenly plaguing his mind.

4:47 am

"Morning, Mr. Goldwin," Terry, his over-eager pit-bull of a trainer, greeted George as he emerged from the men's locker room, muscles barely held in by his singlet and gym shorts. "Ready to get back into it?"

"Yes, Terry," George replied, shaking the large guy's meaty hand, "Australia's not quite as bad as America or the Continent when it comes to rich foods, but I can definitely use the help in shedding some of the pounds I've picked up."

"Great to hear," Terry replied, scanning his pass to enter the main gym area, "because I'm not going to go easy on you, just because you've been gone."

George smiled back, already regretting his decision to get back into a somewhat normal routine so quickly after getting back. "Well, I figure I might as well make some use out of still being on Australia time, and I didn't want to risk waking the wife, so..." Of course, George added, it helped that it was one of the few places he knew would be open and sufficiently politically safe to go to at this time of day.

"Great!" Terry repeated, manoeuvring George towards a vacant spot to do some warming-up stretches. One could, of course, organise a tryst at a gym, but when you were known to be constantly monitored by a large, boisterous, and surprisingly gossipy personal trainer, nobody stupid would dare to take that risk. George tried not to grin too much as he stretched, amused at his own playing of the game: the "surprise interview" he'd arranged at the gym had gotten Terry's face out into the media, and he already knew it had already gotten Terry some extra work from some journalists fishing for a bit of inside information.

Aside from the political motivations to remain at least trim - women voters were very appreciative of a well-turned-out, handsome, in-shape male politician of George's age - he did enjoy coming to the gym for another reason. He nodded towards the large-bodied men working to maintain their impressive physiques: there was something very invigorating about being amongst a group of other people ruthlessly going after a goal with perspiration and hard work. It's why he'd been drawn to politics, after all.

George tuned out Terry's enthusiastic gossip; he always kept one ear open in case he said something useful, or that required more than a terse grunt in response. Although he was an excellent trainer, George hadn't hired Terry for his witty conversational abilities. Once his client's muscles had been suitably warmed up, Terry urged George towards a horizontal metal bar, sliding some weights on the end in preparation for some squats.

Aligning himself underneath the bar, George felt eyes upon him. Swivelling his own to the sides and into the large mirror in front of him, he noticed one of the men currently working out seemed to be paying his weights less attention than to the only guy who seemed to need a trainer. He was used to being the target of stares. He was after all a relatively famous - some would argue infamous, he supposed - public personality. Chances are it was just someone like that, perhaps a reporter or someone else a bit more familiar with the locally-based members of parliament. There was, he fancied, something a bit more unusual to these looks.

"It couldn't be..." George pondered, his eyes sliding down the young man's bulging body, following the taut singlet down towards the front of the starer's pants.

The creature had been a huge tease.

The latex-coated boar had ensnared him, bringing him to the edge of orgasm. He'd actually been enjoying the feeling of his dick thrusting into the well-lubricated ass of another man - of sorts - and hadn't minded getting his exposed chest covered in the pig's burning alien juices, until just as he was feeling the rush of an oddly youthful ejaculation approaching, the boar had pulled off, suggesting, "Why don't I give you the personal tour?"

He supposed he could have said no, forcing the issue or just leaving the boar-man when his attention was elsewhere. Of course, this might have been an excuse to get them to a more comfortable, intimate location to continue; his needy shaft certainly hoped that was the case. In the end, he found himself following the black, shiny boar, his latex skin glimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights of the station.

The walk didn't seem to abate his erection: the throbbing cock bouncing between his legs felt gripped by the glowing juices the boar's rear had left on him, almost as though it were a living entity of its own, continuing to slowly keep him on the cusp of orgasm until the boar was ready to continue. He wasn't sure whether he liked that - he wasn't too thrilled about losing control of himself, in particular this part of him - but at least he felt there was something to be gained by following the creature.

With their feet striking the metal floor plates with a dull, deep ringing, the walked through the space station. If the boar had been wanting to go somewhere more private, he wondered, he needn't have bothered: they seemed to walk for quite a distance, and encountered nobody else. Every step seemed to send an electric ache, slowly growing in immediacy, towards his straining cock. He reached down, the heat of the fluid singeing the flesh on his palm as he drew it nearer, his body yearning to grasp on to his shaft; it would only take a few jerks, given how primed it seemed to be, before he could get some much-needed relief.

As though sensing his follower's intentions, the latex boar interrupted, turning to grab his wrists with swollen-fingered, almost hoof-like hands and inquired, "Tell me, if given the opportunity to live forever, would you take it?"

"Of course," he answered, somewhat baffled by the question. "Wouldn't everyone?"

The boar chuckled, his round belly jiggling, "Oh, you'd be surprised." Pulling him closer, the creature added, "There's something exhilaratingly primal about finiteness. The urge to fuck before it's too late." To emphasise his point, the boar grabbed his aching shaft, making him moan as the two large fingers of the boar's latex hand gripped him tightly. "Imagine being on the cusp of this forever, though, always ready, always needy."

He wanted to ask a question, his cock would only allow him to whimper until it was released.

"There's something exciting about that, though," the boar added. "The eternal craving for more is a decent price to pay for eternity."

Even though he was distracted, his mind was well-versed to catching the undertones of what was being said. "Did you pay that price?" he probed.

"Clever and attractive," the boar chuckled. He was suddenly acutely aware of how naked he was - he barely remembered when his clothes had been removed - when those thick fingers grabbed his ass, the boar's jaws widening in a lusty grin. "You're right, I wasn't always this... hungry, I suppose is the best word for it." Then he was moaning, as the boar's snout wrapped around almost his entire crotch.

He wasn't too sure what was happening, or how it was possible: his balls were being licked, massaged and bathed in warm saliva - or whatever the boar's equivalent was - while his cock was being sucked. He sagged forward, grabbing onto the boar's shoulders, feeling his fingers slide over the smooth latex. Expecting a harsh squeak, the material just seemed to moan instead. Barely aware that he'd started thrusting into the boar's mouth, he allowed the latex creature to slide his buttocks apart and roughly probe his sensitive hole.

"There's a high price to pay," he heard, as though the boar-man was able to talk to him with his mouth full of cock. The wet smacking sounds of his flesh sliding in and out of the wet, hot orifice didn't seem to lessen the words; it was as though he had two sets of ears, each listening to one thing, unmuffled by the other. "But if you're interested, I can help you pay it."

"I'd have to know more," he thought, distracted from replying when a thick, latex digit probed its way into his ass, his sphincter trying to resist, but seemingly unable to do so. He was trying to maintain a little bit of a clear head, but that was proving impossible. No sex he'd ever had, even as a young man in his prime, had ever been this intense, this addicting. He glanced down at the shiny head of the boar, the orange eyes closed as it bobbed along his cock.

"Don't worry," the boar assured him, "in time, you will."

"Sorry, Terry," George grunted, curling up one final time before getting to his feet, his abdominals burning from the effort of the crunches he'd been performing properly under his trainer's tutelage. "I guess the jet lag's getting to me, I think I'm going to have to call it off early today."

"You've still got..." Terry began to protest.

George smiled; Terry was nothing if not insistent. But soon there'd be no hiding the large erection snaking its way out of his pants, and he didn't want to be showing off his arousal to the gossipy man. "I'll come back later today," he promised, "to finish up. I just need to get out of here."

Before anything else could be set on the matter, George got up, quickly heading towards the changing rooms, trying not to draw the attention of the man at the reception desk. He didn't want anyone seeing the bulge pressing out the dark fabric of his gym shorts. Something - not urine, he was glad to notice - trickled out of the tip of his shaft, staining the scent of sex into the fabric of his underwear.

Sighing in relief as the changing room door swung open, he quickly went to his locker, grabbing his towel before stripping off. The room was thankfully empty, giving George the excuse to allow his dripping erection to bob freely in front of him, his cock thickening as his body continued to feel overwhelmed by the hormones coursing through his system. He'd often joked he was too rich to masturbate; but his cock demanded satisfaction, and a quick relief of these feelings in the showers seemed to be the only way he was going to be able to leave here with any dignity.

George didn't bother with soap; with only the towel and the plastic shoes to keep him from getting a foot infection, he headed into one of the showers, closing the door behind him and turning on the water to muffle the sound of his moans.

He hadn't touched himself like that in years: George's libido had been declining slightly with age, and often his duties made him too tired to really indulge. When he did, of course, it was either his wife, or - more usually as of late, and with her consent - after a discrete call to an agency a colleague had provided with him one time while entertaining foreign dignitaries. But he couldn't wait for that now, couldn't come up with a plausible way to allow one of his regulars to slip in through the back door and satisfy him.

George's heart pounded as the door swung open, his face flushing as he immediately let go of his cock. It had been the young man from earlier, the one who had been staring at him. Automatically, George shouted in a harsh, elevated voice, "This shower's taken!"

"I- I know," the nervous, young man replied, closing the door behind him.

6:23 am

The door to Piers' flat creaked despite his intention of sneaking in quietly; his flatmates wouldn't appreciate being woken up this early, he'd discovered pretty quickly once he started getting late - or was it early - shifts. Inching the door closed until he heard the heavy thud as it shut properly, he quickly started pulling off his sweaty shirt as he tiptoed towards his room. It was too hot for clothes this morning.

Throwing his shirt in, Piers jerked off his jeans, stretching out as he grabbed his stash from under his bed. He didn't take a lot of drugs as a rule: he knew his mother would come after him with a shoe if he did, even if she had to rise from her grave to do so. He'd only really started smoking marijuana once he'd started his part-time job, the odd, non-guaranteed hours stressed him out, and he'd needed something to help calm him down, or else he'd be too wired to get enough sleep. He hadn't really cared for drugs; but he felt this was more of a medical necessity.

Piers walked back out into the lounge, dressed in nothing but his boxers. Normally, if he was going to smoke alone, he did it in his room, but the couch had called to him when he'd come in, and the siren song had been irresistible. Nobody would care about the smell, or that he was smoking: as long as they weren't woken up, his flatmates would be cool with it.

He let himself relax, letting the marijuana have its way with him; by now, he had an almost Pavlovian response to it, immediately feeling his stress dissolving away.

The dragon's face leered down at him as he sucked on the end. He wasn't too sure which he was getting high on: the dragon's magical smoke, or the hand-rolled cigarette filled with some kind of fantastical narcotic leaves.

"What's in this?" Piers asked to the empty room with a grin, the cushions of the couch shuffling about as he sprawled out further. He felt his cock start to thicken; he tended to start getting horny whenever he became this relaxed.

"Oh, a little of this," the dragon answered, "a little of that. Nothing hard, I can assure you; at least not in that."

He couldn't help but glance down: the dragon's cock was enormous - easily twice the length of his body, and just as thick - although it looked proportional to its owner. The reptilian shaft throbbed as the golden dragon raised up on its front legs, the musky odours of its opened crotch adding to the heaviness of the room.

Piers breathed in, stubbing out the burning end. He had enough forethought to know if he was flickering in and out of consciousness like this, then he probably shouldn't do it with something flammable in his hand.

Looking down at his tented boxers, Piers' mind wandered to a comic he'd seen earlier that day, chuckling at his memories of the owl-character's shocked expression, and the werewolf's guilty face. Glancing around the room, he wondered how much would show up if someone like the owl had turned on a blacklight in their living room.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" the dragon observed, trying to coax a reply out of the presumed-knight that had wandered into its cave. A glistening, dark drop of pre-cum appeared at the tip of the gigantic dragon's equally massive cock, almost dissipating into a dark miasma that seemed drawn to the armoured man.

He nodded in agreement: the combination of the dragon's musk and smoke, whatever active ingredient was in the leaves he'd been offered, and now the infectious properties of the dragon's juices were leaving him panting, a groaning erection pulsating in his armour. Although very relaxed about the situation, he was eager to see where it was going to lead. The dribbling dragon's dick seemed, all of a sudden, very juicy. He licked his lips, grunting a little as he started feeling the weight of his heavy armour.

"I knew it would," the dragon answered contentedly. "This stuff grows wild here, you know?"

"It does?" he found himself answering, a wide grin stretching across his mouth.

"Oh yes," the dragon purred, its deep voice rumbling through the cave. "It always just makes me want to forget about the world, just wanting something nice and warm around my cock, gently toying with me."

His bones seemed to resonate to the dragon's tone; his knees felt suddenly weak. Sweat poured off of his skin, his feet starting to wrinkle as his boots filled with liquids. The air was so thick, it was starting to make him feel dizzy, but for some reason he couldn't stop sucking on the thing in his mouth.

"It always makes me feel hot though," the dragon replied, "and - well - I was about to say 'sweaty' out of habit, I suppose. Dragons don't sweat, of course, but I know humans do. I imagine you're pretty sweaty in that big, heavy armour."

"Yeah," he agreed, eyes distracted for a moment by the flickers of flame shooting out of the dragon's gold-lined nostrils, before returning to stare hungrily at the huge cock in front of him.

"Well, why don't I help you out with that?" the dragon suggested.

He wasn't sure what the dragon had intended, but he soon found his body engulfed in flame. The heat must have been intense: his armour started to melt and burn on his body, the liquids and ashes running over his body, sinking into his skin a little before running over the contours of his dark muscles. Surprising, though, it didn't hurt in the least; the worst part he felt was the slight tingling as his hairs were burnt off.

The flames seemed to cradle his crotch; he swore there were hands in the flame, grabbing on to his now-exposed shaft, stroking him slightly before disappearing, to be replaced by another. He stretched his arm up, welcoming the flames and revelling in the touch of the ghostly hands around his cock.

However, the flames quickly ended, leaving him naked, aside from the dull remnants of his armour and clothes, sticking stubbornly to his sweaty skin.

"There we go," the dragon cooed, allowing his gargantuan cock to throb, "isn't that much better?"

He flexed his freed muscles, stretching as the ache of the weight of the armour was lifted from him. It was a bit too freeing, he stumbled over his much-lighter legs, his erection slapping against his body wetly as he stumbled on the coins littering the cave floor. Chuckling slightly, he rolled on to his hands and knees, subconsciously aiming his round, exposed buttocks towards the glittering eyes of the large dragon.

"I hope you think so," the dragon added, eyeing the naked man hungrily, "because I certainly do..."

A tongue flickered out, the long, forked length stroking over his body as the dragon licked him. He squirmed, his whole body pulsing with need as the dragon lubricated his body with his thick saliva.

Piers' head was still spinning when he snapped to; he hadn't even noticed he'd properly dozed off, and still wasn't completely convinced that he had. The front of his boxers was damp from where the tip of his erect cock had oozed out as he'd dreamed, or had the strange fantasy that was already disintegrating out of his mind. His sticky shaft throbbed needfully, but Piers' mind couldn't focus on that: looking down at the weird, ashen patches covering a lot of the skin he could see, as though he'd been sprawled on the couch for centuries, gathering dust.

Trying to shake it off, Piers stood up, brushing off his smooth body: even the lighter skin of his palms looked greyer as the ran over his oddly coarse skin. His heart was racing, the blood pulsing through his body spreading the panic from his brain. "Was the weed okay?" he thought, mind grasping for any kind of explanation for the strange changes he was seeing. He wondered if his mate had starting getting into selling other drugs, and had accidentally - or deliberately - laced his last bag with mushrooms or something. It didn't seem likely, but there didn't seem to be any explanation.

Piers walked to the bathroom, slipping out of his boxers: even his crotch had turned ashen, his engorged cock feeling pleasantly heavy even though whatever it was had gotten there gave him a cold, unpleasant feeling. As his penis stubbornly demanded more attention from him, distracting him with lewdness, he stepped into the shower, quickly turning on the water.

Yelping as the cold spray startled him, Piers grabbed the body was, digging his fingernails over his skin, desperately trying to get rid of the ashy greyness that seemed to have absorbed into his flesh. It didn't seem to work; the flesh underneath was starting to feel tender after the harsh scrubbing, but the grey remained.

Piers thought of vitiligo, while the water warmed against his tingling, grey skin. "Can you just get it overnight?" he thought; it didn't seem possible, but he'd been much more interested in the arts than the sciences at school, and although he knew about it, didn't know much about how that worked. Resolving to look it up on his phone once he got out of the shower, he forced the water off, trying not to give into the alluring throbbing of his genitals.

Dancing his feet over the shower mat, Piers glanced towards the fogged-up mirror. "Should have checked my face," he thought, grabbing the hand towel to clear off a space. The idea of vitiligo haunted his thoughts, and now he needed to know if the splotches he'd seen in pictures had disfigured his head.

Whatever he expected to see in the mirror, his normal face staring back at him had not been it. Piers breathed a sigh of relief, his breath fogging up the mirror again. At least that hadn't been touched, everything else could be covered up if necessary. He was about to leave, when his eyes lingered for a moment, before they rapidly shifted focus from his body and its reflection as he cleared off more of the mirror.

Looking down on himself, his body was strangely grey; in his reflection, he looked perfectly normal.

7:59 am

Philip sighed, trying to stifle a yawn. The broken sleep he'd had the night before had left him ill-rested for a day managing other people's children. Fortunately, he wasn't on the roster to monitor the students who were going to arrive early today, so he had a few more precious minutes to catch up on the mountain of paperwork he had had to neglect to help get things set up for last night's parent-teacher conference.

"Good morning, Phil," Emily said, the young teacher's blonde hair matted around her head.

"Morning," Philip grunted, glancing up; after a second look, he turned towards the window. "Oh shit, I didn't even notice it was raining!"

"Better not let the kids hear you talking like that," Emily warned jokingly, hanging up her wet coat. "You look exhausted. Last night really bad?"

"No worse than usual," Philip answered with a weak smile. "Just slept terribly; I think I had one of those dreams where you're falling."

"...and then you jolt awake?" Emily asked in elaboration. "Ugh, I hate dreams like that. That and the ones where your teeth fall out."

"Don't think I've had that one," Philip replied, the pen in his hand flowing over the forms he was filling out.

"Coffee? Tea?" Emily offered, her voice slightly muted by the sound of the jug percolating into life.

"No thanks, I had some when I came in," Philip explained.

Outside, the pitter-patter of the raindrops striking against the school building increased; the wind picked up. A brilliant flash of light seared the sky, a few seconds after that the room rumbled. "Looks like you got in just in time," Philip noted. Emily's reply was muted, both by the increased turbulence of the weather, and as her mouth was filling with coffee.

Philip's eyes wandered to the window, trying to stifle a yawn as his hand moved increasingly lazier across the paper in front of him. He always found the rain, even when it was attached to a loud storm like this one, was incredibly relaxing. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought it had to do with the almost regularity of the noises of the raindrops smacking into whatever was in their way, and that, when you were inside, things just seemed so much more cosier and relaxing.

Leaning back in his seat, Philip felt his eyelids growing heavier, the printed words on the page in front of him blurring as his vision lost focus.

Soaring through the inky sky, he tried to steady his body as much as possible. There was only so much he could do: he was naked, and dangling underneath a large stone gargoyle. The gargoyle had saved him from dashing against the equally-shadowy ground, but in return it meant not having a lot of control of his arms, squeezed in between the creature's taloned feet. It also meant having the indignity of a massive, leaking stone cock sliding down his forehead, oozing some kind of fluid over his face, and stony orbs resting against his skull.

The hot fluid seemed to spread out, following the contours of his body. His own cock throbbed erect, thrusting out into the night air. There was something incredibly potent about the semen's scent: "I am sex and lust in its purest form," it seemed to say. To avoid getting any in his eyes, or at least to try to, he tilted his head downwards: for some reason, he could, or didn't think of, closing his eyes.

The shadows on the ground seemed more demarcated; he guessed his eyes had gotten used to working with whatever small amount of ambient light there was in this place. They must have been over some farm or nature reserve; aside from possibly some small shacks, or a farmhouse that he didn't notice, there were no major signs of civilisation: no large skyscrapers fucking the sky, no sprawling cities, not even a cluster of buildings forming a small village. Instead, there were trees and grassy hills, cut through by rivers. All of it seemed to throb with the same vibrancy of life that the gargoyle's seed did for lust.

He kind of wished the gargoyle would let him go, letting him land amongst this Arcadian excess and let him wander about. Memories flooded his mind, ones of long marches through here, a heavy pack weighing you down, and the sense of accomplishment of making it across the physical challenges the land laid down for you. It didn't hurt it'd free his aching arms to do something about his raging erection, which seemed to swell larger and larger the longer it went ignored.

Brief thoughts flashed through his head. A beautiful woman's naked form, her eyes inviting as she stretched sensually out amongst the dark blades of grass, sliding her legs apart as he made an eager approach. His own body, growing in power and potency, bearing down upon her, enthusiastic but not wanting to be too rough, despite her encouragement to do the same. Then chasing her, through the darkness, following her to a lovely lake, where other equally-naked women splashed about in the lake. Then he was running, feeling the prickle of hairs as a pelt burst out over his body. The weight of the antlers sprouting from his forehead. His new tail flicking up as the hounds bore down upon his body, the thick, knotted cocks jabbing up against his hole as they mounted him.

"Huh? Oh right," he thought, "Actaeon. Why the hell was I thinking about that?"

His body was still where his sex-hungry, over-active imagination had left it: dangling between two dark expanses, guided by a half-aroused gargoyle. He breathed heavily, the musk of the semen that seemed intent on working its way over - and into - as much of his skin as possible. He felt a strong tremor ripple through him, his hips twitching as his own, more flesh-like shaft began to drip, coaxed out by the monstrous equivalent smeared across his face.

"Uh, so, where are we going?" he asked, glancing down as they passed over what he guessed was a large field. The thrusting spikes and knobs of darkened trees were quite sparse, and there seemed to be a ripple of darkness across the uneven contours of the land that suggested grass. Even from this far up, he could almost hear the tentative rustling of the shadowy figures, lurking below, breathing and walking through the obscured vegetation below.

If the gargoyle had any answers for him, they went unspoken and assumed. Pain throbbed through his shoulders now; arms were not designed to be pinned down like they were for very long, and the claws made his limbs itch where the stone grated into the skin. He was a little surprised he wasn't bleeding profusely.

He was sweaty, though; for some reason, despite there being no sun or other obviously warming presence, his body had become slick, his skin becoming a little too warm for comfort. His sweat seemed to aid the gargoyle's semen, turning against him to cover him more completely with the slimy goo, hastening the spread into the hairy crevices of his body.

Before he got a chance to ask his next question - trying to ascertain if the gargoyle understood him or would speak to him at all - the claws released from around his shoulders. For a brief moment, he wondered whether he'd hang in the air, suspended like a cartoon.

Then he began to fall.

It was more like floating: the air itself seemed thicker here, as though he was sliding through treacle. The inexplicable resistance gave him a chance to twist about in the air, swimming through it with his aching arms. The ground below him seemed smooth - a lake, he guessed - dotted with trees and more mobile statues. Maybe the gargoyle had brought him back to some kind of nest, he wondered. Wetness splatted against his back as he looked down; he wondered if the gargoyle was jerking off on to him.

"Well, I'll be washed off soon," he thought. He wouldn't mind taking a splash; it would relieve him of a lot of the stickiness that the combination of sweat and sexual fluids had produced. His forehead oddly missed the heavy weight of the gargoyle's cock resting down on it; it felt like they'd been flying for hours like that, and his body had grown accustomed to it.

"And," he admitted to himself, "his cum seemed kind of nice."

"Phil?" someone prodded him; he snorted, jerking awake to see it was Emily. "That bad, huh?" she asked, a manicured nail tapping on the unfinished paperwork.

"Shit," Philip groaned, wiping his face. The storm was still raging outside, sheets of water slashing through the sky as students sporadically dashed between spots of shelter from their parent's cars and into the school building. "Thanks, Em," he added, trying to crack his knuckles. He must have dozed off in a bad position, as his arms were incredibly stiff. They weren't the only things, he noticed. He was glad he'd grabbed the old desk lid to support his paperwork, as now it also served to keep any pant-tenting hidden.

As Emily headed out to make sure the students didn't make too much of a sodden mess of the school building, Philip rubbed his arms, trying to get his mind to concentrate on the work in front of him. The pen fumbled over the papers, his fingers seeming to be stubbornly uncooperative. His back twitched against the chair, the thick hair on his shoulders - and down the rest of his arms - chafing against the fabric of his shirt.

"Ugh," Philip groaned, "I hope I'm not coming down with something." Sometimes he'd get aching limbs when he got the flu, and having contact with hundreds of kids a day meant someone was going to be bringing in something.

Glancing out the window, Philip's mind wandered. Despite the weather, he felt muggy and sweaty. The storm seemed to call to him: "come, take off your shirt, and cool off." Of course, he wasn't about to do that; he had classes soon, and there was this paperwork to finish. That and running out into a storm when you didn't need to - quite the opposite, in fact; he had commitments inside - was just a flat-out dumb thing to do. It didn't mean he couldn't think about it though, as he forced his fingers into cooperation.

Gritting his jaw in determination, a few minutes later, and Philip was satisfied. He'd finished off the rest of the paperwork, his erection had begun to subside, and a quick adjustment to his shirt had left him feeling a little better: his hairy, surprisingly muscular, forearms bulged out, matted black hairs almost completely covering the skin. Either Selina had switched laundry detergents, and he'd not noticed when he'd poured it in on the weekend, or he was starting to feel feverish. He pressed his arms up against the window, relishing the coolness battering in from outside. Even his fingers seemed less stiff now.

Glancing down at his hands, Philip felt an odd queasiness pass through him. He scratched stubbornly at his nails, but the dark tint didn't seem to want to peel off. Had someone painted his nails as a prank? His thoughts drifted to Emily: he didn't think she was much of a prankster, but she probably would have been in the staff room the whole time. He sighed; he'd have to get some acetone from someone later, and just hope nobody really paid attention to his hands too much.

9:34 am

"Blake!" the foreman yelled, cutting short a commiserating conversation about crazy girlfriends, "Get your fucking ass in here!"

Grinning sheepishly, Blake let Theo get back to whatever it was Colin had gotten him to do that morning, slowly heading towards the makeshift office. He grunted out a long, deep sigh: he didn't want to deal with Colin at all - let alone, a fucking pissed Colin - when he was already in a bad mood. The hangover, the fight with Tonia that kept him locked out of his own fucking flat, the frantic rummaging through the dumpsters for his stuff that she'd tossed out, having to spend half the night awake trying to find a mate's place to crash at. Last night had gone to shit pretty fast. The memories made him scowl, snorting slightly as he kicked a loose stone, sending it skimming across the dirt.

"Fuck it," Blake decided. He'd let Colin chew him out, then it would be over with. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten to work late, and it wouldn't be the last. Well, it would for this job if he got fired, but if he didn't have work, nobody'd be paying rent on his place, and Tonia'd get tossed out on her ass too.

Briefly cheered up by the thought of the bitch getting her come-uppance, Blake stepped into the foreman's office as Colin's red, almost convulsed face exploded at him, "What the fuck do you call this?"

"Sorry," Blake said, although it was clear he wasn't. Scratching under his armpit, he tossed out an excuse, "Last night Tonia went fucking nuts and kicked me out."

"I don't fucking care!" Colin continued to blather on, Blake tuning him out. He usually did when people were yelling at him, at least when he didn't give a fuck about yelling back. His thoughts drifted idly back to last night, scratching his crotch as his cock squirmed in approval.

Blake blinked, trying not to smile too much: he'd gotten the vein on Colin's forehead to start pulsing. "Man, he must be fucking pissed at me," he thought idly.

He closed his eyes, as though about to blink again.

When he opened his eyes, he was gazing up into the black sky. He thought it was a little strange there weren't any stars or moon out, but he had other things to worry about. Like the large black stallion, demarcated from the rest of the night's darkness by an outline of shimmering blue flame, snuffling at the creamy, sticky fluids plastered over his chest, cock and hands, which lingered around his shaft. His head swam, the pleasant feeling of releasing his seed washing through him, the only thing keeping him calm as the horse's flames kissed against his skin.

Expecting to be burned, he tensed his muscles, trying to shy away from the flaming horse muzzle. The flames, however, didn't seem to give off heat; they licked across his skin, for sure, when the stallion licked up his cum, its heavy tongue leaving an equally-sticky trail of saliva as it cleaned the prone man's body. His grinning face let out a chuckle: if anything, the creature's odd tonguing was ticklish.

"Hey, hey now," he warned, batting the creature's head away when it started to lick close to his dick. Curling into a ball, he rolled on to his feet, keeping an eye on the stallion just in case it got spooked. It didn't seem to, the "gaze" from the flame-filled eye sockets burning into his mind. He felt his cock twitch, and was suddenly filled with annoyance when he realised he didn't remember jacking off, missing out on the great feeling of edging closer and closer to ejaculating out of his huge, sensitive cock. His hands wandered around his junk, slightly aggravated that it'd be a while until he'd be ready to go again. "If only..."

He shook his head; strange images had started to seep in, briefly flashing before his eyes. His eyes narrowed, as he met the gaze of the stallion. "What do you want?" he asked accusingly.

The horse turned, showing off its flank, twisting his neck to point his muzzle at his side.

Suddenly, all the animosity he'd been feeling towards the strange horse dissipated. The dumb thing was just lonely. He chuckled, asking, "You want me to ride you?"

The stallion whinnied, nodding his head and jabbing his muzzle pointedly at his side again.

"Alright, but I've never ridden a horse before," he cautioned, "so don't go too fast, alright." The horse snorted in response. He wasn't sure what that meant; he really just hoped it wasn't laughing at him.

Although he'd never ridden a horse before, or tried to mount one, he had seen it being done on TV a few times, so had a rough idea of what to do. Resting his hands on the horse's seemingly-burning flank - again, he felt no pain from the flames - and tried to push himself up, the stallion's coarse hairs almost nudging his hands towards the correct position. He felt it breathe underneath him as it took his weight, sliding one leg quickly over to avoid falling on the ass, and having the horse laugh at him.

Then the horse was off, galloping into the night, its fiery body scattering the shadows as the bolted into the trees. He clung on for dear life, entangling his fingers in the thick mane, the hairs sucking in his fingers as he squeezed his legs down. "I made a big fucking mistake," he thought, unable to jump off, but feeling unwilling to stay.

Amazingly, he didn't get knocked off onto his ass; the trees seemed to shrink away from the fiery stallion barrelling through. It never stumbled, the leaps it made over the small dips in the landscape were impossibly graceful. Once his heart stopped pounding out of fear, he felt a strange, giddy thrill replacing it. On the back of this magical steed, he was practically flying. He hooted out loudly in excitement; and the horse whinnied back, as though he was excited as well.

With the nervousness slowly going, but his heart still pounding excitedly, and the rhythmic way his hips moved as he straddled the horse, the inevitable happened. His still-sticky cock began to stretch out, the thick shaft stretching out along the spine of the horse, the sensitive head throbbing. The hairs and flames covering the horse seemed to reach out, stroking him and rubbing him in ways he didn't think were possible.

Part of him wanted to keep going, let the horse continue to pleasure him. But it felt weird, and he started to panic. "Whoa! Whoa!" he shouted, struggling to get off as the horse, seemingly aware, began to slow its blistering speed.

"Are you struggling against the horse," he found himself thinking, "or the fact you fucking love what it's doing to your cock?"

He didn't have time to answer himself; the horse had stopped, and his body fell onto the ground. The stallion quickly moved over him, almost as if it were threatening to pin him down. The stallion's massive cock had also become engorged, the large flared head flopping down, aligning with his own. It disgorged a sticky, dark ooze onto his chest; it smelled of wild, rutting sex. He moaned as the scent overtook him, finally able to feel the heat from the fire that burned through the massive beast towering over him.

He tried to convince himself that he couldn't help it, that the stallion was doing something to his head, as his quivering hands reached up to grab onto the pulsing, oozing, enormous shaft twitching inches above his body.

Blake jolted awake, yelping as he found himself falling backwards, his massive body slamming into the ground. The flimsy floor of the office shuddered. He glanced up, a rather shocked Colin looking down on him.

"Huh?" Blake grunted, feeling a warm rage slowly pulsing through him. "Did you just fucking push me?"

Colin looked at him like he'd grown horns or something. "I just tapped you," he said, eyes scrunched up in wary confusion. "It was like you were asleep on your feet, moanin' and makin' all sorts of weird noises. I just wanted to check if you weren't having a seizure or somethin'."

Blake wanted to laugh; Colin only starting dropping his "g"s when he was really unsettled. "Well, at least he's not pissed any more."

Now that he was over the shock of finding himself getting knocked on his ass - in a way - by Colin, Blake was suddenly very acutely aware of why he'd probably been moaning. The front of his dirty work pants bulged out obscenely, and he could feel the growing stain of hot, sticky lubricant staining through the fabric of his boxers.

Colin seemed to notice it too, his eyes following Blake's towards the area between his sprawling, spread legs. "Uh, why don't you take a few minutes, then if you still feel weird, you can go home."

Blake mumbled, "Yeah, okay, no I should be fine in a bit." Normally, he'd have taken off - any excuse'd do for getting out of work - but leaving when all his mates were busy would be kind of lame. Plus, as pleased as he knew he should have felt at getting Colin flustered, it seemed to pale in comparison to the throbbing need that was quickly consuming his thoughts.

Leaving the office, Blake headed towards the portable loos, hoping the guys hadn't stunk them all up yet. After every few steps, he'd find his hands meandering down towards the erect, drooling shaft trapped in his pants, which felt exceptionally tight around him.

11:10 am

Tarun wasn't sure what was worse: the boredom and general unpleasantness of being trapped in the hospital, or his phone, quivering once again in his pocket. Normally, if his phone was that busy - which it almost never was - it'd be glued to his hand. Out of habit, his hand twitched towards the left breast of his shirt. But he caught himself once again, fidgeting in the wheelchair he'd been consigned to for the last indignity: being wheeled out of the hospital, presumably unable to move under his own recognizance until passing through the electronic front doors.

Tapping his foot impatiently, Tarun thought, "Not that I'm not glad they're here, but I'll be glad to get away from them." One of "them" entered the ward just then, a rather surly bitch with the bedside manner of a hungry snake. Tarun had quickly come to loathe her; wondering where they were hiding all the cute doctors and nurses.

She - thankfully - seemed quite keen to ignore Tarun, now that he was leaving and moving beyond her control. Besides, family was visiting the elderly man in the bed beside him, so there was a much better target for her stern, clucking tongue and humourless manner.

"Where do they find these people?" Tarun wondered, making the mistake of pulling out his phone. It quivered again, the pregnant thing waiting to give birth to a whole litter of worried messages and well-wishes. Again, he squirmed uncomfortably, leaning back in the wheelchair, trying to do his best to ignore the currently-unwanted attention being lavished on him.

Tarun closed his eyes; he was still quite tired, and there was something about shutting out the rest of the world that was appealing. "If it had been a car crash, a minor one," he thought, "or getting attacked, that'd be one thing." Suddenly, he was almost regretting leaving, going back into the "real world" beyond the hospital; heading back towards lingering stares instead of long looks. Even if there had been another reason behind it, some previously-undiagnosed allergy or reaction, nobody would believe it.

He was going to be forever tarred as "Tarun, the guy with the drug problem".

"Ugh," Tarun grunted, "where the fuck is the guy who's supposed to wheel me out?" The nurse, or the orderly - Tarun wasn't really sure what his title was - had got pulled away to help when one of the other patients had had some kind of seizure or episode, and hadn't returned. At least he was somewhat cute; if only it weren't for those hideous pockmarks.

Unable to distract himself with his phone, Tarun let his mind wander, his eyes still keeping the rest of the world at bay.

"Told you," the strong, shadowy figure said, still annoyed but now with a tint of playful aggression in his voice.

Pushed into the ground, he found himself spread-eagled as the strong, muscular guy pinned him down. His cock throbbed, his erection trapped beneath him on the surprisingly warm ground. Thick hands patted him over, before he was flipped over.

That's when he noticed the horns.

It wasn't too surprising he'd not noticed them before; for bovine horns, they were quite dark, and he got the distinct impression they should have been much lighter. The shadows had absorbed them, the same way they'd absorbed the rest of the figure's bullish features. The heavy nostrils snorted hotly against his face, as the minotaur repeated, "Where's your ticket?"

"Look," he stammered, "I don't have one, I just..." For some reason, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, or why he was naked. He just knew he wanted to go out to the party with the rest of the young bucks he'd seed running around. He could hear them over the aggressive panting of the minotaur.

Suddenly, he found his arms reaching up to touch the minotaur's body. The face was certainly brutish and animalistic, __but it did give the impression of being ruggedly handsome in a way. Not only that, but his body - at least, underneath the heavy black pelt - was hot, and in more ways than one. Droplets of sweat started to jiggle and slide over his_ exposed skin as the beast-man's heat radiated into his body. Under the coarse pelt, his fingers came in contact with firm, hard muscle. This minotaur was fucking ripped, and it didn't take long for his fingers to come in contact with something else that got him oddly excited._

He was usually up for anything sexually, so had come in contact with a few rather exotic dildos; this, however, was the real deal. His fingers traced down inch after inch of a throbbing, fleshy erection. Slowly sliding his leg up, his knee brushed against a hefty set of balls. "Under different circumstances," he thought, "I'd be all over a guy like this."

"Well, why not be all over a guy like this _?" he heard, the minotaur's face gave the impression of giving him a cocky grin, "__ A_fter all, this is Pleasure Island?"

"Are you wanting some help with this?" he bargained, toying sticky fluids out of the tip of the bull's ridiculously over-sized shaft. "I'd be willing to help out, but I'd need to be able to stay around. Unlike these young things, I know all the tricks."

"You do, huh?" the minotaur chuckled, grabbing his cock as he thrust it between his hands __while it stretched out to its full glory. "Well, why don't you show me some of those tricks while I think about it?"

He blanched: the minotaur's hands were huge, and they could barely wrap around the entire girth of the pink, pointed penis. The tip had pushed out, ending just between the huge, twitching pectorals. It was - by far - the biggest cock he'd ever seen. Realising he might have bitten off more than he could chew, he stammered, "Uh, well, I'll give it a go, but you're definitely a lot, uh, bigger than I was expecting."

"Not as experienced as you thought, huh?" the minotaur bragged, slapping his cock against his meaty hand, the wet sound of flesh striking flesh echoing wetly. "Come on, old man, why don't you show me what your years and years of experience have got to show for themselves?"

While the minotaur taunted him, he felt his blood boil. "Oh, I'll show you," he found himself saying, gripping onto the gigantic bull cock with one hand while giving a firm shove to the monster's pectorals with the other. "Get on the ground," he ordered, his annoyance mixing with his earlier excitement - and the really, really great smell coming off of the minotaur - as his own dick throbbed fully erect.

If the minotaur was supposed to be guarding the revellers in the park, he seemed only too happy to go along with the distraction being offered to him. Although it was clear he'd barely felt the gentle shoving to his muscles, he'd still fallen over, the ground shuddering under his weight as he rolled on to his back, thedeep purple eyeballs staring out swirling almost hypnotically as he pulled the smaller, thinner man on top of him.

The minotaur's sexual fluids splattered over his chest as he used both hands to stroke off the creature's equally monstrous cock as it bobbed and throbbed in between their two bodies. His own erection didn't even manage to peek over the top of the heavy, furry sheath that obscured some of the wide, bulging abdominal muscles.

He didn't really have to do much; it seemed either the minotaur was severely pent up, naturally produced a lot of sexual fluids - which given the size of his testicles, he wouldn't be surprised - or both. Just hugging him, pressing his body close to the oozing pole was enough to get a wet blob to form and run down the shaft.

"Would you hold still please?" the male nurse-or-orderly requested.

Tarun yanked awake again; realising he was being wheeled down the hospital's sterilised corridors,legs sprawled apart in the chair. Thankfully, he'd been allowed to dress in some clothes one of his friends had gotten for him, meaning his wet, pulsing erection was hidden from view.His large shaft dripped down his legs, the fluids tickling as they slid across his body.

Occasionally, the wheels would catch on something, and the chair would whine when they took a corner. Thankfully, that allowed Tarun to slowly clear his head and get control of himself; he was a bit reluctant to let his erection go to waste - he'd not felt that sexually overstimulated since he was a teenager - and he'd definitely have preferred to satiate that flush of youthful vigour. "Perhaps I ought to overdose more often," he thought drily.

That certainly killed off any enthusiasm he had. Tarun sighed quietly, not relishing the lingering looks of pity and superiority he was no doubt going to get. For some reason, it reminded him of the time when he was a teenager, trying to sneak a girl upstairs, and had gotten caught. He grinned, thinking, "I doubt my mother'd been quite as eager to chase me around with the shoe back then, knowing how she'd feel about the alternative. But then, an Indian woman marrying and English man was at least somewhat scandalous back then; too bad the only family traditions that get carried on tend to be the ones about the tastes in sexual partners."

Tarun shuddered; the image of his parents having sex had just flashed through his thoughts, ridding him of the last vestiges of arousal he had. Just in time for the main hospital doors to slide open as he was wheeled out to the loading bay.

"Here you go, Mister Buckley," the nurse-or-orderly informed him. "Do you think you can get to your feet?"

"Yes, thanks," Tarun replied, "I'm good."

A taxi had been summoned for him to take home. He'd been offered several rides home, but wanted to avoid any awkwardness for as long as possible. Standing a little shakily on his legs, he took a quick glance in the reflective sheen of the rear side window of the taxi door as he opened it. "At least I don't look like a haggard addict," he thought, finding it a little strange that his eyes looked almost violet in his reflection.

12:46 pm

Yawning slightly, Takeo glanced at the time, which seemed to be dragging on. The hour-long coding lab felt like it was taking all day; he couldn't wait to go meet up with his friends for lunch and coffee once he was done.

Takeo yawned again: he was exhausted most days. His job not only tired him out, it usually meant working unsociable hours, when guys were at their friskiest. Under the right circumstances, the work could be enjoyable, but it usually was physically unsatisfying; the money made up for some of it, but he'd not slept most nights all the way through since he'd started. He'd also often end up sore, which took a lot out of his body, meaning he needed more time asleep to let himself recover.

Forcing himself to work a bit more, Takeo pecked away, eking out another block of code before he snorted awake. It was hard to concentrate: the computers in the lab kept the room quite hot, which just tired him out even more. His concentration was shot; as long as he didn't fail any of his courses, he'd be fine. He'd have to deal with his father's disapproval, but he'd gotten used to not meeting his father's expectations.

The code Takeo stared at danced in front of his tired eyes, which wandered down to the time. He groaned - the time hadn't changed at all - and slumped forward on to the desk, resting his head. He couldn't wait until next year; going by this year's schedule, they'd had least start at reasonable times. He nestled his head into his arms, his eyes closed. It didn't take long before he was gently snoring at his desk.

With the satyr staring down at him, he squirmed a little before asking after a large gulp, "Well, what would you like me to do?"

The satyr replied by opening his mouth, the slightly large, slightly yellowish teeth parting, glistening with saliva, as a thick pink tongue emerged. The tongue slithered over the smooth, slightly-olive skin, leaving it slick and glistening. The dripping cock added to the sticky sheen, the goat-man's arousal forming a warm coating.

It was a little odd, but he found it rather nice. Most of his clients were, understandably, more focused on their own pleasures; he'd had a few that were interested in him, but not to this extent. "Or maybe he just likes his guys really sticky?" he mused, his body suddenly sensitive to the satyr's warm breath.

With the tongue paused mid-lick, the satyr pulled up his head; with the way the shadows played across his face, he looked more goat-like than before. "So, tell me about yourself," asked the satyr, before planting his lips against the prone man's nipples.

"I really shouldn't," he thought. He'd been instructed by Mr. Brooks to never reveal personal information to his clients. That's why he'd chosen his work name - the name which seemed to escape him as teeth gently teased his nipples.

"Well, if that's how you feel," the satyr suggested, "why don't you tell me how you got into this business?"

He gasped, his erection growing hard, his skinny legs squirming instinctively. The satyr's body hairs tickled against his skin, gently caressing him, sending aroused twitches coursing through his body. Moaning, he found himself stammering, forgetting about the need to keep things secret. "I need the money to move out of my father's house," he admitted.

"Oh, yes," the satyr seemed to chuckle, "wanting to fly and leave the nest, get some..." He felt his cock being seized by the satyr's tight grip, "freedom."

He grunted, his shaft trickling out a little lubricant. The satyr pushed the two cock tips together, mixing the dripping fluids. "Don't stop," he begged, the satyr running his free hand up the inside of his thighs.

"I won't," the satyr promised, "if you tell me more about it."

"My father," he elaborated, breathing heavily, "he doesn't like... homosexuals. If I... I brought another man home... he'd throw me out." He was having a hard time talking: his breathing was heavy, his lungs taking in the intoxicating aroma of the fluids dripping out of the goat-man.

He found the thoughts being coaxed out of him, even though he was sure he was only panting loudly. Visions flashed before his eyes: nervously hanging around at the university pub, trying to figure out how to cruise for guys; getting pulled aside by a group of guys who'd gotten him drunk, and taken him to the back alley, where he'd -

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," the satyr replied, seeming genuinely concerned.

The thoughts slipped away, dissolving as he woke up, being tended to by Mr. Brooks. One of his "boys" had found him in the alley, and brought him back. He had his wounds tended to, and Mr. Brooks had complimented him on his slender physique. The older man had touched him, rather pleasantly, and had slowly been coaxed into meeting a nice, gentle guy.

It had turned out to be a client, and when he'd found himself with a fat wad of cash, Mr. Brooks had called to offer him a job. He'd accepted, not realising, until it was too late, that Mr. Brooks wasn't exactly doing things out of the goodness of his heart.

"Sounds like you've had a rough time with things," the satyr suggested, while somehow also managing to twist his limbs around to slide both cocks into his mouth.

"Mmhmm," he moaned in response, finding an odd fire growing in him. The guys who had gotten him in the alley. Mr. Brooks. His father. They'd all pushed him, intentionally or not, into selling his body. For the first time, he found himself feeling angry about it.

"Well, it doesn't have to be that way," the satyr informed him. "I'm willing to show you an alternative; there's a price to it, of course, but the least I can do is help out a poor young buck."

"What is it?" he wondered.

"That's for another time," the satyr promised.

Takeo's phone buzzed, yanking him into reality. He quickly checked: it was the burner phone Mr. Brooks had given him when he'd started working for him; set to vibrate so it could be left on all the time without causing a fuss if he was at the cinema or with a client. "Hello?" he stated, quickly logging off of his machine to go somewhere private.

"I've got a job for you, Lee," Mr. Brooks stated, using the name Takeo'd given him when he'd started working for him. "New client." A vaguely odd feeling of deja vu permeated through Takeo, as Mr. Brooks continued, "I'm texting you the address now, but don't go there until tonight."

Takeo frowned, glancing at the time on the phone. Mr. Brooks never rang this early for a client. "What time?" he asked.

"Uh, around midnight," Mr. Brooks replied, after a pause. "All the details are in the text. Make sure you're clean and tight and pretty looking, he's paying a lot so I want you on your best behaviour."

"Yes, sir," Takeo answered, ducking down and across the hall into the anteroom between the men's toilets and the corridor. "But..." he started.

"Do you have a problem, Lee?" Mr. Brooks interjected, clearly annoyed.

"No, sir," Takeo responded quickly, "I just thought, since you were calling so early, you might have had something else for me before then."

"No, I'm putting you on special," Mr. Brooks clarified. "I want your ass clean and tight. No getting fucked for the rest of today, no using toys, nothing. Got that?"

Takeo nodded, in spite of himself, "Yes, sir." Then Mr. Brooks had hung up, and Takeo breathed out deeply. He headed into the bathroom; he felt all sweaty and nervous, and needed to at least splash some water across his face. Feeling his manhood throb again, he thought, "And maybe a few other places, too."

Bending over the sink, Takeo splashed his face. His aroused cock seemed to ignore his rumbling stomach, both crying for attention he couldn't sate right away. Some of his friends were gay; perhaps he could persuade one to suck him off a little, just to take the edge off before his appointment tonight.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Takeo frowned. His shirt not only felt confining; it looked tight. He didn't eat enough to gain weight - and it would have pissed off Mr. Brooks if his Asian twink started getting chubby - so it just seemed strange. Grasping at it with still-wet fingers, Takeo gasped in shock at the thick, rippling muscles bulging out of his exposed midriff. When he ran his hand over his oddly massive six-pack, his cock throbbed again.