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Part I - The Latecomer

"Shit!"

It was the mantra of a man who seemed to be running perpetually late. His flight had gotten snarled up at the airport, meaning they touched down half an hour behind schedule. Once he had landed, and cleared all the hurdles to get back into the country, he was due to leave right at the start of rush hour. Instead of squeaking through just before the mass exodus accompanying every Friday evening, he was stuck right in the middle of it, wondering if it wouldn't be better to just call and let the guys know he wasn't going to make it.

He still felt that way when he finally got home, an hour and a half later than he'd meant to, meaning a quick shower - which quickly turned cold, discovering the boiler was no longer working - was all the relaxation he could spare before getting dressed, picking up a hamburger en route to fill up before a night of proper debauchery. That was the only carrot dangling in front of him that was appealing to Brad, not the chance to catch up with a friend before he took the plunge. No, he'd been handling business in the Middle East for the last couple of weeks, and had decided not to risk doing anything but the bare minimum, even if that meant having no fun. Which he hadn't. He had to make up for lost time.

Time he was continuing to lose. He hoped they were still going to this place - Wizard's Dungeon Entertainment - out in the middle of an industrial park. The photos of it certainly made it seem like any other run-of-the-mill office in the older area, back before big windows were a major architectural requirement. The name and location made it seem like some old company from the eighties that made figurines or collectible card games, or maybe had been bought out and now was the maker of some of those cheaply titillating online games that got pushed on you any time you went off the nice, clean parts of the Internet, with banner ads showing pixellated "beauties" with ample breasts.

That was the beauty of it, Brad supposed: stay hidden in plain sight, like the plain packaging when you ordered stuff like dildos or bondage gear online. Wizard's Dungeon Entertainment had only been in operation for a few weeks - these places tended not to last, surprisingly - offering prostitution with a twist: everything took place in a fantasy world. If you wanted to bed a buxom bar-wench, or save a princess in exchange for anal, this was the place you went. Swearing again, Brad hoped there wasn't too much role-playing expected of him. He just wanted to take whatever bar wench was free and release some of his tensions from the last week.

Finding the place proved trickier than expected. His GPS seemed to be on the fritz; the company was too new to be listed on a database - and they probably didn't want it there - and the address proved to be non-existent. He was about to give up when he noticed the building, bathed in the yellowed street-lights.

The parking lot was vacant. Brad slapped his forehead: they'd probably rented a taxi or a limousine to bring them out here. That meant that he'd either have to stay sober, or leave his car here. "Shit," he yelled, climbing out of the car, then double- and triple-checking that it was locked and the alarm was on. "Maybe I should just sleep in the damn thing?" he thought, slowly jogging up to the front door.

The front door was probably the first clue you'd have that something a bit more unusual was going on inside. I guess they worried about being raided, because the door was a thick steel thing, with a - currently closed - sliding metal panel that was for someone on the other side to look through. That's just what happened when Brad pounded on the door, trying his best to forget about his trip in, and prepared himself for an enjoyable evening.

Oddly yellowish eyes peered out. "Neat effect," Brad thought; the room behind seemed pitch black, and the eyes seemed to glow. "Hi," he called out, grinning politely, "I'm here for the stag party."

"That party's already here," a deep voice intoned. Brad was surprisingly impressed: the voice actor they got to record the lines had done a stunning job, and he was pretty sure the eyes had narrowed and shifted pretty realistically as the voice talked. Either that, or they'd stumbled upon a really dramatic bouncer taking some special effects classes. He could almost hear the doom in his voice.

Brad sighed; he really hoped this wouldn't be a problem. "Didn't they mention that someone was running late? There was originally ten of us going; there should be nine in there now. I'm sorry I'm late, my flight got delayed getting in." Just in case it would help, he held up his driver's licence, just in case they'd left his name at the front desk, and this guy was being a bit overprotective.

Suddenly, the slit slammed shut. It caught Brad's breath; once he'd relaxed, he breathed out slowly. The door remained closed just a fraction before he was about to bang on it again, or leave; then there was a loud thunk, and the door slowly swung outwards.

"Thanks, I'd have hated to have dri-" Brad started, now kind of hoping to meet whoever it was behind the eyes. Instead, the dark corridor was filled with ultraviolet lights, leading towards a cardboard sign proudly welcoming the guests to Dean's bachelor's party.

Brad groaned; he'd missed the pre-event drinks - and so, the wenches - and the best man Chad had opted for the Wizard's Dungeon experience. "Great," Brad thought, "couldn't have just left me with the wenches." A pretty worn leather backpack - with an almost anachronistic label bearing his name tied to it - waited for him.

"Sorry, Dean," Brad grumbled, "but screw this."

Turning to leave, he went back down the corridor. "Hello? Look, sorry about this, but I'm not really in the mood for this whole... thing..."

Brad trailed off, realising he'd been yelling at nobody. There was nobody in the corridor. No strange eyes, not even normal eyes. He'd been in a rush to get to the party that he hadn't thanked the guy for letting him in; closing his eyes, he groaned. "Oh great," he thought, "now the guy thinks I'm an asshole and probably just fucked off now that everyone's here."

Chancing the guy had gone out for a smoke break, Brad pounded on the door. His hand barely made a sound. "How the hell did he here me from outside?" Brad wondered, finally deciding it was probably a camera or some kind. Then he groaned: since he didn't have access to that, he was stuck until he found someone to let him out. Meaning he might as well take the party stuff in case he caught up to the others first.

Walking once again down the corridor, Brad picked up the backpack and looked inside. He grinned at the contents: alcohol in bottles that looked like fantasy potion vials, plenty of condoms, some square-shaped rations that actually smelled good. He even had a map. There was other stuff in there, but he wasn't going to worry about that: he was already running behind as it was. Slipping the backpack on, he looked around for where to go next. After a couple of twists and turns, he found an arrow pointing towards a black void in the wall. He pushed on in, hearing a satisfying sound of stone grinding against stone, as a not-so-secret secret door slowly gave way.

"Hey guys, I'm here!" Brad called out, but his friends weren't nearby. Instead of the dinky little set-decorated tavern he was expecting, with some fake grime thrown in, he found himself alone, in a corridor lined with actual stone and lit by actual burning torches mounted to the wall.

"Wow," he thought, curious eyes looking at the surprisingly impressive set decoration, "this actually looks really authentic. Not that I'd know, but it still looks pretty interesting." He stepped forward, not paying too much heed to the slow grinding as the secret door closed itself, shouting out names of the people he'd been expecting to see behind the door.

The corridor itself wasn't long, and there were two more conventional, though still aesthetically appropriate, wooden doors facing each other. On the left, the door had been pushed open, leading into a dark room; guessing his friends had gone that way, Brad called out for them as he stepped inside.

"Hey boys, looks like we've got ourselves a straggler!" someone called out from the gloom.

"Hello?" Brad asked; he could almost see the shadows moving, but everything seemed blurry and indistinct.

Brad yelped as the dark room got even darker, the door slamming itself shut. Creepy gnarled hands grabbed onto him, pushing him to his knees. He felt them pull off his backpack, the straps snapping surprisingly easily.

"Very funny guys," Brad groaned. "Look, I've had a shitty day, and I just want to unwind, so enough of the games, okay?"

The raspy voice informed him, "Eh, I don't think so. I think it's time for the game to begin, ain't that right, boys?"

Brad heard something rustling; whoever it is might have been having trouble with the gloves they must have been wearing. "No, I'm serious! I pretty much came straight from the airpo-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, before a thick, wet smell poured into his nose, like someone who hadn't bathed for a couple of weeks. Brad tried gagging, but the gloved hands - which had seriously dangerous sharp spikes on the end - grabbed his jawbone. The sharp fingertips poked into his cheeks, squeezing and the voice encouraged, "Give that a whiff, and see if you want to rush off home!"

Brad hadn't breathed the entire time. He still didn't want to. Obviously these were not his friends. Who were they? Had something happened to them? Was this some kind of gang headquarters or something? Had he stumbled into some drug den? What the hell were they trying to get him to smell?

More of the sharp-fingered hands descended on him, holding his shoulders down. He felt something hard and slick slide against his cheek, the smell intensifying. Brad felt his pants tighten as blood rushed into his nether regions. Regardless of what the rank smell was, or the situation - or maybe because of it - he was getting aroused.

The voice warned, "Oi! None of that! What are we, monsters or something?" The room erupted in a chorus of high-pitched, squeaky laughter.

Brad breathed in deeply, the thick scent oozing through his body. He felt his gripped face pull into a grin, then he too joined in the laughter. At first it was nervous and high-pitched, then slowly became more natural. These guys were like his friends, he started to believe, just here to have some fun.

"Just give it a few more moments," the voice continued after the laughter had died down.

Brad's heart was still racing, but he was no longer nervous. He was just with some guys who wanted to have fun, and that was why he'd come, right. "What's that smell?" he wondered; for some reason, his brain felt fuzzy, like he'd been drinking. He started to wonder if maybe he had been, and couldn't remember.

"It's us!" the voice announced. "Do you like it?"

"Mmm, yeah," Brad answered, lifting his hands up to grab at whatever was in front of him making that smell. The scent grabbed hold of his cock, squeezing it into an aching, dripping erection. Touching warm fur, he pulled it closer, feeling something slid up against his forehead as his nose pressed against flesh. Sniffing heavily, he breathed out in a long sigh.

The hand gripping Brad's jaw released, the spiky, spindly fingers moving through his hair. "That's good," the voice said, "and I'll bet you want more, huh?"

"Yeah," Brad repeated, hands gripping tightly onto the hairy legs in front of him as he buried his nose deeper.

"Good," the voice crooned, "now open wide."

Brad lowered his jaw again. The crotch in front of his face pulled away, and for a fraction of a second he felt himself on the edge of trembling. Something hard, long and salty slipped between his lips.

"Don't bite down," the voice commanded, "just suck it and have fun."

Letting his tongue play around with the thing in his mouth, Brad felt it thrust forward slightly. He was sure it was a dick; a strange one, but nothing else came to mind. He'd never had one in his mouth before: as it turned out, he loved it. The slick rod was thin, straight and long. Not all of it - not enough, he felt - could fit into his mouth.

"Maybe, if I stretch my face out a little..." he thought, grunting as a tingling sensation bloomed to life, encompassing the lower half of his face. Tightening his lips, Brad felt the dick slide in and out, with gentle, easy movements. It didn't go in too far each time, but it seemed to feel like more was going in.

"Oh yeah," the voice sighed, "that's real good." As a reward, the gnarled hand reached down, and scratched along his long, narrow chin; the claws felt really good to him as they dug through the blossoming fur. The voice added, knowingly, "Bet you're feeling hot though, right? And itchy?"

"Mmhmm," Brad agreed, voice muffled by the cock sliding along his tongue. His whole body felt itchy, and his clothes felt uncomfortably confining.

"Maybe we should them off them," the voice suggested, "let you relax with us a little more."

"Good idea," Brad thought, his elongated whiskers bristling as he felt a warm, furry body straddling him from behind, reaching around him to slowly tug off his shirt. He felt the buttons of his shirt spring off by claws, the little bits of plastic smacking onto the stone and making a skittering noise. Rough rodent paws scraped against his skin; Brad's nose twitched in excitement as sharp fingers ran through the fur steadily growing out of him.

Moaning, Brad felt an encouraging tug on his lips. Rat-man hands nestled dangerously, enticingly close to his crotch, fumbling with his belt buckle. He could almost see them now; not necessarily with his eyes, but the warmth they gave off, and their scent. The musky smell formed images in his mind that matched what he felt: tightly-muscled, short human bodies with rat-like accoutrements. Furry bodies exuding musk, but particularly from the crotch. Large ears and pointed muzzles with twitching noses and sensitive whiskers. Small-seeming red eyes peering out into the dark. Nimble paws with sharp claws where the hands and feet would be, all quite dexterous. A long, segmented tail, a bit like the one he felt beginning to coil in his tight-feeling pants.

Of course, there was the cocks: thin but incredibly long, pink rods jutting out of sheaths attached to the belly. Below them, ridiculously huge balls to drive the owners into a horny state. Brad groaned in relief as his own oversized sack spilled out of the front of his pants as they were tugged off of him. His cock, long but still undergoing the necessary changes, oozed excitedly and smacked up against his chest, flesh tingling as his own sheath started to form.

Brad felt his ass being raised into the air, a foot-long tail springing out as his pants were lowered. Quite soon, he felt the noses of several rat-men sniffing at his rear as their hands held him up. Reaching up his own, he gripped onto the waist of the rat-man in front of him - the one with the voice - to keep his cock from slipping out of his muzzle.

"That feels good, doesn't it?" the lead rat-man grunted.

"Mmhmm," Brad grunted again, feeling the tip of the leader's - his leader's - shaft slip down into his throat. Rat-man musk was overpowering him, his changed nose very acutely attuned to its fragrant flavours. The others seemed keen to lick at his rear; he felt their saliva sliding down his flesh and splattering down to the floor after following the contours of his sack.

"Why don't you turn around then, let's see how quickly your other hole adapts," the leader suggested, yelping as he pulled out, Brad's tongue-tip sliding along the bottom of his cock.

Brad followed, transforming feet pulling out of the shoes the other rat-men had grabbed onto, leaving him just wearing stretched socks. Holding his tail up, he felt his leader grab it, the saliva-lubricated shaft and hole touching.

Squeaking as he was penetrated, Brad gripped onto the stone. The other rat-men weren't too keen on waiting their turn: he felt several cocks jabbing him in the face. He felt his own shaft twitch: it was incredibly flattering just how eager they were to see how he fared.

"Hey, now," his leader growled warningly, pausing mid-thrust. "Don't overwhelm the new guy. I'm sure he's as eager as the rest of you are to see what he can do, but it's not like the rest of you are short of holes!"

Chittering laughter broke out; Brad would have joined in, but one rat-man had climbed over his back and he needed all his energy to meet the leader's thrusts and hold himself up. Another rat-man came up behind the one on top of him, pushing their cocks together and angling them both into Brad's mouth.

While Brad was happy for the weight on his back to be lessened, his jaw was starting to ache at the eager rat-men's thrusts. Not to mention his spread asshole being speared by the leader's almost-impatient slams. They were getting deeper, the rat-man's cock distending his innards; it was pretty uncomfortable, but Brad found he actually enjoyed that part, too.

The attention Brad was getting wasn't reserved for just his holes: rat-man paws enclosed about his waggling erection furiously stroking him. Someone was servicing him, too, as he felt another warm, hairy body slide through his arms.

The leader's crotch furiously pounded against his rump: the leader and the rat on Brad's back seemed to be kissing furiously, their passions extending throughout their body. Pre-cum flowed almost like water, pouring out of the two juicy cocks in his mouth. His hole stung, gaping open for the next thrust from the leader. His brain had short-circuited the pain into pleasure, soon finding himself carried away.

"Ugh, fuck, don't I like a nice tight hole," the rat-leader grunted, and suddenly Brad's insides burned. The leader's cock slipped wetly from his asshole, hearing him grunt as he jerked off, spraying around his dripping hole with more of his semen. The scent of it seemed to set of a chain reaction: Brad almost choked as a torrent of rat-man seed flooded into his mouth, exploding out of the corners of his lips as it had nowhere else to go.

Brad felt his own balls clench up, his sore body exploding in overwhelming bliss as his ejaculate splashed out of him. He felt someone start sucking on his tip greedily, as though to drain him dry and keep going. He felt light-headed from both the orgasm and a lack of oxygen, and felt his body go limp and fall into the mass of tired, satisfied rat-men.

"Rest up quick, boys," the leader grunted out, flopping on top of the tired mass. "Let's see if our new friend here can help us lure in a few of his old ones."