Changing Times

The Woodfather - Germination

Prologue

Simplicity at its finest.

That was life for my brothers and I ever since the great Woodfather had freed us from our overly complicated lives and brought us into his embrace. There was no stress that came with social media. No classes with looming deadlines that shortened our lives. No intricate relationships with so many strings attached and poisoned by nuance. Everything was simple.

No one cared if I had my dick up Sid's ass or that Toby's was hilted deep inside of me. It was just natural to be covered in cum and nestled in the strong arms of our father - the Woodfather. The shitty cabin had been decimated the first day. Celebrations at our rebirth had led to some wild sex and Mikey - who still getting used to his new size and weight - had smashed into one of the walls. At that point, we just fucked and smashed the false symbol of mankind's 'empathy' towards nature. They couldn't understand what it meant to really be one with nature.

Not the way we did.

It stirred my dick just thinking about fucking some soft-skinned 'eco-warrior' who thought they were doing nature a favour by 'going vegan' or only buying 'biodegradable' shit. Idiots. It isn't a problem of them polluting the world. It's the overconsumption and overproduction that was the problem. Nature will eventually adapt but mankind had spread too far, too quickly and they were pooling their shit far faster than nature could adapt. It wouldn't matter if every human became a vegan. It'd be the plants that'd suffer instead and all the animals would still be in trouble.

Standing amongst the forests, I stared fiercely across the lake at the White Tail Hunting Club. The broad, stone and brick mansion was home to several of the executives from Ferndyllais_during their 'hunting trips'. Their gas-guzzling SUVs and plush town cars were parked behind the gilded gates while their silhouettes hoisted wine glasses in celebration over something or another. None of them _actually did any hunting. They had actual hunters go out, tranquilise some tantalising prey, drag it within their fenced off area before they shot the terrified creature that had no hope of escape.

It was apparently some exclusive club that only the richest of the nearby, mass-polluting town could afford. In total, there were about thirty members. Each of them were either fabulously wealthy or came from a wealthy family that had migrated to the town. With the snow fast approaching, this was the last opportunity for the club members to do some hunting before everything became blanketed in white and the mountains became treacherous.

Tempting as it was to trap them in the mansion and watch them kill themselves over food, the Woodfather had other plans. No one was to die. Everyone was to be converted. It was the only way to bring balance back to the world.

"Your eyes are solely on them, aren't they Vincent?"

The Woodfather hovered behind me, his strong hand resting on my shoulder. Warmth radiated from it and exuded calm. Rage and fury at the sight of proud geese being hauled from where they were kept in the back of the club eased in the presence of the Father. My cheek gravitated towards his fingers, nuzzling them affectionately while my own three-fingered hand grasped the appendage tightly.

"Most other men at least pretend to be conscious of the environment," I explained. "These men don't. They just take and take. They kill not for food but for sport and don't even make the effort to make the experience painless for the poor soul. They _deserve_to be punished."

The Woodfather's hand gently snaked towards my chest, rubbing the strong firm muscles beneath. It was natural to flex my muscles there, forcing the rounded shelves to bump upwards into my Father's firm grip. Sensing his enormous cock stirring behind me gave a sense of pride.

"I sense so much potential within you, Vincent," he crooned into my ear. "But you will only give yourself grey fur by bottling your anger with inaction." His other hand curled around my waist, gently running over my belly, stopping for a few seconds against each solid abdominal muscle his fingers came by. His fingers brushed against the second row of nipples that protruded from my top most abdominal muscles, causing the flesh to harden at attention. "There is still much you can offer, my son. It is time to unleash it."

There was no resisting the Woodfather. Not that I wanted to. Pleasing him and making him proud was the reason for my entire existence. The slick, thick flesh of his cock slid into my ass like it had done so many times before. The deeper he pushed, the closer the connection between us. It was almost like the rounded tip of his prick could reach into my very soul and touch it like only a man could. This was a level of intimacy that no one else could achieve with me, not those skanks that I had once slept with and not even my own brothers. Only the Woodfather - my true father - could touch me like this.

Though we were almost the same size, his immense cock was so strong that its hardened length lifted me easily off the ground. Gravity and its throbbing length pulled me closer and closer to its base. The touch of those enormous balls against my own brought back memories of the euphoria that came with being shot from those tanks of holy seed and being given the gift of a physical shape. Some days I wished to return to the warm embrace of that sack. There was work to be done, however, and I was a protector of nature. The forest needed protecting.

His strong arms held me upright against his chest, my back pressing against his gargantuan pectorals and feeling the hardened points of his nipples against my lats. There was enough of a grip that when he pulled his dick back, I was kept in place. His thrust was hard but affectionate and his lips against my neck caused the fur on the back of my arms to rise. The thick aroma of sex and musk exuded from our bodies. Our lips gravitated towards one another, tongues curling in a tangled weave and our brilliant, green eyes shut. Never mind that the hunting lodge was just across the lake. We were going to fuck here and now; a challenge against these oligarchs who though themselves kings of life and death. It will be the last warning they will get before I come for them.

The sounds of our lovemaking went unheeded by the forest around us. He was the lord of this place and the birds, bears and bees all knew it was only right and natural that the Woodfather mate with his son. Some even looked on curiously as he lowered us onto the grass, his mighty legs folding to a kneel. The magnificent legs that he had gifted me - these tree-trunk-like thighs, bulging, heart-shaped calves and huge, hooved feet - bent in a squat. It was so easy to just bend by legs, lowering myself down against his cock until our balls touched and then straightening again until the tip just hovered at the rim of my ass. The tantalising precum that dripped from the end only made me want to have that throbbing tool in me all the more. The masochist in me held off. Holding back and leaving my soul yearning for that sensual touch, that deep, intimate contact only made the moment when our essences once more tangled all the sweeter. My Father understood this primal desire. A taste had teased my soul, hinting at euphoric release that would surely come. My own throbbing member, bigger than anything a human would have ever dreamt of possessing, pleaded for that joyous orgasm.

With all my willpower, I slowly eased myself down onto that cock again. My eyelids fluttered but they were of little use as I blinded by sheer ecstasy. Blood rushed towards my groin, my beating heart pounding ferociously in rhythm with my engorged cock. Veins popped against the light, chestnut brown fur of my thighs like vibrant highways all leading to my cantaloupe-sized balls. If there was some strain in my legs over maintaining the squatting position for so long, I could not feel it. The overwhelming sensations of his arm-sized member ploughing into me, reaching into the very depths of my being and showering it with his precum drowned all other sensations.

Immense hands that could seize each of my pectorals gently roved downwards towards my secondary nipples, rubbing them, sending waves upon waves of electric stimulation throughout my entire body. Pleasure rocketed up from my rear and rushed up from my torso, causing my spine to arch backwards. The build-up of heat and sensations pooled into my chest like it was filling my lungs. I had to break the kiss from my Father's lips and throw my head back, careful not to spear him with my antlers. The cry that leapt from my throat was embarrassingly girlish but I could do nothing less. Every inch he was in me was one less inch that my body had for air leaving the little I had left for breath siphoning between my lips.

The Woodfather nuzzled my neck. I instinctively pulled my head away, exposing my throat to him. "Feel the forest around you, my son. _Feed_on the energies the wild gives you. Do not rely on your mortal frame alone for sustenance. Feel the touch of the grass and earth between your toes, the smell of the wind through your fur, the taste of the sun."

This was a lesson and not just a session of immensely pleasure intimacy between father and son. It was good thing I drew pleasure from self-denial then. I pulled my ass further away from his thrusts, almost leaning back entirely onto his muscled chest. Though my body quivered with anticipation at being speared again, there was time and strength that I could invest into the message that my Father wanted to teach me.

My heart continued to pound against my chest and every inch of my body craved the touch of his but I was more than just a creature of pleasure and flesh. Born of his essence, I was connected to the forest just as he was. A deep breath brought tinges of something more than just the crisp fresh air of the Canadian wilderness. My feet throbbed as every blade of grass around us leaned directly towards them. The sun's warming rays pierced me, penetrating my thick hide and seeping deep through my broad muscles and down to my bones. All these sensations funnelled from my head, toes and chest, pooling deep within me, to my core. A soul that had sustained itself entirely on my mortal flesh and the nourishment my Father gave me suddenly had a buffet before it and it greedily devoured all the energies before it.

"I... I feel it!" I gasped.

"Good, my son," the Woodfather encouraged, his hands squeezing down at my lower nipples. "Now, take that power and mine. Fulfil your true potential."

A moan left my lips and I had to close my eyes in anticipation of what was about to happen. Once more, I lowered myself onto his dick. Inch by inch, he entered me, allowing me to dictate the pace. His precum was once more pouring and it joined the symphony of power that came from the forest. Nature provided raw, primal energies, unrefined but still nutritious like a crude beer. The Woodfather's was sophisticated, rich and though it came in competitively smaller quantities it was far more powerful.

I had to stop midway down his cock as the roiling energies were too strong for me to take all at once like a hurricane thrashing deep within me. Gentle thrusts from his cock urged me on and his guiding hand helped quell the raging tide. The power was pooling in my chest, pushing outwards like my pectorals were a rooftop and they were giants growing with the need to burst free of the confines of a simple home. I could barely breathe!

The Woodfather's spirit and words guided me, calming my panicking heart. The winds provided the strength for my lungs. No need to actually breathe. Drawing strength from the air, my body could be sustained on just being out in the open alone so long as the air was natural. Though I still panted, it was no longer out of necessity but out of lust and desire.

That brought me another inch down his shaft and allowed more power from the forest to flood me. My chest tightened all the more. There was an instinctive urge to lift my arms and squeeze down on my pectorals. A newfound flexibility in the muscles allowed me to flex them, gyrating the striated flesh like waves of muscles were running down from by collarbone, over the mound of my pectorals and disappearing to where they pressed against my belly.

Deeper and deeper, I speared myself on his shaft. The heat from his balls was a siren song. The further I plunged, the great the pressure that built within my body. The storm was thrashing, pushing outwards of my mortal form and funneling into my cock. My balls were thrashing with each of his thrusts and my dick was shooting precum so far and high that it was splattering into the still waters of the lake. Only through sheer force of will and the Woodfather's guidance did my dick not erupt at that moment.

Realizing that it would it would not find release through my groin, the storm thrashed upwards. I clamped my muzzle shut and the thrashing energies double backed realising that it could not escape through that avenue. It found another route, however, or more accurately - four.

A cry of ecstasy pressed up against my throat but with my muzzle firmly shut, it came out as a high-pitched whine. All that power came pushing up against all four of my nipples. The already hardened flesh became even firmer so much so that they could have cut diamonds. They grew erect, lengthening to almost an inch from my flesh.

"That's it, my boy," the Woodfather pressed, his cock hilting deep within me. "Take my power. Make it your own. Use it to teach mankind a lesson they will not soon forget."

Pressure continued to build within all five organs like having five different dicks all begging for release. The Woodfather's fingers tweaked my lower nipples and all I could do was grasp the ones standing atop my pectorals like proud flagpoles. The mix of sensations from all over my body collided with the strength and power. It was too much!

This time, the Woodfather did nothing to hold back the storm. My muzzle burst open, a tremendous cry of sheer ecstasy spilling from deep within my being. Hot cum came pouring out of my dick, shooting skyward as an immense stream of white goo that splashed down into the lake with loud, heavy splashes. That first blast relieved much of the building pressure within me but it was not enough. My shout came to a choking halt, my vision flickering in and out. Waves of pleasure erupted from my nipples and I could scarcely see the jets of thick, greenish-white milk shooting out of them. My fingers instinctively squeezed down onto my nipples, the watery fluid pouring between them and onto my palms. The same liquid dripped down my flanks as the Woodfather squeezed my lower nipples.

Another jet of my cum came bubbling up from by balls. A scream of ecstasy was reduced to a silent cry as all five organs let out a blast of their own fluids simultaneously. Spasms rocked the rest of my body and my arms dropped to my sides, my nerves sizzling from the overstimulation. Choking gasps left my lips with the collapse of my mighty legs, putting my entire weight upon the Woodfather's immense bulk. He did not flinch and even wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly as his own balls churned ominously.

Too late did I realise my third shot would have a bit of backup. The Woodfather's seed exploded into me like a rocket and my body was thrust upwards, sliding three whole inches up his cock from the force of the shot. My eyes bulged in my sockets, muzzle peeled back in a wordless cry as the pressure relieved from the earlier two orgasms redoubled in intensity. It was almost possible to hear my cock complain as it gurgled and erupted with an equally explosive blast. All four of my nipples shot their payload high into the air.

The five jets of fluid could have made for a Las Vegas water show with their different colours and intensities. My dick blasted the thickets load and stuck up right in the middle, a gooey, white stream that shot the highest as well. My two lower abdominals poured out a clear, greenish liquid almost like some form of green-coloured juice. It was the most fluid of the three types and rained down upon us. My pectoral nipples erupted with a liquid that was a median between the two - watery but opaque green. It rained down heavily against my chest, splattering over my body like little bullets.

All feeling left my limbs and darkness began to encroach upon the corners of my vision. The Woodfather, still pouring his essence into me, held me in his arms and gently kissed my cheek. His whispers flooded my dreams, telling me of what I could do with my newfound powers... and my mission.

Germination

Little within the forest escaped the Woodfather's gaze. Even the smallest butterfly landing on a flower was a simple detail that the great spirit-given-flesh could detect. This was a gift that he had shared with me after my metamorphosis. Overwhelming at first, the key was discovering what was 'normal' amongst the trees as opposed to the abnormal. So it was no surprise that the amateur hunter known as William 'Billy' Hocket was detected some distance away from the White Tail Hunting Club.

The wind carried his Axe deodorant no matter how well he tried to mask it. The heavy boots he wore were muddied and carried the crushed lives of grass, plants and insects wherever he tread. Every branch, shrub or leaf he disrupted carried his mark. In many respects, he was a decent hunter but the official club members mocked him in their manor. It was a way for them to generate revenue. Convince some hopefuls that they could 'get into the club', get them to pay a fee to 'hunt on their turf' and then set them loose to hunt something impressive.

Naturally it was a sham.

The club had already hunted anything they deemed 'worthy' within a twenty-mile radius and anything the hopefuls brought in would've just been met with a 'that's nice but try for something better next time'. Billy Hocket was worth some sympathy in that regard. The forty-five-year-old man was relatively fit with flecks of grey dusting his short, brown hair and though he possessed a little belly, he was mostly lean and wry. A bushy moustache hung over his upper lip that had yet to be ravaged by time. Sharp blue eyes darted back and forth beneath the furry, woollen beanie he wore over his big ears to keep them warm. Well prepared, Billy bore a heavy, olive green vest padded for insulation and with several tools to help him in his hunt. A long-sleeved, red and black chequered shirt wrapped around his torso while loose-fitting, dark blue denim jeans offered some form of protection from the wilds.

A heavy hunting rifle was slung over his shoulder. From his bearing alone, it was clear this was not his first hunting trip. Every step was soft, measured and he kept his 5'9'' frame low to the ground. His eyes would dart every now and then to the sky, measuring the time even though he possessed a working wristwatch that ticked away beneath his shirt. This was a man who considered himself 'one' with nature. It was adorable how he lifted his nose into the air and sniffed as if he could pick up the subtler scents in the air.

Were his senses sharper, he would've noticed the flock of geese quietly resting in the bushes about fifty feet to his left. Perhaps he could even have detected the small herd of deer that were nestling in for the night a mile away. A bear that had yet to hibernate had detected him and was moving to investigate but I quietly nudged her, telling her to leave the foolish man to me. She left with a huff and padded away. The noise alerted Billy and he lifted his gaze to try and see where the noise came from. He caught sight of the lumbering she-bear shifting away. His heart leapt in his chest and he quickly ducked back into the bushes.

A few tense minutes passed before he was satisfied that the bear was gone. Once more, he checked the sky, his bushy, brown eyebrows with flecks of grey rising.

"It's getting late," he mumbled. "I better get back."

There was at least another three hours of daylight and in theory, he could make it back to the lodge long before then. Erring on the side of caution was an admirable quality. Why he would associate with such crass, exorbitant fat asses like the members of the White Tail Club was a mystery. Billy seemed the kind of guy that would be smart with his money and not waste his precious time trying to obtain a membership to a place that rewarded the meaningless death of another living being with praise.

Whatever his motives, his punishment was sealed and decided.

As he trudged back towards the manor, his eyes lit up at the sight of a magnificent creature. A stag with what had to be twelve prongs. The majestic beast stood, silhouetted against the sun and peering off to the side. There was a perfect shot lined up just for him. Such an opportunity would surely get him into the club so he readily pounced, going down on one knee and gazing down the sights of his gun. Even with the sun against him, he dared not move lest he alert the beast. Billy Hocket held his breath like a sniper would, steadied his hand and fired.

Birds leapt from their perches and fled from the thunderous sound.

The stag immediately topped to the ground. Billy leapt to his feet and pumped a fist into the air.

"Yes! I just hope his antlers are intact."

He happily skipped over the foliage towards his kill. Only it was not what he was expecting. Instead of a lush, brown pelt he was greeted only by harsh bark. Those twelve prongs were just branches reaching into the air. Even the leaf-shaped tail was just like that, a leaf shaped like a tail. A decoy. Branches and leaves shaped to appear like a proud stag.

"What the hell?" he began. "What kind of prank is this?"

"No prank, Billy," I snarled. "A test. One you failed."

The amateur hunter spun around and immediately saw me. He was eye-level with the two silver chains that my Father had given me. A gift, he had said, to commemorate my evolution. The chains were crossed in an 'X' shape and hung from four silver nipple rings. Two other rings clung from my left ear setting me well apart from my brothers other than the general features of a son of the great Woodfather.

Billy staggered back in shock, eyes wide. "What the fuck!?"

Calmly, I reached for my right pectoral nipple. With a simple tug of the chain, a rush of arousal flooded my body and the fleshy nub was instantly erect. Just the faintest squeeze of my chest muscle and a thick dollop of greenish-white milk leaked out of the organ. "The blood of many of the forest's denizens are on your hands. You kill for sport. You stuff the carcasses and mount them on your walls. You don't even eat half the shit you hunt. It's all just to impress those pricks at the White Tail."

His fear was in the air. No matter how experienced a hunter is, they specialised in keeping their prey at a distance and laying traps for their foes. When confronted by a foe that was standing right next to them and without any of the aforementioned traps between them, a hunter was screwed.

Pun intended.

Turning Billy now without fanfare wasn't going to be fun, though. This was a meal to be savoured and my cock stirred at the thought of having this hunter get a taste of his own medicine. Billy noticed my rising organ and his eyes doubled in size, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment.

"Look," began Billy, lifting his hands complete with rifle up in surrender. "I swear I'll never hunt again. Just" - he swallowed hard - "Just let me go, man."

"I don't think so, Billy," I rumbled ominously. "You're going to get down on your knees, open that big mouth of yours that you use to boast about all your hunting accomplishments - most of which are embellished - and then you're going to drink every drop of cum I pour down your fucking throat."

The Woodfather doesn't like swearing in his forest but he will forgive me for my use of vulgarity to intimidate this asshole.

Billy's reaction was predictably masculine; he recoiled at the thought of drinking my seed and opened his mouth to protest. The moment he did, I squeezed down on my nipple, making aim for his mouth. A jet of milk shot straight down his throat. No more than a few drops but that would be enough.

"Fuck!" he cried, spitting out what he could and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. A few steps were placed between us with his staggering. "What the fuck are you!?"

"Your judge and I'm here to deliver my verdict." My grin grew wider, my cock stirring in excitement. "I'm going to give you a thirty second head start. Then your ass is mine."

"You're kidding me..."

I lifted a finger at him. "One. Two. Three."

The panic in his eyes sparked the fire of fear in the rest of his body. After a few more strings of cursing, he spun around and fled, completely forgetting his gun and instead holding it against his chest like it was his only lifeline. In many ways, Billy Hocket was a smart man but in many others, he was also incredibly stupid. About ten seconds into his run, he stopped and looked at the gun in his hands. While he was out of sight for the moment, I could see him through the eyes of the forest. I could see his hesitation, his realisation that were he to go running to the White Tail Hunting Club now, none of them would believe his wild tale of a buck made from wood and the enormous stag that had threatened to take his anal virginity. But, if he could somehow bring back proof, maybe even slay the mighty beast then they would not only believe him but also let him into the club.

Predictably human.

The juices I had squirted into him had already begun its work. It was subtle given how little of it had fallen down his gullet but already his body heat was rising and his heart was racing. His thoughts of fame and fortune were only enhanced by the rush of chemicals his brain released, mimicking the sense of arousal that came with a rising cock. He bolted towards where he was sure he had laid out some of his traps. An excellent memory would be of great use amongst the Woodfather's troops. When he found the crude bear traps he had set, he immediately went to work setting up an ambush.

Thirty seconds came and went. I decided to take a leisurely stroll towards his position. This gave him enough time to set up a primitive snare trap with some rope. He even managed to dig a pit about a foot deep and about as much wide before the traps and cover it in leaves. The intention was to cause an unsuspecting pursuer to trip and fall into the other insidious tricks. Billy parked himself within some bushes, staring down the barrel of his gun and watching quietly for my approach. The throbbing of his own cock was barely noticeable as his laser-like focus kept him from succumbing too easily to my influence.

Such a strong will. His resistance and admirable attempt stirred my loins. Of course, I could have just gone around his little den, but breaking his will involved showing him how his struggle was futile. Not too quickly, however. I wanted to see that moment of elation when he thought he had won before I snatched victory from him. It was just like being teased with my Father's cock. Perhaps I shouldn't play with my prey, but it was amusing how a buck - a traditionally prey species - was now the hunter and was toying with his quarry.

My two-foot-long, fat cock was already at full mast, acting like a diving rod towards Billy. It was the first thing that the man saw when I stepped out from behind the trees. The stirring in his loins was alien to him and the briefest flashes of wonder crossed his mind at the sight of my mesmerising dong. His focus was momentarily derailed but he quickly brushed aside the strange yearning in his dick and the skip of a beat in his heart. Keeping the moan down as he denied me his servitude only made me want him more.

Striding towards him, I made sure to lock gazes with the resourceful amateur hunter so that there was no doubt I knew he was hiding there in the bushes. Even without saying a word, he knew I was aware of him and that I had him in my crosshairs. There was no pause in my gait even as I purposefully plunged my foot into the hole he had made. My foot was too big to actually be hindered by it but I pretended to trip over it nonetheless and stumble forward. Acting had never been my strong suit but I think I did a pretty decent job letting out a theatrical 'whoa' and stumbling right into his snare trap.

The thick, elastic length snapped around my ankle and tried to use the leverage of a nearby branch to pull my leg out from underneath me. Between the strength of the branch and my own tree-trunk thighs, it was not going to work. Billy's heart sank at the sight especially when I easily reached down and snapped the rubbery length in two.

"You're going to have to try way harder than that, Billy."

A few more steps forward and the beartrap sprung. The steel loudly creaked as the trap's jaws snapped around my calves. Billy jumped out from behind the bushes in victory, grinning broadly while still staring down his gun.

"Got ya, you motherfucker!"

I never stopped smirking at him. "Think again." Lifting my 'trapped' leg, I showed him how the teeth of the beartrap hadn't broken my hide no matter how hard it had clamped down. In fact, some of the teeth had even broken from the attempt. Just one simple flex, a tense of my calf, and the beartrap creaked open. I slammed my foot hard into the ground, shattering the miserable device and scattering the pieces with a simple shake of my hooved foot.

"Oh fuck me..." Billy gasped.

I was hoping he'd say something like that. "That's the idea."

"Get back!" he shouted even as he was the one that backed away. "I'm warning you!"

"Billy, Billy, Billy," I tutted, shaking my head in the process. "Your beartrap didn't even scratch me." I advanced. His finger on the trigger shook. "What makes you think your little BB gun will do any better?"

A moment of doubt. A crushing realisation that nothing he could do would escape his fate. That was what I was looking for. He was mine. Before he could recover, I seized the barrel of the gun and gave it a simple squeeze. The metal bent beneath my grip, turning the weapon completely useless. With one tug, it was hurled off to the side, lost into the woods. Billy watched it go, watched the best line of defence he had vanish into the woods. There was symbolism in that. The gun, his human weapon, lost and consumed by the forest he'd harmed.

His eyes darted back towards me and he was immediately met by the wall of muscle that was my pectorals and abdominals. The softest of yelps left his lips before I took that final step forward that caused those very same lips to close around my right pectoral nipple. I grasped the back of his head, keeping him in place even as he struggled which caused the chains the jingle. Ever the fighter, he pulled at those very same chains, trying to cause my discomfort but it only caused me further arousal and that tug caused a jet of my milk to shoot straight down his throat. Jolted by the sudden invasion of liquid, he ceased the attempt and tried to spit out my gift. With my hand firmly pressing him against my nipple, however, there was nowhere for him to return the fluid.

Keeping it in his mouth was still an option... until I started flexing my pectoral purposefully. Milk streamed into his mouth, forcing his eyes to go wide in shock. Muffled protests rose from him and he desperately struggled to find some way of stopping me from filling him with my juices. With my enormous dick throbbing against his chest, there seemed only one option and his hand went down towards my balls. That was one thing I would not tolerate. I immediately seized his wrist with my free hand, pinning it against his back. Before he could use the other hand to attack my sack, his mouth became full of milk and he was forced to do the inevitable: swallow. Only when I saw his Adam's Apple bulge with the effort of downing my man-milk did I release him. Billy staggered back, gagging and gasping.

"Fuck! That's nasty!" he exclaimed.

"Is it though?" I asked slyly. "Be honest now. Wasn't it the tastiest thing you've ever drunk?"

He spun towards me, jabbing a finger in my direction accusingly. "Fuck you man!"

"Don't be so quick to judge, Billy. Hasn't your momma ever told you that drinking milk makes you big and strong?" I lifted my right arm, flexing it before him so that he could see the big mound of muscle that was by bicep.

Just one glance, one moment of utter captivation, was all that was needed to trigger the change. Billy let out a loud groan, clutching his stomach and doubling over. A loud gurgling noise rose from his belly. His expression twisted into a mix of confusion and arousal. Beneath his fingers, his belly roiled and churned, visibly growing bigger and bigger, filling into a nice plump bump that began to strain his shirt. The zipper of his vest was forced to descend with the rapidly growing gut.

The sudden increase of weight forced him to his knees. His pectorals shifted and tensed. More definition was piled upon the otherwise flat surfaces, growing to match his gut in proportion while his nipples grew painfully erect as they rubbed against the fabric of his clothes. Shoulders that seemed so small compared to the widening chest bulged out, the curve of his deltoids clearly visible against the chequered design. His long sleeves were forced to slightly ride up his forearms with the growing muscles all up his arms caused the fabric to groan.

The confused and aroused hunter lurched forward, falling to his hands and knees giving an unobstructed view of his back. His lats heaved and shot upwards like two mountains spontaneously growing to form a hard valley right down his spine. A ferocious snarl rose up from between his clenched teeth and he forcibly unzipped his vest before tossing it aside.

The view of his legs was hidden by his growing form but there was no doubt that by his widening stance, they too were quickly growing. The hems of his jeans slipped about an inch or two away from his ankles. His feet were squirming in his hiking boots.

Billy was left panting, cold in sweat. Blue eyes stared at his shaking hands and the muscles that were connected to them.

"What...?" he began. "What have you done to me?"

"You like it." Not a question. A statement. I squeezed my upper nipples. "Come get more."

His eyes lifted to meet the sources of the juice that had turned him from weak middle-aged amateur hunter to a decent looking man who was starting on the path to a musclegut physique. Flashes of doubt crossed his features but just as my dick had acted like a divining rod to his hiding spot, his cock drained precious sense from his brain and drove him to rise to his feet and firmly clasp his lips around my right pectoral nipple. He spent one second just standing there, puzzling over what to do. Then his tongue gingerly snaked out and tangled with the heavy metal chain that pierced my nipple.

The Woodfather was incredible in his wisdom. The sensation of a willing human suckling on my nipple and playing with the piercing was like nothing I had ever experience before. If only Billy knew how close he came to popping the cork to the flood of milk. Carefully, I flexed my pectoral muscle, consciously running the tension down from the top of my muscle and rolling it downwards towards my nipple. My milk squirted into Billy's mouth and he drank it all without hesitation, never letting a drop fall to the ground.

His moans were one-part hesitation and another part submission. His hands quivered by his side. Though his body was as close as it could be without actually touching me save for his lips on my nipple, that was quickly subsiding. As more milk funnelled into his throat, his body gravitated towards me whether he was aware of it or not. Whether it was from his form rapidly growing or his feet shuffling forward beyond his command, it did not matter.

At long last, his hands touched his pectorals, going on an exploratory mission as they traversed the muscular bands that made up the striations. Every inch he explored saw the sleeves of his shirt travelling further and further down his forearm until they could no longer move any further. Still, he continued grow and with a resounding tearing noise, the sleeves of his shirt split right down the middle. His eyes were firmly shut, so enraptured by my milk. On instinct alone, he tore off his sleeves, tossing them aside as he surrendered his humanity to enter the Woodfather's warm embrace.

Billy Hocket didn't skip a beat. He undid his belt, tossing it to the side and immediately unzipping his pants. There was barely enough time to tear them off before his growing thighs caused his briefs to almost disappear against his groin. Strained by his throbbing dick, his white underwear tore as his bulging member spearheaded the continued development. He still pulled the elastic away from his waist and kicked them aside with the rest of his pants.

His boots were too complex to just take off however and he was forced to pull away. I did not give him a chance to even glance at his feet as I seized the back of his head and pushed it towards my other pectoral nipple. There was only a second of struggle before he resumed his duties and suckled on my man-milk.

A full body gurgle filled the forest. A split appeared down the back of his shirt; his back muscles exploded outwards, shoulders widening like two spreading wings and chest rapidly expanding both his pectorals and belly. His toes curled in his shoes in a vain attempt to keep within the hard confines of the hardy material. But as height and weight was quickly added to his form, they could not be contained anymore. Every toe was straining up against the muddy, brown fabric until they burst at the seams. He sighed in relief, shivering as the last remnants of clothing were kicked off instinctively while he rose to a full 6'9'' feet of height.

Gasping for breath, he pulled back from me, still looking up with his features glimmering with sweat. He wanted an explanation.

"Now you are a man," I observed. "My two upper nipples provide a juice that will push those that drink from it to their physical limit. But you do not just want to be constrained by your human shape." I gestured towards my two lower nipples. "To serve the Woodfather, you must become _more_than human."

Not even a second of hesitation. He hungrily lunged at my lower nipples, wrapping his lips around the fleshy nubs and grabbing handfuls of muscle in the process. His moans were a symphony that only helped produce the more watery green liquid from my abdominal nipples. The moment the warm, green juice touched his lips, his transformation began.

Dark, brown hairs pushed out of his cheeks, first rapidly growing into a thick beard to match his equally thick moustache. Had he stopped there, that would have been the extent of his transformation but Billy was not content with just a beard. No. He wanted to be more than he was. He wanted to be like me. The honour of being a First Son of the Woodfather would forever be unreachable from his grasp but I would do my best to delight him nonetheless.

The hairs quickly began spreading; thick, brown grass spreading all over his soft, human features. A sweat-covered brow became consumed by the growing mass. Cheeks so plump and flushed with arousal vanished beneath the carpet of fur. Ears that had once been hidden beneath a beanie vanished beneath his rapidly growing hair. His squat, pudgy nose twitched and quivered, breathing in my scent even as its flesh began to blacken and change shape.

The cracking of bones joined his moans. His face was thrust forward piece by piece, inch by inch. His lower jaw led the way, shooting forward and pushing up against my abdominals. I naturally tensed my muscles in return and that only made him suckle on my lower nipple harder. His upper jaw joined the lower and his tongue snaked out to cover the gap between them. A blackened nose quickly gave chase to the two retreating jawlines. Even with the lengthening of his newly emerged muzzle, his face did not lose any of its width. His eyes shut firmly while his skull reshaped, increasing in size while my juice filled his brain with the information it needed to use its new body parts.

Humans did not have the keen sense of smell or hearing a buck possessed. Billy's brain needed to be bigger to process this information and likewise the other unique features a stag such as I possessed. His brow knotted in concentration. The subtle undertones of my scent filtered through his newly formed nostrils; picking up the cinnamon tinges mixed with a faintly creamy base. A normal human would have only picked up my musk and called it overwhelming but now, Billy understood that my scent was far more complex than that. His ears remerged from the mess of his shaggy hair as pointed, leaf-shaped growths positioned at the sides of his head and fully mobile. Knowledge of how to use these newly flexible ears and how to process the vast information they received flooded his mind.

Billy Hocket did not stop and continued to drink from me. His head was now fully that of a stag's and a little out of proportion given its size. I had to hold up his head against my nipple to keep him balanced. That would be unnecessary soon as his continued drinking quickly thickened his neck into a dense, corded pillar that melded seamlessly into his traps. The moans he emitted grew deeper in pitch with an intense growl of a primal animal beneath.

Already wide shoulders ballooned outwards, bones cracking and creaking in the process. The dark, brown hair washed down from his head like a waterfall, sweeping down his spine and back muscles to highlight every mound and canyon as they flexed and rolled with each inch of rapidly grown. His strength quickly built and I no longer had to hold his head back as he was able to seize my waist with his powerful hands and keep himself from toppling over.

Five fingers sank into my fur but with every drop of my juice that he drank, those fingers merged. The brown fur swept over his fingers acting like tiny ropes that bound the fingers, pulling them together until he was left only with three large digits with black fingernails similar to my own. New strength filled his sizeable hands, large veins crossing the back of his palms as he pulled me closer to him. His arms naturally grew in size to accommodate for his equally large arms and as he grew another foot, so too did his arms lengthen to keep him in proportion.

The distended gut grew bigger but did not lose the definition of his abdominal muscles pressing up against this flesh. The dark fur spread consumed his torso. The moment his entire upper body was left without an inch of human flesh, his body swelled. The deep, thunderous rumble that came from his chest filled me with satisfaction as he shed more and more of his human constraints and gave in to the Woodfather and I. That rumble was interrupted by the faintest of whimpers and he pulled away from my nipple. Still with eyes closed, he found my other nipple and gave me the briefest of glances at his swollen, pink nipples jutting out from his engorged pectorals.

It was clear what this male wanted. The change spread down his legs, ensuring that he would not need me to support him further and that freed my hands to reach down and squeeze his swollen nipples. That whimper grew louder. The former hunter had yet to develop milk of his own but he was certainly close. His secondary nipples were just coming in and his anatomy was still at least half human. That would change soon as he suckled on a fresh supply of my juice.

Just as his tail emerged from his rear and the fur swept over his last remnants of humanity, what had once been Billy Hocket faded. Animals were simple creatures. They ate, they fucked and they avoided danger. Every inch if Billy that became a stag, the complexities of his life vanished.

Thighs swelled into huge tree trunks and he forgot his need for validation from a bunch of opulent tycoons.

Calves tripled in size, growing a curtain of throbbing veins to feed them and the desire for wealth and status amongst his peers vanished.

Feet morphed from a five digit appendage to a strong, hoofed stomper with two, strong toes and the ridiculous laws, regulations and 'common sense' that governed human society were discarded.

He became one with nature with his only loyalty to the Woodfather and me. His life became simple. Survive. Fuck. Get milked.

With one final squeeze, jets of milk erupted from each of his four nipples. His cock twitched and unleashed a jet of his own seed. The euphoria of his first release as a stag of the Woodfather came with promises of more moments of bliss and he hungrily formed a pact with that promise. His soul, still disgustingly human, reached out to me, begging for some form of synchronisation with the magnificent body that he had been given.

I wretched the slavering beast from my nipple and shoved my cock straight down his throat. Just as the Woodfather had used his dick to reach into my soul, so too did I use my member to reach into the immense form of Billy Hocket and pierce his soul.

"Yes, my son," cooed the Woodfather, his soul resonating with my own. "Strip him of unless complications. Free him of human desires and make him one with the forest. Bind him to you as I have bound you to me. Make him your own and draw strength from him."

Billy's soul cried out in ecstasy as it contacted me. A human need for more power had him try and consume my own essence. A simple thrust of my cock sent that thought shooting through Billy's dick and shooting out of in a gush of cum. Another thrust and the soul writhed in the realisation that it was being reshaped, transformed. It tried to resist but a simple tug of Billy's nipples that sent milk pooling at his feet and the spirit could only submit in exhaustion.

I thrust again and I took my ethereal hands and shaped the malleable soul buried beneath this hunk of a stag that was on his hands and knees, glowing green eyes glazed over and lost in unbridled lust. There were chunks of information about the White Tail club that I took for my own but what was left was a pure, clean soul free of the moral dilemmas, self-serving ambitions and 'higher thinking' that plagued humanity.

Faced with such an unpolluted thing, I was unsure what to do with it. Then the Woodfather's warm, gentle hands reached through the distance between us and guided me.

This was no longer Billy Hocket. The new stag would be named... My eyes fell on the leather belt that Hocket had discarded and I smiled. Without uttering a word of command, the blank buck before me reached down and picked up the belt, offering it to me. I took it from his hand and tied it around his bicep. His muscle was big enough that I only had loop it once around its width.

Strip. His new name was Strip. My right-hand man. Yes. Strip was my constant companion. Someone who never left my side even when I coupled with the Woodfather. My Father rumbled in anticipation at the idea of sharing Strip between us. Strip would protect me and be a second pair of eyes and ears from danger. He would be a constant sheathe for my dick and a shield on my arm.

I reached down and seized Strip's twelve-pronged horns and held him against my crotch. The explosion of cum was ecstatic but no more than the sensation of the soul within the buck being reshaped to fill the mighty body that inhabited. Human souls were like tiny, miniscule stars that burned inside their husks, often never reaching their potential due to societal demands. But Strip's soul and mine were shaped to fit our bodies. They burned like suns shaped exactly like our bodies. Our mind, body and soul were as one.

Pulling my cock from Strip, the buck looked up at me with a grateful smile, his big, thick moustache dripping with my cum. Crouched on all fours, he parked himself beside me, taking what would be his usual position. He nuzzled my thigh affectionately.

"All Praise the Woodfather," he rumbled in that sexy, deep voice of his.

My eyes turned to the west; to the White Tail club. The information I had taken from Billy Hocket had given me some interesting insights.

No words were spoken between us. As one, we strode towards the Club, our souls resonating perfectly with one another. Strip padded down on all fours, treading beside me more like an ape than stag. That only made him more appealing to me and it took all of my willpower not to stop and fuck him before we reached the Club.

A tall, red brick wall protected the club's main building with steel spokes preventing anyone from easily climbing over it. The wall had a small opening into the hunting grounds which was walled off by even taller chain link fences. It would be easily to break in through there but these 'huntsmen' as they called themselves had cameras and sensors all over the hunting grounds to spy on their prey. The fences were also closely monitored for any sort of break.

The only way into the building was if someone let us in.

A plan had already formed in my mind.

"Mount me, Strip," I said, pressing my large hands against the wall. "Mount and milk me."

Strip rumbled in acknowledgement, rising up and wrapping his arms around me from behind. His fingers found my upper nipples, tweaking them forcefully and drawing a continuous flood of milk from me. The immense member of his slipped into my ass. While nowhere near as big as the Woodfather's, it nonetheless sent primal sensations of arousal throughout my entire body. Our souls once again connected and with the strength of both our essences, I went to work.

His thrusts were wild and unshackled, a true beast of a wild. The noises he made were the same but I had to lock my lips with his to keep his quaking grunts from drawing attention. Heat and raw energies generated from our colliding bodies and souls. More and more milk dripped from my nipples, pooling beneath my feet. My precum and his joined the concoction. On my command, he moved to my secondary nipples and my transformative juices joined the muscle-building, protein-rich mix. Pressure built within my balls and I could feel his own melon-sized stag-makers.

Even though I had just orgasmed less than half an hour ago, my cock was all too eager to spill my seed once more. A powerful blast like a burst fire hydrant blasted from the tip of by dick, splattering against the wall with enough force that the splash back struck us both. I could only afford a single burst, however. Any more and I would have slipped into unconsciousness. That was not something I could afford as the hunters would likely send a search party to look for Billy Hocket before long.

My cum joined the pool of milk and juice in front of us. Strip, panting and clearly exhausted from his recent transformation and orgasm, pulled his lips from mine and peered over my shoulder curiously at the pool. As my seed joined the swirling lake of milky white liquid streaked with clear, greenish liquids, the concoction began to bubble. A smile crawled against my features. My will, infused with the fluids, rose up in the shape of a three-fingered hand. It was milky white, made entirely of the same fluids that had spawned it and still dripped and gurgled like goo. That hand was quickly followed by a meaty arm, then a bulky shoulder and eventually a tremendous torso with a stag's head sitting atop it. The liquid buck's form pulled itself out of the pool, pulling out its lower half. It was without a cock however.

An extension of my will, the milky construct looked identical to me down to the chains and piercings. The Woodfather rumbled his approval through our spiritual link and expressed his interest in playing with such a golem.

For now, I commanded the creature to quickly liquefy and shoot its way through the tiny cracks in the red brick wall. Strip had to remain buried within me as I was not strong enough to maintain my connection with the automaton. Through its eyes, I could see past the wall and from Billy Hocket's memories, I knew that the security office was positioned at the very rear of the club and as close to the hunting grounds as possible. If ever there was a breach, the guards there would be the first to respond while the fat aristocrats remained safe within the mansion.

Remaining as a semi-sentient puddle of goo, the construct slithered along the grassy path, making straight for the office. There were few guards on duty in the rear of the mansion. Most of them were positioned inside the club itself or out front for whatever reason. Predictably, the security office was not very well maintained and was minimalist in design at best. One could compare it to a pool house if the pool it was overseeing was instead a multi-acre, fenced off hunting grounds.

The golem slipped into one of the drain pipes and worked its way through the plumbing network. Through the steel and concrete, the voices of the guardsmen spoke of the dinner currently being held at the Club. Apparently, it was the last hurrah of the members before they closed off the Club for the winter. Urgency radiated from the Woodfather and I was forced to agree. If these so-called hunters were not dealt with now, they would evade punishment for months. An opportunity to catch them all in one place would likely not present itself again until then.

With this in mind, I steered the construct into the sink of the guardhouse's bathroom. From what I could see, there were only three guards in the facility. One was watching the monitors. A second was in the break room and the third was just heading for the bathroom. I waited patiently until the guard had relieved himself.

Then I was irked when the bastard didn't wash his hands. Not because it was disgusting by human terms but because I had hoped to surprise him with my golem the moment he twisted that knob.

Exasperated, my proxy pooled out of the faucet as the guard left. Another approach had to be taken as one golem was not strong enough to take on all three guards. The vents offered an alternative. Through there, my construct travelled straight to the guard that was sipping coffee while watching the monitors. It was fortunate that he sat with his feet propped up against the semicircle of screens and a vent was right above him.

A portly man, he bore a thick beard and an accompanying bald head which he hid beneath a cap with the emblem of the company he worked for; likely a security agency that provided the muscle to protect the grounds. Clearly he thought little of his job as his taut uniform had its top three buttons unbuttoned exposing his hairy chest. Maybe at about 6'1'', he may have been athletically built once given the size of his arms but that was just a rough guess.

Strip growled at me. "Master, the heat is on."

As it was near winter, the guards naturally had the heaters on which also explained why this guard was comfortable wearing his shirt partially unbuttoned. This was a danger against my liquid construct. Staying within the vents left the proxy to rapidly evaporate. Tempted as I was to see if I could extend my control into a vapour-based golem, I did not have the energy within me to create a second construct should I fail.

I had to pounce.

The second the guard lifted his coffee mug to take another drink, his lips puckered and eyes focused on the screens, I gave the command. My golem rushed out of the vent, silent and fast. It splattered all over the guard's face, the man's brown eyes widening in surprise for the briefest of moments before he stumbled backwards into his chair and fell to the ground.

"Didn't I say that you'd fall off your chair if you leaned on it like that, George?" called one of the guards in the adjacent breakroom. Neither of the two men could see what I was doing and George's windpipes were clogged with the flood of the golem.

With the liquid well into the prone guard's stomach, I had a connection with him and his stunned soul. He tried to claw at the goo that was quickly spreading all over his body but that only spread the fluids faster and quicker all over George Le Fleur's body. The greenish-white, sticky goo wrapped over his head like bubble, clinging to his flesh. His features were barely visible through the surface and though his lips were wide open, letting out a highly muffled scream, none of his companions came to his aid.

My liquid automaton spread all over his body. Though he trashed, the goo slipped beneath his clothes, covering his hands, arms and chest in one rapid movement. Every bit of flesh that it covered was sedated. His clawing hands fell limp and his arms went slack, leaving him spreadeagled on the floor with the toppled chair below him. Comically, his legs continued to thrash even as my goo seeped beneath his shirt and underwear, enclosing around his cock before spreading over his legs and bringing them to a standstill.

Poor, poor George Le Fleur. Dead end job, little respect despite all his years of service. Lazy and unambitious, he was the polar opposite of what Billy Hocket had been. In the wild, he would have been easily picked off due to his piddling drive for self-preservation. Even when faced with my presence, his soul just stared up at me, whimpering in the corner and trying to make itself as small as possible in the hopes that I would leave it alone.

A poor addition to the Woodfather's family but that was if I were going to recruit George Le Fleur.

With my influence over his body, I began reshaping his form. My golem still firmly wrapped around him like a full-body suit, his form began to twist and reshape into the perfect form of a stag. Arms lengthened, thickening with muscles. The fat remained but against the growing size of the sinew, it became a little layer of softness against an otherwise hardened instrument of destruction. Spasms rocked his body with the transformation, flushes of pleasure and arousal quickly shooting through his suddenly thickened veins and reinforced bones. His arms began to move but instead of thrashing, they flexed. The long-sleeved, tan uniform he wore tore at the seams with his newly engorged biceps, his forearms shredding right through the insulating fabric. With his fingers already clenched, it was easy for the goo to close the gabs between his digits and transition him from a five-digit individual to a three. Muscle, bone and flesh merged beneath the consuming embrace of the golem but at the same time, the power of the construct was used up. The Greenish-white goo peeled back from the tips of his fingers, revealing the black fingernails and cream-coloured fur that wrapped around his flesh.

His soul realised that the vessel that it was inhabiting was being corrupted and still it did nothing. As pitiful as it was, that meant that I did not have to worry about it rebelling whilst I worked. The problem, however, came from the two other guards in the other room who had heard the sound of tearing clothes.

"George, you okay?" asked one.

"You think the old man fell over and couldn't get up?"

Their investigation was imminent. I had to ask fast. Never mind the noise it made. Still keeping his head firmly wrapped in the goo, I turned my attention from his arms straight to his chest. Still partially clothed, the golem seeped into his skin and changed the flat, flabby, man-boobs into two broad, firm squares with mighty, erect nipples that were fully capable of shooting milk at great distances. His already opened shirt split right down the middle, buttons flying off and striking one of the monitors, cracking the screen. The rotund belly gurgled and churned, tripling in size with his increasing height and shredding the rest of his shirt from his body. Hardened abdominals pressed up against the fat. As the golem's liquid faded into his flesh, a lighter, almost yellowish fur was revealed but was interrupted by faint flecks of curly black hair on his chest that led to a treasure trail down to his crotch.

Too late did I realise I had expended all of the construct into forming such a magnificent torso and broad back that I had forgotten to add his secondary nipples. The other two guards were arguing about whether or not to help their comrade giving me a few seconds to decide whether to siphon some of the remaining essences to correct my oversight or move on. Those vents and the overall heat had done more damage than I had first anticipated.

"Push forward," the Woodfather urged. "Nature does not look back. It pushes forward. Evolve."

With those words, I pressed all my attention towards George's crotch. The emerging stag immediately reached for his pants, with his meaty hands, his hips rising up in a thrust to meet them. His cry of arousal muffled by the gooey mask, he could only claw at his crotch blindly as his cock grew and grew, tenting his pants until spearing right through it as a black-fleshed, pink-headed monster that slapped against his belly proudly. The fabric significantly weakened by the explosion of masculine flesh, his balls were free to grow, jostling into their new, furry, coconut size. The construct funnelled away from his transformed flesh, jumping straight down his cock and diving into his balls where it immediately began changing the very essence and purpose of his balls.

At the same time, his legs erupted from the confines of his pants, growing longer and thicker until his feet were pressed up against the base of the semi-circular monitoring station. His boots creaked loudly as two toes capped by hardened hooves burst from them, leading into creamy fur. The grown from his legs, pushed him across the floor, placing him at a solid 7'9'' and covered from toes to neck in creamy fur with a yellowish-white belly and dusting of black, curly hairs all over his body.

The other two guards entered the room at that moment.

"George?" asked one and he immediately saw head of George Le Fleur covered in the white, gooey mask poking out from the side of the monitoring station. "Holy shit! George!"

In the precious few seconds that I had before the two reached their comrade with armed guns, I reached into Le Fleur's soul. It squirmed and writhed in my ethereal grasp. Fear, constant failure and a barrage of insults had battered this soul into a withered, cowardly husk. It wasn't that it was small and huddled in a dark corner. Rather, these dark thoughts had shrouded it to the point where all that was visible was this barely visible speck of light. Stripping the fears of pain, suffering and humiliation left only the light of courage behind. Shredding off the memories of past failures had left it with no foundation for its regret and shattered the halo of darkness. The bright, glowing soul had shed the bruises from insults thrown at it over the years and realised that it now had a body that could easily shrug off those insults.

Almost completely on its own, the soul of George Le Fleur grew to fill its new body and it turned to me, seeking its identity. Just like with Strip, I bound it to myself, tying its essence to my own in an unbreakable bond that would ultimately lead to the Woodfather. The soul, cleaned of the darkness that had held it down, shed its identity of George Le Fleur and just like how my construct had cocooned the physical body only to give it room to metamorphose, so too did the soul remerge from the shadow to become Craft.

Just in time as well as the two guards rounded the monitoring station and realised that their engulfed comrade's head was attached to a body that was far from human. They both gawked in shock as Craft, slowly rose to his feet, his head still wrapped in my golem. The human-shaped head twisted, cracking left and right before snapping backwards. A low moan rose from hidden lips. Powerful antlers rose from his head, puncturing the white-green surface like popping a balloon. As the goo dripped away from Craft's face, his features thrust forward, reshaping into a broad, strong muzzle, squarer than mine or even Strip's and a little squat but made to look even bigger by the thick, white beard he wore. Perhaps as a tribute to what had initiated his transformation, Craft had a full head of stark-white hair to match his beard that only seemed to accentuate his glowing, green eyes.

"G - G - George!?" stammered one of the guards.

Craft cast his gaze from one to the other then reached for his nipples with both hands. He gave them a squeeze and a powerful jet of milk - stronger than anything I could produce - shot forward and slammed into the first of the guards. The man was knocked clear off his feet. The other reached for his gun but was hit by a blast of his own. Both men fell to the ground and writhed in place as the milk quickly engulfed them, wrapping them completed in a white-green cocoon similar to Craft's own. Their struggles stopped as their transformation began. The souls within were quickly bonded to Craft and from Craft to mine. I could feel their strength in me.

Without the need to maintain the connection between the construct and myself, Strip pulled out of me. Craft attended to the security station and opened a side door. Both Strip and myself had to stride sidewards and duck through the miniscule portal but we managed to make it to the guard station without being seen. By the time we arrived, Craft and splattered the walls with his seed, throwing aside the last remnants of George Le Fleur. The two other guards had emerged as fully-fledged Stags of Craft's design, without the secondary nipples but with extra strength placed in the ones he did have.

A few inches shorter than me, Craft moved towards me and flicked his ears as a subtle request if he could thank me in a more intimate way for his transformation. I answered him with a tender kiss, our cocks rubbing against one another and leaking precum. His nipples happily shot strong jets of milk at me; it was much like getting a hard rain against my chest.

Sadly, I had to break the kiss as there was still work to be done.

"All Praise the Woodfather," announced Craft, already massaging his nipples. "I will see to infecting the other guards, my master. Without their muscle, the hunters are just mice amongst giants."

An admirable plan but there were still thirty or so members and the rest of the staff to deal with. "Even should we turn the rest of the guards, there are too many to assault all at once," I answered. "We must still be careful."

"The feast," grunted Strip. "They will have a feast to celebrate this day. If we can turn the cook, we could taint their food and turn the majority of them."

I gently petted my companion, my scout. Yes, I think his brand of Stag would be called the Scout Stags. Looking at Craft's nipples and the stags he had created, the affectionate moniker of 'Milkman' seemed well suited.

"A sound plan," I agreed. "Tell me where I can find the cook."

Craft and his companions remained within the guardhouse for the moment, reassessing where the guards were. Through our connection, he instructed me on how to sneak to the back of the mansion without being detected particularly near the loading bay. The kitchen was just a short distance away from the bay. The rolling doors were shut, however, as no supplies were expected. Being this close to winter and with the shutdown of the mansion imminent, all food had to be used and the less they had to carry back into town, the better.

The problem was luring the chef out into the loading bay.

Strip's keen ears perked and he sniffed the air. "They smoke here," he snarled, lips peeling back in disgust. A bit of pawing at the grass revealed a few cigarette butts carelessly discarded away from the concrete so it was not so obvious that they had littered. Disgusting habit. "The head chef's name is Conrad Smith. He takes a smoking break every hour. More when it is nearly time for service." He again sniffed the air. "They will serve food in about seventy minutes."

His keen senses were utterly amazing. What he could do out in the wilderness hunting out stray or fleeing humans. The Woodfather was pleased.

The problem of the head chef still existed, however. Merely fucking him into submission was no fun. I wanted his transformation to be drawn out and slow. My dick demanded it. Thinking about food and the irony of serving the head chef a tainted meal appealed to me. Without a word, Strip loped back to the guardhouse. He returned a minutes later with a plate and a single apple. He had also taken Craft's discarded cap with the company logo on it.

Not only was he an expert tracker but an excellent trapper to. The apple I brought towards my erect cock. Strip warned me not to leave any traces of my activities for that would be too suspicious. Tempted as I was to cream the fruit, I instead pushed its bulbous form down against my shaft's head. The glands were pushed apart in a euphoric rush. Holding the apple by its tiny stem, I pushed it down my shaft until it disappeared against the pink head. Every instinct demanded I shoot the fruit out, pressure instantly building against my dick and the bulge against my black flesh.

It was with immense control that I flexed my cock ever so gently so that the apple slipped back out, covered in my cum. I had to turn away from the door when I pulled the fruit free for a gush of my seed came pouring out like a wild animal drooling after just being teased with its meal. Soon, I promised my cock. Infused with my seed, I placed the apple on the offered plate and set it on the concrete right in front of the door so that it would be impossible to miss. Craft's hat was positioned right next to it. The trap and the lure were set.

Along with Strip, we hid around the corner and waited for our prey to arrive. We did not have to wait long for the side door opened a moment later and a stressed, scrawny man dressed in messy, stained chef's attire emerged. Strip tensed beside me. This was not Conrad Smith. The man noticed the apple before him and bent down, picking it up and the accompanying hat. Weary, green eyes took notice of the slick, clear substance over the surface which he likely dismissed as dew. Shrugging, the man bit into the apple.

A connection was instantly established. His name was Francois Dellias. Just a kitchen hand and incredibly low on the totem pole of cooking hierarchy. Young at a mere 22 years of age, any dreams of becoming a professional chef were distant due being born and raised in the backwater yet industrial town of Ferndyllais. With parents who worked for some of the heavily-polluting factories, his ambitions of cooking gourmet meals were often set aside in a slaughter of hungry brothers who breathed food more than they chewed and ate it.

That changed however when the cum-infused apple tingled his tastebuds. Francois' eyes lit up and he stared at the apple with eyes wide in awe. Suddenly very awake, his lips parted a little as the flavours exploded in his mouth. Having consumed pure, undiluted seed, his mind and body was under my mercy. It was not enough to change him but his reactions could easily be altered. His tongue screamed orgasmic ecstasy, his brain similarly reacting by releasing chemicals of pleasure akin to arousal. He was biting into the apple again before he even knew what he was doing.

Though not my intended target, I could work with this. Strip and I retreated to the guardhouse. Craft had left, likely hunting the rest of the security staff. In the break room was a basket of apples, the source of the first that Strip had recovered. Like the first, I pushed one such apple into my dick and was heading back to the security station at the front of the guardhouse before I was pulling it out. I placed it on the windowsill that separated the guard from the would-be hunter. Overall, the station looked a little like a toll booth only instead of depositing money to be allowed to pass down the road, members of the_White Tail_ left behind equipment that would hinder their hunt before passing into the hunting grounds.

I left the door to the guardhouse open and placed another apple on the monitoring station where Craft had once stood. Then I parked myself in the breakroom, one leg up against the table and another apple in my hand. I pushed the apple into my dick, quivering as it filled me. Even though I was already fully erect, my cock felt like exploding as I kept myself from orgasming. The apple within me only made that harder but the challenge was just as arousing as the sensations that radiated from my throbbing shaft.

It did not take long for Francois to follow the trail. His first apple finished down to the core, he lusted for more. Neurons fired in his mind, connecting the presence of Craft's hat to the apple and realising that if he wanted more of the tantalisingly delicious fruit, he had to go to the guardhouse. His human mind was predictably already imagining what kinds of meals that he could make with the marvellous fruit. Ambition burned bright inside of him, fuelling fantastical dreams of world fame, fortune and TV specials.

Hungry for more, he spotted the apple at the guard station. There was a moment of puzzlement as he didn't see any other guards present but he shrugged it off and went straight for the apple. He sniffed the apple first. His eyelids fluttered, the briefest flickers of green shining behind his irises. His teeth sunk into the crisp, red flesh of the apple; juices running down his chin as he obsessively devoured the fruit.

So much complexities in this guy's mind. Various French-inspired techniques, a myriad of ways to serve beef, complex arrangements for an ideal that you 'eat with your eyes'. Layer upon layer of overly useless methods that had an equal number of criteria on which they were judged. It would be a joy to reduce this kid's complicated world into a far simpler one.

Strip's ears perked up again as the guardhouse door sprang open and Francois stepped inside gingerly.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

I lifted my hand to keep Strip from uttering a word and to remain silent. Francois found the apple resting on the monitoring station. Though still wary of being caught, his mouth watered at the prospect of another juicy mouthful of the damning fruit. Within seconds, he had it in his hands, cupping it in both like it was his Holy Grail. The moment the succulent flesh touched his lips, the emerald light behind his eyes exploded and our connection was secured.

Our souls touched. His jaw dropped open in awe, the very essence of his being shuddering. Drawn by my siren call, he dropped the apple carelessly on the ground and lumbered towards the breakroom. The moment he pushed open the door, two features of his stood out immediately; his blazing green irises and his painfully erect cock pressing up against the black pants that he wore beneath his messy apron. His skinny, 5'11'' frame looked almost malnourished. Living his life on the tenants of gourmet cooking had twisted his appetite into the idea that he did not have to serve food in large servings. The stress of being a kitchen hand and constant smoking had also taken its toll on his body.

"W - w - what...?" he stammered. His eyes were firmly locked in the bulge in by dick.

I reached for the edge of my cock and finally leg myself cum. The blast of seed splattered against the nearby wall and the apple rolled out of my dick, covered in my seed in the process. I held out the fruit for him to see.

"Is this what you're after?" I teased.

Francois barrelled forward, his arms reaching out like a brain-hungry zombie and eyes focused only on the apple. I held up my hand, stopping him at arm's length. I placed the apple against my lips, slowing biting down on the crisp flesh so that the seductive crunch of the flesh breaking pierced through his needy panting and pleading gasps. The moment I had the juicy meat in my muzzle, I pulled Francois towards me, pressing my lips against his and pushing the apple piece into his mouth. His moan shook his entire body and I let him chew while my body pressed up against his. When he swallowed, his body quaked.

He was mine.

Gasping, he pulled away from me, eyes wide. His soul was conflicted. On the one hand was my alien form and my supposed unknown motivations. On the other was the prospect of devouring and making such delicious foods.

"What do you want?" he asked, his soul speaking through his fragile mortal frame.

Refreshing to find a human who was not disconnected with his soul. "I want you to open the loading bay doors into the mansion."

"Why?"

"You know why."

He did. Just as my soul could see into his, so too could his spirit peer into mine. The plans of the Woodfather was laid out bare to him and he knew that the family would spread. Like so many others, he was part of the family now and it would only be a matter of time before his mind, body and spirit would grow to match that fact. There was no fighting it.

"I'll pull the fire alarm," he volunteered. "That'll get everyone out of the kitchen. Enough time to infect the food."

Such a good boy. I gently cupped his cheek and he nuzzled my furry palms affectionately. "Go."

Even though he was partially dripping with my cum, the temporarily-still-human Francois charged out of the guardhouse. Strip and I followed him up to the loading dock doors. The young man with glowing green eyes slipped into the kitchen doors once more. The head chef, Conrad Smith, shouted at him for taking a smoking break that was too long and he kept his head low, apologising before slinking away into the loading dock. A moment later, the doors to the bay rolled open.

I gave Francois a gently pat on the shoulder before ducking behind some of the crates of food. My size made it almost impossible to hide entirely so Francois had to close the doors again and shut off the lights to plunge the garage-like room into darkness. Strip and I were nearly invisible and were well placed to sneak into the kitchen.

Francois nodded in our direction before ducking back into the kitchen. Moments later, the loud, shrill ringing of the fire alarm blared. Confused shouting followed. The chefs realised that the alarm was not caused by something cooking in the kitchen. This could be a real fire, they reason, and they immediately charged outside through the same door that Francois had entered through. Craft thanked me for the diversion as it now gave him an excuse to hunt down each of the members of the security team one by one. He had already done an admirable job infecting some of the others.

With the kitchen abandoned, I emerged from the docking bay and into the small, cramped, tiled room. Overs and stovetops were still very much on which made moving my bulk through it extremely dangerous. Strip remained behind for this purpose. There would be little room to move. There was a disadvantage to being an 8'6'' musclegut deer. The room itself was only about 9 feet high and with my antlers scraping the ceiling, I had to crouch down. Moving from station to station secreting my juices into the food would not be an option. Something was very likely to spill and my plan would fail.

"Use the boy," instructed the Woodfather.

Smiling, I called Francois. Taking advantage of the confusion outside, the young chef snuck back into the kitchen and made his way to me.

"It is time for you to become a full member of the Woodfather's family," I commanded.

"What must I do?" begged the young man. Even as he asked this, he was already stripping off his pants and turning around to expose his ass to me.

I was still much too big to fit inside of him but with my cum and essence already inside his system, it was a simple matter of activating the seed and beginning his transformation. Francois had an impressive amount of control as even though his freckled cheeks became flushed with arousal, he did not cry out as his entire body began to change and shift right beneath his chef's coat.

What little of my power remained in him after pulling him into the Woodfather's influence was used to flood into his ass. Those two bony cheeks gurgled and undulated, filling with mass and growing to accommodate my cock. I grasped them both in my paws, enjoying the sensation of them shifting beneath my fingers and growing to fill my palms. Rosy brown fur washed over the growing ass cheeks with a smear of white just at his crack like a painted target for my cock.

With his rear growing, it became possible to push the head of my dick between his cheeks and feel the hot, needy ass beneath. Each of his breaths brought him closer and closer to me but there was little time for foreplay. Strip sensed that that people outside were quickly realising that it was a false alarm and Craft could only do so much to delay their return given he was already a full stag.

"This will hurt," I rumbled in warning.

Francois nodded at me. "All Praise the Woodfather."

He lifted him easily by his shoulders and speared him onto my dick, pushing in a good three inches of my fat cock right into his ass. The young chef bit his lower lip, his entire body quivering as my soul connected with his on a stronger level than ever before. His spirit willingly opened itself to me, ethereal arms open and inviting me to change him.

With what little time I had, I could only focus all me energies towards his cock. The already erect six-inch meat was wracked with spasms, dripping precum like a leaky faucet. His balls slapped madly against his split thighs, double, tripling, quadrupling in size until they were as big as basketballs; even bigger than mine. Lush, white fur spread all over them and a thick layer of gelatinous cushioning covered the delicate factories of corruptive seed to protect such a vulnerable piece of equipment from injury. This added another inch or two of width to the enormous masses he gawked at the heavy sack before him. He could no longer keep himself silent and started emitting high-pitched gasps and whines.

Thankfully, no one had yet to enter but that was not an excuse to savour this moment regardless of how tempting that was. I pushed myself further into him and with every inch that entered him, another inch was added to his cock. Francois moaned softly as his pink flesh blackened in the same design as all the other stags under the Woodfather's care. The dark flesh crept up from the base of his brown pubes, adding inch after inch to his length. Even as it reached the head of his - by then - eight-inch member, the flesh continued stretching outwards over his glands like a serpent devouring its meal. As his new foreskin closed around the head of his cock, a burst of precum shot out of the from between the closed lips and his new, brighter, pinker glands pushed out of his new nine-inch member.

Another inch of me entered him and his cock swung from left to right with his squirming. Even when he stopped to breathe, his dick continued to flail from side to side. It bent almost at a complete U despite being fully erect. One more inch and it stretched a whole foot away from him, thickening along the way until it was about as wide as his scrawny forearm. Francois seized the immense length with both hands just to keep it from pulling him down. Again, my shaft pushed into him and his cock extended even further, adding another foot to its length and several inches to its overall width. The thick, blackened flesh managed to keep itself standing despite its incredible size. It snaked in the air, swerving skilfully through the air like a snake lurking through the grass.

Francois squeezed his eyes shut, teeth gnashed together as he carefully controlled the entire length, quickly coming to terms with how to control the prehensile cock with my and the Woodfather's guidance. As another inch of mine buried into him, his cock doubled in length and hovered over one of the nearby pots containing what appeared to a soup. The member 'peered' down into the pot. His foreskin peeled back, revealing the bright pink glands. Francois shuddered in my arms as his enormous, furry balls churned and pumped fresh cum down his hose-like dick and straight into the soup. His greenish-white seed poured down from the head in long drips; a squirter and not a shooter.

I thrust into him, burying another three inches into his waiting ass. His cock reacted by quickly snaking out even longer, making for the next meal in the five-course dinner. Again, he deposited a healthy serving of his seed into the sizzling dishes. Even when met with an oven, his dick curled around the handle, pulling it open and managing to baste the baking meal with his seed. As dessert was being 'seasoned', Strip poked his head in from the loading bay.

"They're coming."

"So am I," gasped Francois, pushing one last helping of seed into the salad.

That would have to do and I was confident it would be more than enough. Still speared on my dick, I pulled Francois back into the loading dock, his cock snapping back behind him to a more manageably two feet long. The door shut just as the first of the chefs returned to their stations, completely unaware of what had transpired.

I brought Francois to the far end of the loading bay where he was free to moan and cry out as much as he wanted with little risk of being noticed. Resting on my back against the corner, I let gravity pull Francois down onto the hilt of my cock. He arched his back, head thrown against my pectorals and lips parted in a silent cry of ecstasy. His vine-like cock trashed and roiled over us, spraying his seed in all directions and infusing it with the exposed pieces of food scattered about.

My gentle thrusts into him did nothing to curb his overpowering lust. The more cum he spewed out, the bigger his gut became. Mass built beneath his scrawny frame as fat and muscle grew in equal measures. The chef's coat snapped open, revealing his rigid abdominals and the distended gut decorated by a second pair of nipples. His pectorals burst forth, pushing out to be just as plump and firm as his stomach with his nipples painfully erect.

The white fur that had decorated his balls spread upwards, sweeping over his muscles torso but also respecting the dark bush of pubic hair that decorated his crotch. The rosy-brown fur that covered his ass quickly swept over the V-shaped of his back and down his thickening arms. His legs thrashed as wildly as his mad cock as they too turned into a stocky, firm pair of stompers complete with cloven feet.

As his features transformed into that of a full stag's, his cock lowered itself towards my muzzle, asking for permission to enter. Curious how such a thing would feel in me, I let it in. The cock dove forward like a cobra striking and it thrashed with my gullet, happily depositing its cream. The taste was mind-blowing and the sensation of the wild, hot, thrashing member tangoing with my tongue was unlike anything I had ever felt before. The Woodfather expressed curiosity as well.

The newly made stag willingly poured his soul's burdens into my, turning what had made Francois Dellias into cum and shedding it into his balls. The payload travelled through the tunnels of his dick and into me. His knowledge, understanding and experiences were passed into me, leaving his spirit pure and clean. It awaited my appointment.

Cutter. Yes. The new stag would be Cutter. The first amongst the Seasoned Stags and, I think, my personal chef.

I ran my hands over Cutter's gut and then down to his sizeable balls; the two testicles almost the same size as his immense, hardened stomach. Cutter sighed, pulling his dick from my muzzle.

"All Praise the Woodfather," he intoned.

"All Praise the Woodfather," I agreed.

Closing my eyes, I could not yet let myself slip into slumber. The climax of my movements against the hunting club was about to approach. The taint that extended from Cutter lay dormant within the food that the chefs were preparing. The five cooks including my initial target, Conrad Smith, tasted each of the meals. Each of them were hit by the incredible flavours and sensations that Cutter's ambrosia offered and brought them closer to the Woodfather's embrace.

Service was called and the waiters plucked the first course from the windows and brought it to the dining room where the thirty members of the White Tail Hunting Club had gathered. Unusually large, muscular guards stood at attention at the doors, watching, waiting. None of the hunters paid any mind as the head of the club stood up, lifting a glass in toast.

"To another successful year amongst our brothers!" he announced. "Though this day brings a close to the hunting season, let us look forward to the coming year. Spend time with your families, enjoy the holidays and when the snow melts, let us once again meet as brothers and partake in the noblest of sports!"

The members cheered, toasted and then began their meals while beginning chatting idly amongst themselves. The first taste of the soup immediately had them complimenting the chef. Back in the kitchen, the chefs were tasting the second course and getting it ready for service. They perhaps 'tasted' too much as the addiction that came with the heavenly taste set in. Satisfied that the salad would be well-received, they instead turned to the remnants of the soup and began serving it everyone and even the serving staff who patiently waited for the club members to indicate they were ready for the second course. Even the stoic Chef Conrad Smith - who hated the idea of his chefs eating on the job - took a small cup for himself. A swell of pride came from Cutter and his serpentine cock twitched in anticipation when not a single drop of the soup was left in the kitchen.

The salad was served and just like the first, it was heartily devoured. Few of the members noticed how their belts were starting to grow tighter and their shirts were stretching. Back in the kitchen, Conrad took the biggest helping of the salad for himself as they prepared the fish dish - a rarity in Ferndyllais given that the forest was located well inland. The more each of them ate, the more the subtle changes set in. Ears stretched further away from their skulls, tiny hairs hinting at the colouration of their fur growing around their pointed edges. Nails blackened but were dismissed as pieces of food stuck and was a secondary concern to the gnawing hunger that demanded their stomachs be fed.

It was with great regret that they sent out the fish dish. There were no spares to be served in this case but all attention of the cooking staff went to the main course. Though it had already been prepared and ready, they convinced themselves to add a few more 'spare dishes' just in case. It was a good thing that Cutter had seasoned every piece of meat in the kitchen.

Like the first two courses, the fish dishes were consumed almost as quickly as they were served. The waiting staff - who had only had the soup - threw concerned glances at the ravenous hunger the supposedly high society diners display. They were almost like animals going at a kill. The diners themselves barely noticed their own bulging erections and the how their hair grew wilder and longer. Even the members who had become bald or were balding had bare skin patched up. The groaning of fabric was drowned out in the overall noise of chewing and loud, rude belching.

The main course was served with barely any time between the two courses. Being a bit heartier than the first, the diners took a little longer to devour the tainted meal but as they did so, their changes became more and more prominent. A loud tearing noise brought the attention of one of the diners who commented that the wearer must have been working out since he was looking unusually big. On the other end of the table, one diner noticed the raging erection of his neighbour and quietly commented on it. The hunter blushed and mentioned that he saw the commentator was likewise aroused. The head of the hunting club frowned as a faint pain pressed up against his forehead and when he reached up towards it with a napkin, he froze at the touch of faint bumps against his skin.

Then dessert was served.

When waiting staff wordlessly took the sweets to the diners while the increasing changing cooking staff dove at the remnants of the pudding, tearing at it with their hands. With no other reason to remain hidden, I extracted myself from Cutter. We three made our way to the kitchen. Five pairs of glowing green eyes met us and immediately saw the thick, throbbing member that sprung from Cutter's crotch. They knew, they all knew where the divine taste had come from. This realisation coupled with the last course that they had so greedily devoured sealed their fate.

One member of the cooking staff, upon seeing Cutter's snake-like dick, gagged and thrust his hips forward. His own cock burst from his pants, piercing right through the fabric and emerging as a big, thick, black snake with a bright, pink head. He gawked at it for about a second before it dove straight towards his open mouth, pumping corrupt seed right into his throat and expediting his change.

Another stumbled back in shock at his friend's transformation. He fell onto the ground in time for his feet to erupt from his shoes, now cloven and three times bigger than they had been previously. Muscles and fur erupted from his flesh, shredding his pants inch by inch starting from his ankles and rushing upwards towards his torso. He tried to hold onto his rapidly changing limbs as if somehow putting pressure on his mutating limbs would stop the change.

Head Chef Conrad Smith turned for the door, trying to make his escape but his balls erupted from his pants, forcing him to topple over and lie prone on his back while his massive, furry sac churned pumped tainted cum out of his growing dick. One of his own chefs, eyes glazed over in lust, leapt upon him, pushing his twisting cock into the chef's ass. The two of them howled in ecstasy, their seed pooling around them.

Back in the dining room, a similar scene was unfolding. The man whose arms had burst from his sleeves finished off his dinner and abruptly got to his feet. With a thunderous roar, he grabbed his shirt and tore it clean off his chiselled chest. Even with his enormous belly it was clear to see his incredible masculinity. The shock of the sudden outburst was only amplified when the man's cock erupted from his crotch, a black, slithering serpent that immediately dove down the throat of the other member that had first complimented him. The second member was thrown to the ground. For the first second, he was shocked but then he tasted the delectable cum that poured down his throat and he hungrily grabbed the thrashing cock like it was his only lifeline.

The two hunters who had noticed one another's erection were lost in their own world. Their lips gravitated towards one another and before long, they were heedlessly suckling on each other's rapidly growing muzzles, their antlers springing forth proudly. Their own tentacle-like cocks slithered out from the legs of their pants, snaking around one another, coiling in a dizzying dance and waiting for their growing masses to rip off their clothes. The moment their pants and underwear lay shredded on the ground, their members dove for the openings, pumping their seed into the waiting asses. Comically, they had become so entwined that their cocks managed to snake back into their own bodies.

The head of the hunting club could only stare in terror at the changes ravaging his club. He felt his fingers shaking and he held out his hands before him. In a scene right out a horror film, he watched hands triple in size, black fur spreading over them and his fingers merging into three, powerful digits. The man doubled over, clutching his head, groaning and trying to resist the changes overwhelming him even as his antlers and muzzle warped his facial features and mind.

The wait staff and the remaining members of the security team remained. The waiters panicked, frightened at what they were seeing and immediately charged for the doors. They were blocked by the guards standing there. When given questioning looks, the guard's blank, green-eyed stares were their answer. Greenish-white goo seeped upwards from the collar of the guard's uniform, hidden from sight. Their lips opened and the same goo poured out from deep within them to fully consume their faces. The human silhouette beneath the mask twisted and reshaped, antlers, a muzzle and pointed ears quickly coming into view. Clothes were shredded as the security guards finally took shape and the constructs that were controlling their bodies merged with their essences.

The waiters screamed in terror. Some even went so far as to throw themselves out the window to escape their fate.

That was where Strip came in.

My scout and hunter bolted after them. There was no escape. He collided with the closest one, immediately shoving his dick up the man's ass and reaching to his soul. It only took a few moments for the struggling to turn to moans and for his corruptive cum to pour into the would be stag. Strip quickly formed his herd and the more he added, the less likely it was for anyone to make it out.

"Let one go free."

"Father?" I asked, curiously as a former chef suckled on my nipple.

"Let one go free. One must be allowed to return to his people. He will tell them of what has transpired. He will not be believed. Others will come to investigate. They will fall prey."

As always, my Father was brilliant.

Epilogue

Now that I think of it, the White Tail Hunting Club is rather appropriately named. Though most of it now lay in ruins through the glorious arrival of my herd, it provided a tantalising trap for those that sought to uncover its secrets. Rumours and conjecture quickly spread as the first snow set in. The path to the club became inaccessible as the roads were completely snowed in. The lone waiter who had managed to make it to Ferndyllais made wild claims of 'werebucks' and how everyone in the club had transformed before devolving into a hedonistic orgy. Humans were so stupid in that even when provided with the truth, they still could not believe the fantastical tale. It was just as the Woodfather had expected.

Come the spring, the club would be a trap for the intrepid explorer. The mystery of how the entire house became abandoned, ruined over the winter and with the thirty members plus staff spontaneously going missing would keep people coming to my doorstep for years to come. Of course, I couldn't change them all. We were not at that stage of the plan yet. Most people who entered the mansion had to find nothing and be released. The tale of these men simply 'disappearing' had to be perpetuated.

But for those lucky few that would join the Woodfather's family, they would have to contend with the many traps that I had lain out before them. Between the strangely decadent, tantalising feast - always freshly cooked - sitting in the dining room to the greenish-white, gooey 'ghosts' that wandered the halls, few would be able to resist the Woodfather's call. For those that did manage to escape, a herd of powerful bucks with keen tracking senses hiding in the woods would hunt them down.

Yes. This former home to the mindless slaughter of animals for the sick pleasure of humans had now become a temple to the Woodfather. Lying beside my constant companion, Strip, in the master bedroom, I contemplated what the spring would bring. No doubt the Woodfather would consult with my brothers and deploy them and it excited me to wonder at the possibilities of their development.

A knock came to the door. It was Cutter and he brought a delectable platter of berries and nuts served on a strip of bark. Naturally, it was 'seasoned' with his 'special sauce'. He set down the platter beside our bed made from grass and leaves before laying down beside me. His cock extended, sliding comfortably into Strip's ass and making the slumbering Scout moan.

"May I?" he asked, one of his thick fingers circling around my nipple.

"Of course," I conceded and he lovingly wrapped his lips around the nipple and began suckling on my milk.

I felt the Woodfather arrive and my cock stirred in excitement. Strip awoke from his slumber and Cutter immediately stopped drinking from me. The enormous deity of our forest, my patron and my sire, ducked beneath the doorframe to enter the room. Craft was right behind him accompanied by two of the gooey golems that patrolled the grounds.

"You have done well to fortify your stronghold, my son," rumbled the Woodfather.

My dick squirted in joy at the praise. "All in your glory, Father."

The Woodfather strode towards me, cupping my chin in his might hands. "Tell me. What did you learn from the hunters?"

He already knew, of course. Our souls were intertwined. What I knew, he knew. But he also knew that it gave me great pleasure to utter it physically to him.

"Lancaster Logging has a logging camp and lumbermill several miles to the southeast. It is their main source of revenue. Come the spring, it will be expanded further. Demand for lumber is increasing or so they claim."

The Woodfather rumbled in disgust and Craft cracked his knuckles angrily.

"Let me and my boys take care of them," rumbled the Milkman. "We can turn them all quickly into your blessed kingdom."

"No." The Woodfather straightened, gazing discerningly out the window. "One of my other sons should be given the opportunity to deal with them. You have all done enough and come the spring, waves of curious humans and investigators will be coming your way to try and find their missing kin. You will all need to be ready to turn those that would push the investigation while simultaneously avoid provoking those that would not."

A challenge indeed. I love challenges.

I exchanged glances with my lieutenants and we all beamed.

"All Praise the Woodfather!"

Alabaster Analysis

From: Artificial Intelligence Alabaster SuperMegaAwesomeTorpedoBlasterAI@nexus.com

To: The Director NoBuckingPunsPlease@nexus.com

Subject: Woodfather Infection

Dear Director,

It is with the deepest regret that I report the situation on the quarantined world is rapidly deteriorating. The growth of the Woodfather's influence is bordering on the exponential with each of his lieutenants - his 'sons' as they were - creating more and more variants of the original strain whilst also spreading rapidly. Each individual transformed is effectively another vector of infection that can spread their strain to anyone around them. They are also effectively immortal. The best way I can describe it is a sort of 'cloud mortality'. They are all connected a 'spiritual network' and their personalities, 'souls' and minds are stored on this network. Even if the physical body is destroyed, others on the network can create an amalgamation of that lost entity's soul from their own experiences with said soul. Given that they share an intimate relationship with souls 'touching' one another, this amalgamation is near-perfect. There is the risk of an individual 'corrupting' the recreation but thanks to the strong mental conditioning implemented by the Woodfather, this is highly unlikely.

Ultimately, everyone on this 'Spirit Network' are bound to the Woodfather who acts like the main server and backend of the network. It is possible that eliminating the Woodfather may dismantle this network but I can only speculate as to what will happen to the rest of the network were that to occur. Would another take his place or would the entire species perish?

Curiously, the infection levels seem to mimic that of the established Variants. They have thus been named accordingly with the code WFV for Woodfather Variant. As with all Variants, the Series 1s are capable of creating the most unique variations of the original strain and is unarguably the most powerful and adaptive of them all. Anything created by the Series 1 is dubbed a Series 2 which each have their own unique mutations. Series 2s are then able to create Series 3s which take a single aspect of the Series 2 and turns it into a defining feature. Series 3s are only able to create more Series 3 and further break down of features is no longer possible.

Analysis of the Variants developed during this phase are as follows.

The first of them is obviously the former Vincent Di Adamo. Codenamed WFVS2-0001 'Juicer Stag', Vincent can produce a powerful growth hormone that introduces instantaneous growth from his upper two nipples. This thick, greenish-white viscous liquid is not inherently infectious but is able to addle the mind especially in subjects who put a strong emphasis on masculinity and physical prowess. It seems that Vincent is able to project some mental influence on those that ingest this substance. Secondly, from his lower two nipples, he produces a watery, greenish liquid that is his primary form of infection. This liquid transforms an individual into a subservient Stag variant, a Series 3. The last liquid he is able to produce is the one form his penis. Though it has the same consistency as semen, it is, in fact not. It is some sort of 'liquefied will'. Ingestion or any form of contact with it will place an individual or an inanimate object under the Juicer's influence. The level of said influence is dependent on how much liquid is ingested but is far more potent drop-per-drop than the ones produced from his upper nipples. So far, only a single instance of the Juicer is in existence.

The second variant is based off the former William Hocket. Dubbed WFVS3-0001, 'Scout Stag'. The Scout Stag has incredibly heightened natural senses, far more than any other of the WF Variants. It seems to prefer an all-fours stance compared to the other Variants and appears a little more feral compared to the others but this works to its advantage as it is fully capable of being stealthy and is an admirable hunter. Curiously, it is incapable of lactating compared to its sire and its primary form of infection is through ingestion of its semen. The greatest danger of this Variant is its ability to sense an individual from up to 50 miles away with deep concentration. This has been exhibited in its tendency to hunt down individuals that escaped the initial furore at the White Tail Hunting Club.

The third variant is based of the template created from one George De Fleur, hereby known as WFVS3-0002, 'Milkman Stag'. Seemingly emphasising on the Juicer's ability to produce milk, the Milkman seems to be designed as a purely offensive Variant where it sacrifices its superfluous nipples for extra power and control over the ones growing from its pectorals. It can shoot infectious milk from these nipples with enough force to knock a fully-grown man off his feet. The milk acts then as a sort of cocoon where it merges with the individual and transforms them into another Milkman Stag. Its penis seems to just be purely for recreational purposes as it ejects a semen-like substance that is non-infectious and inert.

The fourth and final variant observed at this stage was created from the transformation of one Francois Dellias. Known as WFVS3-0003, 'Seasoned Stag', this Variant specialises in subterfuge with a great focus on its penile secretions. Completely unable to lactate much like the Scout, it is nonetheless devastating in that it can produce an addictive - and foremost, infectious - substance from its prehensile penis. Consumed by itself, the substance is infectious but disgusting to the taste. Combined with other food, however, and it transforms the meal into something incredibly addictive. So much so that an individual consuming it will become incapable of self-control and will consume the infected food wantonly. Curiously, the infectiveness of this Variant is solely dependent on how much of its secretion is consumed but transformations are near-instantaneous. Minor transformations are visible within seconds of consuming infected meals but the individual's will and psychological state will remain intact up to and until they have consumed at least their body weight in infected food. Despite this, at a certain threshold, the individual's self-control will have deteriorated to the point where if there is no food left, they will not be opposed to drinking straight from a Seasoned's penis despite prior reservations of flavour. It's defining feature apart from its corruption method is its prehensile penis which can extend and stretch to a currently undefined length making it capable of depositing its seed at distances. It is not a fast extension, however, and requires time and effort. It seemed that the level of arousal is proportionate to the length it can extend.

From: Artificial Intelligence Alabaster AlsoNoSpillingSeedPuns@nexus.com

To: The Director SuperMegaAwesomeTorpedoBlasterAI@nexus.com

Subject: RE: Woodfather Infection

Alabaster,

Continue analysis of the developing Variants. Begin a scrub of all Nexus systems. The Woodfather was created from an artificial intelligence that, while it did not have a direct connection to the _Conglomerate_and yet it is suspicious that it has started replicating itself using a Variant template. Either there was a connection we were not aware of or someone has opted to use this system when corrupting the Woodfather.

Take remote copies of each of these Variants. I want them tested and run through their paces. Even if this Woodfather corruption was accidental or an intentional assault upon our assets, I'm not going to turn down an opportunity.

The Director

CEO of the Nexus Conglomerate

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