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James didn't mean to steal the bag, really, he didn't - But when the football team filed into the locker room, and he was still hiding in a shower stall, trying to work up the courage to sneak over to the urinal and do his business... He panicked and ran, grabbing the bag and blowing past them before they could so much as insult his sexuality. Most of the jocks were intimidating, with their perfect bodies and boisterous, outgoing personalities, but Dave and the footballers were a whole other level. They were the biggest guys in school, a bunch of muscular brutes with personalities to match. He wasn't even gay - Well, not that gay, but the way they talked about him, you'd think he was the school bicycle. Now that he was back in his dorm, safely surrounded by his video games and bookshelves, the mistake he made was obvious. The bag itself was pretty basic, an over-the-shoulder duffle emblazoned with the school's coat of arms, but his own bag was brand new, with the colita stench of the campus store still clinging to the fabric, whereas this one was worn, covered in scuffs and stains from heavy use. It occurred to him, he had absolutely no idea what football players kept in their bags. Sitting up in bed, he unzipped the bag and upended it, letting a pile of flabby brown blobs flop out, landing in a heap. Deflated footballs. He was going to prison for a few old footballs. Why was that even in the locker room? Did one of the players bring it in with them, or..? Something else fell from the bag, something white and stringy. James stared incredulously at the thing - An old jock strap sat atop the pile, plain white, with the wide waistband that was popular a few decades ago. Age and sweat had yellowed the fabric slightly, marks of heavy use in some long-ago season. Despite the obvious age, as he bent down to pick it up, his sensitive nose caught the faintest whiff of body odor. "The fuck?" James held it between his thumb and forefinger, only to instantly regret it as the damp surface rubbing off on his fingertips, "Why would anyone even [I/have[/i] this?" Questions were mounting, but he was in no mood to play amateur CSI. Tossing the disgusting thing in the corner, he crouched on the floor, scooping up footballs and carefully placing them back in the bag. Only when he was finished and zipping the bag up did he remember the jock strap, and glanced back at it in it's corner. For some reason, he almost expected them to move on their own or something equally bizarre. Instead, there they were, sitting on the floor like some lazy asshole had just worn them yesterday. Disgusting, yes, but whoever they belonged to might miss them. Picking the nasty thing up, he was about to toss it back in the bag when a thought occurred to him - He'd never actually worn a jock strap before. The strap was just about his size, and the stitching seemed perfectly intact. Despite the disgust lurking in the bottom of his stomach, James unbuckled his pants and slipped out of his boxers, tossing them in the same corner the strap had been mere moments ago. To his surprise, the strap fit almost perfectly - The waistband was a little bit loose around his midsection, and the cup sagged a little around his undersized package, but it was barely noticeable. The rear straps hung slightly slack around his flat butt, not quite tight, but not too loose, either. If it were just a size or so smaller, it'd probably fit him perfectly. Rising from his seat, James took a few steps, feeling the breeze against his backside. The strap actually felt pretty good, keeping his package safely concealed while giving his butt enough space to really breathe. It was barely noticeable, more of a line than a curve, but he thought it was cute. It was just too bad nobody else felt the same, otherwise his anal cherry would be a thing of the past. Wiggling the waistband, feeling the straps digging into the underside of his ass, James couldn't help but smile. He wasn't the most sexually adventurous guy - The pinnacle of his perversion was a minor armpit-sniffing fetish - But wearing this old thing, so well-used by a guy who was clearly his masculine superior... It was kinda hot. The buckboy's cock twitched, growing stiff against the fabric. Chuckling nervously, he felt a thrill run through him as he reached down, giving himself a rub through the fabric. His hand came away with a layer of dampness clinging to it, warm and vaguely musky. James sniffed it, then groaned - His body heat must've unlocked the congealed sweat in the fabric! Groaning in disgust, he moved to take the nasty thing off, but before his thumbs could slip under the waistband, there was a knock at his door. For a moment, the buck froze, listening as a series of sharp raps echoed in his tiny space. He could hear the floor creaking beneath their feet, their breathing - Oh god, it had to be one of the jocks! Sweat broke out across his body as he glanced between the door and the bag. Another series of raps resounded, followed by a gruff voice. "Open up, loser!" James' heart skipped a beat - He recognized the voice of Dave, the linebacker, with a twinge of anger in his voice that could only mean one thing. "J-j-j-just a m-minute!" He stammered, and sprang into action. The buck dropped to his knees, scooping up as many of the deflated footballs as possible and stuffing them into the bag. They barely fit, the bag bulging as he haphazardly stuffed them in, but there was no time to rearrange them. Those that didn't fit, he simply kicked under his bed. He'd return them later, when there was less threat of getting stuffed in a locker. He was almost halfway to the door when he remembered the strap, but there was to time to take it off. Tugging on his jeans, he grabbed the bag and rushed to the door. Snapping open the latch, he swung it open to reveal six feet and two hundred pounds of pure feline power, "I'll take that," He grunted, ripping the bag from the buck's hand with enough force to send him staggering. Before James could fall, however, he grabbed the buck by the hair and slammed him against the wall, sending a wave of pain up the little guy's spine. "If I see you again, I'm gonna break your faggot jaw," He growled, baring his jagged teeth, which glinted in the dim fluorescent light, "And if you ever touch our shit again, they'll never find the body." James felt faint; His head rolled on his shoulders, his feet dangling inches from the floor. If he were just a little bit less timid, fight or flight might've kicked in, and he'd wriggle his way free and barricade himself in his room, but his heart wasn't in it, and his muscles refused to respond to his brain's desperate pleas for movement. With a final growl, the furious lion's claw retracted, letting the little deer collapse on the floor. Rubbing his aching scalp, he watched as Dave stomped off down the corridor, the bag slung over one shoulder like a weapon. It was hard to tear his eyes from his tail as it swished from side to side, perched atop his round, muscular ass... As James watched, a strange feeling began to grow in his stomach, a sort of lowkey adreneline rush that quickly spread through his chest, snaking through his limbs and bringing power to his muscles once again. Bracing against the wall, he managed to rise to his feet, then took a step into the hallway, wavering slightly as he found his footing once again. "Don't-" He started, his voice cracking. Dave turned, the scowl on the lion's face only growing deeper as he caught sight of the deer standing on his own. "Don't what? Crack your face over my knee for stealing our balls?" "Don't be a faggot," James said calmly, only to clasp his hands over his mouth in shock - Shit, he'd done it now - If he was lucky, there might be enough of him left for a closed casket. "I-" Dave started, but stopped, his breath hitching audibly in his throat. His grip on the bag loosened, and it slipped from his shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a squeaky meow, the kind kittens make upon seeing a bowl of sweet milk. His eyes went wide, staring at the buckboy like a deer in the headlights. "Y-yessir!" He shouted suddenly, awkwardly, his voice cracking - And he turned and ran, bolting down the corridor like a bat out of hell. James stared after him, watching him turn the corner and scramble down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet as he turned the corner and disappeared from the deer's sight. "What the hell?" He muttered, taking a step toward the bag, only to nearly trip over his own pants - Glancing down, James groaned and gasped at the same time - His pants were around his ankles, revealing the nasty old strap to the world. Groaning, he tugged them up and considered the world of pain he'd doubtless just called upon himself. Calling one of the school's biggest footballers a faggot took some cojones, but his ass was grass when the rest of the team found out. His best bet was to pack his bags, empty his savings, and move to Kazakhstan, stow away on a Soyuz and spend the rest of his life in orbit, where even the long arm of Dave's banker father couldn't reach... ... He had to return it, now. Hefting the bag over his shoulder, he rushed down the stairs and back across the quad, past the stoners and through the open doors of the athletic department. Two men stood in the locker room, one standing, a fellow buck with a body ripped straight from the magazines James totally didn't have stashed under his bed, while the other, Dave, leaned against the wall. From the look on his face, he was just about ready to disappear into his own mane. When James' hoof clacked against the lino floor, he jolted, a flicker of fear crossing his face. At his reaction, the buck turned, glowering down at him. He was a solid foot taller than the little buck, with shoulders almost as wide as his antlers. More than a few branches were missing, some unevenly snapped, others bearing the unmistakable marks of a doctor's saw, but even so, he had to be at least fifteen points. James gulped, and he snorted. "... The fuck? This is what's got Dave all spooked?" The bottom dropped out of James' stomach as the old familiar sense of fear washed over him. Fight-or-flight didn't come into it; His muscles wouldn't respond, trembling as if he was knee deep in snow. The bag slipped from his shoulder, but the deer didn't even glance at it as he stomped over to the smaller stag. "Look, shitdick," He growled, baring his teeth; Despite his flat herbivore teeth, it was just as intimidating as when the lion did it. "It was funny while it lasted, but why don't you get smash your face into that wall over there? Save us the troub-MMPH!" James' muscles moved on their own accord, grabbing the collar of the stag's jersey and yanking him down. He was too surprised to resist, and when the smaller buck pressed his lips against his own, for a moment, it was as if time stood still. He wasn't alone in his shock; James' eyes reflected the same surprise, as if he weren't fully in control of his own actions. The little deer's tongue prodded the jock's pursed lips, but before he could make any headway, Dave grabbed the buck's shoulder, a gruff "What the fuck?" spitting forth from his lips. His expression was somewhere between dumbfounded and furious, and after wiping his lips, his companion did the same. "Jesus, I always knew you were a f-f-" The buck's voice clammed up at that last word, unable to form more than the first hint of a syllable. He groaned and shook his head, and when he looked back up, his expression seemed slightly softer than before. "Jake?" The lion turned to his friend, "Are you alright?" The concern in Dave's voice was almost alien, conflicting sharply with his gruff personality. For his part, Jake just muttered something inaudible. A confused curse slipped from Dave's lips as the buck knelt down, followed by another from James as the buck knelt down and began fumbling with the deerboy's belt. The moment the buckle snapped open, a wave of foul, sweaty odor seemed to burst forth from his groin, like a locker room after a full-team orgy; James' nose burned, and looking down at the buck, he could see tears forming in his eyes from the thick stench. "H-holy shit," The buck said in a tone just above a whisper, "Y-you smell amazing..." "The fuck?" The lion took a step forward, grabbing his friend's shoulder and pulling him back, "Dude, what's wrong with..." He trailed off for a moment, his eyes unfocusing for a moment as they drifted toward James' crotch. "That's... That's ripe, dude," He muttered, "Y-you should take a sh-showe..." His voice trailed off again. His legs quivered, and he staggered back, one hand groping at his friend's shoulder in a desperate bid to keep upright. That he didn't fall was solely due to the lockers a few feet behind him, which he collapsed against with a resounding clang, slowly sliding to the floor like a murder victim in a bad cop show. The buck fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around James' midsection and rubbing his face against his smelly, strap-clad package. His nostrils bulged out as he inhaled, snorting and practically slobbering to huff down as much of the little deerboy's potent stench as possible. For his part, James could do little but stand there, staring at the scent-hungry buck. He didn't even notice as the lion got on his hands and knees, scooting across the distance to shove his wet nose against the filthy strap. The buck let out a growl rarely seen outside of carnivores as the lion tried to shove him away, but his muscles were as limp as wet noodles, and all he managed was a slight nudge, barely giving him enough room to sniff for himself. James stared down at the two musksluts, a look of utter bewilderment evident on his face. This wasn't right, this wasn't normal - He should be getting a swirly not... He groaned as the underwear grew tight around his package... A boner! Jake's lips pressed against the fabric, and a little drop of saliva soaked through to brush against his cock, sending a shiver up his spine. "D-don't-" He muttered, but it didn't stop the buck from running his tongue along the diminutive length of his penis, filling his mouth with sweat and the vague taste of precum as it slowly seeped from the tip, soaking into the fabric. Sinking his teeth into the waistband, the lion tugged it down, letting the buck's shaft stand tall. A shiver ran down James' spine as the cool air washed over his cock, followed by an even deeper shiver, their moans mixing together as the lion's tongue propped the tip, clearing a path through the slick pre. The buck bumped him out of the way for a lick of his own; His tongue was longer, wrapping all the way around his cock; It was hard to tell who was thrusting as James' cock entered the warm, wet environment of his mouth. Jake's lips formed a tight seal around James' cock, sucking the little rod like a straw. James groaned, his hands clenching into fists as a wave of unfamiliar pleasure rocked through his groin - The real thing felt so much better than his hands, or even the fleshlight tucked under his bed! A warm hand wrapped around his balls and gave them a gentle squeeze, eliciting a deep moan from the horny deerboy. Before he could contemplate just what this meant, another wave of pleasure wracked through him. His cock was hard as rock, throbbing with every slip of Jake's dexterous tongue. For just a moment, the buck's mouth pulled away, giving James a view of his cock; It looked more like a sausage than the little wiener he was used to, with a fat vein throbbing against the surface. He couldn't help but swear as the buck's tender ministrations gave way to a rougher, more intense sensation; Jake's eyes were wide, staring down at the little buck's cock, but it wasn't so little anymore - James could feel his cock swelling, blood and cum pumping down the length in equal measure. It stretched beyond the usual limits of his erections; Beyond the limits of most guys' erections, for that matter. James let out a moan as his cock expanded, spreading the buck's jaws wide as inches piled onto his growing girth. What was going on? He didn't know, nothing made sense - Shivers ran up and down his spine, his groin tingling like a sleeping limb, but it wasn't sleeping, it was throbbing, pulsating with pleasure and - And - Pressure, building up at the base of his penis, ready to explode at any moment! His cock was huge, The size of a goddamn summer sausage, as the voice in the back of his head muttered, growing louder with each passing minute. On the other hand, Jake could do little but gurgle and moan as dollops of hot cream oozed down his throat, as hot as magma and saltier than a tumblrite after finding out Doctor Who is canceled. His moans sounded almost effeminate, hardly the voice of a gruff footballer, while James' voice deepened, dropping octaves at a time with each consecutive groan. A tingling sensation spread out from his groin, across his chest and through his arms, accompanied by a strangely taut sensation, as if his skin were half a size too small for his body; He didn't even notice as he began to grow, nor Jake, as he shrank. It was barely perceptible at first, a mere twitching of their muscles, but in just a few moments, there was a slight, but noticeable difference to anyone standing by to observe. It wasn't until James' shirt sleeves grew tight that he looked down at his biceps. They were hardly mountains, but they were enough to fill out his undersized sleeves as if he'd been exercising for months. Every passing moment brought more bulk to them, and before long, they were easily half the size of Jake's impressive arms. Or, once-impressive, anyway. Even as he watched, he could see Jake's muscles dwindling, inches of hard-earned strength fading away with each stroke of his tongue. A fat wad of precum slipped down his throat, Jake's muscles withered by the second, the sleeves of his shirt going slack as the biceps they once stretched to contain melted away, leaving nothing behind but a faint trace of flab. His pecs, once outlined by his shirt, were as flat as the chest of a girl waving a fake ID and demanding entrance to a frat party. If he noticed the changes happening to his body, he made no indication of it; His lips puffed up slightly, taking on a reddish tone, and he redoubled his efforts, licking and teasing the tip of James' throbbing rod. His hands groped involuntarily, wrapping around the tip of one of Jake's antlers, but it didn't feel 'right'. It was strange, the texture shifting slightly with every motion from the cockhungry buck, and after a few thrusts, James couldn't shake the feeling that it was actually getting smaller! Looking down just confirmed it, illogical as it was; The buck's antlers were visibly smaller than before, no wider than his shoulders. Admittedly, he hadn't counted very closely, but some of the points were obviously missing, while the snapped stumps were more like smooth, almost unnoticeable bumps along the branching curves of his rack. He wasn't pulled that hard; At least, he didn't think so, but the tip of an antler suddenly snapped off in his hand. As it hit the floor, it seemed to burst apart into a billion fragments, more dust than keratin shards. Moving his head back, his own antlers clacked against the wall - He couldn't see them, but he could feel the weight atop his head growing as they inched outward, spreading like the wings of a giant bird, a dozen or more sharp points poking out in every direction. Suddenly, something cold and damp pressed against the side of his cock, causing him to jerk back in surprise. Dave looked up at him, a look of longing evident in the lion's beady eyes as he pressed his nose against James' cock. Just the fact that there was enough exposed cockflesh was an unfamiliar sensation, but as the lion wrapped his tongue around it, the buck nearly melted. It was rougher than Jake's tongue, and significantly shorter, but as the soft bristles brushed against his meat, he couldn't help but let out a moan. A cuss escaped his lips as the lion's tender ministrations slipped around the girth of his cock, lapping up whatever cum didn't quite make it down Jake's throat. Tawny hair fell across the floor as his mane shook itself apart. Between his growing cock and blossoming muscles, not to mention the two-tongued blowjob, James was in heaven. He felt so good, so studly, like he'd always imagined the jocks felt. His biceps were the size of grapefruits, his pecs like a shelf of pure meat, sweat outlining them against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Even his nipples were bigger, visible through the glistening fabric like a pair of fat nozzles. Instinctively, he grabbed one and gave it a squeeze, biting his lip at the stimulation that rocked through his system. It wouldn't be long now, he knew, but he still wanted to try and savor the feeling - After all, he would be waking up from this dream soon, right? Dave's teeth brushed against his cock, but the sharp points were smooth and dull, more like a herbivore's grass-gnawing teeth than a lion's fangs. The touch sent a shiver down his spine, enough - Just enough - To send him over the edge. "F-fuck!" His voice a lion's roar as he came, sending a tidal wave of cum down the buck's throat. Jake's scrawny arms flailed as the initial burst painted his insides white, but he soon calmed down, gulping down rope upon rope of roiling-hot sperm. The sheer pressure, if not the volume, was enough to bloat his stomach, creaking slightly as it swelled against his shirt, turning the slack fabric taut once more. When the flow became too much, he fell away, only to be replaced by Dave. The lion's uniform hung limply across his scrawny body; The cuffs hung past his hands, the legs were crumpled around his shoes, which now seemed at least two sizes too large for the rapidly shrinking lion. Lust glistened in his eyes as he suckled the buck's now-monster cock, mixed with more than a hint of fear. His mane, no longer the pride and joy of a wealthy playboy, fell limp across his shoulders, as thin and scruffy as that of a cub. His belly, too quickly swelled, and with a gurgling groan, he pulled himself away. Rising to his feet, shaky with unfamiliar weight on unusually weak legs, he barely made it three steps before collapsing, letting out a feminine groan. James's cock pulsed, pleasure blasting through his body as ropes of cum shot across the room, splattering the floor, the lockers, event he ceiling in a thick layer of white. One wad splattered directly on a locker's vent, leaking across some poor jock's spare clothes. James leaned against the wall, breathing heavily as the last dregs of cum drained from his shaft. The two newly-minted twinks lay in various states of consciousness on the floor; The former buck, now looking more like a doe if not for the dainty cock and marble-sized balls hanging between his legs, appeared most active, but the only sign he was conscious, let alone cognizant, was the way he squirmed and moaned. Dave lay on his side, draped across the bench with his cum-bloated gut cradled in his arms. If not for the thin and spotty mane clinging to his neck like a cub just entering puberty, he could easily be mistaken for a pregnant lioness. At first, there was little movement save for a little spunky spittle oozing from his mouth; Then, he let out a dainty burp, sending a surprisingly large wad of cum across the bench. He really did a number on them, to say the least. A shiver ran down his spine as he stared at them, then glanced across himself - His physique was everything theirs were, with thick cords of muscle snaking down his arms, abs thick enough to scrub laundry on, pecs as big as a person's head, barely contained within his flimsy shirt. A good, solid flex would probably be enough to tear the poor thing apart, and with a grunt, that's exactly what he did. James grunted, savoring the feeling as the seams on his sleeves split apart, exposing his impressive biceps for all to see. Sadly, neither of his audience members were in any state to give him the respect he was due. Respect - Now that was an interesting concept. James felt something stirring in his chest, a certain sense of pride that he hadn't felt since... Well, maybe that one science fair back in the fifth grade. Though, it occurred to him, he wasn't James anymore, was he? No, that name was fine for the shy little nerd, but now, through divine intervention or something else, he was a big guy, one of the winners, and you'd never see a winner with a name like that. Jim came to mind. Now that was a man's name, short, sweet, and tough-sounding, like if a biker had sex with a trucker, and their offspring married a Pontiac Firebird. He'd need some new clothing to go with his new identity - His old stuff was too small now, anyway. Stepping out of his undersized pants and tossing his shirt at Dave, who could probably make better use of it, he made a quick search for something to wear. Not that he necessarily wanted to, as the thought of going outside and showing off did appeal to his growing sense of vanity, but the last thing he needed was an indecent exposure charge. Between tuition and feeding himself, his coffers were low enough as they were. Most of the lockers were just that - Locked - But a quick search through Jake's pockets netted him a key, and in his locker, he found a pair of jeans and a brand new college hoodie. They were a little tight, as one would expect for a buck with the bulk of two men, but they were a damn sight better than his previous outfit. The jeans clung tightly to his ass, outlining every shifting muscle as he walked, while his cock and balls were uncomfortably squished against his groin. Groaning, he fumbled with the zipper, letting his strap-clad package flop out - No skin was visible, so he assumed it wouldn't lead to any trouble, and if it did, well, anyone who took issue with it could get a nice close look. The hoodie was scarcely more comfortable, outlining his meaty chest and broad shoulders like some kind of bodybuilding leotard, but it was better than going without. The twin domes of his nipples stood turgid against the fabric, practically poking through, while the lower hem hung a couple of inches above his waist, exposing the dusty little treasure trail that snaked across his abs. Slipping his hand into the hoodie's pocket, he felt something - A folded note, with directions to a bar scrawled in cramped handwriting. The time was rather vaguely defined as 'after practice', and according to the clock, it was just about that time. Looking at the two twinks, now both very decidedly unconscious, they probably weren't going to make it. It'd only be polite to take their place, to liven up the party and make sure their friends didn't get lonely... And hey, he never tried beer before. First time for everything, right? Waving goodbye to the two cumblimps, Jim slung his gym bag over his shoulder - His, this time, he made sure of it - And headed out, ducking slightly to avoid banging his now-impressive antlers on the top of the doorframe. Heads turned as he headed back across the quad, but Jim felt none of the usual discomfort. Usually, the only reason anybody looked at him was because someone had dumped paint on him, or glued dildos to his horns while he was sleeping, but now, their eyes contained nothing but admiration, and a certain amount of jealousy. His jock-clad package wobbled in the cool autumn breeze, but the air did nothing to stem the tide of musk that rolled off in waves, curling the noses of everyone he passed. Glancing across the crowd, more than a few eyes darted away, as if not daring to look him straight in the eye. Pussies. What, did they think he was going to kick their asses? Or fuck 'em... His cock twitched, growing slightly stiff at the thought, stretching his strap just enough to expose an inch or two of damp cockflesh. The smell added little to the general miasma surrounding him, but the breeze was nice and soothing, and after a moment, he just shrugged and tugged the thing down, letting his footlong wiener wave in the breeze, while the strap cradled his meaty nuts. More people turned to stare, a series of gasps erupting through the nearby crowd, but he didn't halt in his stride. More than once, his monster slapped against some student who, in their shock, had stopped to stare at the beastly buck. Jim just chuckled every time he heard the wet splat of impact, and began swaying his hips slightly to improve the arc. He was just about at his dorm when a loud whooping noise caught his attention. It took him a moment to recognize it as a siren, and when he turned around, he saw the source, blue-and-white golf cart that was slowly making its way through the parting crowd. What was the penalty for muscle and cock theft? Panic flashed through Jim's brain, which slowly settled into a numb sense of worry. He still tried to stuff his cock back into his strap, as if that would make the situation any better, but it was too stiff for the once-oversized garment to fully cover, leaving several inches exposed. The cart came to a stop before him, and the campus police officer, a rotund stallion who may have been an athlete before his love of donuts got the better of him., slowly hauled himself up, causing the chassis to rise several inches. Fat and greasy, stuffed into an undersized and sweat-soaked blue uniform, he trundled over, a ticket book in his hands and a disgusted look in his upraised eyes. "Lemme guess, some kinda frat prank?" He grunted, his bushy mustache twitching as his frown deepened, "You know what kinda trouble you're in?" "Well, y'see, I-" Jim started, but the officer cut him off. "Indecent exposure. Maximum fine of $10,000 and up to six months in jail." He took a moment to fill out the ticket, then ripped it off and handed it to him. Jim stared at the thing, a growing sense of unease in his gut. Part of him wanted to lash out, to assert his dominance, but the more rational part of his mind held him back. Everything he had just gained in terms of confidence suddenly withered away, and despite his hunky body, Jim was back to James, the impotent little pushover. People were staring again, but instead of pride, all Jim felt was a deep sense of embarrassment. The sweat dripping down his body was cold as the threat of jail flashed through his mind - Or a fine, for that matter, which was over twice as much as his savings. An all-too-familiar warmth rushed into his cheeks, and he found himself averting his eyes toward his hooves, which were just barely visible past the curvature of his pecs. "I-" His hand clenched around the ticket, crumpling it, something which did little to ease the officer's anger. "You know what?" There was a twinge of sadism in the officer's voice as he spoke, "Maybe I need to teach you a lesson." Jim looked up just as the stallion reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He motioned for him to lift his hands up - Did he honestly expect him to just go along with it? There was no way the massive buck would fit in the back of the cart, so they'd have to walk all the way to the road on the other side of the square and wait for a squad car. This... This wasn't happening. He wasn't going to jail over something like this! Indecent exposure laws were for fat people, like the very officer before him, with his shirt-straining belly and moobs sagging like a pair of rice sacks - Who would ever want to see that? If anything, he was improving people's day with his good looks and glorious smell, and this lardass - This was just police brutality, pure and simple. "Maybe I should teach you one instead," Jim's voice was smooth as molasses as he reached out and grabbed the cuffs from the officer's hand, stuffing them inside his hoodie pocket. Before he could react, he grabbed the officer's arm and twisted it behind his back, then pulled him forward and stuffed his face in his armpit. With the hoodie's thick fabric in the way, it wasn't too sweaty, but the officer still thrashed and shouted, struggling to escape as the buck's powerful odor slipped through the pores in the fabric. His muscles, though softened through years of fast food and cushy work, were surprisingly strong, and Jim found himself struggling to hold the old man's face where it belonged. The way his belly squished against Jim's midsection, wobbling with every movement, wasn't entirely unpleasant; It was almost like sinking into a warm waterbed. If the stallion were bigger, Jim thought, he could do just that. For a moment, he wondered where in the hell that thought had come from, but there was no time to question it, as the momentary relaxation allowed the officer to wriggle out. There was a dazed expression on his face as he stumbled back, hands grasping wildly for something, anything - The only reason he didn't fall flat on his fat ass was the proximity of his cart, which creaked as he grabbed hold of one of the bars. Brushing his drooping, sweat-soaked mustache out of the way, the officer wheezed for fresh air - Relatively fresh, as proximity to the buck was still the equivalent of a locker room after a big game. After a few moments, he regained some modicum of composure and glanced up at Jim, but instead of moving to arrest him, he lowered himself back into the cart, which sank as his weight bore down on the creaking suspension once more, and drove off. The officer's ass oozed like putty over the sides of the seat, and as the crowd closed again around him, the last thing he saw were the straining seams of his black police-issue trousers. Now that was one of the fatter asses he'd seen. He kind of wished he'd taken a picture with his - Jim patted his pants and groaned. His phone was currently laying in the locker room with his bullies-turned-breeding bitches. Dammit. As the noise of the cart died away, the crowd turned once more toward Jim, who rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Tugging the lower hem of his hoodie over his slightly-rounded gut, he - Wait, gut? It was unexpected, but undeniable, his abs were looking slightly bloated, not a lot, but big enough to obscure his belt. He looked at it for a long moment, just to make sure it wasn't growing - After his sudden change of physique, he couldn't be too careful - But no, the only motion was the gentle rise and fall of his breath. It was just a little bit of flab, but still, it'd be a damn shame to gain so much, only to bury it under a layer of lard. He'd have to go to the gym and work it off, and maybe ream a few wannabe jocks in the showers- "Uh, you alright there, big guy?" Someone asked, and Jim looked down - And down - To see the concerned face of a beaver looking up at him. "Yuh-yeah, I'm fine," Jim felt a little hitch of anxiety as he spoke, quickly turning and striding away through the seething mass of students. His cock was hardening again, and the last thing he needed to do was get the campus cops called on him again. -=-=-=- The Highwayman wasn't the best bar in town, in fact, it was the worst dive bars Jim had ever seen. Not that he visited such places often, of course, but he'd heard enough stories to know what he was in for. Even so, as he entered the bar, crouching to avoid hitting his head on the low frame, he was surprised by just how dingy the place looked. A couple of ratty old pool tables sat in the corner, the duct tape crisscrossed across the fabric told of many a drunken pool game. Two such drunks occupied one of them, slurring their speech as they aimed and missed the few remaining balls. Neither of them seemed to notice the buck as he trundled in, but the men at the bar, a couple of rough-looking characters dressed in denim and leather, turned to greet him with their scowls. Jim flashed a grin, and their scowls deepened, but they turned back to their drinks without saying a word. On their backs, they bore the emblem of an equine skull in a pointed helmet - Probably a gang emblem, considering the two were a bull and some sort of mixed-breed canine. The bar itself was nice, or it was, once upon a time; Jim got a good look at the myriad of scratches and gouges as he lowered himself in one of the stools, which creaked under his weight. The bartender, a gruff-looking wolf in a sleeveless shirt which revealed a pair of flabby, but still impressive biceps, didn't appear interested in him at first, even after he tapped the counter. It took a solid thump, followed by a cough, to bring him over. "Jack and coke," He tried to hand a bill to the bartender, but the big wolf didn't seem to notice it as he slapped his hands on the counter, doing his best to loom over him. It wasn't entirely successful - Even sitting, Jim's eyes were nearly even with the wolf, who was undoubtedly fairly tall himself - But the effort was one Jim could applaud, especially the way his eyes never faltered or glanced at the buck's bountiful pecs. "You're not from around here, college boy," The biker glowered at him with more malice than Jim thought was possible, despite their relative difference in height, "Around here, we drink real shit - No sissy cocktails, got it?" Without missing a beat, Jim replied, "What would you recommend?" "Bourbon, neat, no ice, no faggy umbrella." "I'll have that." At last, the wolf accepted the bill and turned to the row of brown bottles behind the counter. During the time it took him to find a clean glass, one of the bikers - The bull - turned to him, bearing a look of distinct malice. "This ain't some faggy college bar, kid. Are you sure you're in the right place?" "What makes you think I'm a college kid?" Jim asked, to which the biker simply gestured at the logo on his hoodie. Warmth crept into the corners of the buck's face, and when the bartender returned with his drink, it was a relief. The whiskey was strong and flavorful, burning his throat as it went down. Not his thing at all - Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had alcohol - But something about the flavor was... Right. It certainly fit his own perception of ideal masculinity, well, that and cigars, but he wasn't sure if tearing up his throat and lungs was the best idea, even if it gave him a hot, gravelly voice like the bartender... Shaking his head, he finished his drink and slammed the glass back down on the counter. "That's some good bourbon," He said, wheezing slightly from the lingering effects, "What is it, Jim Beam?" He grinned - That was literally the only bourbon whose name he knew. The bartender didn't return the smile. "That's not bourbon, it's Canadian Club," He moved in front of the buck once more, laying his hand over the top of the glass in a way that seemed almost threatening, "I'm gonna ask one more time, kid - Are you sure you don't want to go someplace else?" For a moment, Jim's expression faltered, but just for a moment, as he forced himself to match the wolf's scowl. Show you're not afraid - That's how you stand up to a predator, right? He honestly couldn't remember. He never paid too much attention to the species relations section of history class. "What if I don't?" "If you don't," The wolf cracked his knuckles, "You're gonna have to face off with Rex and Duke." The two bikers turned to him, toothy grins stretched across their faces. For the first time, Jim noticed a studded leather collar around the dog's neck, with a little metal tag reading 'Rex' bolted in the middle. "You wanna take this outside?" Jim offered, moving to get up - A bar fight. He was about to have his first bar fight. A familiar sense of panic swelled in his chest, and his old friends, the butterflies, began their madcap dance in his stomach. His muscles flexed involuntarily, tensing for the fight to come, and suddenly, the expressions on the three bikers changed, going from intimidating to - Well, still incredibly intimidating, but with a certain amount of confusion added. "Outside?" Rex cocked his head, "How are we going to have a drinking contest outside?" "Yeah," The bull - Duke, probably - Continued, "It's against the law to have an open container of alcohol while on public property or in view of the public." At Jim's quizzical expression, he shrugged and said, "What, you think you're the only one who's been to school?" Jim... Didn't have an answer for that, but the bartender took the impetus away as he slammed a six pack on the counter. He recognized the brand - The one the greasers drank, and the jocks, and the stoners, and pretty much everyone else who just wanted to get sloshed without spending too much money. Cheap though they were, the alcohol content was closer to the bourbon he just drank. The bartender pulled three cans from the plastic rings, setting them in front of each of the contestants. A mix of disgust and anticipation rose in Jim's throat as he picked up his can, slipping his fingertip under the tab, waited for the bartender's signal... "Go." ... And cracked it open, finishing the trio of hisses as the carbonation met oxygen. From the moment the beer hit his tongue, Jim knew he'd made a mistake. It was bad, with a metallic aftertaste that clung in his mouth long after he swallowed. Worse, was the way he felt as the cold fluid snaked down to his stomach. It only grew worse after the second round, with more of the foul beverage adding to the churning mass within his stomach. He could feel it bubbling in there, sloshing with every faint movement; Shifting in his seat, he could feel the pressure growing as gas built up within him, filling like a balloon stuck on a helium tank. He could feel his stomach press against his hoodie, rounding out ever-so-slightly. The others wouldn't notice, but he certainly did. His insides felt warm and bloated, like his stomach was tight against his skin despite skipping lunch. Pressing a hand against his midsection, he groaned, but when he saw the other two upending their cans, he did the same, draining it and slamming it back down on the counter. In the time it took the bartender to pull the next trio of cans out, his stomach let out a sickening groan, and he did the same. The carbonation was having a reaction with the whiskey, probably. Shifting to one side, a fart sputtered out from Jim's bubble butt, sending a dense, garlicky miasma through the room. Jim blushed in embarrassment - Normally, something like that would earn him a week of teasing, but now... He inhaled deeply, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the sheer amount of stench he'd managed to pump into the air. "Jesus Christ," The bartender dropped the beer and covered his nose, "Did you just shit yourself or something?" "W-what's the matter?" Jim started shakily, but quickly morphed into a more confident tone, "Never seen a man rip ass before?" "No, it's just, uh, that was a big one, and, uh..." "Ah, don't worry! You'll rip 'em like a champ if you just keep drinking!" To punctuate his point, Jim grabbed the discarded beer, cracked it open, and chugged it, before doing the same to both of his competitors' drinks. It took a rapid gesture to get the bartender to bring out another case, but this time, Jim just grabbed them from his hands and started cracking them open, popping the tabs and chugging them down before the shocked eyes of the bikers, who probably expected to at least get a fighting chance in the matter. The competition, it seemed, was over almost as quickly as it had begun, and the college kid was the winner. As he tossed the last can of his second six-pack down, Jim was starting to feel it, the tingling in his brain, the lightness of his limbs, seeming to trail just behind where his brain was telling them to go. It was strange, but not unpleasant, much like the continued churning in his gut. It was more than just tight now - Pressing a hand against the surface, he could actually feel it bloating, growing as round as a virgin six months after pulling out. A belch forced it's way past his lips, and a fart blasted from his ass. His pants felt tighter than before, squeezing his poor buns until he was pretty sure they'd deflate back into pancakes. Shuffling in his seat, he managed to pull them down slightly, enough to expose a couple inches of his meaty crack, giving his ass stank a clear avenue into the barroom. As he leaned forward to let out another blast, something on the counter caught his eye. "Gimme that bottle," Jim slurred, gesturing wildly and nearly smacking one of the onlooking bikers in the face, "Th' one with the thingy in it!" It took a second for the bartender to realize what he was gesturing at, and another for him to decide whether to pretend that he didn't. Sighing, he turned around and grabbed a clear bottle from the top shelf, safely hidden - Or so he thought - Behind half a dozen bottles of peach-flavored vodka. Mescal - The Mexican equivalent of absinthe, an intoxicating and possibly deadly mixture of poor decisionmaking skills with a hint of peer pressure added for flavor. The dead agave worm floating at the bottom of the bottle was just garnish. The tipsy buck grabbed it right from his hand, plucked the cork out with his teeth, and took a swig of the poisonous brew, letting out a noise between and groan and a sigh as it went down, burning all the way. After another swig, he didn't care so much, and began chugging from the bottle like any of the beers he just demolished. He didn't even notice as the bikers disappeared from his peripheral vision, nor did he really register the increased grumbling of the drunks at their pool table. "This ain't some queer club!" Something heavy came down on Jim's shoulder; With his dulled reaction time, it took him a moment to recognize it as a metal baseball bat, with a railway spike driven through the end and honed to a razor's point. It barely pierced his skin, more akin to a pinprick than anything serious, and it was with an air of casual annoyance that he yanked the weapon from the interloper's hands, tossing it across the bar where it smashed into the wall, nail-first, and hung there. The attacker took a step back, eyes growing wide as Jim rose to his full height. Surprisingly, it was neither Duke nor Rex, but one of the pool players, a feline with a brace of graying hair around his head, almost a mane if it weren't so spotty and rough. Where he got the weapon, lord only knew, but Jim knew exactly how to punish him. His reflexes were slow, but the drunk was slower, and before he knew what was going on, Jim shoved him to the ground. "What the fuck?!" The sentiment was shared across the bar as Jim tugged his jeans down his meaty thighs. His package was safely contained within his strap, at least, enough of it was, but the back of his jockstrap was completely bare, giving the whole room a good view of his meaty bubblebutt. After so much beer, it was starting to look downright round, as if someone had stuck a hose up it and left the PH on too long, but a firm smack proved it to be surprisingly pliable; As he lowered himself on the drunk's face, the feline could do nothing but groan and flail uselessly as the twin cheeks squished around his face. Jim grunted, letting out a blast of hops-scented air down the interloper's gullet. The biker's eyes bugged out as his stomach bloated, driving his shirt halfway up his torso just to accommodate the sheer volume of gas. He looked like he'd swallowed a balloon, with faint pinkish stretchmarks visible along the lower rim of his belly; Another blast, and these stretchmarks turned a bright, angry red as his belly expanded to accommodate the sheer amount of foul air. With a bit of luck, the swelling might go down some day, but the biker would be stuck with stretched-out skin for the rest of his life. He could always fill that extra space with food; That's what Jim would do, if he didn't already have a bulging musclegut worthy of the daddiest of daddies. Patting his belly, he felt his cock twitch - He was really doing it! Staring down at his belly, and the pleading eyes of the drunk, he felt such a rush of power that he immediately ripped off another roarer, straining the biker's belt. In an act of mercy, Jim grabbed his buckle and ripped it off, letting his gasgut wobble free. He wasn't going to let the poor guy suffer, after all. The stench was absolutely toxic, making the drunk retch violently, but nothing could come out; His fur took on a greenish tint as the filth inundated his body, seeping like a virus into his very DNA. There was a quiet toot, followed by a roar as the biker's own ass erupted, spewing out gas in a desperate attempt to lessen the intense pressure in his belly, but it was no use; The more he farted, the harder Jim pushed to replace the lost gas. Jim felt a twinge of anger; Wasting his precious gas was a crime, for which the biker would pay dearly. The biker groaned, but all that came out was a puff of greenish gas. He was destined to become a stink-filled sphere, a dumb, useless blimp who would never raise a finger against the stag again, assuming he didn't pop sometime in the near future. His flailing soon ceased as gas seeped through his body, puffing up his arms and legs like cartoonish balloons. Jim slapped the poor man's drum-tight gut; He was going to last a long, long time. "Police!" The door swung open and two cops stormed in, tasers in hand and ready to kick some ass. Instead, they saw a massive buck sitting on another man's face, an erection throbbing in his underwear as he pumped waves of warm gas down his throat. The miasma in the room was thick, the air waving before their eyes like a sauna, polluting their lungs and bringing tears to their eyes. That alone probably constituted assaulting an officer. Was it a crime? Judging by their quizzical expressions, neither of them knew, but as the disgust grew across their faces, it became apparent that they were going to treat it like one. "Hands in the air, freak!" Before he could react, the twin prongs of the taser bit into his skin, sending an electrical shock through his body that sent him reeling, nearly tripping over the gasbloated biker before he stabilized himself. A taser discharges an electrical current that overpowers the body's muscles, forcing them to relax and sending most suspects to the ground, but Jim wasn't most suspects. The shock coursing through his body had the opposite effect, causing him flex everything at once. A pained groan escaped his lips as his teeth grit involuntarily, just one of a dozen muscles now forced into unnatural contraction. His biceps bulged against his sleeves, threatening the delicate stitching of some Malaysian child-slave, while his pecs puffed out against the fabric, distending the university logo like a PTA president playing with MS Paint and no smart scaling. "Wh-wait for me!" A soft, effeminate voice called from outside, and one of the officers turned, half-lowering his taser. The other one only glanced over his shoulder, but it gave him the opportunity he needed. Ripping the prongs from his chest, he sprang into action - Literally, as his flexed muscles acted like a coiled spring, giving him the momentum needed to clear the distance in under a second, bowling into the two officers like a runaway freight train, sending all three tumbling to the ground. Something crunched under his weight, and for a moment, he was worried - Until he felt something poking him in the gut, and reached down to pull out the broken remains of one of their tasers. While they sat and groaned, there was a soft thud at the doorway, followed by a very feminine groan, and Jim looked up to see a strange, yet oddly familiar face. It took him a moment to recognize him, and when he did, he gasped. The last time he'd seen the campus officer, he was forty years and four hundred pounds of aged equine meat, but now... His short taste of Jim's pitstench must have had a greater effect on him than he'd expected, turning the fat old man into something ripped straight from a hyper fetishist's DeviantART gallery. Most of his weight had shifted into his ass and thighs, giving his torso the appearance of a stick coming out of a massive brown lollipop. Each cheek was the size and shape of a globe, with absolutely no cellulite to speak of, giving them the appearance of a pair of overfilled, fur-covered balloons. His thighs had the appearance of chicken drumsticks, descending to calves His pants were gone, and the only thing keeping his rear end in check was a pair of overstretched boxers, soaked in sweat and barely clinging to life around his rear end. The seams were dotted with holes, some larger than others, creaking and widening with every little movement, letting globs of fuzzy flab ooze through. His face, once framed by wrinkled cheeks and chins, was as smooth as a botox'd bottom, while his mustache had dwindled from a mighty bush to a neatly-trimmed pencil line, without so much as a hair out of place. He looked twenty years younger, maybe more, enough that he wouldn't seem out of place in any of Jim's classes if not for his enormous, doorway-filling ass. Musk rolled off of him in waves, meeting and mixing with Jim's gassy stench. Squeezing through the doorway, the bottom-heavy brabant staggered into the room, struggling to keep his balance with his enormous lower half. Jim could feel his erection growing even harder, prodding against back of one of the officers, who squirmed as he slowly came to. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he realized what was poking into his back and screamed. Chaos ensued. -=-=-=-=- "Bro, what the fuck?" Mitch turned at his friend's voice. Zeke had been resting on a bench, struggling to hold his poorly-rolled joint together to light it, but now he was on his feet - A rare feat for the stoner elephant, who rarely rose for anything other than food, weed, or occasionally class. The look of concern on his face was enough to break the dog from his half-baked haze, and snuffing out his own spliff, he rose to his feet. "What's up?" "Those cops over there," Zeke gestured toward the front gate of the campus, where a police car was backing toward the gate, blocking it lengthwise. The officers stepped out, and- Mitch nearly burst out laughing at the sight of the nearer officer. He wasn't a real cop - He was some twink dressed in a slutty police officer uniform, with a cutoff shirt and a skirt that ended mere inches from his crotch, giving a perfect view of his smooth, hairless thighs. Scrambling over the hood to reach the other side, the entire campus got a perfect view of his rainbow panties. "What're they doing?" "Hell if I know," He muttered, before turning to his friend, "Maybe it's some kind of frat prank?" Before he could come up with any theories, there was a scream, and a million disjointed thoughts raced through his head - ShootersTerroristsRussia - But as he spun around, he saw the true cause was none of the above. It was a deer - At least, he though it was a deer, but the sheer size of the creature made it hard for his swirling mind to comprehend. Stomping across the quad, the thing was the size of a pickup truck tipped on it's nose, topped with something that closer resembled a thorn bush than a rack of antlers. Something was mangled up in it, a blue police vest and a leather jacket impaled on his many razor-sharp points. The fleeing crowd broke before the creature, and for just a split second, Mitch got a good view of the creature's cock, easily the length of his arm - Mitch's arm, not the creature, whose own arms were as long and beefy as an entire person. His balls were massive too, wobbling with each step and, a certain perverted part of him thought, audibly churning with seed, and barely contained by the tattered remains of an old jock strap. "So that's what the cops are here for!" For a brief moment, he felt an epiphany, the kind only stoners felt from realizing something completely obvious, but that triumph quickly turned to horror as he turned toward the gate, where the officers crouched behind their car, blocking the escape of a horde of terrified students. Backpacks and jackets flew off as they prepared to climb over, but before anyone could get within five feet of the vehicle, one of the officers hurled something over the hood. The flashbang went off as intended, blinding the crowd and probably damaging more than a few eardrums. For his part, Mitch staggered back, nearly collapsing on the bench as the spots faded from his eyes. When they cleared up, the scene he saw was one of horror, though it was hard to explain exactly why. Maybe it was the massive beast currently ramming a compsci major's ass, stretching his hips beyond all natural comprehension and creating a bulge in his stomach from his sheer girth alone - Maybe it was the cheerleader licking the beast's ass, huffing down staccato blasts of gas like a stoner with a bowl, or even the half dozen people, officers included, who busied themselves with licking and caressing the beast's balls and feet. No, what frightened Mitch the most was that every one of these people was different. Given the distance, not to mention his addled state, it was hard to pinpoint the exact changes, but he was certain - Was that guy's ass always that big? And that twinky guy, didn't he used to have muscles? Mitch took a step back, rubbing his temples in confusion. The horrible smell that wafted past his nose, overpowering the lingering smell of bud, certainly didn't help matters. Panic pulsed through his heart, fight or flight? He glanced over to where Zeke was standing moments ago, but the hefty elephant was gone, running across the square as fast as his thick legs could take him. Mitch was about to follow when the beast turned, shoving half a dozen increasingly slutty students away with a sweep of his massive hand. Zeke turned and screamed, and Mitch did too, hopping over the bench and bolting down the nearby path. His friend's screams turned to moans, growing increasingly high-pitched, accompanied by the deep-bellied roars of the bestial deer. The sound filled his ears, loud enough that he could feel his very ear drums pulsing in his head; He had to get out of here, had to! The athletics department was up ahead, and the doors swung open before him, a vaguely familiar face beckoning him inside. The doors swung shut as he turned inside. The locks clicked into place, a surprising amount for a building without anything worth stealing, and he turned to greet his saviors. Mitch knew he recognized them from somewhere, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He was pretty sure he'd never seen a pregnant cheerleader before, and before him stood two of them, a doe and a lioness, dressed in short skirts and cutoff shirts bearing the logo of the school's football team. Their bodies were slender and beautiful, with perky butts and small, nearly unnoticeable breasts, marred only by the basketball-sized bellies hanging from their midsections like pendulums, swaying and sloshing with every tiny movement. No extra weight marred their frames, giving rise to the rather strange notion that they'd just swallowed bowling balls. Mitch shook the silly thought away - The school didn't even have a bowling alley! "He's cute," The lioness purred, hips swaying as she strutted over to him, "What's your name, honey?" "M-Mitch," He stammered, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. Jeez, he wasn't into pregnant chicks, but something about the cadence of her voice, the way she rocked her hips as she walked... Maybe those creepy fetishists were on to something. "Don't worry, we're safe here," A shiver ran down his spine as the doe's hand brushed against his cheek, "We're all alone, just the three of us..." He felt a tightness in his crotch, and groaned, crossing his legs, eliciting a giggle from the girls that only made his cock harder. Was he seriously getting off on this? His attraction was tempered with a sense of growing unease. The longer he stared at her, the greater this sense grew; He was absolutely certain he knew the lioness from somewhere, but the slender curves of her cheekbones and her teardrop-shaped eyes gave him no answer. Likewise, something about the deer seemed oddly familiar, something about her face, and the timbre and cadence of her speech filling him with a mix of familiarity and dread. Besides that, the chaos outside was muffled, but he could still hear the screams and moans of a campus gone mad. Fucking at a time like this was... "Crazy," He muttered, feeling a pair of slender hands around his shoulders, "This is crazy..." "Don't worry, sweetie," The doe ran her fingers through her hair, glistening in the light. There must've been some crazy product in it, because when she shook her head, it seemed to flow like water around her head, bangs clinging to the sides of her face as if they were wet. She brushed them back, and for just a moment, Mitch caught sight of twin bumps on either side of her head, which were immediately covered up by her rich brown hair. Suddenly, something clicked. Mitch gasped, breaking out of the lioness's embrace. There was a bat in the corner, the handle wet and sticky. He tried not to imagine what that might be as he picked it up, gripping it as tightly as possible given the slick handle. "Who the fuck are you?" He demanded, holding the bat like a baseball star about to hit a homerun. "Davey," "And Jakey!" The deer beamed, her white teeth framed by lipstick-coated lips, "We're cheerleaders!" "Bullshit, the football team doesn't-" "Oh, not for the football team!" Davey wrapped a slender arm around Mitch's shoulders, which he immediately shook off, "For Papa Jimmy!" "For... Who?" The bottom of Mitch's stomach suddenly felt very light, drifting up to somewhere near his throat. The doe - No, the buck just giggled, his voice as sweet and feminine as any woman he'd ever known. "Him!" The deer pointed at the door, and Mitch, following her gaze, felt the bottom drop from his stomach. There, staring through the slit window, were a pair of big blue eyes connected to a mass of unkempt fur. It rose slightly, revealing a set of shockingly sharp teeth, and let out a snort. All that escaped his lips was a quiet, "Shit," as the creature snorted, placing a hand against the window. "Ass," The voice outside was deeper than the Marianas Trench and as slow as blackstrap molasses, "Hot ass." Mitch would've gulped, but the lump in his throat prevented him from doing much more than breathing. The lion made a move, and he hurled the bat at his face, sending him tumbling to the floor. While his friend helped him up, Mitch was already running down the hall. The emergency exit loomed before him, light shining through the slit windows like a glowing beacon, but something moved in front of them - Something scrawny, but lumbering with a rounded midsection. He couldn't risk it. The buck howled outside, pounding on the door with bestial fury. The locks rattled, but held fast, and neither of the 'girls' took the time to unlock it as they began their pursuit. There was a crash, and another, and Mitch looked over his shoulder, fully expecting to see the creature bursting through broken doors, but instead, it was the lioness, bat in hand, smashing trophy cases as they ran past. Last year's track and field trophy met the same fate as the statuette honoring the 1940 skeet shooting competition, raining glass across the floor behind them, twinkling like a thousand little stars. Mitch ran even faster than before, turning the corner and rushing into the locker room, where the jizz-soaked floor and omnipresent stench told him more than he wanted to know. The only window was a tiny slit near the ceiling, barely wide enough to fit a gym bag full of dildos, as he learned during a recent prank, but it was all there was - He could hear the giggling 'girls' behind him, and the beast bashing on the doors in the foyer. The window opened easily, and with some squirming, Mitch's head and shoulders slipped through, but no matter how much he sucked his belly in, he couldn't get his midsection through. The voices grew nearer, and he didn't need Jakey's high-pitched squeal to know they'd found him. He braced his arms against the wall, preparing for the tug of war that was bound to ensue, but instead... "Come on!" The lion giggled, "It's going up your butt!" Mitch yelped as he felt the firm end of the bat prodding his ass; He knew there was no way it'd fit, but the impact was enough to spur him forward, somehow sucking his belly in enough to squeeze through the gap. As he took off running, he could hear the freaks shouting in disappointment. More importantly, the sound of fists against the gym door ceased - That thing couldn't know/i] he escaped, right? It was just a monster, it wasn't as smart as a- "Mitchy, babe!" The canine froze in his tracks at the sound of his friend's stoned-out drawl. He didn't sound too different, maybe a bit higher-pitched, but that was normal for him when coming down from a high. For a moment, he allowed himself a bit of hope, only to be crushed the moment he turned around. Zeke waddled through the garden, brushing aside flowering bushes with his hips, but it wasn't Zeke anymore; The buck had worked his magic, or whatever it was, on the elephant, turning him into another freak. He'd always been fat, but the creature that stood before him was almost cartoonish in proportions, with hips wider than his shoulders, and an immense, near-spherical belly that sloshed and gurgled with every plodding step. "Wanna smoke some shit and play with my balls?" He took a step forward, sending a small tremor through the ground. "N-no," He stammered. Taking a step back, he felt the cold metal of the campus fence behind him. It was too tall to hop, topped with ornate spikes that looked gorgeous when the sun shone against them, but would turn his organs into minestrone soup if he tried to climb over them. The only way to go was back the way he came. He didn't even think, he just bolted past his former friend, whose mellow tone turned to one of confusion as he shouted after him, begging him to come back and do god-knows-what with god-knows-where. His one saving grace was that Zeke's sheer immensity made it difficult to give chase. Rounding the corner of the athletics department, he allowed himself the briefest respite as his bottom-heavy pursuer struggled to keep up... Only to run straight into the freakish buck, nearly bashing his head on his boulder-sized pecs. He'd gotten a fair view of the freak earlier, but up close was so much worse. The monster stood two heads taller than him, a frighteningly wide grin stretched across his bearded face. His antlers were monstrous, with more points than he could count, draped with clothing and condoms both new and used. His boulder-sized pecs heaved with each breath, nipples erect in the cool autumn breeze. Rather, it was cool, but the air around him was as hot and smoggy as Hengshui at the height of summer, and the smell... Mitch gagged, covering his nose, but it was too late; The stench of rancid feet and unwashed balls flooded his nostrils, filtering into his brain like some inexorable poison. "You're cute," The freak rumbled, then added as an afterthought, "Name's Jim." The poor canine's head was starting to swim, and he took a step back, only to bump into something round and taut - Zeke's massive belly, which let out a horrific gurgle as his weight pressed against it. The elephant let out a raunchy belch, reeking of weed and no small amount of cum. Mitch would've wiped it off, but a strange feeling of lethargy began to spread through his body. His arms fell limp against his sides, while his legs wobbled slightly as the muscles supporting him went limp. The only reason he didn't fall was the support of Zeke's belly, the elephant's sheer weight anchoring him to the ground. It made a perfect support as Jim took a step forward, running a sausage-like finger along the curvature of Mitch's cheek. His stomach did a backflip as the freak looked into his eyes, and he saw the cold, hard intellect lurking behind those pale blue eyes. He was dumb - Looking at the beast, he had to be dumb, but he could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Zeke was just bait, and he'd taken it hook, line, and sinker. He was going to die, or worse. Or, was it worse? Judging by the smile on Zeke's face, being a massive cumslut wasn't so bad. He could still smoke bowls, and he wouldn't have to worry about potential lovers getting turned off by his lack of hygiene... Did cumsluts even need showers? He opened his mouth to ask, but his pointless question died in his throat. The monster wrapped his hands around his shoulders, and the little canine was powerless to resist as he was pushed down to his knees, placing his eye level in line with the beast's magnificent ballsack. It was like a pair of grain sacks stuffed with bowling balls, sloshing and churning with untold oceans of sperm. The smell was utterly intoxicating, and despite his best efforts, Mitch found himself inhaling the foul stench. If weed was bad for his lungs, he couldn't imagine the damage this toxic miasma might be causing, but he couldn't stop himself from leaning in, pressing his face up against the freak's sack and taking a deep sniff. He could feel the thing's cock rubbing against the top of his head, as thick as a liquor bottle and harder than steel, a bit like bumping his head against a stone column - Somehow, that day was even stranger than this one. The beast gripped the back of his head, pressing him further into his nutsack. Twin soccerball-sized orbs pressed against the sides of his head, filling his ears with a muffled, yet audible churning. He could barely breathe, and what little air his burning lungs could glean was so polluted that he imagined he could feel the sweaty gunk building up in his lungs. At last, the freak's grip relaxed, and he pulled away, gasping for breath. After tasting the freak's balls, the hot and fetid air was as sweet as a mountain breeze. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he tried to get up, only for a ham-sized hand to push him back down to his knees. "Gimme ass, baby," The monster rumbled, his deep voice making Mitch's eardrums vibrate. The canine stared wide-eyed at the freak's cock, sweat and old cum glistening across the length of his shaft. His pucker tightened at the sheer size of his cockhead, which bulged like the payload faring on the world's meatiest rocket. There was no way it was going to fit up his ass, at least without requiring major surgery afterward... But he'd seen him balls-deep in a former honors student... A glob of precum burbled out, splattering across the canine's shoes. Despite the canvas layer, he could feel the heat rising from the glob, as hot as a pizza pocket fresh from the dorm microwave. His grasp on reality was shaky at the best of times, and in this sexual horror show, there was little he could do to resist the buck's demands. Zeke grabbed his wrists, stretching his arms around the elephant's spherical gut in an unwilling hug. Mitch struggled to free himself, but the elephant's grip was like a pair of handcuffs, keeping him restrained as the freak fumbled with the canine's belt buckle. With his massive fingers, it took longer than it needed to, but before long, Mitch's pants were around his ankles. Jim gripped his ass cheeks, kneading them like bread dough beneath his powerful hands before spreading them wide open. Mitch hissed as cool air brushed against his virgin hole, followed by a yelp as Jim's thumbtips pressed against it, slowly teasing their way inside despite his involuntary puckering. There was no way his sausage-like fingers could fit, at least, not in a realistic world, but reality itself seemed to submit to the beast's desires, and Mitch's asshole stretched open to admit one thumb, then the other, sending a mix of stimulation and pain up the canine's spine. "Duh-don't-" He stammered, but it was too late; He felt the buck's knuckle pass through the tight gateway, and then the other, stretching it open to an incredible degree. In less than a minute, he'd surpassed even the most dedicated anal queen, but it wasn't over yet - Jim's thumbs slipped out again, leaving his butthole hanging open like an overstretched elastic band. Even so, it was a tough fit for Jim's massive cock. The buckbeast grunted, pushing Mitch's shoulders as his meatstick slowly slid in, while the dog could only howl in surprise and discomfort. He felt like he was trying to swallow a lamppost through his ass, stretching his guts beyond belief and creating a noticeable bulge in his stomach. The bulge only grew as Jim's cock slipped in further, his skin stretching, creaking around the outlined head of his cock, but instead of tearing apart, he remained intact in defiance of basic biology. Logic didn't apply here, not anymore; Jim pulled his cock out slightly, lessening the pressure, and just as Mitch began to relax, thrust it in again, causing the canine to howl like a bitch in heat, echoing across the campus louder than any of the screams and cries before. Jim only grunted, with a subdued grin as the only indication he was taking any pleasure in taking the stoner's anal virginity. Mitch tried to think, to find some method of escape, but his thoughts burst apart with each thrust, dissipating into the ether. He could almost feel the synapses burning out with every passing second, frying what few parts of his education he hadn't slacked out on. What was he studying, anyway? Another thrust, another burst of pleasure through his loins, and he found that he didn't care. His cock twitched, and he came for the first of many times, painting the lower rim of Zeke's belly white. Zeke just giggled as his friend's face bounced against his belly, the contents sloshing with every thrust. It wouldn't be long before Mitch was just as big; At least, that's what the cumbloated elephant thought, holding his friend's wrists with all his strength, though at this point, it was possible that Mitch was too far gone to escape. There was no way he could break free of Jim's grip, in any case. The buck's cock filled him utterly, deforming his guts into a cartoonish condom. He could feel pre leaking from Jim's cock, which helped lubricate the process of fucking, but it was still a rough time, mixing pleasure with a dull, almost enjoyable feeling of pain. Biting his lip and shutting his eyes, Mitch came again, and when he opened them, for just a brief moment, he couldn't remember what he was doing, until Jim's violent thrusting reminded him. The dog felt his insides shift again, but this time, it wasn't Jim's cock stretching for more room. He groaned, a feeling of nausea rising in his throat as his muscles grew weak, bones growing soft and malleable as they reshaped themselves, growing slender and weak. It was barely noticeable at first, as his almost nonexistent musculature boiled away, leaving him with narrow shoulders and twig-like arms; Another spurt of pre painted his insides, and in exchange, his moaning grew in pitch, turning to a shrill squeal. His belly bulged out, growing round and taut as it wobbled beneath him, bloating with every thrust of Jim's monster cock. A cum-scented belch rolled from the dog's lips, followed by a splatter of white goo. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, endorphins clouding his mind and making any sort of coherent thought impossible. Some quirk of biology, perhaps an evolutionary memory or genetic aberration, sent his body into overdrive, and instead of merely losing his masculinity to the brutal buck, he found himself slipping down another path entirely. Gritting his teeth, Mitch tried to flex his fading muscles. His arms barely responded, but his backside... Glancing over his shoulder, he gasped. The dog's ass was massive, as wide as an armchair, with cheeks as round as beach balls. It wasn't a man's ass; It wasn't even a female's ass. It was a slut's ass, designed to pleasure none but the most powerful gods of manhood, which Jim most assuredly was. Stretch marks blossomed across the surface of his belly, marring his slick fur, not that he cared in the slightest; It actually felt kind of good, bloating up to contain his master's seed, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. This was what happened to them, every poor soul who crossed the path of Jim's musk, his unreal, ever-growing lust. Reality itself bent around him, allowing more and more dense muscle to pile onto his frame, while at the same time, his belly billowed out like a water balloon as another wave of cum blasted through his tortured pucker. Jim grunted, digging his claw-like fingers into the meat of Mitch's ass, causing the slut to let out a lewd moan. What little remained of his reservation disappeared, and his tongue lolled out as the last of his former personality drowned in the onslaught of cum. The power of the blast was enough to make Mitch shift toward slightly, loosening Jim's vice grip, and suddenly, without input from either party, the dog's growing weight pitched forward, dumping against Zeke's monumental belly and landing in a wobbling heap on the ground. Cum spurted from his ass as he lay there, struggling to regain his bearings. The buck came once more, grunting in annoyance as the cum spurted through the air, landing uselessly in the nearby garden. Zeke took a step forward, drooling at the mere sight of his master's cock, but Jim paid the elephant no heed, simply brushing him aside as he stomped over to the increasingly-corpulent canine. Mitch struggled to rise to his feet, several hundred pounds worth of ass and belly weighing him down, but somehow, he managed to stand, wobbling in place as he tried to regain his balance. His hips were wider than his shoulders, his ass like a pair of the giant planet models they kept in the science department's lobby. His belly might've been mistaken for a pregnancy, but even octomom wasn't as big as his spherical stomach. They stood still for a long moment, gazing into one another's eyes. Hunger raged in Jim's eyes, the deer's overdeveloped cock throbbing and spurting out a glob of thick, rank jizz, which Zeke scrambled to lick up. Mitch's smile was almost serene as he gazed upon his master. His own cock was almost hidden between his thunderous thighs, twitching slightly as his own cum leaked out - Thick and oily, it dripped across his thighs and slid down to the ground, a side-effect of the changes his biology had undergone, and indeed, was still undergoing. Even as he stood there, he could feel himself swelling, his belly creaking as the cum within it slowly digested. A fart sputtered from between his enormous cheeks, sending out a spray of strangely pink-tinted jizz, and once again, the ravenous elephant waddled around for a taste of the sticky fluid, humming at the overpoweringly sweet taste. Zeke's hands squished deep into his ass, disappearing up to the elbows. Rolling forward on his tight cumgut, he pressed his face between the canine's cheeks, slurping up everything his farts brought him. Mitch let out a moan, his tongue lolling out. Jim couldn't wait any longer; Mad with lust, he thrust his cock into the canine's mouth and down his throat, causing him to gag, but the expression on his face was one of pure bliss. Wrapping a hand around Mitch's shoulders, he shoved the canine to his knees and pushed his cock in. Mitch's throat bulged to a comical degree, but he didn't complain; The buck thrust the rest of the way in, his balls sloshing audibly as they slapped against the canine's chin. How much cum was churning away in there, aching to blast down some slut's throat? Neither Mitch nor Jim could guess, and Zeke was too busy huffing the dog's expulsions to care. They were going to have to find out, together. -=-=-=-=- "... And during this year, some of us have grown in wisdom; Others, in... Other ways..." The Dean of Engineering stood behind the podium, gazing down at his notes. He didn't have to - The uptight old wolf knew the speech by heart - But he couldn't stand the idea of looking out across the audience and seeing the complete mess that had become of his school. Over twenty years of educating young minds, he'd never seen such a strange and eclectic mix of students. He glanced up, and immediately regretted it. A bottom-heavy cheetah was making out with a muscular bunny, their blue robes hiked up around their waists as they groped each other's butts. The other students were doing nothing to stop it; Indeed, most of them were engaged in similar activities themselves. Over there, the former coach of the football team, now an exotic dance instructor, was running his fingers along the thigh of a pregnant lioness - No, he shook his head, that was the former captain of the football team. The two got up and made their way out of the assembly hall, and as he watched, he could see the jizz leaking around the big purple plug in the lion's ass. The police had been deployed to help maintain order, but they weren't much help these days. Dressed in tight shirts and rainbow-colored hot pants, the half-dozen or so officers were accompanied by the former head of the school's campus police, whose comically massive backside served as a bullseye for their target practice. They weren't using guns. Turning back to his notes, he shook his head. He still fondly remembered the days when herbivores and carnivores were segregated. As he finished off his speech, he announced the name of the first graduate on the list and groaned. HimThe creature walking up to the stage was a far cry from the shy but brilliant student he'd shaken hands with on the first day of classes. Ten feet tall and built like a Sherman tank, the massive buck trundled onto the stage, dropping his liquor bottle on the stairs and tossing his fat cigar into the audience, where somebody was bound to grab it and stick it up someone else's hole. Wiping a blob of cum from the hem of his tarp-sized robe, he glared down at the old wolf, who did his best to keep from whimpering as he pulled his diploma from the box sitting next to him. Jim had other ideas; Brushing it aside, he wrapped his arms under the dean's armpits and hoisted him to his lips, struggling all the way. The buck's lips met his, and all resistance fell away. The audience erupted in cheering and applause, or what sounded like applause, but he didn't feel the need to quiet them down. He was more interested in the warm, smoky flavor of the massive buck's saliva, throwing himself into the kiss with all the passion of a long-lost lover. He didn't even notice as his body changed, his bones shrinking, his paunchy midsection deflating as his backside swelled up within his pants. His combover suddenly sprouted into a massive gray afro, which was then overtaken by a shade of bright pink that swiftly coated his entire body. By the time the buck broke the kiss, the dean was nothing more than a twinkish poodle, half his age and half his height, with the only sign he was ever the old professor being his now-oversized suit. Staring down at his new body in horror, he tried to look up at the buck's grinning face, but his gaze halted midway when he noticed the massive bulge beneath his robe. A powerful urge rose in his chest, and he couldn't help himself from rising up, brushing his face against the bulge and inhaling the thick, masculine aroma. "Wh-what are your plans for the future?" Jim looked down at the queer little poodle, then across the chaos of the assembly hall. It was madness, anarchy - And completely perfect. "Whatever the fuck I want." With that, he grabbed the poodle by the scruff of his ruined suit and threw the old man into the orgy.