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Glass bottles clinked together in the back seat of Eric's car, like annoying high-pitched laughter from a few dozen sealed mouths. Fragments of the sound were slowly ground down in Eric's mind until it became mental sand, making him wonder, once again, if he should just take off, drink whatever he could manage on his own, and just pass out and forget about Tom's shitty Hallowe'en party.

Although he considered himself smart - smarter, Eric was sure, than Tom and all of his good friends put together - he felt fucking stupid for being suckered into coming to their party. At the red light, he scowled down at the shaped foam and fabric werewolf's head, who looked like a lot of the guests: he wasn't snarling so much as vomiting. Vomiting, he remembered, and laughing at all sorts of stupid shit that wasn't funny.

When the light changed, Eric jammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the costume's headpiece tumbled over itself onto the floor on the passenger's side. He was itchy and sweaty - the costume wasn't very good - and the closer he got to Tom's house, the more his anger was rising at being asked to do yet another "sober boy beer run". Just because I don't drink, doesn't mean I don't like having fun. How the fuck am I going to get laid if I can't spend five minutes with a girl without some boozy moron pawing her away and being asked to go and pick up so-and-so or grab more beer because we're out again.I should write up a fucking bill for services rendered and jam it down Tom's fucking throat.

Eric was still sizzling in his warm werewolf costume when he turned down the road Tom lived on. The big suburban house was more or less half-way down. Cars and bikes spilled off of the driveway and over the front lawn like flies on fresh manure. He remembered how annoyed he got: every time he came back, he had to walk farther and farther to get back to the house, and the beer was getting heavier. His costume already had him itchy and sweaty, without all the running back and forth. At least it's a cool evening.

Jamming his car into an ever-narrowing gap right on the edge of the throng of cars, Eric turned it off. Pushing his anger down into his guts for later, he sat, looking at the house, debating on just getting the fuck out of there. Upstairs, all the bedroom glowed, the red curtains lit up like too-early Christmas decorations. Dimming jack o'lanterns dotted around the front garden; most of the light came from the porch lights, that were turned on. More were out back, for Tom and his real mates to man the barbecue on the big stone porch.

At a quick glance, everything was more or less how he'd left it.

Yet Eric knew immediately that something was wrong. It was supposed to be dark inside, sure, to set the "mood" Tom wanted. But it wasn't that dark. Even if the jack o'lanterns he had on inside the house had gone out - which wouldn't have surprised Eric, since he had chosen not to bother adding to his own list of chores - the TV should have been on, and the big flat-screen should have been putting out something.

Despite his costume being warm, Eric could still feel it had gotten colder as the late night shifted into the early morning. People would have gone inside, and with everyone else apparently going to spend the night or have him drive them home, everybody should have been there. Music should have been blaring. Only he heard nothing from the house. Not even crickets.

If it had just been that, Eric would've laughed and taken off, believing they got the cops called on their loud, drunk asses, and something had happened. _Something_had certainly happened, though. There was no lights coming in from downstairs. No sound. And the smell: a horrid, putrid stench that he could smell, even from this far away in a metal and glass protective box.

Knuckles bone-white as they returned to grip the steering wheel repeatedly, Eric stared at the house. His heart was jackhammering away in his chest, and despite how weird things here, he felt like an idiot. Calm down. You're freaking out over nothing. Fucking nothing_! It's just a big practical joke. That's all this is. Drunk idiots fucking with your head._ Probably left the meat out for too long, or the toilets got fucking clogged up.

Eric reached for his pockets, grabbing nothing but fake fur before he realised his mistake. Shit. Where's my phone. He looked around his car, twisting and turning, then taking off his seatbelt._Oh, no, no no no..._Part of him wish he'd had it stolen from him, but his memory was returning: it had run out of charge - well, it would have, he thought grimly, given how much he'd been called up to add on an extra errand - so he'd left it connected to Tom's computer.

Fuck!

Eric did not want to go back into Tom's house. He would have been fine leaving his phone behind, only he knew that would be a bad idea. Someone would steal it, deliberately or in a drunken confusion with their own already sitting in their pocket or purse. He'd need it to wake up tomorrow for work, and to call Tom so he could arrange a time to come pick it up. He didn't want to have to deal with Tom after tonight, or ever again.

Fuck!

Getting out of his car already felt to Eric like a mistake. The wave of stink he was greeted by made him gag. It certainly did smell a lot like rotting meat, yes; although it was specifically disgusting fish corpse stink that invaded Eric's nostrils. Rotting fish and buckets and buckets of salt. Any time he accidentally took a whiff, he was sure the hairs in his nose were burning down like the fuse on a stick of dynamite._Certainly makes my stomach feel like exploding..._Under the layers and layers of putrid stench, though, there was another smell. It was familiar, but he didn't expect to smell it here. _Spunky funkness._There was just a trace, and he half-suspected it was just his nose giving up and telling him anything and everything was in there.

Call the fucking police.

With what phone, idiot.

Alright, then just drive_to the station! Make this someone else's fucking problem!_

Eric found he was walking towards the house regardless of what his common sense told him to do.

Getting closer, it was easier to see other things that were off. There was what he could only describe as a slime on everything. It was spread fairly thin, but he had to give up trying not to step on it to even get close to the house. He didn't go up the front door - a particularly thick puddle of the creamy, off-white sline oozed down over the steps heading up to it - and cut around through the side gate, which was already fairly slippery enough.

It's like a fucking giant splooged himself over the house.

In the back garden, Eric didn't find any massive beanstalks reaching for the sky. _Anything_seemed possible now. Whatever was around the front paled at the mess of what Eric was sure was an inch-thick layer of semen. He felt it sloshing through the tiny holes in the sneakers that were underneath the now-ruined werewolf costume paws. It didn't seem to soak in too much - it was far too thick - but it turned his speed into a slow trudge. The pool, which had been covered when Eric left, might as well have been open. The puddle seemed extra-thick there; only his familiarity with Tom's back garden made him aware that's where the pool was at all.

Trying not to touch anything, Eric carefully made his way up the wide back stairs. I'll get inside. Maybe, I dunno, everyone's taking refuge in there. Someone who knows what the fuck's going on. Maybe this is all just one really elaborate practical joke they decided to play on me. Hahaha. Real funny guys. Where'd you get all this goo from, a shipment of that lube that's supposed to look like cum?

Eric knew that was a big lie. He also knew he shouldn't _be_here, doing this. He should have gone home, _could_have gone home. Anything else would have made more sense than continuing up the porch's back steps and to the door that led into the pitch-black living room. Lights were still on upstairs; there should be power still coming into the building. Reaching in, he grimaced - too late - as his fingers touched the sludge.

The lights went on.

Everything was coated in the fluid. Everything. It plastered the ceiling. It oozed down the television, which along with everything electrical more complicated than a lightbulb was off or had short-circuited. The carpets were under a thick puddle that consumed the entire floor. Empties had been partially filled again, although not with beer. All the plastic cups bought for the party were now distinctly used, no matter where they were in the room.

It's just a prank.

If it had just been outside, he might barely have believed it. Tom was the type of guy who'd assume everything would wash away during the next rain, or with a quick hose-blast. Nobody, not even Tom, was stupid enough to do that to their living room. It was over everything. He didn't bother checking the other rooms - he didn't _want_to check - but he was sure they would look the same, or close too it.

Gagging, Eric stumbled backwards; he nearly ass-planted onto his costumed rump, right into the gunk.

Go to the car. Take off the costume and your shoes. Wipe off your goddamned hands and just drive.

Finally, his body seemed to be obeying him.

Then Eric heard a moan.

Nope!

Eric ran, or tried to run. His legs pumped; he jumped down the remaining steps, not even stopping to right himself, instead stumbling back along the way he came, his old footsteps slowly being eaten away as the fluid advanced back into the openings left behind. For a while, he remained upright, although his legs shifted more as it seemed to get slipperier than it had been. Slipperier than he thought anything _could_be.

It wasn't too long before he stumbled. Eric shot out his arms, surrendering them to getting grazed and bloody, maybe even breaking a few bones; the sacrifice was made gladly, just as long as he didn't get his face anywhere near it. His front slammed down, the costume totally ruined. Pain throbbed through his arms. Despite all his best efforts, the force of his landing sent a splat shooting right up into his face.

He heard the moan again. It was louder. Closer.

Fuckfuckfuck

Scrabbling desperately, Eric tried to push himself back onto his feet. In the blind panic to get away, he thought with abject horror that the ooze was enclosing around his hands as he crawled to the side gate. The puddle, he thought, surely couldn't be that deep. Could it?

Something brushed against his leg.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

Nothing coherent passed through Eric's mind. He struggled against the ooze, finding himself unable to move, as if it had gladly given up its slipperiness to transform into glue. Yanking on his fingers seemed to have the effect of nearly pulling off the skin. His eyes saw nothing, not even what was right in front of him. His head was throbbing too much.

THE SMELL THE SMELL joinusjoinus OH FUCK WHAT IS THAT

Something thick and strong wrapped around Eric's costumed leg, tugging him backwards. The slipperiness returned, and he slipped smoothly along the ground, his hands dipping down, below where the ground should have been, touching nothing but the slime. The thing that had grabbed Eric's shrieking, nearly-mindless body coiled more around his leg, tugging him closer to the pool. The surface had been flat, but now it bubbled excitedly, screams of mad ecstacy shrieking out of the popping foam at the top.

The thick tentacle - whether it was made of the goo or simply covered in it, Eric would never know or care - pulled him deeper, as more emerged. They grabbed his arms and legs, his neck and torso. They squirmed around his feet, and looped around his fingers. Eric didn't struggle; he couldn't have even if he wanted to.

As Eric's head disappered below the surface, his body's natural instincts kicked in. _DROWNING!_Kicking and writhing, Eric tried to free himself, but it didn't work. The tentacles had him now. They forced his eyes shut and his mouth open; tendrils tickled his nose as he felt something thick and slimy and firm push his lips wider, filling his mouth with ooze. More seemed to pump out of the squirming tentacle, drowning him even faster.

Although, it didn't feel like he was drowning. Eric's lungs had stopped working, sure, but his heart still pumped and his shattered brain still regulated everything. The tentacles continued going about their work. A couple wriggled into his ears, until he could hear the bodiless crazed voices right in his head as clear as day. Eric thought again. Oh, so it was all just a prank. More squirmed their way underneath his clothes, feeling around slowly as they mapped flesh and fabric. Once a gap was found - no matter how small - the tentacle that discovered it squirmed inside, pushing it open as the tip advanced, covering his body in the white slime. They made their way across his body, embracing it, squeezing it, a mess of coils holding him snug.

Then the tearing began. Not of Eric's flesh, but anything that wasn't attached to him. His shoes and socks were first: firm squeezing and yanking wrested them off his feet, one by one, suckers sticking to his feet as tiny tentacle tongues licked them all over. Eric wriggled; the tentacles were firm and gooey, but they weren't tight. _Hugs._A line of suction cups landed on his back, and he felt tiny barbs shoot out of them, squirting the ooze right into his spine.

The rest of the one-piece costume was harder; inside, Eric felt his shirt and boxers being shredded. He moaned, his cock standing stiff as one of the tentacles began to milk him, while another thin lubricated tendril invaded his asshole, squirming right towards his prostate before expanding, overwhelming his body with the sense of his ass being opened up. Another slender tendril slipped down his urethra, wriggling down inside him. It only took a few seconds for him to get hard, thrusting into the tentacles gripping him as the sensitivity seemed to stretch over his skin, from the tip of his shaft to its base, then spreading outwards.

Eric's front was pressed into the front of the costume, smashing and rubbing him against it as the tentacles leveraged his body. The werewolf's back finally tore free, and Eric felt a hard yank. He was free, naked and covered in tentacles and goo, more greedy tentacles trying to wriggle into the openings of his mouth and anus as their mad voices chittered away in his head.

Sucker-tipped tentacles massaged and shifted his flesh, pulling and stretching his skin. His stomach and lungs, filled with the fluid, tensed and squirmed. The blood pumping out of his arteries were now tainted, his heart flushing it through his body, dispersing it throughout to soak into every organ, muscle and bone. It penetrating his brain, flooding him with calming, arousing feelings.

While Eric couldn't moan, he did feel an immense amount of pleasure. First unwilling, then passive, he became an active participant: he sucked hard on the phallic tentacle sliding down his throat, his face stretching and elongating as he yearned for more. Undulating tentacles buffeting his head tugged out his hair, which loosened from their follicles and dissolved into nothingness. His lengthening tongue coiled around the shaft, brushing up against his teeth, wearing down into a growing pair of rows, smaller but sharper. The cartilage of his ears was folded in on itself, shrinking them down as the excess flesh merged into him; his nose was gradually polished into the long, smooth beak forming from his face.

All of the suction cups that had clung to his spine took turns letting go in an undulating pattern. Others massaged his muscles, causing them to burn with activity. The fat shifted around his body, sliding into the grooves of his body as it was made sleek and smooth, but strong and fast. Eric's hands reached out, grabbing and stroking at the various tentacles that moved in range; as his fingers rubbed, the nails snapped back, coming away as his changing flesh scabbed over with new skin. Underneath the slime, it was grey; a lightening gradient headed towards his front, which paled almost completely to pure white. Eric's body grew, feeding off of the copious quantities of the fluid that was in him now. While his organs shifted about, the wave of suction cups coaxed a growing protuberance from the middle of his back. What started as excess skin soon firmed and hardened, slowly becoming a proper dorsal fin.

More extreme changes were happening to the bottom half of his body. The buggering of Eric's hole was not just widening it, it was being slowly shifted forwards, allowing his spine to stretch farther towards his feet. Gentle, but insistent, tugs on his flesh pulled it along with it, slowly filling in the space between his legs from back to front. The tentacles also pulled the skin around his genitals: they tucked his testicles into his body, encasing them in firmer skin as they grew. His pulsing erection had been worked on extensively. The head had been coaxed like taffy to form a slender point, the flesh thickening and becoming more flexible and mobile; it started to grasp at the tentacles stroking it, almost as if it had become a tentacle itself.

The front of Eric's head rounded, the new space filled with an entirely new organ. His nose was gone, and his tongue had lost his tastebuds. He still had yet to open his eyes, but even they had changed. Aside from his arms and the increasingly vestigial remnants of his legs, now hanging off an extending, unfinished tail, there was little else that suggested that he had ever been human once. Those changes were not just external: his organs - internal and external - were entirely foreign things now. Most of his musculature had changed, as had the structures they were attached to. His neck was thick and broad, although still more flexible than his generally sleek shape would allow.

Even his brain was different now. Eric was barely Eric; the madness had fragmented his identity, and it had yet to reform fully. The creature he was now looked more like a dolphin than a human being, although with larger eyes, a flexible neck, and - the most obvious difference - hands where flippers might have been inspected. He didn't know who he was any more, save that he was a creature who lived to sate the need of the long, thick and tapering, pink cock.

Energy thrummed through his body. He thrust his penis into the tentacles, relishing their touch. He gargled and moaned, feeling the warm ooze pour down the tentacle fucking his rather cetacean-like beak, as another pounded the anal opening just below where his pink shaft extended freely. His smooth, heavily-webbed hands continued pumping merrily away. Although there were no ears left on his transformed head, he could hear the ecstatic cries of others, taken by the tentacles as they revelled as one, below the great surface.

He would have gladly stayed there for eternity, but even though his anatomy and physiology had been almost entirely rewritten, they were still limited. His testicles felt bloated and full in their cavity, throbbing and aching and pressing out. _Full._Pushing himself hard, he snagged one of the tentacles near his erection with it, his thrusts becoming shallow and quick. Regardless of what happened soon, his testes would empty, and he wanted to make sure he eked the most pleasure out of the experience.

Having fully converted the body in their grasp, the tentacles only continued for their creation's pleasure. He sucked them in, clamping down on the sphincter of his anus. His long, smooth tongue pressed and squeezed the girth, fighting back as it continued to ooze, even though it was into a body whose blood was nothing but that fluid now. The stroking hands grasped for leverage.

Whatever other purpose his genitals had once served were forgotten; they were simply tools for pleasure now, his body a vessel to create, absorb and transport the fluid. As a butterfly emerging from his cocoon, the compulsion to leave, to explore, to mingle and spread fluid was writ deep into the instincts of his new form. Nothing remained of the old shape, its capture already forgotten by the being who had snagged him and the others.

Thrust. Suck. Squeeze. Pump.

Life was simple here. That was fine with him. His body was strong and ageless. As he fucked and was fucked, the echoes of infinity pulsed through him as every tentacle around him shook, thickening.

Good. Cum. Obey.

Vibrating and growing, the tentacles destroyed his ability to withstand, letting the pressure blow to swell his satisfaction. The same fluid that surrounded him poured out of his penis, a long thin get that was quickly lost amongst the rest.

Done.

The tentacles released him, and discarded him into the pearly fluid that surrounded him. He didn't care. Once again, he could no longer think of even simple things. His overstimulated cock continued to shudder, the squirts adding to the blast of pressure that sent him shooting away; at the last moment, he opened his black pearl eyes, seeing nothing but the trailing eddies of his body and the tentacles as they separated forever.

Leaving a trail streaking behind him, he folded his arms along their joints, the small, extraneous folds of skin keeping sleek the false fins that now sliced through the ocean of fluid. His thick, powerful tail churned it up even further, and he shot away, following the pulse of instinct that echoed down from his new organ. Although he would remember his time in the tentacles forever - it was his first memory - he knew he would never be there again. He swam for a while, his body slowly recovering. His penis slurped back inside of him, and his clearing head pushed his speeding body faster.

Blinking, he rose to the surface of the milky sea. His virgin blowhole opened, ejaculating white liquid high above his head. Only the fluttering shadows separated the fluid that he inhabited from the bone white sky. A large black sun cast shadows over the tips of the waves, sitting above him like a giant square pupil staring down at them. The sea stretched as far as he could see, fading into a misty murkiness on the edge of his vision.

Intense calm filled him, as if his mind finally realised it was home. The quiet above the surface was almost deafening compared to the chittering noise below, and it was nice to catch his thoughts. Nicer still was the swirling mass of gases that he breathed, warmth and coolness cascading over him in tiny hyper-contrasting swirls. His erection rose again; his body yearning for true release. Leaning back his neck, he held his beak open, tongue pressed down, enjoying the texture in the air. His unfolding arms used his hands to stroke his smooth stomach, the touch of his muscles easily coaxing his penis out of his slit once more.

Grasping it, he let out an inaudible squeak, and started to hump away at his hands. The black sun dipped below the other horizon above him, setting below the parallel sea hovering above him in the air. Strange to think; so near, and yet so far. Travelling there would take aeons; he saw unusual creatures cavorting around, squirting unusual colours into their ocean, eye-close but swim-distant. He knew that was where he would end up; there was no rush. Time meant very little to him.

Closing his blowhole, he disappeared into the milky expanse.