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A mind-numbing amount of lust and endorphins could only carry Pecos' subconscious so far before terror began to trump desire. But he couldn't stop. Not yet. Not when he was so close, not when it felt this good...

The morning had begun surreal and hadn't stopped. Lucas seemed almost drunk at first, giggling and panting and begging for his cock that seemed like it was refusing to go down. Pecos wasn't a scientist, exactly, but he knew how his own body should feel, and right now something was wrong. After another hour of sex, Pecos forced himself to fully pull out of Lucas' hole, which looked less "creampied" and more "a herd of horses learned what bukkake was and invited their friends to stampede through this twink in particular". Pecos tried not to feel bad about how hot it looked. I mean, he thought, isn't this the sort of thing every guy dreams of at least once? The reality of the fact that he'd done that, only him, no one else able to touch his territory--

That was where he pulled himself back further, completely off the bed, ignoring the spike of lust that Lucas' whimpering caused. They were both slimy all over from his cum and, again, while a part of him--not even the going-insane-with-lust part, the more usual regular lust part--couldn't help but to get some strange ego out of it all, everything had been too much going on for too long for him to just go with the flow. He needed to take a shower. Before anything else, a cold shower.

With the water running as frigid as he could stand, Pecos took the opportunity to do a reality check. First of all: This was happening. He never was going to be able to question that. This wasn't a dream, it wasn't a hallucination, it was all too real for that, despite how weird it all was. So, whatever he chose to do, he had to choose to do it in this reality.

Second: The frigid water had had some success in taming his rabid dick for the moment, allowing the man to actually wash off what felt like liters of slimy, sticky cum from his body and out of his hair. After about a minute of debate he covered his smallest finger in the cum and experimentally tasted it.

Third: That definitely was not his cum. Which was obvious by the way it behaved, of course, cum isn't supposed to do whatever the hell it was right now. It almost cohered to itself, refused to dry and cake into flaking crunching layers. It stayed liquid, though if the sliminess of it all was an indicator, maybe it coagulated to an extent after a time. Also, it tasted different. He'd tasted his cum before, he'd tasted others', he knew what it was supposed to taste like and this was not it, because if he was totally truthful, it tasted way too good. Uncannily so, actually, thick and (for lack of a better word) gloopy, any bitterness or saltiness from what its bodily fluid should be replaced with a thick and headily sweet umami. It's like it's not even cum anymore, Pecos thought to himself. Or at least not normal cum?

Fourth: He knew something was wrong with his dick but yeah, the cold shower confirmed it. He felt as soft and flaccid as could be, flesh shrinking from the temperature, but his dick hadn't gotten soft. It had...sort of compressed, or thinned out, but it stood for the most part still completely erect. Pecos tentatively gripped it and, ignoring the sudden impact of lust that coursed through his veins, began trying to give a cursory examination, which revealed that there was something hard inside his cock keeping it erect.

Yeah, no, that was enough investigating for one lifetime. He turned off the shower and began toweling himself off, examination over, he could vaguely have handled a lot of things in his life, but a bone in his dick was not on that list. "Pecos?" Lucas called from outside the door. "Hey, are you alright?"

Laughable. Adorable. "Never better, Lucas," he called back, voice as drenched with sarcasm as his bed was with seed.

"Okay, okay, yeah, fair I guess? Can w--"

"Save it for just a second, I'm getting dressed."

There was an awkward pause as he stepped out of the bathroom wearing a pair of loose jeans and looked at Lucas. If Pecos thought he looked bad, the kid was an absolute wreck with cum, but he at least sounded not like he had all through the night that they'd fucked. "You get your brains back?" he asked bluntly.

Lucas nodded. "Did you?"

"Think so. At least for now."

"Okay," Lucas said, "so what now?"

What now indeed. Even just looking at him, Pecos felt that selfsame stirring of need boiling in his loins, but he stamped it down. "I have no fucking clue, Lucas. None of this is normal."

"Nope," he agreed. "But also it could be worse."

"Could be worse?"

"You could always go into porn?"

"Lucas, I'm more likely to need a doctor than a film contract. Look at you!"

The college student looked down, and, seemingly without thinking, ran his hand up his side and poured the cum he scraped off into his mouth. Pecos felt his heart stutter for more than a few beats--"Lucas are you fucking kidding me--"

"Relax, it tastes good," Lucas interrupted. "And yeah, maybe go to a doctor, that sounds like a good idea. 'Hey, doc, I need you to check out my dick, I'm having sex way too good and way too much and my loads are huge, what can we do?'"

Despite himself, despite everything, Pecos huffed out a shocked laugh. "Lucas, this isn't funny."

"Maybe not," the student said, "but I really don't think you should go to the doctor about this. Maybe you can ask Rian? Isn't he studying biochem?"

"I really need to stop fucking so many college students," Pecos muttered. Lucas just grinned, clearly disagreeing. "But yeah, that sounds good."

"Alright, you get in touch with him, I'm going to shower and then try and make my classes. Keep in touch, man, yeah?"

"Yeah, alright, sure thing."

It was difficult to let Lucas go out the door, Pecos realized. This was all scary enough with another person there. All alone?

He stopped himself from thinking further along that train of thought. Focus, he told himself. One thing at a time. Solutions. You have problems and you have ways to solve them

.

First step: Texting Rian. Not in the group chat. He did not want this getting out to the guys if he could help it. Or at least not the rest of them.

>yo rian you up?

>Bit early for you isn't it?

>haha yeah i've--

Pecos stopped for a second before continuing.

>haha yeah i've had a long night.

>hey

>i was wondering if you could come over sometime today and help me with something pretty serious?

>Is that what we're calling your sex drive now, big guy?

Dramatic irony at its finest.

>sort of lol

>i think i'm just having some sort of sti scare maybe? but i'm not really sure and i was hoping you could help

>Uhh, shouldn't you go to the doctor for that?

>with what health insurance

>Yeah fair. I'm not a med student so I can't promise I'll be of much help though, and I've got classes and labs until pretty late tonight. You gonna be alright hanging tight?

>i'll manage yeah

>Cool, I'll text you when I'm on my way over.

>ok cool cya

Alright. There was that problem solved. Cool. Good.

Second problem: His bed was a quagmire of cum, something Pecos was fairly certain no one else on the planet had actually had to experience, and so he had no idea how to handle it other than ignore it and figure it out later, maybe when he had more answers.

Third problem: Because of course he was, he was still horny. His boner--and that term seemed darkly funny now--had stopped being patient and was already demanding his full attention. There is no way I'm gonna be able to last long enough til tonight, Pecos thought. What the hell do I do with you?

--

It turns out driving to the nearest sex store and picking up their most durable penetrable and two or three packs of their biggest condoms got you some strange looks, but now that that was over, Pecos sat back in his desk chair and at his pinkish hungry cock. He'd slipped on one of the condoms and, while it was sort of loose, the idea was less birth control and more water balloon, so it might do the trick.

The fleshlight was made of a semiclear silicone so you could see the ribbing (and your dick, presumably), which meant that when Pecos took a deep breath, placed his tip against the entrance, and immediately found his eyes going wild as all semblance of normalcy left him once again, he could see every inch of his cock slamming its way through the artificial hole, jackhammering at that strange foreign pace until he came only a few minutes later.

Except this time things went differently. This time, as his load began filling up the reservoir, he couldn't move his hips. Or rather, he couldn't pull out of the toy. The base of his cock was so hypersensitive that the pleasure mixed with pain, forcing him to just keep the toy as flush as possible to his body as he tensed and came, load after load. They were different, too; rather than quick orgasms one after the other, this was just one long, long, impossibly long orgasm, rushing through his body and leaping up his spine like lightning striking a tree, hot and smoking.

It was almost enough for him to not notice something strange. Through the opaque stretched silicone, his dick didn't seem particularly pink anymore.

It looked red. Dark red, like all the blood in his body was pushing through it (which, frankly, it felt) like. Still unable to try and pull out without gasping and immediately humping back in, Pecos shook in his chair as he watched two very different sort of horrors unfold. The reservoir tip by this point had drooped dangerously low, filling far too much with far too heavy a load that showed no signs of ending, and pretty soom it'd tear or burst and he'd have even less of a chance of cleaning anything up than before with Lucas. And, as if on cue, that's just what happened, the condom pulling free and splattering onto his hardwood floors with a wet and disgustingly lewd sound. Thinking fast, Pecos threw himself from the chair back onto his bed, immediately feeling like he had just leapt into a waterbed of cum, but at least it would keep the damage vaguely in the same area, if not contained.

The second thing was that his dick was getting weirder. It was subtle changes, happening over what would become hours, the whole rest of the day, but they were undeniable through the fleshy toy that he couldn't bring himself to leave. It grew longer, just a couple inches, steadily creeping higher and higher through the toy until his tip--by now weirdly sharp and pointed--peeked out of the end, squirting thick, heady cum every few seconds. It was almost strange how, throughout the course of the day, Pecos began feeling more lucid. The overwhelming lust became steadily less overwhelming without decreasing in intensity. In the back of his mind quite possibly incorrect assumptions about pleasure receptors and baselines and tolerance levels were vaguely half-formed, but ultimately, it mattered less how it was happening and more that it was happening.

He woke up with the sun nearly at the horizon through his window and the fleshlight having fallen off his dick at some point in the intervening hours. His mattress had given up any hope of soaking up further cum and so when Pecos went to sit up, thick layers, streaks, and pools of cum clung, stretched, and slid everywhere, leaving his whole body a morass of sex. His dick felt weird--no surprise there--and judging by the sunlight, he must have slept through most of the day. Considering how little sleep or even rest he'd gotten in the past day it wasn't a shock. And then when he looked down at his dick, well...he could have been more shocked if he hadn't already been in the mindset of expecting nothing remotely normal.

Sat between the native man's legs, drenched with slippery and sticky pre and cum, sat what his brain recognized as a dog sheathe, plump, heavy, and with a pair of balls that he wasn't sure he wanted to even try and guess at how big they were, but it felt like he had half a pound or so pulling lightly down to rest further into the mattress, maybe more? Again the surreal understanding of this all as not some sort of hallucination hit Pecos like a train; nothing here made sense, nothing here should have been possible, but here he was regardless.

Tentatively, like he was trying to defuse a bomb, Pecos sat up a bit and reached for the sheathe. It felt thick, its pitch-dark fur darker from moisture and sweat, but it was soft, unbelievably so, and about half an inch thicker than he'd have guessed. His dick thrummed as he gave an experimental squeeze, and as he reached down to try and fail to cup his balls or even just one of them in his hands, he felt them churn and twist in his newfound sac as his cock emerged from its sheathe in steady, quick pulses, foreign and unwelcome to him but undeniably his nonetheless.

Pecos felt that same strange, almost unnatural lust beginning to come over him, but with the newfound tolerances he forced himself to ignore it for the moment, to get out of the bed and back into the shower, again trying to wash off this inhuman amount of cum. It took a while and by the time he once again began toweling off, his new fur was fluffed up and shining, and yeah, those balls felt definitely more than half a pound. Maybe half a pound each.

He wished he was panicking. That was what Pecos wanted more than anything from himself, had been hoping for from Lucas. Sheer terror, overwhelming enough to block out all this libido and give--well, give a sense of normalcy he supposed. That was how he would have thought it was supposed to be--not that he'd thought about it before--but if he'd had to guess, he would have guessed horror and weeping,running away into the wilderness to hide as a monster from society, or maybe an actual inability to think beyond his overactive dick, too horny to be self-aware of his own mortification and transfiguration.

But he hadn't gotten that. Lucas had seemed almost blase when he wasn't actively getting fucked, as though what he'd experienced last night at Pecos' hands was out of the ordinary but not much more than that. And for his own mental state--it felt as though he kept growing close to pushing over that cliff's edge of no-return for sex, but he kept pulling back at the last moment. As he woke up his computer and began typing out an email to his boss lying about his absence and its continued likelihood, Pecos more than anything was annoyed at himself for being able to think of practical things in such an impractical scenario. He was sitting naked at his desk answering emails and doing the paperwork required for sick leave and between his legs was a rock-hard canine dick that drooled precum less like a leaking faucet and more like a barely-on garden hose. The normalcy was almost more terrifying than the things that should have been.

So it was when Rian knocked on the door and let himself into Pecos' apartment that Pecos didn't particularly panic about how the problems had evolved--quite literally--and instead just sighed to himself that what was going to happen would happen.

He had no clue what that was, precisely, but still. It was going to happen. He knew that much.