FSE

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Giancarlo was the kind of guy who liked certain particular things in life. High-octane classic muscle cars, for one, and even higher-octane booze, usually the hardest whiskey he could find. He also liked football, fistfights, and hold-'em poker - the less experienced the table and the cheaper the buy-in, the better - and it went without saying that what he liked the most was women. The thing was, when it came to Giancarlo, if he saw something he liked, he took it - whether that thing, or that person, was in a giving mood or not.

Case in point, the cute little Alsatian woman cowering in front of him, pressed back against the wall and the end of the dimly-lit alley where he'd dragged her. He'd spotted her walking along, oblivious with headphones tucked around the top of her head, wearing a tight little fluffy sweater that came nearly down to her waist, displaying a nice thin strip of soft, golden-brown fur along the tail-gap above the waistband of her leggings. They were what had initially drawn his gaze in the first place, jet-black and snug in all the right places, enough so that he could make out the seams of her naughty little bikini panties beneath - and just enough outline to betray the puffy little spade that stood out between her legs as she walked, swaying deliciously back and forth in time with the bouncing of her tight little butt, toned but with just the right amount of jiggle that the stretchy, uncovered fabric did nothing to disguise. Giancarlo had always hated that, women who wore flouncy little skirts that hid away those most delicious parts from his prying eyes, and he'd taught more than a few of them a lesson in how a woman should be properly displayed, in the kind of positions that had made what came next even more triumphant and delicious for him. This one, though, wasn't a target out of anger or revenge - she'd simply caught his eye, everything about her instantly stoking his lust, the instinctual wolf part of him taking in her unawareness and marking her as just the right kind of prey. Once that happened, even though she didn't know it yet, Giancarlo was well aware that it was already over - no matter what she did next, what actions she took or way she turned, now that Giancarlo had seen her and had her scent, in a matter of mere minutes the only thing she would be doing was crying out in that perfect combination of fear and unbidden arousal as he stretched that cute little spade until it was forced at its absolute limit to accept and accommodate his knot. He had never been denied before, and with his strength against the woman's slim, petite little body, tonight would be no different. She could cry, she could struggle, but sooner or later, probably sooner, she would yield and give him exactly what he wanted.

Already, he loomed over her, one hand wrapping around her sweater-clad breast and squeezing with just enough claw to let her know he meant business, while his other hand mussed the exposed fur on her belly before trailing his fingers down the smooth, flat front of her leggings, letting his fingers linger just above the point where the fabric snugged in between her legs and enjoying the look of undisguised terror on her face as she anticipated what he was about to do. Giancarlo was already straining against his pants, and he felt his knot lock into place and finish swelling above the base of his sheath from the thrill of watching her desperately try to squirm away from his touch. With him in front and the wall behind her, though, there was nowhere for her to go, and Giancarlo laughed at her barely-there, pathetic attempts to struggle before sliding his fingers down between her legs and pushing in against the soft, squishy form of her spade, feeling it yield to his touch under the stretchy layers of fabric as he anticipated how delightful it would feel when he soon claimed it as his own.

Giancarlo grinned, knowing just how delicious his triumph would be - not only would he take whatever he wanted from the woman, he would get away clean, not even paying the slightest price for his forceful conquest. It was even easier this time that usual - secluded alley, no witnesses, even her screams wouldn't carry far enough to elicit anyone who might care - but no matter the quarry, Giancarlo had little fear of facing the expected consequences. Short of someone literally catching him in the act, as far as he was concerned, there was little threat of failure - unlike in poker, where he was a below-average player at best, this was something he was very good at.

Of course, he was well aware that his exploits were helped along greatly by living in a modern canine society, a fact that he had learned to use for a certain unfair advantage. Unlike the felines, with their stupid knot-refusing pussies and infernal regularity of their cycles, somewhere along the evolution to modern, bipedal creatures the predictability of canine heat had begun to shift. While its power had been lessened, leaving women horny, befuddled and prone to making impulsive mating decisions rather than forcibly compelling them towards sex, so too had the rhythm of its cycle. Now, for reasons that Giancarlo had never bothered to understand or care about, heat came sporadically and halfway randomly, with each woman having their own particular, partly predictable rhythm. For some, it only popped up for a day or a week every couple of months, while for others, who could be considered either lucky or unlucky depending on perspective, it might arrive for a couple of days every week. Modern science had been able to do little to change it, creating only drugs that could prevent actual conception and alleviate a few of the ancillary symptoms, but the urges themselves women simply had to live with.

It would have been logical, then, for heat to be considered an impairing condition with laws to punish those taking advantage of it, but the laws had instead swung in a more patriarchal direction. Women were considered to know their own bodies and be responsible for their heat and its repercussions, a fact which had its own medical logic underlying it - it had been proven that the pheromones women released during heat did in fact activate some latent, powerful instinctive responses in canine men. The legal end result was such that if there was a reported sexual assault, and evidence was found that the woman was in heat, barring clear and unequivocal evidence of her refusal, or clear signs of a violent struggle far above and beyond what might be expected from a normal encounter, female consent was implied and charges against the male dismissed. Add in the fact that the muddled state of heat often made that female refusal muted or unclear, and the door was open to those of Giancarlo's ilk to take advantage of women whose condition they could sniff out. Women, predictably, used absorbent pads and perfumes to mask its presence for just that reason, but for someone like Giancarlo that only made the hunt more fun, trying to sniff out the faintest scent, or pick up on some other indication: subtle differences in how they walked, how often they crossed and uncrossed their legs while sitting, even what they drank with their meals (as he had found a study in a medical textbook indicating that women in heat often had cravings for liquids containing proteins - which he'd snickered at, as of course they were seeking a protein-laden fluid, but his mind had quickly filed it away for future reference).

Not all women were always in heat, though, and Giancarlo hardly wanted to limit himself to only the women who caught his eye that he was sure were in heat. As a result, he'd come up with another advantage, one that all but ensured his ability to act with impunity. The same friend who'd loaned him the textbook, and whose debt with a bookie he'd settled with a complex transaction involving one of the muscle cars he'd fixed up, worked in a medical research lab where he had access to all sort of interesting things. Many of them were controlled substances, of course, but many more were not, including the two that Giancarlo had convinced him to acquire, and which he always carried with him while on the hunt. One of them way a syrette containing a cocktail of the hormones involved in the induction of female heat - modern science hadn't been able to prevent it, but it had been able to isolate and synthesize the cause. The other was just a simple eyedropper vial, but filled with an extracted, generic female pheromone, one that would blend cleanly with a females scent or other secretions. Once he was finished taking a woman by force, it was simply a matter of a quick jab of the syrette anywhere on her thigh, and a few droplets on her discarded underwear and the bed or ground beneath her, and it was suddenly the perfect crime. His bulk and intimidation alone were usually enough to coerce women, and if they tried to fight back he knew how to grab them gently enough not to bruise but firm enough to keep them in place. With no violence to go on, and undeniable traces of heat, the few charges that had been brought had been brushed aside with relative ease. Knowing how it seemed, even if they knew otherwise, most didn't even bother pressing charges, which only served to amplify the feeling of a successful conquest - knowing that he'd been so overwhelmingly in control that even in the aftermath, they were powerless to fight back, and could do nothing but remember how completely he had owned them. Well, that and the knowledge of what they syrette would do to them - the hormones weren't enough to sustain it, lasting less than a day, but there was a certain triumph in knowing that they would probably still be feeling the effects of him inside them even while suddenly begging for more, and wondering, really wondering, if they'd somehow been in heat before, that maybe they'd somehow wanted what he'd done to them. The thought of them lying there, trying to recover and figure out what to do even as their bodies were begging for sex, was a surprisingly potent turn-on.

There would be plenty of time to savor that image later, though - at the moment, there was something far more compelling literally at hand. Giancarlo laughed at the woman's pathetic attempts to squirm her hips away from his touch as he mashed his fingers against her covered spade, knowing that she wouldn't be trying to squirm away that vigorously unless it was beginning to get to her. Sure enough, he started to feel the slightest hint of dampness beginning to permeate the soft, stretchy fabric he was rubbing against, which meant the stimulation had already been enough to coax juices to soak all the way through her panties. Giancarlo flicked his tongue lasciviously across his muzzle, knowing that the woman would soon be ready, if not exactly willing, to accept him.

Giancarlo pulled his hand back up, running his fingers along the exposed strip of fur before tucking his little finger just below the waistband of her leggings and tracing a line along the front of her belly, waiting for her to anticipate what he was about to do and give off a short, wavering whimper of fear, before bringing his hand back to the center and jamming it roughly down the front of her leggings, shoving as well past the tight elastic waistband of her panties until the fur beneath his fingers gave way to warm, slick flesh.

He rolled the thick, puffy pads of the spade between his fingertips, tugging on each of the three in turn, feeling the squishy, spongy flesh give and stretch in his grasp. Then he took two of his fingers and unceremoniously jammed upward in between them, enjoying the way she gasped and the way her inner flesh quivered and squirmed as it was forced to accommodate his intrusion. That, Giancarlo knew, was one of the things he loved about women: the fact that they were built on weakness, that the very core of them was so open and vulnerable. Even if they worked and strived and trained to build themselves up, even if the strongest woman could be built up enough to overpower weak and perhaps even average men, their most crucial, treasured part was still so uniquely vulnerable and unable to resist even the least concerted of advances. There was no sphincter they could tighten, no barrier they could erect, just squishy, weak flesh that stretched and opened to anyone with little more than a light press. The only muscles they could clench were somewhere deep inside, and Giancarlo well knew that they could do little more than squeeze futilely around him once he'd entered, serving only to arouse and entertain him. Between that and the heat, it had been easy for Giancarlo to conclude that they had been engineered or bred or evolved into weakness, and that their form and their relative inability to resist meant that they deserved, perhaps even unconsciously desired, to be dominated.

He left the fingers in long enough to make sure that the woman knew who was in charge, moving them around and making sure the flesh near her entrance was already giving readily - the girl was slim, true, but the feel of her beneath his fingers told him that she would be more than amply equipped to take his knot, even if it meant the pads of her spade would be stretched so wide she'd be able feel them sinking into the fur of her thighs on either side. Grinning again, knowing how exquisitely tight she would feel strained around his length and the bulge of his knot, he slowly pulled his fingers out and traced them around the outer spade until she squirmed again before bringing them up in front of her face for her to see.

Giancarlo pulled his slick fingers apart in a narrow V, showing the woman the thin, glistening tendrils that stretched between them, hanging off matted strands of fur tugged out from either side. "Well, well, well. Aren't you the naughty little girl. You struggled and tried to pull away earlier, but just look how wet you are now."

The woman shook her head, her voice desperate and wavering as tears spilled from her eyes. "It's not like I want to be! Please, just let, let me-"

Giancarlo cut her off by placing his fingers against her muzzle, letting her feel the slick wetness of her own juices. "No need to lie to yourself, girl. Everyone knows that deep down, you don't want some girly man that rubs and licks and reads you fucking poetry. You know that I'm your deepest, darkest, guiltiest dream - a guy who isn't afraid to take what he wants, and give it to you in that hard, rough, wild animal way that you know is what you truly desire. Go on, admit it - the feeling of surrendering to me and receiving my uncontrolled strength and virility turns you on like nothing else."

Of course, Giancarlo knew the truth of it - her body would have performed the same whether she loved or desired him. It was an autonomic reaction, a sort of contingency physiological arousal that a woman's body started any time sexual activity was likely imminent, something that his attention to her spade clearly was. It allowed women, even those being forced, to endure and survive, accommodating even a full-duration knotting without permanent damage. As it was a woman's body, though, even that desperate contingency took some time, and that was the downfall of the stupidest class of rapists: the unthinking brutes who caught a woman by surprise, slammed her down, and shoved it in fast enough to tear up her insides. With that sort of damage, such assaults couldn't be overlooked, and if they were bad enough an ambitious prosecutor could add on a bonus charge of attempted murder, ensuring those stupid ones quickly saw the inside of a prison cell for a good long stretch. Giancarlo, however, was content to bide his time, enjoying the building fear of his victims as he drew ever closer to his conquest, and by the time he was inside they were always ready to receive him. Plus, the emergency arousal in many cases responded like the real thing, and there was nothing like the confused, tearful cries of a woman trying to figure out how she was cumming from having a knot forced inside her.

Giancarlo looked down at the woman, watching her sob silently as he reached down to unzip his fly and loosen his belt in preparation. He knew exactly how it would happen next: he'd take his time pulling down first her leggings and then her panties, making sure to bunch them around her lower thighs to make sure she knew how quickly she'd fail if she tried to run. Then, he'd let her feel the cool night air on her spade to remind her of just how vulnerable she was, and after that reveal his thick cock to her and watch the despairing look on her face as she realized what would soon be inside her. Maybe he'd force her to touch it, or lick it, then he'd spin her around and pin her up against the wall, tugging her tail up to force her to jut that cute butt of hers out and put that spade front and center for him to use as he pleased. After all, that was what she was there for, and he knew that it was even more terrifying if she couldn't see his face, sense his movements, or know exactly when or how he was going to take her.

He reached over to hook his hands under the waistband of her leggings, ready to begin tugging them off, when he realized her whole body was trembling - not the huddled, desperate shivering or flinching that some of his victims had, but truly shuddering, all but quaking in her boots. Puzzled, as his presence wasn't usually enough to instill that kind of fear, he looked up at her face. Instead of fear or desperation or despair, it was a mask of sheer horror - not the sort of dread someone would feel about the inevitability of a dick being shoved inside them, but the pure, raw terror of someone coming face to face with their own demise.

"Jeez, girl, I'm not gonna kill ya," he said, but as he did, he realized that the woman wasn't just looking at him - her eyes would flick over to his face, and then dart over his shoulder before looking back again.

"N-not you," she breathed, barely able to raise a quavering arm to point just beyond his left hip. "T-t-that..."

Giancarlo laughed as he realized what she was probably trying to do. "Damn, girl, that's just about the oldest trick in the book! I'm not falling for that, and even if I did, in the state you're in there's no way you're gonna run fast enough that I can't catch you. You'll get to leave when I'm good and ready to let you, and that isn't going to be until my knot has tasted your-"

Giancarlo choked down the last word as there was a sudden, sharp clanking behind him. For a moment, he stayed still, listening, and was about to write it off as some random fluke when another sound echoed across the alley, even closer this time. Now, though, the sound was a strange, rattling, dragging shuffle, pulling forward until it sounded like it was within a few steps of him.

"What the fuck?" he called out, grabbing a fistful of the girl's sweater with one hand to hold her in place while he turned the rest of his body around to face the intruder. Probably, he thought as he turned, it was some stupid, stumbling drunk, or some wandering idiot who was where he shouldn't have been. Either way, he'd soon put paid to whoever it was, although if it was some busybody who couldn't easily be discounted he might have to abandon his quarry for the sake of his clean record. It was dark enough in the alley, anyway, that he doubted whoever it was would get that good of a look at him.

When he looked over at the person behind him, though, he suddenly wasn't sure if it was really a person at all. In fact, from what he could make out, the figure in front of him looked more like a rough, dark linen robe draped over several piled sacks of potatoes, with the hooded cowl flopped over to cover a smaller sack that served as the head, rotund and lumpy in a weird, unnatural way. Looking it over, Giancarlo couldn't even make out any clear sign of limbs hanging at its sides.

"All right, you jerk, what's the big idea? Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"

The only answer the figure gave was to shift ever so slightly, a strange clattering sound coming from its interior.

"What, you like to watch or something? Get outta here, you stupid fuck!"

Again, nothing but the slightest sway, and a light clattering, softer and duller than metal or glass, but harder than flesh.

"All right, enough screwing around. Get over here so I can see the dumb fucking face that's about to be bashed in!"

The figure didn't move, so Giancarlo took a couple of steps forward, dragging the woman along with him, and using his other hand to grab the cowl of the hood and flip it back. As his fingers made contact, though, a a spike of pure, shuddering cold darted through them, the sensation running jaggedly up his arm and causing him to quickly draw his hand back, cursing.

"What the fuck - you got some kinda stun gun or something? That's not gonna save..." Giancarlo began, but trailed off as he realized the flick of his wrist had been enough to flip the hood back and reveal what was beneath.

Below the hood, there wasn't a face, or even a recognizable head - there wasn't even a skull. Instead, there was nothing there but a stack of bleached-white, picked-clean bones, arranged in a loosely-stacked, slightly rounded pyramid that shifted and settled as Giancarlo watched and the woman screamed. They were all different sizes, both canine, feline, and what he swore almost looked like the smaller ferals, just sitting there bright and gleaming. In between the scattered gaps, he could make out several bits of something smooth and dark, almost like obsidian, glinting faintly in the dim light.

Recovering from the weirdness of it, Giancarlo tried to shake it off. Obviously, this was some sort of weird practical joke, or some sort of stupid bone-shrine that he'd somehow managed to overlook on the way in. As he reared his arm back to knock the pile asunder, though, he thought back to the strange chill he'd felt when touching it before, and hesitated for a moment. As he did, though, the pile of bones shifted again, the clattering far more distinct and pronounced. In fact, as he listened more closely, he realized that they were clattering off each other in a way that the impacts sounded strange, hollow, drummed-out affectless words, like a faint, shuddering whisper emanating from behind chattering teeth, each of the impacts sounding out with a different timbre and volume in a jarring, halting, singsong manner.

"hmm. inteResting tablEau, this."

"W-what?" Giancarlo replied, suddenly less sure of himself. If this was some sort of practical joke, whoever was behind it had gone to an awful lot of trouble.

"rApist. victim. taLe slightLY younger thaN tIme."

Giancarlo snarled. True, he was essentially a rapist, but he didn't exactly like to hear himself referred to as one. It made it sound so... criminal.

"Yeah, and you're some... thing that ought to mind its own business!"

"ah. error oN that. is all my businEss."

"You think so, huh? And just what the fuck do you think you are?" Giancarlo was beginning to wonder what, exactly, was going on, but for all he knew there was some idiot in there who thought dragging sacks of bones around and weirding out people was a fun thing to do.

"namE irrelEvant. title irRelevaNt. just aM."

Great, Giancarlo thought - not only weird, but obstinate, and not going away, either. He thought about taking another swipe at it, but what he'd felt before still made him hesitant, as it hadn't felt like any type of weapon someone had used on him before. Not that some women hadn't tried - he'd taken several stun jolts, to little deterrent effect, and the woman currently gripped in his hand had fumbled at a dainty little canister of pepper spray on her keychain before Giancarlo had easily knocked it away from her. Still, he had to do something about it - even for him, it would be a little creepy trying to take his current conquest while some creepy bag of bones just sat there, watching.

"All right, I give. What the fuck do you want? You really want to watch? Just want to harass me, try to creep me out or something? You one of those weirdos that like to dress up in costumes and go around in some futile effort to clean up the streets and bring justice to the world? Spit it out!"

The thing just stood there, clattering gently, before responding in its horrible clanking speech.

"kaRma inExistent. fate ineXistent. justice iNexistent. you suffer. she suffeRs. thiNgs happen. no reaSon."

"Then why the fuck are you here, if you don't care what happens to her?"

"corRect. don't cAre. not her. nOt you. not for juStice. just eNjoy mEddling. being enterTained."

Giancarlo snarled. The... thing wasn't moving, and he was getting impatient. As close as he was to what he wanted, something that was literally in the palm of his hand, he had little intention of being denied. "Well, meddle somewhere else, you sack of shit! You hear me? Get going! You already said you don't care, you already know what's gonna happen here, and your pathetic heap of a body sure isn't gonna do anything to change it. Just get outta here before I change my mind and dismantle you, ya miserable sack of shit!"

The loose pyramid of bones shifted again, one slightly curved bone falling into place above an area of glinting emptiness in a manner uncannily like that of a raised eyebrow.

"not shit. jUst bones. don't apPreciate insolence."

"And I don't appreciate your stupid... face-thing! What is that even supposed to be, anyway? I'm not gonna tell you again - shuffle your creepy ass outta here, or I'm gonna shatter you like the fucked up little bony piñata you are!"

The figure, in response simply stood there, silent, and still.

"All right, that's it!" His anger was sufficient enough to ignore his mind's earlier caution, and his free hand was instantly swinging in an arc to intercept the top of the pile.

When it did, though, to his surprise, there was barely any impact, no satisfying crunch, no flying cloud of loose bones. Rather, his hand passed through almost cleanly, fur and flesh never making contact. Somehow, though, there was enough substance there to make the bones in the pile make some sort of contact with his own, a horrible series of tiny, vibrating, chilling impacts that felt like his bones were being scratched across a chalkboard, nerve-wracking, agonizing shivers stabbing back down his arm and tensing his chest. He pulled his hand back in shock, dropping the woman from his grip and using his other hand to try and massage out the discomfort gnawing at his limb. He realized his mistake a moment later, but to his surprise the woman didn't run, just stood off to the side and watched the two of them with a look of mute, stunned horror.

"W-what the fuck are you?" he yelled at the thing, truly unnerved this time.

"unthinking vioLence. boring. had higHer hopes."

The pile of bones shifter forward, clattering and shuffling towards Giancarlo, who nervously stepped back. The thing kept coming, though, and soon Giancarlo could feel the wall brush against the back of his shirt as the thing finally stopped, a scant few feet in front of him.

"was going to see if you leT me watch. too pRedictable now. have to change thiNgs up."

The pile of bones shifted and clattered about, almost as though it were somehow trying to turn its not-head to glance between the two figures standing before it.

"ah. reverSal of fortunes. apt scenaRio. alwaYs entertaining."

The side of the cloak rustled and shifted aside as a long, thin bone popped out from under it. Another one whipped out to join on to its end, the two rattling together and somehow adhering with no obvious means of connection. Another snapped out to join them, and then another, spinning out and clattering together with the eerie, ratcheting precision of a clockwork machine. The whirling bones became smaller as the strange, disjointed limb grew, forming a lopsided sextet of of bony near-fingers at the end of it.

"yes. entertAining." The limb swung over with the same oddly precise, unnatural motion to point at the woman, who looked at it and whimpered in terror. "watch. should be enjoyaBle."

Giancarlo looked back at the awful thing, his mind racing. Whatever was going on here, however much it defied explanation, it was much more serious that he had first thought. Did it make any sense to try fighting the thing again? Was it smarter to just cut his losses and run, as frustrating as it might be? Use the woman as a shield? Before he could decide what course of action was best, though, the bony, ersatz arm was already whipsawing back around, and Giancarlo didn't even have time to bring his own arm up in a futile attempt to block it before it made contact with his chest.

As before, it seemingly went cleanly through his fur and skin to rest inside him, the awful clawing, clattering sensation pining across his ribs as the bony fingers halfway-caressed them. As impossible as it was, he could clearly feel the hand moving around inside him, and soon it was touching things other than bone. Everywhere it touched quickly began to feel numb, nerveless, and ice-cold, feelings that rapidly spread, leaving him rooted to the spot and seemingly frozen in place. He could still feel his hands and feet, still move his head, but everything else felt... not quite there, somehow, and the only thing he could still sense elsewhere in his body was the presence of the strange, partly ethereal bony appendage poking through him, trying to do something to his muscles from the inside.

He looked down as he felt the hand traverse across his chest again, watching his left bicep ripple and bulge weirdly beneath his T-shirt. Somehow, it was no longer the rock-hard muscle it had previously been, and now it was something else, something that yielded to the grip of the fingers, solid but malleable like a lump of modeling clay that the fingers were quickly but painstakingly molding into their desired shape. Soon, it was done, and as the hand inexorably shifted over to work on the other side, Giancarlo looked down at the impossible change. Now, instead of a solid slab of bicep, a tight hemisphere bulged out against his shirt, and at the very center of it the unmistakable cylindrical shape of a female nipple pressed out against the fabric. Giancarlo goggled at the site, his mind trying as hard as it could to reject it. This couldn't be happening. Couldn't be possible. It had to be some sort of horrid dream, some weird, twisted nightmare that he would soon wake up from and laugh at himself for falling victim to the foolishness of its illusion. There was no awakening, though, no light streaming through a window to coax him back into another world, just an alley, an impossible bag of bones, and a strange, misshapen lump on the other side of his chest, the chill touch of the bony hand constantly working around it as it methodically smoothed the lumps and dimples into another perfect hemisphere.

"What... what are you... you can't do this to me..." Giancarlo said, his scared, faint voice choking in his throat as the hand reached up inside it and tugged something weirdly taut.

"sileNce. artist is still at woRk."

The hand tugged again at his chest, making Giancarlo gasp for breath before moving lower, twisting and tugging at his insides and causing his stomach to do an agonizing, squirming flip-flop. He felt the hand squishing things around, doing something in there, but he couldn't feel any pain through the numbness, just a queasy, disconcerting wrongness as something throbbed and changed inside him. He wanted to throw up, or pass out, or do anything to block out what he was feeling, but the paralysis was fully set in and his body was at the thing's mercy. He could only endure as the hand continued its exploration and crass editing, reaching in to mold and reshape bones in his torso as effortlessly as it did the muscles in his extremities, although the horrid cracking sounds echoing out from his hips as the hand worked made him wonder just how pliable things really were. He knew, somewhere deep in his mind, what was probably going on, but he tried to block it out for as long as he could. When the icy grip of the fingers closed around his somehow still-erect cock, though, a wave of panic and dread shot through him.

"No... you can't..."

"that's wHat she saiD," the thing replied, as the hand firmed its grip around the base of his knot, mashing his suddenly less-than-solid sheath down flat against his pelvis, before tugging downward. Giancarlo watched, horrified, as his cock followed along, tilting to point straight forward before continuing an impossible downward arc, and he felt something almost like a rubber band stretching taut and then snapping sharply asunder between his legs as the tip of his cock completed the motion and ended up pointing straight down against the crotch of his pants. Then the hand tugged back up, and he felt it yank the entire assembly back up inside him, ballsack and all, watched the front of his pants fall flat as he felt the thing drag his maleness somewhere in his belly for the bony fingers to claw at, feeling as they twisted and stretched and tore it asunder, inverted it, folded it, fused it with a line of intense cold against the other horrible weirdness that lingered there. Then, the fingers returned to his crotch, back behind where his balls used to swing, and he felt them somehow tug against the fur there from the inside, felt the bizarre sensation of the tip of each strand of hair somehow pulling back down to disappear inside its follicle, and sensed the cool night breeze permeate through his pants and brush against the now-bare patch of skin. Finally, to his horror, the fingers moved to the center of it and pressed in, one of them shoving somehow inside to mash up against the mangled, reshaped remnants of his member while the others bunched up the surrounding flesh to the sides, molding and shaping them into a trio of thick ridges around where things were pressed inward. Then the fingers pulled back, caressing the ridges that were suddenly, impossibly alive with sensation. Even as the fingers pulled back, and the numbness started to fade, a sense of dread began to spread through him. For Giancarlo knew that he couldn't even call himself that any more. Instead of his power, his masculinity, he knew that there was now the unmistakable shape of a female spade between his legs where his maleness used to be. He didn't know how, but the damn thing had turned him into a woman!

Giancarlo just stood there, stunned, not sure whether to feel fear or anger, or just goggle at the impossibility of his - her - new form. The pile of bones, though, after regarding the changes and apparently admiring its handiwork, turned back to the woman, looming somehow larger than it had before. Strangely, the woman was still there, for some reason just as rooted to the spot as Giancarlo had been, and had apparently watched the entire thing happen in some sort of horrified fascination.

"hmm. too much boriNg effort already. this one wiTh expedience."

The hand pointed again, and Giancarlo watched as the air around it chilled, water vapor coalescing into a growing ball of mist. Then the arm cocked back and flung the ball forward, and it seemed to burst against the woman's chest, the mist flowing rapidly out to envelop her and obscure her from view. From within, Giancarlo could hear her scream, loud and long, sliding down at the end like a slide whistle before cracking horribly and finishing off at least an octave or two deeper.

The mist receded, and the form of the woman reappeared - but bigger, bulkier, breasts replaced with rippling muscles that strained against the suddenly far-too-tight sweater, toned waist and squared-off hips, and the large bulge of a sheath stretching ludicrously out against the stretchy fabric of the leggings that strained around its contours. The face still looked like the woman, but more squared-off and angular, and every part was now unmistakably male.

"excellent. taBles upended." The thing pointed its hand at the newly-transformed man. "vindicaTion at hand. take reVenge."

"W-what?" the man stammered, looking down in confusion and horror at his new form. "What... what did you do to me?"

"already said. reveRsal of fortunes. now have streNgth. other takes the weaKness. use and take revenge."

"A-are you nuts? I- I don't want any of this!" The man said, patting frustratedly at his chest. "I don't want this ugly, barbaric, blocky body! And revenge? You want me to, to... rape her? Him?"

"yes. as would have doNe otherwise. get hard. rip off clothes. jam in withouT mercy. force knot in. humP hump, harder, deeper. force to edge around knot. give ultiMate humiliation. taKe revenge."

"No! What's wrong with you? I'm not a, a, fucking awful rapist like him! I marched in protests to end rape!" He looked over at Giancarlo, but the rage in the man's eyes wasn't entirely for her. "What he did to me, it was... it was horrible, unconscionable, unspeakable. I've never felt so weak and terrified in my entire life. But this, this is no better! I like who I am - who I was. I don't want to be male, or have male urges, or hurt people! The guy belongs in prison, locked away where he can't harm anyone else, but this... this is just crazy, beyond crazy..."

"you are stRong, now. use it. man up aNd take it all."

"Don't you understand what the word No means? Don't you get that my raping him, her, would be just as bad, just as horrible, as the other way around? If he had... if he'd actually... raped me, it would have been horrible, but no matter how I felt, I would know, deep down, that I wasn't to blame, that it was all on him, not on me. To actually violate someone like that, on my own volition, something I'd always have to live with, can't you see how much worse that would be? Just... just stop this, whatever this is, whatever weird twisted game you're trying to play! I just want to leave, go back to the way things were, go back to my life. I don't care what happens to him, I just... I just wanna go home!"

As the man finished his statement, Giancarlo could see tears trickling out of the corners of the man's eyes as the bone thing seemed to be focusing on him, making clacking, almost tut-tutting sounds. Realizing that maybe there was an opportunity to get a way, to get somewhere else and figure out some way to sort this all out, Giancarlo sidled a couple of steps away in a bid to make a break for the alley's exit. The bony hand whipped around, though, clawing icily at her belly, and she shrank back against the wall away from its awful touch.

"such disappoinTment. no fun at all." The hand flicked back again, another ball of mist beginning to form around it. "fine. fAil at revenge. fail at streNgth. go back to boRing life." The thing hurled the ball and it enveloped her again, her cries rising up, and when the mist cleared she appeared to be returned to her former self. Clattering again in disapproval, the thing swung its bony arm to point back into the darkness. "way out. take first rigHt. get home safe. or not. don't cAre."

The woman wasted no time, sprinting past the two of them until her footfalls receded into the darkness. Ordinarily, Giancarlo would have been furious to have her quarry so frustratingly escape, but at the moment she had far more pressing concerns to worry about. Somehow, she knew that the horrible boneheap in front of her wouldn't let her go quite that easily.

It rattled at her, the hand pointing, but hesitated before touching her again.

"no revenge. no interest. conunDrum." The pile rattled again, more vigorously this time. "no penis now to peNetrate you with. nothinG to force inside you. only bones. no sensation. no ejaculation, drama, entertainment. too disapPointing to leave without soMething fun."

The thing hesitated for a second, keeping its hand pointed at Giancarlo as she shrank back from it, feeling the cold wall pressing against her back. She couldn't help but wonder if this, at least in part, was what the woman from before had felt when she'd been in Giancarlo's position.

"ah. have it now. will take prepaRation. probaBly worth it." The hand began to whirl about in front of Giancarlo, moving about in a series of intricate, precise gestures, as a thin, ice-blue trail of light began to briefly follow its motions. Giancarlo pressed herself back against the wall even further, sure that she would enjoy the icy hand's touch even less if it was glowing. As it moved, though, Giancarlo felt a strange sense of something changing around her. It was subtle and diffuse, like a minute change in the direction of the wind, but there nonetheless.

The hand finished its motions, the glow fading away. "comPlete. good." The thing let its hand fall back to its side. "hmm. fun liEs in telling on tHis one. restRucture. should have doNe sooner."

The thing's rattling became a rumbling, and the pile of bones on top shook before seeming to bubble out from the top of it, clacking and clattering as they tumbled down the sides and scattered away on the ground below. When the eruption was complete, the mound's composition seemed to be made up of smaller, finer bones, and when it began to speak again the sound was higher-pitched, quicker, with less of the odd, unstructured variation from before, less like a disorganized clatter and more like a cross between a hollow, echoing voice and someone playing a bone xylophone.

"better. now, for fun." The bony hand reached down to grab something, then flung it at Giancarlo, who caught it by instinct. Looking down, she realized that it was her wallet - somehow, the thing must have lifted it while it was messing around with her body. "open."

"Huh? Why?"

"open."

Giancarlo did, unfolding it quickly, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw what lay within. There was the ID, front and center behind the transparent window, but the face was no longer Giancarlo's. Or rather, it was, but softer, and heavily feminized: wider eyes, shorter muzzle, less prominent teeth, less angular lines. Giancarlo shuddered as she realized that the picture surely represented how she actually looked now.

Giancarlo glanced over, looking at the information off to the side. Height: several inches shorter. Weight: seventy-five pounds less. Sex: Female. Name: Gianna.

As she read the name, though, her brain did a strange, horrible sort of flip-flop, and all of a sudden, the name seemed natural, normal, the same name that had always been her own, and the name Giancarlo was some sort of strange echo, some indicator of a past that was no longer as clear as it should have been. Her head spun, and everything started to feel muddled, until the memories of what had just happened snapped back to the fore, harsh and vivid. Even so, the name Giancarlo, and the notion of being male, all of sudden seemed just barely, imperceptibly wrong - and whenever she tried to think, of Giancarlo, her old name, Gianna quickly popped in to replace it.

"catching on. good. first part is now clear. mAle side is gone. friends, workmates, family, this form alWays known. to this world, are female now. always have been. male meMories stay only with you."

"That... no..." Gianc- Gianna replied, heavy with despair, appalled as she finally realized how uncharacteristically high it now sounded. "You can't take my name... my life..."

"can and did. work still the same. houSe same too. same friends and family. appreciated muCh better now, though."

Gianna shuddered. She knew full well the kind of friends she had, and exactly the kind of attitudes they would have towards a relatively petite, shapely, well-endowed woman like the one she had apparently become.

"wait. not shudder yet. gettIng to good part."

"Good part?" Gianna said, the despair clear in her voice, even as her mind still whirled as it tried to reconcile the impossibility of what was happening. "This... none of this can be happening... I'm strong, powerful, dominant... I'm not supposed to know-"

"fear." The thing continued, its voice seeming to ring even colder. "funny should say that. conVersion to female status just first phase. much more fun coupled with... curse. yes. curse. been a while siNce deployed."

"C-curse? Are you kidding me?"

"no joke for this part. correct in assUmption, though. curse primarily about fear."

The bony hand came back up, pointing uncomfortably at the deflated crotch of Gianna's pants as it continued.

"name of curse is, 'women's fear.' operation simple. things women fear... to you, actually happen. wear tight top, groped. wear short skirt, felt up. drink at bar, something in it, wake up in sTrange bed with warmth in belly. talk too friendly to coworker, bent over supply cabinet. go on date, knotted by midnight, wanted or not. walk alone, walk in darKness or out of public, pushed against wall or into pavement. sometimes, might avoid it. mostly not. ofTen enough so that even if not, one time, still always know fear."

As the implications of what the thing was saying began to flood through Gianna's overwhelmed mind, the thing continued, bony hand sliding up to point at her belly.

"no eggs. no spread of darkness wiThin to offspring. just for fun, sometimes, fakes pregnAncy after rape. bloating, swelling, morning sickness, mood swings. several months. then pretends to miscarry, always. bloody. painful." The hand moved up and slightly to the side. "testicles. troublesome. repurposed. now creAte heat. ironic. thing used to exploit vulnerability now creates. sometimes raped. sometimes want it. sometimes climax from knot being forced in. feel vulnerable, weak, defenSeless. hate to enjoy it. hate to allow it. do nonetheless. ultimate defeat. ultimate huMiliation. and know, somewhere deep inside, is wanted. deserved. like words from... gian-carlo. how women are."

Gianna tried to shrink back even further, her head reeling. This was beyond anything she could have imagined, even in her worst nightmares. She had always known that there was the possibility that someday her strength might fade as she grew older. Or that, despite precautions, she might be caught, or beat down by some good samaritan or angry boyfriend. Not this, though - not being female, not being cursed, somehow, to be the target of all men. She winced as her words were called back to her, and knew from experience how true it could be. As a man, Giancarlo had proven that weakness, that inherent vulnerability, over and over again. And now, to her horror, that vulnerability was hers, in a very real sense. She already knew that the thing, whatever it was, didn't mess around, and had every reason to believe that it was capable of doing what it had claimed to have done. The vulnerability that she had mocked and ridiculed, that she had used and abused, now rested horribly between her defenseless thighs, something that was impossible to deny. She had been truly transformed to embody her harsh words, formed by the thing's hand around that core susceptibility: shorter, smaller, weaker, with thin, puny limbs that she feared could no longer fight in the way she had been used to, or could stand up against the advances she was now sure to face. Ripped from a position of strength, she was now suddenly, horribly vulnerable. The thing hadn't been kidding when it had referred to a reversal of fortunes - once the perpetrator, she was now in more of a precarious position than the woman Giancarlo had been about to victimize.

The bony hand moved back down, resting coldly just above her hip, moving along with her as she tried to flinch away while the voice continued.

"hmm. just one thing misSing, now." The hand moved closer, brushing against the seam of her pants, and suddenly the fabric was shifting against her, blotches of changing color spreading across it as it pulled and rippled, snugging ever closer. She grimaced as the clothes pulled tighter around her, flattening down her short fur as they came into contact, and even as it did she could feel it changing form, becoming softer, lighter, stretchier. Within, she could feel the legs of her boxer briefs becoming shorter somehow, the legs tugging up and up until they completely vanished at the edge of her hips, but even then the fabric didn't stop receding, angling upward along the side of her hips to halt only an inch or so below the waistband, something lacy and diffuse rippling out along the high-cut seams even as the rest tightened up, snugly cupping her butt and pulling strangely, comfortably taut between her legs, making her keenly aware of the spade as it squished and strained gently against the soft fabric. Whatever the pants were becoming were pulling in snug all around it, conforming completely around her hips and legs. She tried to close her eyes, block out that one final indignity, but that only made it worse, as she could feel the fur on her belly stirring in the nighttime breeze as the fabric of her shirt crept slowly higher and tighter across her chest. Above, she felt something new somehow slithering along her back, tendrils sliding up to hook around her shoulders, before descending down the front to coil around the mounds of her breasts, the tendrils merging into something soft and cottony for her nipples to sink into as it fully conformed around her. Then the straps tightened, pulling upward, the cups tugging her breasts into even greater, more noticeable prominence on her chest.

Finally, the fabric stopped moving, the new form of her clothes seemingly tighter and more conforming in every way. Gianna looked down, knowing what she would likely see, but still disgusted and horrified by what she found. The clothes that the thing had forced on her weren't all that far off from her victim - instead of her usual loose denim, she was now wearing a pair of extra-snug, exercise-style leggings, powder-blue with thick pink racing stripes running down the sides, and her t-shirt had been replaced with a conforming, midriff babydoll one, in a matching blue color with a white, wide-eyed image of a cartoon unicorn emblazoned between her breasts. It was horribly, undeniably girly, and the tight, flat front of the leggings only served as an even starker reminder of what had been lost, and probably never reclaimed. Not only that, the light-colored fabric stood out even in the dimly-lit alleyway, and Gianna knew that it would only serve now to call attention to herself - content before to lurk in the shadows, her clothes and form would now likely condemn her to the center of attention.

"also. some things added. prevent from becoMing boring. could have worn burqa, robe. avoided things that way. not allowed. male or covering clothes now itch. can't stand. like things giRly or snug or bare. short skirts. tight panties. always something on disPlay. something to see. something to arouse. more fun that way."

Gianna felt a weird little shiver run across the surface of her fur, knowing with a sinking feeling that the condition was now in place. Suddenly, the snug clothing felt extremely comfortable, flexing just right across her form, and she had little desire, as she had before, to strip it off and find something less revealing. She sagged back against the wall, feeling even more vulnerable, thinking how visible and exposed the butt and spade had looked on the woman she had stalked before, and wondering if she was now equally on display. There was nothing else around, though, nothing else to cover herself with, just a dusty, empty alley and her in her comfy, girly ensemble.

Gianna blinked, realizing the significance of what she had just seen. Whatever the horrid thing was had apparently decided to somehow just fade away while she'd been distracted with her own appearance, and the alley was truly empty, with the thing and its cold, awful arm no longer blocking the exit. Just when she'd begun to get her hopes up, though, and taken a couple of tentative steps forward, the voice returned - not from the thing, though, which was still apparently gone, or at least invisible. This time, though, the voice echoed tauntingly from all around her, reverberating off the high, narrow walls.

"enough talk. now rEal fun begins." Seemingly from nowhere, a metal buckle glinted in the dim light, resolving itself into a tiny leather purse with a long, thin strap as it fell to the ground in front of her. Another glint followed, landing on top with a metallic clink, and Gianna looked down to see the familiar form of her keyring. Two additional things twirled through the air as they fell, one several feet away, and one closer but just out of reach. Before they hit, Gianna recognized what they were - the syrette and pheromone eyedropper, moments before their glass frames shattered on the hard ground. Gianna tried to jump back from the nearer impact, but not before several droplets of pheromone splashed up across the front of her leggings. Her nose wrinkled as the slight, cloying smell wafted up towards her, and she felt the despair sink in even further as she realized what it meant - she was now marked to everyone around with a sense of smell as being in heat, something that she knew would attract even more direct, and aggressive attention.

"game is simple. are here. get home. do that and safe until morning. do not and finally something to waTch and enjoy. win either way. if not today, then tomorrow, or next. will soon see knot inside, hear squeals and moans forced out. will enjoy first reaction to female climax, sobbing afterwArds. entertainment finally close at hand." A gust of wind kicked up, blowing back down towards the entrance to the alley. "game is on. succeed or don't. hoping for entertaining, penetrating failure."

The voice faded away, leaving only the slight sound of the wind whipping through the silent alley. Gianna shivered, wrapping her arms around her torso as she looked fearfully into the darkness that lay ahead, but knowing she was no safer there, isolated and alone, than anywhere else. She began to walk forward, step after step, keenly aware of how the clothing stretched along the curves of her revealed form as she walked, the way her re-angled hips now rocked and swiveled with each modified stride, and the subtle, terrifyingly comfortable feeling of her soft, vulnerable spade gently squishing and shifting against her panties as they rubbed subtly from side to side with each hip-swaying step. She walked faster, trying as much as she could to hide in the shadows, feeling more vulnerable and scared than she had ever been in her life. Home, she knew, was several miles away, with more than enough dark streets and shady neighborhoods in between. Still, she moved on, trying desperately to figure out how to escape her desperate situation, and silently praying to a god she'd never believed in or respected to at least somehow let her make her way home without running into anyone with a cock and eager intent, even as she despaired at the likely futility of even that basic outcome. If she could just get back, get some sleep and figure things out, maybe, just maybe, there would eventually be some way out of this...

Resting coldly below the first platform of a nearby fire escape, barely visible in the building's shadow, the boneheap watched the retreating figure step hurriedly off into the darkness. If it had possessed a proper face, it would have grinned at the sight, taking in the pert, bouncing buttocks that it had masterfully created, and the slightest hinted outline of the tight, compact canine spade swaying back and forth in between. Looking like that, it knew, its quarry would soon be in high demand, and all the effort and energy it had expended would not be in vain. Despite the denial of its fantasy from before, it knew just how much greater the potential was for something interesting to come of it, and knew that it would have little longer to wait before it would be able to alleviate the boredom of interacting with the predictable, linear present. Soon, it knew, it would be entertained - the night was still young, and the city filled with hungry men...