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It was one of those unusual, glorious times that don't happen that often in England: it was the long Easter weekend, and the sun was actually out. Warmth radiated both from the clear sky, as well as the ground as the nation basked in a dose of good weather when people could actually go and be out and about.

Simon, half the world away from the rest of the Edwards clan in Sydney, hadn't been keen on the forty-eight hours plus it would take to fly home and back again. His university student budget agreed. Instead, he'd informed his family, it seemed to be the perfect time to wander around doing his host country.

The little adventure had gotten off to a rocky start: the train had broken down mid-stops, and the passengers had been carted off to the next station by coach. By then, he'd missed his connection up north to Scotland, with the next one a couple of hours away.

Standing outside the station, Simon sipped on some water as his booted foot rubbed along the sweaty back of his backpack. The Thursday had been particularly hot, and everyone had been in a huge rush to get out of the London area. The hairs on his back prickled as they rubbed against his flannel shirt.

A small, worn pick-up truck pulled into the station right in front of him: Simon was about to pull back when he realized it wasn't actually going to smash him into the brick wall of the station. The driver - a tall, broad-shouldered guy with short, tawny hair - wound down the window and tapped the warm outer side of the truck's door.

"Excuse me," the man asked Simon after a couple of minutes, "did you get off the twelve-ten from King's Cross?" His voice was thickly accented; Simon had heard a number of dialects from people around the United Kingdom, but this was the first he'd heard this particular one.

"The ten-ten," Simon answered, "I think the twelve-ten's going to be delayed. Our train broke down on the tracks. I don't even think the eleven-ten's gotten in yet."

"Thanks," the guy stated; he didn't sound thankful, but Simon understood the sentiment. The other guy checked his phone. Simon went back to killing time.

After a few more minutes, Simon heard the other guy ask, "Are you going hiking?" It was so weird to hear: maybe in America strangers would talk to you, but not in Britain.

"Yeah," Simon answered, "in the Scottish Highlands, if I can actually get up there today."

The guy nodded, inquiring, "Going there for any particular reason, or just to look around?"

"I just wanted to get out for the weekend," Simon explained. "Scotland seemed as good a place as any."

"Well," the driver said, "if you're tired of waiting at the train station, and want to go somewhere else for a couple of days, you can get a ride from me. My brother's not going to make it, and I need to get back to work."

Simon wasn't really the hitch-hiking type, but being stuck at this station any longer was a fate worse than death. He quickly glanced up at one of the security cameras: crazed axe-murderers probably wouldn't park right in front of one to lure in their victims. Shrugging his shoulders, he went to the left side of the truck and hopped in after his backpack. "Simon Edwards," he greeted.

"Arthur Butcher," the huge driver of the small truck replied, shaking Simon's hand. "Australian, right?"

"Yep," Simon nodded, "have you ever been?"

"Never left the UK," Arthur stated flatly. "Can't really afford a holiday."

"Me neither, really," Simon said, wanting to avoid an uncomfortable situation. "But if I go to school here, it makes it easier to get a job here afterwards, and the pay's better in London than in Syndey."

"Ah, so you want to be one of those rich City guys, eh?" Arthur asked, his pick-up truck pulling out of the car-park, sliding in amongst the many brick

"I want enough money so I can retire when I'm forty," Simon corrected, grinning. Arthur nodded understandably. After that, the conversation started to flow more easily: they talked about their families, Arthur talking about his home village - some place Simon never heard of called Lightpool - and his work as a day labourer, doing odd-jobs for people in the village. The village was very small, probably only about a hundred people, and unsurprisingly not a lot of young people wanted to stay there. This meant Arthur could get by pretty well by doing all of the chores nobody else could or wanted to do. Simon described his life back in Australia.

The pick-up truck's open windows kept things blessedly cool; out the window, Simon glimpsed at other people's lives as they whizzed through. Small brick villages interspersed the countryside with hedged-off fields and large overgrown trees studding the roadside. He leaned against the door, idly chatting in patches as they continued to travel.

Simon didn't notice himself nodding off until after they hit a pot-hole. "Sorry," Arthur explained, "some of the roads around here aren't in the best shape. The council's useless when it comes to getting things done."

Yawning, Simon replied, "Politicians are always like that. Are we here, then?"

"Yeah," Arthur nodded. Trying to shake off the post-nap tiredness, Simon peered out the window. It was amazing to think this place was in the same country as the sprawling metropolis of London, or even the normal small towns. It was early afternoon, and the place was dead quiet. There were people about, sure, but most people seemed to be walking. Considering the village was about five roads maximum probably explained the lack of traffic, but it still seemed weird. Through the open window, the salty smell of the sea washed over him.

"I'll drop you off at the pub," Arthur stated. "We don't have a hotel or motel, but the pub has a few spare rooms you can stay in, and Morris knows all of the historic town stuff pretty well."

"Sounds good," Simon agreed. "Let me buy you a round, unless you need to get going."

Arthur smiled wryly, "I think I've got time for at least one free pint."

They pulled into the mostly-empty parking lot in front of the pub, "The Half Circle". There wasn't even a blackboard out showing the daily specials: not only was this place small, but Simon guessed they barely got visitors. Swinging the truck door open, he emerged with a much-needed stretch before grabbing his gear. After they slammed the doors closed, Simon went into The Half Circle while Arthur locked up.

Above the opening door, a bell tinkled to announce Simon's entrance. The inside of the pub was a little livelier than would be expected, but not by much. There was an old man that seemed to be built out of beard and wet weather gear having a drink while accompanied by an old, water-worn box. A young guy with an intense stare sat in a dark corner, glaring at the people who came in. Two thin, old gents played a card game with what looked like a tarot deck. At the bar, an ageing, buxom woman chatted to the publican - a stout, middle-aged gent - about how "her boys" were faring as she gripped tightly onto a basket overladen with groceries. Simon stood to one side as the "her boys" lady left, smiling back at her as she shot him a friendly grin and a short greeting. She ran into Arthur, and the two started talking - Simon wondered if that might have been Arthur's mother - before heading up to the bar.

The publican peered at him quizzically, licking his lips absent-mindedly before asking, "Are you lost?" Between this question, the woman earlier, and the banter of the two men playing cards. Simon had a source for Arthur's strange accent: it must have been a local thing.

"No, Arthur - uh - gave me a lift," Simon explained. "He said you had a room?"

At that, the publican grinned toothily. Simon suppressed a shudder: whoever had coined the idea that all British people had bad teeth had clearly met this guy. "Yes we do," the publican agreed, "quite a few. Not many people come here, so if you like you can pick which one you want."

"Well, I don't think I'll want one yet," Simon said, gesturing to his backpack, "but I wouldn't mind a pint, and one of whatever Arthur likes best; and some information when you've got the time."

"Plenty of time around here," the publican noted with a grin. "I take it you want to see the sights of Lightpool?"

"Yeah, the weather's going to be nice, and I just wanted to get out for a while," Simon elaborated, gratefully sipping at his drink as he slipped some bills from his wallet to the publican. The beer was cold, and oddly spicy. Simon's tongue began to tingle, just when Arthur slipped onto the barstool beside him.

"Cheers," he said, clinking his glass against Simon's before taking a large gulp. "Ben got stuck in the trains, John," he explained, with a long pause as he downed a bunch more of his drink, "but I managed to rescue this stray from the train station. Told him you were the man to see about a room and where all the interesting things around Lightpool are."

The publican - whose name was John, Simon assumed - wiped his hands on his apron, before answering. "Well," he began, pausing in thought, "if you want to get somewhere today while the light's still out, there's an old site that us locals call 'The Circle'. It's a clearing in the middle of the woods; you'll see where I mean when you go outside.

"There used to be a small settlement up there, but it's all worn away, so don't worry about wrecking a national heritage site if you want to set up a tent there. You might run into some of the local kids up there, lighting bonfires and doing what kids do up there, but it'll probably be pretty quiet up there tonight.

Simon drank and listened eagerly. He decided that a nice, quiet spot to have a look around, with some woods to explore sounded like a pretty good first step. "Sounds like a good place to start," he agreed.

Arthur quickly downed the rest of his drink, nodding to John before turning briefly to Simon. "Thanks for the drink," he said. "See you around town."

"Bye," Simon replied, slowly finishing off his own drink before turning back to the publican. "How long would it take to get there?" he asked.

"Oh, a couple of hours if you take your time," John estimated, "but you look fit enough, so you could get there easily in an hour and a half, maybe even less."

"And, just in case the weather packs in," Simon inquired, wanting to be prepared for anything, "what time do you close?"

John rubbed his chin, then answered, "Since it's a long weekend, I'd usually close early: most people want to get home to their families anyway. But I live here, so just push the doorbell or knock loudly and I'll come down and let you in."

"Thanks!" Simon explained, sliding his glass over. Buying a bottle of water from John, Simon gave his farewells with a promise to see him later. While he slipped his backpack on, the hairs of the back of his neck stood up; it felt like everyone in the pub staring at him. A quick glance around should have dismissed that: aside from the scowling younger guy in the corner, everyone else seemed to be busy with their own business. Even John had gone over to check on the old guy with the box. The idea still lingered though. Simon chalked it up to being a stranger in a relatively tight-knit community.

The bell tinkled again as Simon made his exit. Arthur's truck had vanished, probably off to do whatever chore it was that he needed to do. He glanced around the unfamiliar village. It didn't take long to see that, just to the left of the road that had brought them into Lightpool an unpaved road headed along past a few houses before ducking over a hill. Beyond that hill, he could make out the tops of the only large mass of trees in sight.

Simon headed in that direction, hoping the trip there wouldn't land him at the wrong end of some ornery farmer's hunting rifle. Walking past the houses, Simon noticed the occasional twitch of a curtain. He chuckled; probably some old busybodies with nothing better to do than speculate. Still, something felt a little off, even about that. He wondered idly whether he'd made a mistake coming here.

The few houses he saw turned out to really be the only ones close to the road; on the right, the ocean had encroached up to the road - probably why it's not paved, Simon guessed - and the other was taken up with farmland. The view out to the ocean was magnificent: dazzling blue, with lots of white foamy caps and, surprisingly, almost no ships or islands or even other settlements along the coast to be seen. Simon could have easily watched the oddly-hypnotic blue expanse all day, but the heavy wind blowing off of it up was very discouraging.

The gravel crunched under his feet, deciding to follow the road just to be safe: there's a good chance nobody would miss him if he slipped over the side of the cliff and disappeared into the big blue expanse, and he wouldn't last long bobbing on the surface, panicking as he tried to unfasten the straps of his backpack. One of the things Simon loved about hiking was the pleasure at getting to see, hear and smell a place he'd never been to before. Even if it was somewhere he was familiar with, you couldn't go too wrong relatively surrounded by nature.

About ten minutes along, he hit a junction where, presumably, the farmer's driveway turned off the road. The farmstead was surrounded in trees, preserving the privacy from the few people who passed along this road. A gate, partially overgrown by the same plants that had grown over the fence in some passages, was securely shut. There didn't even seem to be a mailbox there. Simon couldn't see another junction for miles: apparently this patch of coastline wasn't popular in the past.

Twenty minutes into Simon's hike, the road then veered away from the coastline, cutting off what he guessed was one farm from another, at a gentle angle, just in time to follow the slope downwards into a valley that widened out. Simon was relieved; despite the beauty of the sea in this area, the whistling of the wind on the exposed edge of the land was rather loud. In the valley, things were much more serene: aside from the occasional far-off bird-song or rustling of something small in the hedges lining the road, the only sounds came from his own footsteps.

In the distance, Simon could see the woods that had been talked about more or less straight ahead. He'd be glad to get there; the rest of the walk was exposed to the sun, and the bright, cloudless sky didn't offer up any other protection. He felt sweat starting to slither down his arms in tiny, tickling trickles. His stomach rumbled; Simon regretted not picking up lunch from the pub, before arguing with himself that fish and chips was probably not something you'd want to eat before going on a huge trek.

The valley widened out, like the wake of a boat; the road made a slight turn to follow the contours of one of the hills, to avoid passing through what looked like the start of the woods. Despite not having seen a vehicle since he'd left Lightpool, he got right on to the side of the road, stopping to think for a moment.

An old fence seemed to surround the woods, or at least the part that Simon could see. Even the part that abutted the open fields was fenced off. He couldn't think of any reason for the publican to lie about this being public property, or at least that the owner didn't mind people camping on their land. However, the lack of any visible easy access in was slightly worrying. He couldn't imagine some of the old locals climbing over the fence. He could, of course - the fence was certainly sturdy enough to let him - but maybe he shouldn't.

Impatience got the better of him: as nice as the sunny sky was, he was lumbering around a heavy pack, and there wasn't anyone around to see. Simon hefted his backpack over the fence with some relief, before bracing himself against the top of one of the sturdier-looking posts and cautiously shifted his weight on to the metal wires. Once he'd managed to swing both legs over, he pushed himself off, relieved to have gotten over without doing any visible damage to the fence, his belongings or himself in the progress.

Since his pack was already off, he rummaged through it, and took out some of the chocolate he'd packed for a quick snack before setting off again. Shaded from the sun and getting something edible made him feel a little better. Not that he wasn't enjoying himself; but too much of anything - including the sun - can quickly become unpleasant.

After taking a small break, Simon pushed into the woods, hoping he wasn't just going to end up getting lost in the woods. They didn't appear too large from the road, but things could be deceptive. On the other hand, it would surely be difficult to miss a clearing the size of a small settlement if he travelled in more or less a straight line, and once he got there, he could either retrace his steps, or figure out the "right" path to take.

Unsurprisingly, the birds' chirping was louder here, though not shrill or annoying, and the crunch of gravel was replaced with the rustling and cracking of his feet passing over fallen leaves and sticks. Because of the roots, the ground was unusually uneven. Gulping some of his bottled water, Simon kept a focus on regular landmarks to help him navigate his way back if he needed to: a strange-looking tree, a rock with an unusual mark, anything that he could use to orient himself. Normally, there'd be marked trails, but it's likely the locals didn't really need them, and it didn't seem like anyone else came here. Besides, at least two people in the village knew where he'd be going; Simon was sure he had enough supplies to last him until someone noticed him missing, even during a weekend when everyone would want to stay at home.

Simon's worries were unfounded: after half an hour of walking through the trees, and the cool breeze that was sweeping through and swaying the branches above, he stumbled upon the outskirts of the large clearing. It was like the centre of the woods had been hollowed out, just enough to give some protection from the elements and wily travellers passing by, but allowing for quite a large clearing to be made. Simon was a little disappointed there wasn't more to see of the old civilization that had apparently been here aside from some unnaturally shaped ditches and mounds, but it was still something.

Using his backpack as a makeshift pillow, Simon settled down to lay in the sun; with the breeze, it was much cooler in here than it had been earlier. Sighing, he quickly pulled the boots and socks off his feet, which seemed eager to expand into the extra space. Sticking them to one side, he closed his eyes and leaned back to rest.

Lazing there contentedly, Simon felt himself relaxing; it felt really good to be lying here, under the sun, the trees swaying almost hypnotically. This place was amazing; in fact, the whole trip had ended up being pretty satisfying, considering what had happened. He'd left behind the stresses of train travel, tired himself out on a short hike, and outside of setting up his tent, he could spend the rest of the day doing whatever he want.

He idly unbuttoned his shirt, wanting to feel the sun on his chest. "I could do with more of a tan," he rationalized as his fingers worked up his front. Grunting as he sat up briefly, he pulled the shirt off of his shoulders, pleased that he hadn't actually put on as much weight as he thought he had been. He wasn't toned, by any means, but he was still lean.

The grass in the clearing tickled his back, slightly damp from sweat, but even that didn't seem to be annoyingly itchy as grass sometimes was. Simon wondered whether it was the sprays they used that did that, or maybe here they had a different type of grass.

Reclining back against his pack, now with his shirt on top, Simon returned to being lazy, his legs sprawled out in his jeans-clad legs. A warm gust of air blew over him, causing his chest hairs to twitch; it was like a giant was breathing slowly over his body.

With his mind and body in such a relaxed state, Simon's body started reacting in other ways. Underneath the hard fabric of his jeans, he felt his cock starting to stir, sliding around in his boxers as his flaccid member started to harden. Sighing, Simon reluctantly opened his eyes and quickly scanned the surrounding area. Nobody was around; he couldn't hear any footsteps stumbling over branches. He grinned weakly, judging he could get away with a little bit.

His hands quickly unbuttoned his jeans, then slid the zip downwards. The bulge in his boxers shifted a little as it throbbed against the incidental touches; the front of the fabric slowly started to tent out. Simon's slow, shallow breathing filled with the heavy scent that seemed to be spreading over him from his slightly-freed crotch. His hands fell down by his sides, his arms feeling oddly heavy.

Simon's body felt warm; not just the natural warmth of being under the sun on a cloudless day in the afternoon, not just the expected heat from having just done some relatively strenuous activity, and not just the warmth as blood quickened around his body as he felt aroused. It was almost as like he had a fever, although he didn't feel sick. He was glad he wasn't expected to be doing any heavy thinking for a while; his whole body felt like lead.

Sweat began to trickle from his armpits, as he sprawled on the grass. He started feeling itchy, and surprisingly not on the bare skin rubbing up against the grass. In fact, it was the opposite; the skin of his covered legs were the ones that were itching the most. Simon groaned, caught between lying like an inert lump, and making the effort to remove his jeans and alleviate the increasingly uncomfortable itchiness of his legs.

The latter eventually won out, Simon thrusting his hips up into the air, his hands freeing his butt from the jeans before slowly kicking them off. The irritation seemed to stop almost immediately; Simon thought his legs might have been too hot, and the itchiness had been because of that. His boxers still felt tight and confining, but he wasn't ready to risk going buck-naked in the forest.

The end of Simon's cock wormed its way down the leg of his boxers, the loose fabric starting to pull out as the tip emerged out of his thin, veined foreskin. A bead of clear fluid leaked out, dripping down his leg. Simon wanted to do something about it - hide it back in his boxers at least - but he'd been rendered immobile, unable to do anything as his own musky odour spread over him and his cock dripped pre-cum down the inside of his thigh.

Then Simon first noticed it properly: the feeling that something else was there, invisible and inaudible but still there. It made his body hair prickle and stand on end. His eyelids opened slightly, giving him narrow slits of vision, just to check that the thing wasn't actually there. The presence gripped his ankles - he felt a strong tightening around both of them - and then whatever it was ran something along the exposed slit poking out of his pants leg. It had the same rough, wet texture of a tongue, but Simon didn't want to suppose: he couldn't see it, after all.

He knew he should have leaped up, done anything to get away from whatever it was that was holding him down, but Simon couldn't muster the energy. The warmth of his own body seemed to be holding him in place, just as much as the ghostly grip around his ankles. "It's not like it feels bad," he found himself thinking. His cock seemed to agree, growing out into full stiffness and exposing the inside of his thigh to the sun as it bobbed straight up. The 'tongue' followed it, every slow drip vanishing into the ether, or wherever it was that the presence came from.

Simon's butt squirmed against the grass. His boxers were getting in the way of his erection getting into its natural erect position, and he just couldn't manage to raise his hands up to try to slip out of them. "Besides," he thought, "will that... that thing even let me do that?" It still gripped his ankles, even though Simon didn't think he could run away if he tried; not that he'd necessarily want to.

Almost as if the presence could read his mind, Simon felt his boxers getting tugged off. A long, invisible finger or coil had slithered up underneath his balls, looping around the fabric of his underwear. His cock flattened down as the boxers jerked down suddenly. After another jerk, he heard a ripping sound; the ghost, or whatever it was, had underestimated its own strength, had not cared about preserving his clothes, or hadn't counted on his boxers getting caught on something. The fabric tore, leaving Simon buck naked in the forest, lying down with an erection amongst the remnants of his underwear.

The presence went back to licking the tip of his shaft, but now it also seemed interested in his hole. Simon's legs slowly pulled apart, his knees raising slightly, exposing his rear end to the air. Simon felt a thin tendril slowly worm its way insides, his sphincter stretching to allow the invisible intruder in. It was so thin it wasn't met by any resistance, meandering around his insides freely, almost as though it were searching for something.

Simon felt an almost icy chill pass through his guts for a moment, but then that went away. The tendril widened, actually stretching his whole slightly. He breathed heavily. Suddenly his right hand raised up, completely out of his control and somehow fighting the heaviness that had encroached on his whole body, and wrapped itself around his cock, which after having been teased was twitching with the need of some more substantial contact. When it got that, it throbbed approvingly; the presence being treated to a heavy drip of pre-ejaculate.

Under the heavy grip of his hand, Simon's foreskin seemed to pull down more than usual. His tip seemed to stretch too, the end of his urethra distending the head of his cock. The invisible 'tongue' lapping it sending even more intense pleasurable charges down his shaft, coursing through Simon's body.

The wrist slapping up against his crotch felt his pubic hair, usually a coiled, unkempt mess, felt thicker and bristlier. He watched the slow creep of grey fur over his body, emanating from his groin and the hand that worked the shaft. On the threshold between fur and skin, he could barely feel a slight tingle if he tried to focus on it. Then, like newly-sprouted plants, the tips of small hairs would push out, wriggling about. Hairs that had were already there were pushed out, slowly sliding down his sides to join his underwear in the discard pile. After it passed the slight tingling was still there, but the focus was on growth.

The tendril in his ass thickened. Now Simon could feel it throbbing, snaking around not only his guts - worming his way around the long intestinal passages - but branching out into the rest of his body. One branch had snaked itself invisibly along his shaft, causing the changes he noticed there; others were slowly entering his muscles, gaining control over them, making them twitch and preparing them for something; some were even burrowing into his bones. He knew all this because at least one had managed to connect to his nerve system, hijacking it to take control of his mind. He knew he should be panicking, but the presence was dampening those feelings, instead heightening those of the pleasure he was getting from the working of his shaft. Besides, he knew he couldn't cry out; nobody was likely to be around for miles to hear him.

Simon's hand was then moved away, as pinprick-numbness swept through his palm. As if to offer him some explanation, it turned, showing the darkening patches on the tips and around the base of his fingers. Whatever had gotten into him had been able to split off from his cock and into his hand; he could feel it working its way up his arm. For a moment, he thought his fingers were bending; then, he noticed that they were in fact shrinking relative to his palm. The other hand switched places, giving Simon a brief glance of the red, throbbing inhuman cock pulsating between his legs, the base wrapped in a light grey cocoon.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Simon thought, hoping to get at least some answer from the presence. If it gave an answer, Simon didn't understand it.

His other hand started to tingle briefly, and he knew the thing had gotten into it as well; it'd only be a matter of time before it started looking less like a human hand and more like the other, slowly transforming into what Simon could tell was a canine paw.

"Why are you turning me into a dog?" he asked; again, receiving no answer.

By now, the fur had reached up to his navel. Other changes were beginning to be noticeable too: a gentle push as one of the branches probed what was currently below his furry-lined hole, pushing out his flesh into a nub Simon was sure would grow. His hips were becoming narrower, the muscles sleeker as the fur spread down them towards his knees.

The presence, moving beyond merely playing with him, advanced to the next stage of full-on sexual engagement. It made Simon raise both infected arms, allowing him to watch the changes in them if he shifted his focus upwards. For now, though, he was more interested in the red canine shaft, all human traces of it more or less gone, that was - for lack of a better term - getting sucked. His whole cock was pulled even further out - Simon felt oddly pleased at the size of his new member - as a large bulge appeared at the base. His cock was then angled downwards, the presence pointing it in the same direction as his immobile, transforming legs.

Simon panted; pleasure signals ricocheting through his manipulated brain. He felt a huge squirt of jizz push out of his body, but as soon as the fluids left his body, they disappeared, absorbed by whatever it was that was doing this to him. It lasted a couple of seconds, before it seemed to back up. He wondered if this was normal for dogs, or whether it was just this presence that was doing it was able to change even that.

Whichever, the tendril throbbed, and Simon felt a gush of something flow into him. This seemed to excite the changes. The fur, now just below his ribcage, pushed forward, a prickling feeling running up his chest as it spread around his nipples. His lower body was already narrowing into a more slender frame as he felt a gentle pulling in on his ribcage, and a slight queasiness as his organs began to rearrange even as their unseen changes propagated. The small nub of a tail pushed outwards with increased gusto. One hand was almost completely a paw, the other was quickly catching up as the fur on both reached slightly above and below his elbows. Even his feet, finally consumed by the grey, were starting to change shape into the lower hind-legs of a canine.

Even though he could feel some happening to him, Simon couldn't control anything below the fur, and even what he could control was more or less paralysed. The presence had already begun altering his mind what felt like long ago, but now it was more intimate as the tendrils invaded his brain proper. His mind started to feel slippery, like an otherwise calm river running through it had flooded, memories starting to get washed away as the thoughts and feelings of a long-dead creature advanced, ready to settle on the cleansed mindscape.

His altered mind sparked to life as the presence made him ejaculate again; this time was longer - five seconds from start to go - and left what was left of Simon feeling weak and more malleable. Fur prickled up the back of his neck, as the fluid leaving his body was "replaced" with more from the mysterious presence. Simon was vaguely aware at being slightly wrong over what he was transforming into, but by then it hardly mattered and his mind let even that go after a few seconds.

The tendrils were everywhere now, dousing his entire body with their reshaping power. Simon's ears pricked up, beginning to stretch out and expand from their primate initial form into something more suited to the creature he was becoming; filling his weakened mind with new sounds, as well as the memories of old ones and how to work his new ears to discern between them. His jaw slid outwards in a long thick burst, distorting his face, the skin stretching taut before it managed to catch up. Powerful scents pulled into his darkening nose, as his long, thinning tongue lolled out over the sharpening tips of the teeth buried in his gums.

The presence gave Simon's penis one final squeeze, and with a hot rush that seemed to reverberate through his body, he orgasmed hard. For almost twenty seconds, his cock poured out huge amounts of seed, as though trying to empty out the entire remaining lifetime of the human semen his balls would produce in one long orgasm.

It was the final thing Simon experienced before the new creature took complete control of his old mind.

He still hadn't fully transformed - he knew that much - but he was now free. There was no grip around the legs of this creature, and it quickly got onto all fours. It paced around a little: fur was still completely sprouting over his face, and its legs needed a few more slight adjustments. It stretched, leaning back to get the kinks out of the narrowing form. It sniffed at the discarded belongings, shaking his head to get the weird not-his hairs out of his fur. He vaguely felt something - the tall things on two legs, he remembered the scent - would come along soon; it smelled of them. Besides, he had his own to find.

Alone, in a forest forgotten by time and space, a wolf howled.