FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Kevin scratched his beard, glancing angrily at the GPS. The thing had been on the fritz the whole trip ever since he'd carefully jabbed "Lightpool" into the touch screen with his thick fingers. The huge, muscular Kevin always had trouble with them - his fingers were too big, and the screens too finicky - but this had been different. The GPS seemed to be taking him round in circles, but he never really backtracked or anything.

"Lucky I left early," he thought, revving his van back up and heading back on the road, the thick muscles on his arm shifting visibly under the skin as he turned the wheel.

It had been a good stroke of luck all around: Kevin had been about to post his flier outside the local Asda when this fat guy with really bad teeth had been coming out with a trolley filled with meat. One of the wheels decided to stick just then; he'd offered to help the guy carry the meat to his van, and somehow the guy had ended up with Kevin's flier in his hand. "I could actually use someone like you," the guy had said in his weird accent, explaining there was going to be some kind of local celebration. "Since I own the bar, I'm in charge of refreshments," he had elaborated, "and I could some help keeping the tougher guys from getting into trouble."

Kevin couldn't really say no, even though he wasn't local; he really needed the money, so he'd agreed. "And now," he thought, "I'll just be out petrol money because I can't find the fucking place."

The afternoon was quickly getting eaten away, the time seeming to tick rapidly down on the van's clock. Kevin continued to drive, almost out of stubbornness than anything else. It was almost a matter of pride, now: he wasn't going to be defeated by a fucking impossible-to-find village. Dark, heavy clouds began to creep across the sky; despite being somewhere between late spring and early summer, it seemed intent on being cloudy.

Kevin gritted his teeth, his roughly-chopped facial hair almost bristling, just as the first pitter-pattering of rain struck his windscreen. He switched on his high beams and his wipers with a quick tap of his strong hand, before going back to gripping the wheel with both hands. The air slowly chilled around Kevin. "Just as well," he thought, feeling trickles of sweat wetting the armpits of his T-shirt.

The rain had quickly cut down on visibility; Kevin slowed his van to a crawl as the water washed over the van, the wind blowing against him. His vehicle began to vibrate as he sound of the growing gale outside pushed against the hard, square shape travelling through it. Just as Kevin was about to pull over, call the guy and admit defeat, his headlights briefly flashed on a small brick plinth with a sign on it.

"Lightpool," Kevin thought, the annoyed, worried wrinkles on his face relaxing. "About fucking time." He slowed down, straining his eyes to try to find "The Half Circle" where the guy, John Lombard, had told Kevin to meet him.

That proved to be a lot more difficult than it would have been: even though the village barely counted as one - Kevin thought he could piss farther than the length of the village - the rain was bucketing down, reducing visibility. Buildings appeared as runny streaks of colour; everything was dark. The place seemed almost abandoned; the weather was keeping the locals out of the street, and no light seemed to come out of the houses and smattering of commercial-looking businesses.

Kevin looped around the streets, trying to catch the sight of some sign of where he was supposed to go: a sign, John's car, or even just a building that looked even a little bit more like a country pub than the sea of other faceless, seemingly signless buildings. He was just about to give up and call the publican when a sea of light poured out of a building; Kevin drove up, getting a good look at the stalls and wood and gambling machines that Kevin was very familiar with. Grinning, he pulled into the parking lot.

The rain didn't appear to be letting up any time soon, so Kevin just gritted his mind's teeth and tossed his phone into the gym bag he'd packed for the night. Braving the torrential downpour, he slipped out of his van, slamming the door and hearing the two peeps as it was locked remotely.

A small bell tinkled wetly as Kevin pushed his way into the pub, his shirt and pants soaked completely through. Water dripped into the welcome mat, as his eyes quickly surveyed the mostly-empty pub. John, emerging from a door behind the counter, grinned, his misshapen teeth appearing between his stretched lips.

"Good to see you made it safely," he said, the accent making John's words heavy and thick, dripping through Kevin's brain like hot tar.

Wiping the water from his face, Kevin replied, "Yeah, I had a hell of a time finding the place." He'd meant the pub, but his mind went back to the long trip he'd had to take to get here.

"Yeah," John acknowledged with a nod. "I thought that when I first heard the rain coming down; that's why I turned on the lights." Looking at the large, heavily-muscled man dripping in the doorway of his pub, he offered, "Do you want a hot drink?"

"I could do with a whisky," Kevin grinned, "but after I get into some dry clothes." He glanced down at his dripping bag, and thought, "Well, dryer..."

"Sure thing," John agreed. "I have some spare rooms I let out that you can use. Maybe stay if it's still raining? I'll bring you up something to eat and drink once you're ready."

"Sounds good, thanks," Kevin agreed, leaving puddles of water spreading along the wooden floor as he followed John's finger to the staircase leading upwards.

"The bathroom's at the end of the hall," John called out, "and my room's next to it, but you can take any of the others."

The stairs creaked under his way as he followed the squared helix upwards. Above the pub, was a squat corridor with four doors: one directly ahead and three on the right-hand side; the left side had windows lined with rain. The farthest door on the right side had a plaque that read "PRIVATE PROPERTY." Kevin had to duck his head to miss the beams in the ceiling, his bald head just squeaking by underneath. Picking the middle door, as it was closer to the bathroom, he stepped in.

The room was simple; it contained a bed with bland and slightly dusty sheets with a pair of rather flat pillows, a night stand with a cheap-looking lamp; a dresser with a slightly-angled drawer half-hanging out; a window looking out across the parking lot and a dark maroon carpet. A towel sat folded on the foot of the bed. Kevin dropped his bag, beginning to peel himself out of his wet, tight shirt. It was quite a struggle; the fabric clung desperately to his body, and his fingers were slightly chilly from the combination of wind and rain.

Bending over, he untied his heavy, squelching boots, freeing his feet from them and the heavy woollen socks that he was now thankful he'd grabbed as his last clean pair. Outside, he vaguely heard what sounded like a dog howling, but was probably just the wind. Standing shirtless in his temporary room, Kevin unbuckled his belt and opened up the top of his water-tightened jeans, grunting with relief as he slid them off his muscular, hairy legs. They came off much more easily than his shirt had.

With his wet, discarded clothes in a pile at his bare feet, the nearly-naked Kevin snatched up the towel, his huge fist tightening around it. His boxers, much drier than the rest of his clothes, rustled as he headed down to the bathroom. As he walked, he heard voices coming from downstairs. "Someone else must have come in," he thought. He sniffed, his nose picking up some subtle scent; Kevin grinned as he felt the bulge in his boxers distend the fabric even more. His hand drifted down, giving his thick package a satisfying grope.

Shutting the bathroom door behind him, he quickly locked the door behind him before throwing the towel over the sink. This looked like it was also the publican's private bathroom: a single toothbrush sat in a toothpaste-encrusted glass beside the sink, and two bars of soap sat in dishes there and affixed to a pipe that held up the shower head.

Turning the hot faucet on, Kevin pulled off his boxers. His meaty, thick-foreskinned cock swung about, half-hard as he started to touch himself, occasionally testing the water, adjusting the flow of cold water as he tried to get a good temperature. He looked at himself in the mirror: a huge, manly figure covered in muscle and thick hair, and with a suitably-sized cock to go alongside. "Yeah," he moaned, playing with his left nipple as he fondled himself.

The water seemed to be at a good temperature, and Kevin stomped inside. The rain and howling wind, he hoped, would mute any moaning he did as he let the warm water flow into the crevices between his muscles, the warmth thickening his dick even more. He enjoyed being big - in every respect - because it brought attention and respect. He enjoyed the subtle deference he'd get from a lot of other guys too busy or lazy to get their own body. He liked the interest he got from women; they got so silly and flustered, it was charming even though it had no effect on him.

But what he really loved was the massive amounts of sex he got: whenever he felt the need, all he had to do was hit the gay bar, or one of the clubs dotted around London that teemed with excitable, hot, young supple guys. He'd then get his cock sucked in a bathroom stall - through a glory hole or not, it didn't matter to him - or be fucking some eager twink in the ass in the alleyway. With apps and the internet, he didn't even need to do that; random hookups were a text away. Then, of course, he had his regular friends who went to the gym with him, and they'd either fool around in the showers, or would go cruising for one of those guys who seemed a little too eager to watch him.

In fact, he realised as a grin spread across his face, he hadn't had to jerk himself off in years: any time he'd had a yearning, he'd gone on the prowl. Just being by himself had something special to it: everything would be as he wanted it; he didn't have to communicate anything to anyone else - not that he was shy to - because everyone involved automatically knew. "Oh yeah," he said, pushing one finger against his prostate.

Kevin was so busy looking down at his thick, veined cock, throbbing in his hands as the foreskin pulled up and down over the dark pink bulging knob at the tip, that he didn't really pay attention to the strange black streaks that ran down over his body. He'd thought it was just his body hair. He only really noticed something strange was happening when he felt what seemed like two pairs of fingers tightly pinch his nipples, even though one of his hands was being fucked by his thrusting shaft, and his other hand was busy probing a finger into his wet hole.

"What the..." he mumbled, his voice dying in his throat as he felt a black, tingling streak creep into his mouth. Kevin immediately clamped his mouth shut after quickly spitting the goo from his mouth. He quickly stepped from the shower, glancing back as he noticed the shower water had changed completely to the black liquid. It seemed to defy the laws of fluid dynamics, or was so viscous that it created a blockage; whatever the cause, it was starting to fill the bath, a thick black strand hanging between the lip of the tub and his body.

Kevin checked his body. The blackness stuck in thick streaks over his body, slowly growing as blobs seem to be sucked from the tub, moving visibly along the strand. His feet were encased, the fluid continually sliding over them as though the liquid was a living, moving entity of its own. The coating expanded out into branches that streaked up along his body like a set of veins. It clung to his muscular skin tightly; he was still able to see the flesh shifting as he moved around.

Trying to pull it off of him, Kevin only managed to coat his hands with the blackness, some dripping down to connect to the cluster around his feet. He stepped away, hoping to break the strand, but it clung to him stubbornly.

"Help! Help!" he shouted, his panicked voice sounding oddly quiet. He spat: the liquid was forcing its way into his mouth; he could feel a huge line of it sliding up and down his back. Kevin's body was being slowly coated with the black liquid, and there didn't seem to be anything he could do. His heart pounded through his body.

Despite being panicked, Kevin's cock remained rock hard; the black liquid felt a lot like lubricant, and the movement along the length kept the panic from making him flaccid. The liquid seemed incredibly eager to get over his shaft, so much so that a new connection was made with his feet just to feed the spread of the liquid over his cock and around his crotch. Some even forced its way into his finger-loosened anus, flowing into his insides.

Most of Kevin's body seemed to be covered, his coated feet being pulled against his will closer to the tub, allowing more black fingers to pull up out of the swirling mass in the bath and push into his body. Even his eyes were covered, somewhat: a thin film covered his open eyes in two large bubbles. The contrast of his tanned, if pale, skin against the jet blackness of the ooze started to diminish as he was slowly completely engulfed in the latter.

The liquid was warm, and - against his common sense - Kevin found it oddly pleasant. He'd stopped trying to pull it off, and with it enclosed around his mouth, he couldn't call for help. In fact, he was completely trapped until the liquid had gotten what it wanted from him. It seemed to get what it want: once he felt it sliding over his entire body, including his insides sickeningly, the strands separated and the leftover black goo seemed to drain away. He stood there frozen as the warm water returned, fogging up the room. In a matter of moments, all that remained of the strange thing that had just happened to Kevin was the black, sort-of living liquid clinging to his body; the bathtub was clean, and the water coming from the shower head was hot and clear.

Kevin looked up at the mirror: he looked normal, except that his body was covered with a flowing latex-like thing. His mind immediately connected his appearance to a gimp suit, only this one was moving and had no zippers, buckles or other accoutrements.

Now that the initial terror has passed, Kevin's heart slowed its manic pounding, arousal started to fill his brain. The head of his shaft was encased in a warm, moving liquid; it was almost like getting a blow job. His shaft was also getting worked, the liquid coating sliding up and down on his shaft in a thick ring which pumped his quivering manhood. He tried to gasp for air, but his jaws and lips were still being held tightly shut, so his nostrils widened as far as they could, his lungs not able to get enough of the sweet, steamy air. His large body needed a lot of oxygen; that he wasn't getting it was beginning to make his head pound.

He fumbled at the lock: he had greater concerns than having his privacy interrupted, and didn't care if the whole village saw him erect and buck naked. Kevin burst out of the door, falling onto the ground as his mind swam with the last of oxygen. He crawled along the floor, trying to thump on the ground, muffled erotic moans freezing him for a second at a time.

Kevin's dick felt like it was going to burst: his entire length was being worked, as were all of his erogenous zones as the black liquid had its way with him. His ducts ached as his arousal filled him with a powerful need to ejaculate. His coated fingernails clawed at the wooden floor panels, his body throbbing with the twin needs of getting air in and letting cum out.

"Cracker?" he heard someone calling from downstairs. Heavy footsteps fell on the stairwell, reverberating the floorboards as Kevin writhed as his body felt like it was tearing it apart. "Cracker?" the publican repeated, his head appearing above the top step. "There you are, you stupid mutt!" he said, his eyes locking on the large, twitching man on the floor of his upper landing. "Quit fucking around and come here."

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Kevin thought angrily. His cock seemed to quiver even more when John called him "Cracker." One palm smacked down repeatedly on the ground as he struggled to get on to his hands and knees.

"Come here, Cracker!" John ordered, his face growing stern and angry.

Kevin moaned; his cock was suddenly on fire as the blackness on his hands began to shift and move in front of him. The thick meaty hands began to stretch out, balls of darkness flowing along his flesh in long veins with slow, deliberate movement. The flesh underneath throbbed as his hands reshaped. The same feeling was echoed in his feet as he felt them pulsing and lengthening as a transformation spread along his limbs.

It was almost as though the length of his fingers was moving into his palms, blobs of flesh and bone and muscle moving around. The strange shapes began to take on a more understandable form: his hands were reshaping into dog's paws; admittedly large dog paws, but dog paws all the same. The large muscles he'd worked so hard to build in his arms seemed to wither as he watched, draining away like black blood. The heaviness seemed to collect on his underside, where the liquefied parts of his changing body were slowly collecting in his testicles. Whatever energy from them wasn't needed to feed Kevin's transformation was being collected into the oversized sack swaying heavily between his legs.

As the general shape of human arms and legs gave way to four sturdy canine limbs, details began to fill in, like he was a lump of clay or stone being reshaped by a master craftsman. The outline of paw pads appeared, cracks appearing on the jet, non-reflective surface. Canine claws sprouted out like wet tendrils, slowly growing and hardening: Kevin could feel them hardening like wet cement attached to the ends of his "fingers". His thumbs shrank down, almost disappearing against the long body length of his new lower legs. The skin underneath goose-pimpled as a strange itching enveloped his slender arms and legs.

Kevin didn't even notice he was no longer on his knees until he took his first tentative step; he hadn't meant to, he was staggering around almost drunk due to the lack of oxygen. He yearned to reach down and deal with the aching, pulsing shaft between his legs, but dog paws weren't designed with jerking off in mind. His cock just throbbed, desperate for need as more and more fluid flowed into his swelling balls. They now scraped against the floor: he had had a lot of muscle in his limbs, and it all had to go somewhere.

The blackness peeled back, or at least seemed to: the black fur being exposed beneath the retreating ooze was nearly the same size, and the shiny dark curved claws were no different. As more of the liquid pulled retracted, more of his completely transformed limbs were revealed: muscles were still very visible, but his arms and - no, just his legs, he corrected himself - were essentially fur-covered bones and sinew in comparison to the huge slabs of meat they had been.

He took another step, and an electric jolt passed through his body; his nipples were pinched again, and he felt something dribble out of his shaft. He heard a hiss, and felt a warm cloud under his body. He wanted to scream out, but his mouth was still sealed shut, so instead he snuffled and snorted.

After another step, and he felt it: a hot rush of excitement. His balls jiggled and visibly contracted. He saw a huge black squirt arch its way between his forelegs as his cock bucked; the fluid he'd ejaculated evaporated quickly, disappearing into the air. Kevin's head became even foggier as a muted ecstasy flowed over him as his body jizzed out more and more of the black liquid as he walked awkwardly towards the publican. Each step sent just enough bliss to make him feel slightly drained, but never took off the edge of his horniness; at each ejaculation his balls shrank, the ejaculate splattering on the wooden floor before almost immediately fizzing into nothingness, not even leaving a scent as it disappeared.

John disappeared down the stairs; Kevin continued to shamble forward as it provided at least a temporary relief from his aching cock. He snuffled loudly: his gait was awkward, since he was essentially a huge, heavy human torso being supported by four canine legs not entirely properly connected, and each step required a great deal of effort. It felt like he was walking on the balls of his hands and feet. Added to that was the impossible-to-satisfy need to gasp for air to clear his throbbing head and voice the need of his throbbing shaft.

By the time he reached the stairs, his back was starting to ache as much as his paws and his cock were. He'd ejaculated enough in the long, agonizing walk to take most of the pain off of the skin of his scrotum; but frustratingly just left him with the need to get off. However, his cock didn't even seem to be able to ejaculate properly, as though the huge quantities he'd already "ejaculated" was just a ridiculously copious amount of pre-cum.

Descending the stairs proved tricky: Kevin had seen dogs doing it, but even imitating them didn't work, with his much more different musculature. Eventually, he managed by half-dragging himself down after he secured his body weight on his forepaws, then dragging his hind legs down before sliding his centre of mass backwards to move his forepaws again. When he got to the bottom, he was just about ready to collapse.

Taking a rest, he took a look around the pub from his new perspective; everything seemed to be weirdly large. Kevin knew it was his own perspective that had change, but he couldn't help but feel everything else had subtly changed too.

The publican placed two dog bowls on to the ground. "You can eat in here tonight," he said, the words only vaguely registering in Kevin's stressed brain, "since it's so wet out, but tonight it's back outside for you." One bowl sloshed with water, the other had a raw steak slapped into it.

Kevin froze for a moment; his body did feel dehydrated and hot, but how was he expected to eat or drink with this black ooze sealing his mouth shut?

John pointed at the bowls, telling him, "You'd better eat before the guests come."

Being ordered around set Kevin's cock stirring more. The weird reshaping that happened to his legs restarted, this time in his joints and torso. His stomach felt as though it was on fire as his insides slid wetly against one another as his organs began to shift and change. His bulging abdominals and pectorals felt like they were dissolving; meanwhile, a dark finger pushed out from his rear as Kevin began to grow an oozing tail. His wide shoulders shifted inwards and his buttocks started to deflate, narrowing his body as he loped forward, each step squirting out more of his human mass that wasn't needed for energy or to lengthen his new tail.

He loped forward, staring at the dishes; Kevin's mind was so strained that more and more of his actions were purely instinctive: moving forward felt good, even if it was just for a second, so he did it. Bubbles of his old body moved to his balls, quickly converting to the black stuff his cock was disgorging.

By the time he reached the bowls, some of the aching in his joints were gone as the rest of his body had become increasingly canine. His torso had narrowed, slender muscles and a ridged quadruped's spine replacing bulk and that of a biped. The long tail swaying from side to side of his increasingly bony rear completed relatively quickly, the liquid retracting from it to reveal the short, equally-black fur that covered it from base to tip. Patches of fur poked out here and there, where the changes had been faster to occur, while others still remained wet.

The changes moved to his head and neck. He lowered his face, the flesh around his nose and mouth pushed outwards, as a muzzle slowly formed. His thick neck elongated as a small amount of movement returned to his jaw; not enough to open his mouth, but just enough to allow his coated teeth to add more blackness to them, the cores hardening into canine fangs. His top lips stretched, hanging down in huge flaps over his mouth. His beard was replaced with whiskers. His tongue stretched and flattened, lolling about in his mouth until, to Kevin's great relief, the ooze flowed down his gullet, his canine mouth opening. Panting, a relieving coolness filled his mouth as the oxygen he had been yearning for finally entered his dog lungs.

His flaring nostrils pushed forwards, ridges appearing to separate it from the rest of the flesh of his hairy muzzle. Dimples began to appear; a strange feeling of a key turning in his head started a ramping-up of his sense of smell. Scents seemed to shine to him now; in particular, the steak. As his canine nose emerged from the goo sliding down his nostrils and into his body, drool ran out of his mouth as hunger pangs filled his stomach. His sharp, off-white fangs dug into the red flesh; Kevin relished the taste as he gobbled down the bloody meat.

His ears appeared to widen into large, slightly triangular flaps that stretched out the sides of his face, pointing upwards as the rest of his skull seemed to drop, moving his ears farther up his head. A slow pinging reverberated through his head. Slight sounds became magnified: the steady beating of the rain cutting most of them out, but he could definitely hear the sound of a wolf howling wetly somewhere as the black liquid coating them drained into his eardrums.

Colours swam about. They pulsed and paled and merged as the bubbles around his eyes deflated. The stinging contact left his gaze eerily golden brown and his vision dichromatic as the fluid burned changes into his eyeballs and Kevin's optic nerves.

His tongue quickly lapped up the water in the bowl; the fresh, cooling liquid helping to ease the burning inside him. He wasn't even surprised that he knew how to lap up water. Even his brain had transformed: his whole body felt more natural, easy to control. Kevin's past was still there, grimly hanging on, but an entirely new identity had built up: one where he had been a dog his whole life, suckling at a bitch's teat before being taken in and named Cracker by his pack leader.

Kevin's cock shuddered at the thought of his pack leader; it had been steadily pumping out most of the rest of his transformed flesh as he had eaten and drank. His body was, under the most cursory inspection, that of a dog; the only thing to give it away was the dangling, unsheathed human shaft between his legs, and the incredibly bloated sack dangling beside it.

John - his pack, the new identity in his mind substituted for Kevin - returned; Kevin felt his tail wagging, and a heavy, near-orgasm shudder passed through him as he was patted on his head. The empty bowls were whisked away; Kevin went to follow, but a mental block stopped him. Cracker had been told not to go in there, and Cracker refused to let Kevin budge. Kevin had been beaten down, and so needed the strength to keep from just fading away entirely.

The torrential downpour stopped, almost instantaneously with John's return. The fat publican had a leather collar in his hands, and this was quickly attached around Kevin's canine neck. Kevin looked up; Cracker wagging their tail. John was saying something, but the words just moved around in Kevin's head, as though John were speaking Chinese. Cracker recognised the sentiment, though, and soon Kevin found himself trotting towards the door of the pub. The bell tinkled as the door was opened for him, and Kevin loped into the tingling, freshly-washed air of a surprisingly cold still-sunlit evening.

The collar, while scratchy, appealed to Kevin: he'd always liked leather. Trotting over to one of the many puddles around, he glanced in. He looked at the rather proud-looking face, and recognized it. "I'm a fucking Great Dane!" he thought.

A scent washed his way; the same appealing scent he had smelled earlier that evening. Curiously, he followed it around behind the pub, taking a quick break to sniff at the tires of his van. "I should really pee on this," Kevin thought jokingly, "since it is mine, but..."

The grimy back end of the pub was filled with all sorts of interesting scents, most of which Kevin could place as garbage, but were still appealing to Cracker. Rats ran too and fro; Kevin found himself wondering if some of them had been human, too, before this place had gotten its hooks into them. His large, black nose sniffed the ground; most of the scents had been washed away by the rain, but the experience was so alien to Kevin that it was still kind of enthralling.

The amazing scent returned, flowing around him as black wisps began to collect in front of him, solidifying into a dark figure. A dark skeleton sprouted tendrils of flesh as another black dog, one that could have almost been his body's twin, grew before his eyes. Once it had taken shape, the darkness absorbed into the dogs body, revealing white fur where Kevin had black.

Two canine noses sniffed at the body attached to the other. Both Kevin and Cracker found the scent glands of the other dog to be amazing. The remaining part of Kevin's old, coated body slapped against his furry belly, a thin web of ooze beginning to form between them.

The thick foreskin began to peel backwards as the thick head of Kevin's erection forced its way even further out. His nose deep into the other dog's ass, he didn't really care too much about the changes to his manhood; something in his new body was telling him this what what he'd needed.

Kevin and Cracker's personalities and identities began to finally merge; he was mostly Cracker now - besides, nobody was going to call or recognise him as Kevin anyway, he argued - and being a dog didn't seem too bad. He was still big and strong, as far as dogs were concerned anyway, and he'd enjoyed the fierce black fur he had.

Cracker's heavy tongue lapped over the other dog's junk, enjoying feeling the fleshy orbs bouncing against his flesh. His own balls were tightening up, nestling into their new permanent position as the fluid they would produce changed to match the rest of his body.

The small amount of ooze jerked him off; the ring running down his extending, pointed shaft was nice and tight. Cracker felt a big, wet bulge push out from his body, embedding his cock deep in the remaining warmth of the black ooze, which tightened as it finally went away, nothing human left of the body it had transformed. Cracker panted, slobber running down his jowls as he finally unloaded his hot spunk. He didn't care his shaft was now a deep, slick red, or that his shaft was pumping canine jizz; for him, it was as it had always been.

Cracker's tongue felt the other dog starting to fade; the dog spirit was already turning dark and translucent as the black ooze encased it again. Cracker's shaft fired out load after load of creamy canine spunk, splattering it over his chest fur and the wet alley. The hot scent of fresh sex was now all he could smell, as the ghost dog finally disappeared having completed his corruption. Cracker bent down, licking his shaft clean. He'd made a huge mess, and he'd had enough with feeling sticky. Besides, his cum tasted kind of good, and he always enjoyed licking himself off.

Suddenly, a sound stirred his attention; a deep growl rumbled in his throat and a terrifying large, black Great Dane rose and loped towards the front of the pub.