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Jacob cowered in his hastily constructed shelter, the rain driving down all around him, hard enough to bring down the very leaves of the trees that surrounded him. He thought about his village, and how comfortable his bed had been in weather like this, how warm the hearth had felt, how the crackling and heat of the flames had always soothed him. It was a far cry from this, a cold and wet half-hole dug in the forest floor, covered with branches, leaves and moss. He'd been a civilized man once, or at least, as civilized as a peasant could be in this grim, uncaring world, and he longed to return. Longed to once again feel the warm embrace of his sheepskin blanket.

Yet, he would never be able to. It'd only been a day or so, but it felt much longer than that when he'd gone into the forest. He was changed, already, forevermore. And ultimately, he had nobody to blame but himself for throwing aside all common sense, and letting his hunt take him too far from the safety of his village.

They'd told him not to, but war had left his home starved, and the imperial armies stripped what little food was left, like locusts, as they marched through on their endless crusade against chaos. Farms were left fallow, most men recruited for the war as a militia, fields were trampled, and little care was given to the villages so affected. Jacob's home, least of all. It was, after all, easier to blame an external force than ones own people.

It left him with little choice. The times of hunger were here, and he was one of the few surviving hunters. Without him, they'd all starve. Chances were that they'd starve even with his meager contributions, but he could, at least, try.

To make it worse, the passing armies had scared away all easy game, and killed the rest for their own gain. The village was, though, surrounded by woods where the army's own hunters dared not venture, at least not without an escort that they could not be afforded. The first few miles were almost idyllic, light sunny forests interspersed with meadows and even farmland. Yet the further one went from that speck of civilization, the darker the woods became, with thicker canopies and denser undergrowth. Nobody knew the where the line went, but everyone agreed that at one point the forest ended, and the deepwoods began.

The deepwoods, where some deer and boars might yet survive, were off-limits. Few ventured there, even among those with good reasons. While the game was plentiful, there were many eyes and mouths competing for it, equally happy to fell a human as they were a deer. These were, most commonly, the beastmen. Deeper yet, far more horrific creatures preyed on them in turn, but such things were beyond the ken of any commoner.

The beastmen were a chaos-tainted race of half-animal humans, with the horrendous heads of sheep, goats, and bulls. The common wisdom was that they were born when a human surrendered to their darker instincts and mated with an animal, but such wisdom was far from the truth, and the truth in turn much more insidious than simple lust. The beastmen not only bred on their own, but often adopted unwanted, tainted babies whose parents left them in the woods to die.

Each child born with the taint of chaos was meant to be turned in, for the inquisitors to take care of, yet few parents could bring themselves to do it. Nor could they swallow their distaste and raise such children themselves, for to do so would be sure to bring down the wrath of the empire for harboring mutants. And so, the ranks of the beastmen swelled with each unwitting sacrifice.

Not only so, of course. There were also the turnskins: previously untainted humans who were struck by chaos for any number of reasons, mutating and turning into beastmen themselves. Whether it was for lusting after a beastwoman they encountered, or simply being consumed by repressed desires. Any excess of emotion could do it, but rage and lust, the emotions that burned the brightest, were the most common.

To put it bluntly, none but the most desperate would dare venture far from their home villages. Yet, looking at the gaunt faces of his relatives and his childhood friends, Jacob had decided to go nonetheless. What did he have to lose, after all? Death was certain either way.

He left the village at night, bow in hand and dagger on his belt, pushing deep into the woods. It was almost tranquil in the soothing light of the moon, but the deeper he went, the less of it filtered through the dense canopy, and the fact that he knew he wasn't alone left him on edge. He'd never seen a beastman, only heard tales of them, how the armies sometimes clashed, how they hunted humans for sport, how they raped both men and women and turned who survived into one of their foul kin. Tainted by chaos, forevermore, unable to return and yet abused by their new kith, at most finding some value as cannon fodder for their hordes, or sometimes, their rutting-does, fuck-mares, whatever obscene term the storyteller would use. It wasn't the whole truth, of course, but one could only expect a village elder to know so much. After all, it wasn't information that anyone sane would seek out, even without the threat of a party of inquisitors arriving to weed out those who knew too much, and thus were clearly tainted by chaos themselves.

The strangest thing was that some, he'd heard, sought out that miserable end. Mostly those who already belonging to cults to the Ruinous Powers, but now and then, anyone from lowly villager to high-and-mighty noble might succumb to the lure of chaos.

A fate worse than death, it was, being filled with more and more taint, until even their pained moans were little but prayers to chaos, delivered by twisted, trembling tongues. Sometimes, those gods showed the barest mercy and would let the turnskins ascend fully, mutating beyond the other beastmen, or so they said. Yet, even then – what could be a worse fate, Jacob asked himself. Certainly not the sweet embrace of death, even if it was only an endless void.

He pushed deeper, until the undergrowth was so thick that he had to wade through it like snow, vines and thorns both grasping at his ankles. The trees, so deep in the woods, were gnarled and twisted, well-fed by the rich dirt but in turn starved of sunlight. Finally, after what felt like hours of traversing the darkness, he happened upon a clearing, and in the clearing, as if by providence, his price.

A deer. An adult, and not a small one. Jacob nocked an iron-tipped arrow, took a deep breath, and aimed. The hunger had not yet eaten away his muscles or senses, and so his aim was true. The arrow whistled through the air, and struck the deer's throat. It stumbled, let out a braying, gurgling scream that chilled Jacob to the very core, and then collapsed.

And then, far in the distance, something answered that cry. It sounded almost like a beast, but not enough so to convince Jacob. No, it was bigger, far bigger, and there was a clear intent in its voice. Jacob's hands trembled. If he was in any other situation, that'd have been the time to run away, and fast, back to the relative safety of his village. Some soldiers were still there, and they knew how to deal with far worse than beastmen. But he couldn't return without something to eat. At least enough to fill the children's bellies.

So his choice was made. Jacob knelt next to his felled prey, and set to work, gutting and quartering the carcass, keeping his ears open, listening for anything approaching. Nothing but the rustling of birds, squirrels and mice. As he worked, however, he lost track of time. It wasn't a quick process, cutting through joints and sinew, and while he was absorbed in it, the weather changed. Clouds slowly covered the moon, and Jacob only realized how dark it was getting among the trees when he could no longer see his hands.

And that's when he finally heard the sound he'd been so intently listening on. Not too far away, something heavy cracked a branch, and then another. Then, an ear-splitting bellow. The beastmen had little interest in sneaking or hunting. Everything they did, they did head on, with little thought involved.

It was a solitary beast. A scout, maybe, but not a full warherd. Small mercies. He had a chance, however small, to escape.

Jacob grabbed what he could of the deer, hoping vainly that the offal might distract the beast. They ate anything, after all, with equal hunger. Just like it'd eat him, if he wasn't quick enough. He set off running, only barely dodging tree after tree, unable to see more than the faintest of outlines. The thing chasing him, in turn, seemed to see perfectly – or from the loud, occasional cracks and thumps – simply didn't care about running into things.

“Human! Weak human! I rut you into the ground. Stop and I not kill!" it called out. It'd have been funny, had Jacob known beyond the shadow of a doubt that it meant every word. It was in a rut, probably declined the opportunity to sate its chaotic, violent lusts by higher-ranking members of its herd, and now, it'd take them out on him. Forcing itself, and the taint of chaos, into him.

Suddenly, Jacob wasn't so sure he'd prefer death, not with it looming this close. If he just allowed the beast to have its way with him, he might yet be able to purge the taint from himself, but more importantly, he'd at least bring food to his village.

It wasn't the touch of chaos that brought about the changes. It would be his own desires and emotions, if stoked too much. Anger, fear, and above all else, lust.

That said, it wasn't as if Jacob was going to stop willingly, nor did he have to. In a few more rapid heartbeats, he realized that the beastman was gaining on him, whereas he felt that if he pushed himself any harder his hearth might actually explode. Already he had the coppery taste of overexertion in his mouth, and then the thing slammed into him, sending both barreling into the undergrowth. His dagger snagged onto one branch or another, instantly lost in the nearly pitch-black woods. He was helpless, staggered, pinned down by a far stronger creature than himself.

“Weak human rutting-doe," the beast rumbled. Laying on his back, Jacob could see its silhouette against the greenery, even in the dark. Its eyes reflected the scant light of the moon, glowing as it stared at him. “Eat, or fuck? Both?" it asked. Had it been smarter, Jacob might've assumed it was being rhetorical, but from how it was drooling, breath steaming in the chill night air he realized it was genuinely weighing the two options.

Its musky stench was overpowering, sweat and grime mingling with that of a normal goat, though with a sharp, sour tinge to it, one that burned in Jacob's nostrils every time he breathed it in. He didn't know if chaos had a smell, not for sure, but if it did, it'd be something like that.

“Rrh! Eat, fuck, not both," it growled. It wasn't even talking to him, not really. “Human choose! Open mouth and you eat, keep closed and I eat!"

The latter part was, definitely, direct towards him. And what it wanted him to eat wasn't hard to guess. He had heard the rumor that the surrounding warherds all worshipped Slaanesh, or as the primitives called the dark prince, simply Slaa. Evidently, it was true; any other tribes wouldn't give it second thought. They'd eat him, gorily. These ones were often distracted by the pursuit of pleasure. Oh, they were still violent beasts, every last one of them – but a broken toy wasn't as satisfying. The rut was only as good as the partner, and how much the partner could be degraded. If he was dead, it could do neither.

Survival, Jacob decided, was more important than pride, and so he opened his mouth.

The beast straddled his chest and Jacob found himself face to face with a far too large and fully erect cock, turgid with the lust of the hunt and perhaps the thrill of dominating him. Of tainting his pure mouth, too.

“Eat! Suck!" the beastman commanded. Wetness splattered over Jacob's face and chin. Precum or sweat, it didn't much matter. He had no choice but this, or death, and he had chosen what might be worse in the long run.

Jacob fought the urge to gag as he opened his mouth as wide as he could and pressed it against the beast's bloated cockhead. It was so hot it almost burned his lips, and only barely did it fit between them.

At least it'd be over quickly. If there was one thing the beastmen had none of it, it was self-control. No sooner had he taken the cock into his mouth than it began to thrust, forcing Jacob to breath through his nose as it buried its shaft as deep as it could in his throat. It was with some fearfulness that Jacob noticed he wasn't gagging. There was no way his throat could take something of that size, which meant he was already afflicted by its chaotic taint.

Dark, perverted thoughts unfurled in his mind. This was right, they told him. His place was here, being used for pleasure by those stronger than him. The cock shoving into his throat with each buck of the beastman's hips didn't feel that bad, did it? In a way, it was almost comforting, knowing that his body was capable of bringing pleasure to such a masculine specimen.

Jacob fought back against those thoughts as much as he could, but the goat's thrusts pressed his head into the dirt as it fucked his mouth like it would one of its own, entirely uncaring about his well-being. All it wanted to do was to drain those heavy, heavy balls. For a moment, he thought he was going to pass out from his head constantly slamming into the ground, but then the beast stiffened, brayed, and something wet and warm squirted down Jacob's throat, a slimy hot mess pooling in his stomach. He had no option but to let it finish, to let it pump every drop of cum directly into his body.

The sheer helpless submission of being used left him hard, too, to his great shame.

Finally, it was done. The beastman – it had the head of a goat, Jacob noticed, as the moon peeked through a gap in the clouds – pulled out, wiped its sperm-coated cock on Jacob's face, and stood up.

“Good fuck-mare. Come to herd when ready," it laughed, unceremoniously walking away and leaving Jacob gasping for breath on the ground. He wanted to sink into it, having been so thoroughly violated. And yet, he was still erect, a fact that Jacob tried his hardest to ignore and suppress as he slowly stood up, his entire body feeling shaky and sluggish as the adrenaline wore off.

He couldn't simply lay there, even if every part of him was telling him to do that. No, he needed a shelter. One that he might not be found in, should the herd come this way.

That was, then, how he'd ended up here, curled up in a poorly made shelter, hiding from both the rain and the beastmen. As long as all he did was stay here, they'd never find him. He'd starve to death, but at least he'd starve to death untainted by foul chaos. Jacob could still taste the beast in his mouth, the taste of his plentiful semen clinging to his tastebuds. He could still hear his pleasured roar, too, as he'd drained his balls into Jacob's mouth. The dominant, masculine, beastly grunts as he'd been reduced to just a receptacle for his seed.

The worst part was that it felt less of a nightmare and more like a confusing, erotic fantasy. It wasn't him thinking that, Jacob told himself. No, it was the chaotic taint warming his belly, leaving his cock hard despite the misery of the situation. He'd been forced to partake in those forbidden pleasures, and now, he was cursed to enjoy them, or at least, long for more of it.

Such pleasure was, as always, addictive. Every time he slipped into a brief dream, it involved a cock between his lips, or being mounted like a doe, his ass high in the air while someone, or several someones, rutted him like an animal. In some of those shallow dreams, he was a beastman himself, filthy with their spilled seed. And every second of it was ecstasy.

At some point, he realized he couldn't last if he didn't take care of his arousal. It was difficult to reach his aching shaft in his little shelter, without causing it to collapse on top of him, and when his hand found it, he realized he was bigger than usual. Swollen, maybe mutated, into something much bigger that'd always readily display his arousal. There was thick fur around his cock too, covering his balls. It'd already began when he'd felt the first twinge of arousal, and so, there was no way for him to go back home. Sooner or later the hunters would find him, and they'd probably kill his relatives too, just in case the taint was in their blood. They didn't ask questions.

But touching that turgid shaft felt good. He'd never thought about how erotic a cock felt to hold, the alluring power of how it pulsed in his grasp as he stroked. It was a kind of twisted revelation, leading to Jacob admiring his own form, further aroused by his own sexuality, his masculinity. How good it'd feel to not only cum, but to feel that hot sperm coat his belly, maybe to dip his fingers into it and taste himself, just like he'd tasted the beastman.

The thought made his mouth water, and his hand sped up, pumping at his shaft almost feverishly. If he bent just enough- just like so- maybe he could even get each rope of cum to spurt directly into his mouth, get it to coat his tongue and lips just like that beautiful cock he'd been forced to suck earlier had.

To his terror and delight, his body bent. More than it should have. He could curl up just enough that he felt the head of his cock against his lips, and with a crack along his spine, a little more yet. Crack, snap. And suddenly his mouth could reach his prize, those bloated glans slipping between his quivering lips, a shivering, ecstatic jolt of pleasure rewarding him for following his strange urges as the first beady drop of precum slathered over his tongue. He licked along the rim of his own cockhead, feeling it throb in his mouth. The beastman had simply taken him, he'd not had time to really worship his cock, but that was what he was doing now, appreciating every heated inch of himself.

He realized he was going to cum when he felt his balls tighten, his body stiffening as the pleasure crested. He was going to cum right into his own mouth. It made him reel with desire, sucking himself off like a heat-crazed animal, and then it happened. His cock swelled, throbbed heavily, and then his mouth was awash with thick, warm cum again, only this time, his own. Jacob shivered and trembled as his cock twitched and flexed, and he happily gulped down every last drop, thrilling in the feeling of it pooling in his mouth for a brief moment before sliding down his throat. It felt beautiful, natural even, acting just like an animal. But there was something more to it, something filthy and wonderful, about letting his lapping tongue worship that sexual mess spurting over it, worship a cock like the potent symbol of raw sexuality that it was.

And then it was over. His cock slipped from his lips, softening, and Jacob all but went limp, realizing just what he'd done. It felt far less arousing in retrospect. Giving into the unnatural urges, however good they felt in the moment, was not a good thing to do. He tried to ignore the cloying taste of cum in his mouth, listening to the rain dripping onto the leaves of his shelter, distracting himself from his shame.

But of course, it wouldn't be long before he felt those desires again, and they'd only grow more powerful, more overwhelming, more intoxicating with each time he surrendered to them. Any relief granted by chaos was fleeting, temporary at best.

Eventually, Jacob did manage to fall asleep for a few more hours. When he awaked, it was to more fear. Creatures talking all around him in guttural tones. He'd not been found out yet, he thought, but unless he laid perfectly still, it was only a matter of time. Hell, it was only a matter of time either way.

The worst part was that he could smell them. It was like they'd only recently finished a mass rut, but then again, for the Slaanesh-worshippers, that was half they ever did. No – not the worst part. That was the fact that he liked the smell, now. It threatened to draw him out of hiding, wanting more. Wanting, in some increasingly twisted part of his mind, to partake, to be used more, filled with cum over and over again and scream and bray with perverse delight with them.

Suddenly he realized that he had already stood up, his body caring little for his mind trying to save him from that horrible fate. He was in plain sight, and they had seen him. A particularly large, bull-headed one, first of all.

“Mrf. This human has the stench of the herd all over him," it spoke, and the others grew quiet as they listened. It was somewhat ironic that he was more coherent than his lesser brethren – not like any of them would respect him more for his eloquence – but irony was very far from Jacob's mind. This one was bigger than the others, considerably bigger, with a bull's head rather than that of a goat. A minotaur, maybe – Jacob had really only ever heard the term alone – but definitely their leader. His body was covered in scars from defending his position, his hooves matted with the blood of his kin.

“Come here to get raped by the herd, the human has. Or eaten, the stupid weakling. But no, he's already sucked a cock or two, I can smell it on his breath," it continued, stepping closer.

“Drunk on cum and lust. It's not rape if he's willing, is it, warherd?" the minotaur bellowed, a cacophony of braying, neighing, grunting laughter erupting from the other beasts.

Jacob, to his horror, couldn't really deny it. He was painfully aroused, his cock just as hard as those of the beastmen crowding around him, each one equally eager to rut him like a doe. It'd be his end, in a way, and yet he felt that inexorable pull towards each one, wanting to feel them pump their tainted seed into him. Such was the nature of chaos, he'd always been told; seductive, almost impossible to resist but for the immaculately pure, or a precious few of exceptionally strong will.

It turned out he was neither. And the others were like moths to the flame. The violent, roiling lusts of the beastmen drew him towards them, inevitably, their girthy, leaking cocks increasingly sexy and desirable. Before, only a day ago, he'd never once fantasized about even another human's cock. Such things were for women to enjoy. And here and now, he was, drooling with anticipation of receiving not only a cock, but the cock of a beastman, and worse yet, of the entire herd of them, one after another.

A bray approached Jacob, snorting eagerly, only for the leader's club to crack into his ribs, sending him barreling backwards into the herd. He didn't rise again.

“No, no, no, useless trash. We are not Khorngor, but Slaangor! The human will show his weakness. The human will beg. The human will suck our cocks for our cum and beg for us to rut him," the minotaur spoke. “You, herd! You are jealous of these weaklings! This one will show the humans are jealous of us!"

He grabbed Jacob by the hair and yanked his head up, so he was staring at the wall of firm, thick beast-cocks, all pointed at him. They didn't look disgusting, like they should've. They looked appetizing, each obscene throb and lewd twitch tugging at his desires.

“Yes, Slaa has his claws in him. And he will indulge, he will wallow in the filth and cum with those he thinks inferior! Come, human, and suck."

The minotaur hefted his massive cock, his body hot enough that steam arose from that oversized shaft. Jacob stared at it, barely realizing that he was drooling. The urges were growing more and more overwhelming, the taint swelling inside him. He had to resist- needed to run- no, he wanted to be a disgusting, rutting beast like these beautiful, masculine animals. Wanted their scents all over him, all at once. It was too late to resist, anyway; he was already changing, his body hair thickening slowly, feet aching as they hardened, mutations surging through him as toes melded together, cracking bone and tearing flesh, into hooves.

And so he crawled to the minotaur, his mouth hanging open with sheer, primal, hedonistic hunger, drool dripping from the sides of his mouth when the musky scent struck his nostrils. He needed it, needed more. He rubbed his face against it like a cat in heat, letting the sexual filth rub off onto his skin, and then, engulfed the bloated tip. Jacob shivered as precum splashed into his mouth, painting his tongue with ecstatic lust.

He was changing faster, now. But it didn't matter. What was life for if not partaking in its pleasure, sampling every passion and lust? Sating every hunger, deny oneself no adventure? He moaned around the thick, warm shaft. It felt so good to have it thrust between his stretched-wide mouth, a lusty snort escaping his mouth

Somewhere, even the Dark Prince himself felt a passing tingle of delight at the surrender of the once-noble human, restrained in his appetites.

One of the goat-headed ones – gors, they were called, Jacob realized, lusty chaos flooding his senses as he suckled on the minotaurs's cock – lifted him up by his hips, roughly. The minotaur in turn held his shoulders. He was going to get filled with beast-cock from both ends, rutted by their animalistic shafts until he was just a mindless turnskin, below even the lowly brays, the very bottom of the beastman hierarchy. The one who'd get used by any who needed relief, a place to shoot their seed.

The thought made his mind swim and his cock throb as the beast behind him spread his legs, uncaringly trying to thrust into that inviting pucker. Thankfully, the ruinous powers rendered him pliable, stretchy enough to accomplish his purpose, his ass all but gaping for the first cock it'd ever taste. And it got it, the blunted glans of the gor spreading him wide open with heat and slick friction as he speared that wonderful, corrupting shaft deep into his guts.

Around him, the beastmen were a flurry of activity. He was only one man, after all. Many had begun fighting for the right to mount each other, while others had gathered tightly around Jacob and his two dominators, stroking their dripping cocks with anticipation. Yet without any self-control, it wasn't long before he heard one scream out, a splatter of thick heat landing on his increasingly furred skin. And then, another, each rope of seed filling him with even more excessive lust. He couldn't wait to be totally coated in it. Oh, he'd let it dry into his fur and proudly wear it as an open invitation for any of the others to add more to the mess.

The minotaur's cock sunk into his throat, and Jacob didn't even gag as it bulged his neck. The musky stench of the beast's crotch made his eyes tear up, even as he sniffed at it like a man possessed, sucking and licking what he could of his engorged shaft and even those massive, heavy, and tightening balls slapping against his chin. And then, suddenly, he stiffened, letting out a triumphant roar-neigh, as his cock bucked and pulsed. Jacob felt the thick, fresh seed surge up through his shaft.

For the third time in only a day, he swallowed it, almost hungrily. To his twisted delight, the minotaur, the beastlord – his beastlord – pulled out enough to let him taste that precious, tainted gift. Jacob snorted in delight, moaning around the beastly shaft as the seed gushed forth, thick and hot, globs of it rolling over his tongue, rich ropes of it hitting the back of his throat, coating his tastebuds once again that seductive, musky taste. Some of it dripped down his chin, and he felt a pang of regret for each wasted drop, only to hopefully glance at the others, waiting for their turn. If they would all use him, just the way a slave like him deserved, maybe he'd have enough.

He never would, of course, but it was an easy way to justify what he was doing. If he only got filled by the whole herd, his increasingly incoherent reasoning went, maybe he'd be sated enough to make an escape.

With a final, guttural grunt, the minotaur pulled out, though his hands remained on Jacob to support his yet frail body as the other beast rutted his ass. He was soon feverishly kissing that beautiful, if spent, shaft, in the hopes that he'd be able to tease it into feeding him again. No such luck.

The other beastmen, seeing that their leader was finished, quickly dragged some kind of crudely constructed rack over, half-rotten wood covered with animal furs, and pushed it under him. Easier for them to use, with no effort on their part. Only then did their chieftain let him go.

“Fuck his mouth until he screams like the brays," the minotaur laughed, cruel and throaty. “Rape that disgusting coherency out of his stupid skull. Fuck him until his tongue's too thick with lust to speak human!"

The gor who'd been first to claim his ass suddenly hilted himself, pushing as deep into Jacob's clutching body as he could, and let his seed spill into him, filling the changing human with more heat, more wetness, more shivering, warped bliss with each rich spurt. A tingling sensation spread from his stomach, up along his spine, and that, finally, was when he broke. Any pretense of not wanting it left him as Jacob equally suddenly convulsed, his growing shaft swelling and throbbing as his cum coated the rack, quickly smearing over his increasingly fur-clad skin.

Jacob groaned with delight as the softening cock slurped out of his ass, its rich, virile cargo all safely deposited inside him, and shivered as he could almost feel the eyes of the herd of his gaping hole. A couple of the gors closest to him tried shoving their way to the front, only for one to land a meaty punch on the other's skull, and a third, smaller one slipped around them to take his place behind Jacob's splayed-open body.

The beast grabbed onto something, and briefly, Jacob was confused. He could feel his firm, grimy fingers, but on what- oh, he had a tail. A long, whipping tail, probably bovine. Of course he did. Every beastman, however lowly, had a tail. It made him feel oddly happy, having a nice handle for everyone using him to hold on to.

He brayed in empty-headed ecstasy as the next blunt cockhead spread his pucker wide and sunk into his cum-sullied body. Plenty of it gushed out, displaced by his erect girth, oozing down Jacob's fur-clad thighs. Soon enough he'd look just like the pure beastmen, caked in sexual filth and mud, smelling wonderfully musky.

It was only when the next cock slapped against his muzzle – yes, his face was stretched out into a caprine, animalistic look – that he realized how far his changes had progressed. It hadn't hurt. If embracing the gifts of chaos was painful, after all, nobody would do it. The pain would come later. It'd come when he thought about what he'd lost, the orderly cities of the humans that'd left his home village starving, that'd left him to become the warherd's turnskin cocksleeve. Oh, he'd scream with fury as he tore it all apart, as much of it as he could, muscles rippling with chaotic strength with each soldier he gored-

-but for now, he simply obediently opened his muzzle and took in that twitching shaft, letting it use his mouth. More, more, more. He wanted the entire herd to rut their loads into him every time they felt the urge to. None of their seed would be wasted, no, he's gulp it all down, let it fill him his stomach and ass both, smear it over every inch of his skin.

“Horns! A blessing of Slaa for our rutting-doe!" the minotaur suddenly exclaimed. The owner of the cock pistoning into his throat grabbed onto his new horns as they stretched through his scalp. He'd never even noticed them growing in, in his dissolute cocklust. The average turnskin never grew horns, and beastmen without them were always lower in the hierarchy than others. Not that it mattered for someone like him; he'd always be a slave to those naturally born with and of chaos.

In unison, he was once again filled with warm cum from both ends, in heated, throbbing spurts. Then, another pair took their turn, and another. They seemed endless, the whole horde eager both for some relief of their urges, and to establish themselves as above their newest member. Jacob didn't mind. Soon, there was nothing left to distinguish him from them, as his transformation burned away the last frayed threads of his former humanity. He gorged himself on their tainted seed, wallowing in their spilled cum, each warm stain of it tingling on his fur as he mewled and came, himself, again and again, rocked against the pelt-covered rack as cocks thrust into his mouth and under his tail. Nothing but a slave. A cocksleeve. A rutting-doe. A mare in heat for his beautiful, strong herd.

His would be a short life, perhaps until the next clash with the armies of man, dwarves, or chaos. But in a way, it was no different. Both were simply extremes, at one end or the other; the average villager was hardly any better off than the average beastmen, their suffering merely different, he realized that now. And at least until he met his bane he'd be drowned in pleasure by his herd, taking his place their prized fucktoy. Maybe, Slaanesh willing, he'd ascend their ranks. Not to the position of a leader, but at least, he'd keep their morale high as they raided and pillaged their way through human lands.

So, Jacob the human's hunt ended, and another began, by the time the herd all had dozed off in cum-drunk slumber, after each and every member had been sated. As for Jacob the turnskin, he fell sleep in a puddle of spent cum, in the tangled undergrowth of the deepwoods.