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25. Transformation

Anonymous

Sean rested his head in his hands and squirmed in his seat, the professor's lecture droning on and on in the back of his mind. He swallowed, lifted his head up, tried to focus on the board, wiped a hand across his forehead and through his hair, felt a shiver run through his body, and sighed. He had felt totally fine this morning, and yet…

He swallowed, feeling a slick stickiness in his throat, and then coughed into his other hand. He very clearly remembered waking up this morning and hobbling into the bathroom for his daily ritual, and everything had been fine then: he had been himself, with the same face, the same smooth lightly-tanned skin, the same dusty blonde hair, the same bluish eyes. And, most importantly, there had been no extra hair on his face, which he could definitely feel now wiping his hand across his forehead.

After another moment he thought about putting his hand up into the air to announce his excuse, then remembered that he was in college and instead just squeezed his way out between the seats and down the aisle to leave the lecture hall. Perhaps it was whatever sickness he had caught making its way through him, but his pace and stride felt strange too, lurching him forward and back with each step, his shoes seeming to not fit quite right. Sean reached out against the wall for support once he had made his way out of the room and waited there, catching his breath, running his other hand over his body to scratch with suddenly longer nails over the various itchy spots: the side of his head, his cheek, his chest, his back underneath the waistband of his pants, his ankle, and-

Sean stopped, touched there again, frowned, and then suddenly felt that anxiousness turn to a bubbling excitement instead. He had completely forgotten: he wrapped his fingers around the little anklet there, designed to look like a dog collar, with a little circuitboard-patch under the tag that remained in contact with his skin. As he ran his fingers in along the underside of the anklet he could feel that his hair there had thickened and grown out into something more like a pelt of fur, with the shape of his ankle twitching and shifting, moving, pressing in along the interior of his shoes, making his stride even more difficult when he turned to head towards the bathroom.

I can't believe I forgot… is it really working? Sean swallowed again as he pushed the bathroom door open, now able to see the lengthening of fingernails into claws, and the bunching of those fingers together closer to his palm to form a more canine paw. God, I can't believe… I'll have to check if it's…

Shivering with anticipation instead of anxiety he rushed into the nearest stall, found it occupied, then locked himself into the next one over instead. In a quick few seconds he had dropped his bag next to the toilet and started working at his belt. Another pulse shot through him, this one making him hunch over into a posture that he couldn't quite pull himself out of. Just to check, he reached up and touched at his face – and indeed felt the lengthening into a muzzle there, the sharpening and shifting of his ears to more resemble a dog's, the way his hair had started to pull back and give way to fur.

“Oh… oh, God…"

Sean swallowed yet again and let his pants and underwear drop loose to his ankles. Just as expected, just as hoped, what had originally been the same boring human's shaft hanging limp over a wrinkled-prune sack now instead was a plump, perky dog's sheath, cinnamon-furred over a pair of tight, warm balls. He reached down and pushed that sheath back with a finger and thumb, shivering at both the physical sensation as well as the way the sleek, red-fleshed cock, tapered at the tip – his cock – slid out into the air.

The not-quite-human bucked forward and braced himself against the stall divider, not paying the slightest bit of attention to how it rocked under his weight. A muffled “what the fuck…" came from the next stall, but Sean was too involved in his own bodily sensations to notice: he shivered again and again, his – his – dog cock twitching, pulsing, pushing further out of his sheath as his body continued to change.

That hand on his face, his muzzle, lifted away as it continued to shift and grow, nose pinching back and forming the soft velvet-leather surface; the joints of his arms and legs changed and moved, sliding back, tightening together, until Sean slid away from the divider and dropped to all fours, the posture becoming steadily more comfortable; he wriggled out of his loose-fitting clothes, the fabric sliding easily over a short, soft pelt, though his pants got caught on his stirring, wagging tail.

The German shepherd gave a wide, indulgent yawn, stretching his forelegs in front of his body and hiking his rump into the air. From there he came forward and stretched his hind legs, feeling the jiggle and weight of canine equipment underneath his body, his hips still pulsing and jerking with the rhythmic jets of precum spurting out across the tile bathroom floor. He looked over to the toilet, then from there to the discarded school bag sitting next to it, and then instead headed over to the closed stall door.

In another moment the dog had dropped down close to the floor, a shiver arcing up his back at the sensation of cold tile against his hard shaft, and wormed his way underneath – just in time for the occupant of the next stall over to open his door, take a half-step forward, stop, and then look down bewildered at the German shepherd. The dog wagged his tail and continued on, leaving the other student looking back and forth between him and the still-closed door.

The anklet still hung around the dog's hind leg, bouncing with each step, never quite coming free.

26. Micro

thewonderingcanine

“So, yeah, like I said before, the reason I like this place so much is that you can tell that they bake all their shit right here – see, you can look through the window there and…"

Castor squirmed in his seat, then did so again. He kept one paw in his pocket and reached that in as well, trying to readjust and move things around to make them more comfortable, but a certain difficulty between his legs complicated things quite a bit. For once it wasn't anything about this otter across the table from him, nor had he left his house with his favorite vibrating plug underneath his tail, nor was it an infection of some sort.

The fox-otter gasped, swallowed, and spread his legs, still trying to find a more comfortable position. At least, it wasn't an infection of the usual variety: he had a particular extra-small friend, a tiny canine who he often lost around the house due to his diminished stature, who had made a bet with Castor the previous night. This bet stated, simply, fifty dollars that you can't spend an entire day with me in your sheath without acting unusual. Castor had, naturally, accepted it, then did their usual ritual of dousing the small wolf in slick sticky saliva in his mouth and then tugging his sheath open to drop him in, just before bed.

The squirming and squeezing, the tiny body heat, were all quite pleasant just before bed, with one paw running across his length and the other pinching his sheath shut to keep Smack, this small wolf, inside. Sometimes the little canid tugged behind his knot in just the right way to make him jerk and spurt across his chest, even after he had brought his paw away. It was nice at night, but here, during the day, in public…

Castor leaned forward, trying to focus on what the hyena was telling him yet completely unable to, and dropped his forehead into his paw. This was a bad posture, though, so he straightened his back and then sat back in the chair again, then crossed one leg over the other, then grimaced and uncrossed them. Inside of his sheath, down near the root of his length, Smack squirmed around and wrapped beneath the base underneath his knot; Castor felt tiny little breaths and an even tinier tongue digging in at him.

Obviously he was having difficulty with his part of the bet. Across the table Eve continued chatting as though he hadn't noticed which, really, maybe he hadn't: the hyena picked up the bean-paste bun he had gotten, the thick whitish paste visible from one side, and took another bite, talking about the flavor of it throughout. Castor blinked, swallowed, nodded, then jerked forward again, yet tried to play it off as though he were just really interested.

“So – what's…" He gritted his teeth and balled his fist underneath the table. It had been manageable in the morning, but now here he was sitting in a public tea shop, fully hard and unsheathed in his pants, the tip of his shaft leaking into the already-damp fur of his belly. Each little movement from the tiny canid made him twitch and throb all over again, the button of his jeans straining, his entire lower body tingling with the sensation. “What makes it – you know… that… color?"

Eve took another bite. “I dunno," he said, peering at the pastry. “I've never had anything that was white bean before. Maybe… what is it, pinto? No, that's kind of brown. Cannel- whoa, hey, are you feeling okay? You look a bit…"

Castor sucked down a gasp and shivered again, trying to resist the reflexive thrusts of his hips upward underneath the table. It felt like Smack had found that one spot, buried deep within the soft, wet folds of his sheath past the root of his knot, where each and every touch sent a shock of pleasure up the fox-otter's back. Sometimes he liked to drop the tiny wolf in there and see how long it took him to get him off… which, at this rate, was quite imminent.

“Yeah, I'm…" He panted softly, throbbed in his pants, reached down and unbuttoned his pants fly with that paw. Immediately his thumb brushed against the underside of his shaft, slick and wet and eager. “About to sneeze, but it's just – not – coming, and…" His teeth gritted, his shoulders bunched together, his muscles tensed- “I'm – gonna-"

Little arms and legs squeezing tightly at the base of his knot, pulsing and just beginning to swell, pushing his sheath the rest of the way back as it grew and throbbed. Castor gasped again, suppressed a moan, and heard his chair thump along the ground once, twice, a third time, and then a fourth, as he painted his bellyfur and the inside of his shirt with thick spurts, one after another. With each pulse he felt Smack inside his sheath squeeze him a little tighter, the miniscule wolf pressing the side of his muzzle underneath Castor's knot and nuzzling up into the intense humid heat.

Only at the tail end of his finish did Castor think to fake a sneeze, but he was so exhausted already from the unexpected orgasm that it came out more like a cough. He smiled sheepishly at Eve across the table from him, whose brow had furrowed and whose mouth had dropped open, then reached to grab a handful of napkins. These he first used to wipe at his nose and mouth, then dropped them underneath the table when he thought the hyena wasn't looking.

“Sorry," he said, panting gently. Castor shoved those napkins between his belly and his shirt and, with his paw still down there, found the telltale bulge of tiny wolf inside his sheath through his pants, and gave it a firm squeeze. He felt Smack wriggle. “I'm okay now. You were – saying?"

Well, he thought, while Eve slowly picked his thread back up, he didn't say anything, so… that still counts, doesn't it?

27. Public/exhibitionism

greener12

Tormund grinned as he looked out the solid glass window, down over all of the people passing by in the main thoroughfare of the mall. Hot breaths came and went through the bull's greeted teeth, with that window creaking in its setting beneath the weight of one of his arms resting against it – and, of course, of the pressure of this otter panting beneath him, the side of the smaller male's face squeezed against the glass, breath and trickling drool smearing its way down.

“Tor…" the otter panted, trying to push off from the glass. Tormund's grin widened, and in response he pushed his head back in against the glass. “Can we – please­ – go somewhere – ah – else? There's… the changing rooms just over…"

“No." The bull straightened up a little bit further, using the slightly different angle to move his hips with just a bit more force. The otter gasped again, a moan forcing its way out of his mouth, and drew his short claws down along the smooth glass. Each thrust sent a bounce and shiver through the smaller male, just as they had from the very first. “I want them to watch. And you do, too, don't you?"

The otter grumbled softly. From this angle Tormund could see those warm blue eyes looking out over the rest of the mall, stepping from one person to the next to the next. A tall maned wolfess covering her mouth with her paw as she went by; a group of teenagers pointing and laughing, phones at the ready; a small bundle of what looked to be soccer moms bunched close together, scowling at the two of them and looking as though they were wishing the ire of the devil upon them; and then the countless other people walking by, either pretending that this wasn't happening or that they simply didn't see them.

“I don't…" he began, but another shiver rocked his body, and the remaining words dribbled out into a moan. “Tor…"

The bull had no excuse, really – he had just seen his opportunity and taken it, in more than one way. He had caught sight of this otter up here fiddling with the mannequins, had eyed him from a few aisles away as he bent over, thick rudder raised to fit the display's pants on right… and then next thing he knew, Tormund was behind that raised tail, having yanked the otter's pants and underwear down his thighs and grinding up against him.

There had been some little noises of surprise, some words of disgruntlement, some gentle “hey, stop" and “can we at least take this somewhere else-" but, as usual, those words had also devolved into little more than hungry moans and breathy panting, even as the crowd outside continued to grow. The elevation of the display meant that all of those people out there, the silver fox failing to hide his grin, the mountain wolf rolling his eyes, the short arctic fox with a very obvious tent in his pants, got their first-row seats to see the swinging of the bull's huge, heavy balls forward against this otter, and then the lutrine's own hard shaft bouncing underneath him, slapping against his belly with each clench around Tormund's length buried beneath that sweet, thick rudder of his.

The bull leaned in over him, again using that angle to push himself deeper. “Look at them," he said, bringing one hand in to turn the otter's muzzle the other way. “All of them. Watching us. Watching you."

“I…" The otter swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, only for Tormund to press him more firmly against the glass. “I know. I-"

“They all know what your dick looks like compared to mine. They know who's bigger here. They're watching me make a total bitch of you, and you're not even trying to resist."

“I'm-"

“Oh, look." Tormund tapped a finger against the glass towards the teenagers. “They're recording it. I can't wait to go home and see videos of this online. You with your mouth open and eyes closed, panting in sheer lust over the feeling of me railing you like this. Isn't that right? I mean…" The bull dropped that hand and reached around the otter's body, sliding it down until he felt the smaller male's hard cock bouncing against his touch. He wrapped his fingers around it, gave a few slow, firm strokes, and felt the thick, sticky pre drip out over his fingers. “Look at this. I bet you're going to go seek it out once we're done here, and enjoy yourself all over again while watching the video of the evidence, huh?"

The otter gritted his teeth, entire body tensing up with the sensation of this massive bull pounding into him, on display for everyone to see. His eyes fluttered back and forth from looking down across the audience to over his shoulder at the bull breeding him. His little teacup ears flicked back with embarrassment, just as his cheeks burned with the growing blush from both the exposure and, certainly, the gathering pleasure. Tormund could feel the little otter tensing and tightening around him, just as he could see him arch his back to press his hips more firmly back against the bull.

He leaned in close to an ear. “Aren't you?"

“I – I…"

“Aren't you?"

The otter nodded. “Yes," he breathed, shivering. “Yes, sir. I – am. I will. I – will! I- I- ah-"

_ _

This time it was the otter who bucked and jerked, pressing against the glass, sucking in a gasp which he then let right back out as a shuddering, panting moan. Tormund felt that cock, much smaller in comparison to his own, bounce and jump in his grip, then spurt, spurt, spurt – with the first two of these ringing out against the glass and leaving a thick trail downwards. Many of the people out in the audience stepped back with surprise or deepened their grimaces, with the teenagers nearly falling over one another in raucous laughter.

The otter, panting, continued grinding back against the bull until he had fully emptied himself; then, coming down from his peak, he looked out over the crowd once more, realized what he had done, and tried to hide his muzzle behind a paw.

Tormund, meanwhile, wasn't even halfway there yet. He shifted his hands back to that sleek lutrine rump and pulled the smaller male in against him again, redoubling his pace. They were going to keep going until he had had his fun, too.