Buck Shot
A story for Pop's dark side
Psudo-sequel to Club Shimmer
Jack created by Pop
Everyone else created by me
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It had been a month since Jack had acquired his beloved pets Johnnie and Trissie. He had taught them how to use their new bodies and how to run the nightclub, just in time for the signal that his vacation from his normal vocation was over. Hunting season was declared.
So he packed up his belongings from his apartment behind the nightclub, giving his pets each a farewell session of loving and a promise he'd be checking in on them every weekend, before he clambered into a jeep and drove out of the city, towards a small town out in the country where he kept another apartment, above the store he owned and operated.
He arrived in the small hours of the morning, stepping out of his jeep and taking his bags up the back stairs leading up to his apartment. The touch of his hoof was enough to convince his apartment it was him, and Jack stepped in the door calmly, closing it behind him. He perked as his belly rumbled. Well, it had been over a day since he had someone to eat. The buck set his luggage on his broad bed, patting the side table a bit before heading into the living room.
There was a large case on the credenza. He opened it calmly, examining the contents. His shotgun and all the custom shells he had for it, packed safely in foam. He made a quick inventory, checked on the state of his gun after being unused for his whole vacation, before closing up the case again and carrying it out and down the stairs. He was going hunting. It was the season after all.
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Jared arrived at his favorite hunting spot around 3 am, frost forming from where his hot breath hit the frozen air. The wolf licked his lips, looking out into the clearing at the salt lick he had hung in a tree on the other side to attract deer. He sat there for hours, ears perked for any sound, any sign of movement, staring into the clearing with his rifle trained on his salt lick, for want of something to aim at.
Around 4:30 am, when the sun was still just a far off thought bothering the French, for to Jared, everyone in Europe was French, no matter what any hippie said, a large stag tentatively entered the clearing, looking around. Jared had heard somewhere that deer can't see florescent orange, like the safety vest, but he still was ducked down behind a log, only the top of his head and his gun barrel within sight of the buck 100 yards away.
A shot rang out... but Jared had never pulled the trigger. He felt multiple impacts on his back, grunting as the stag fled from the saltlick and the danger. The wolf reached back to feel at his vest, and felt something warm and wet. He'd been shot... in the back... with what felt like buck-shot. He swiveled around, laying against the fallen tree he had hidden behind, scanning the woods behind him for the shooter as he looked down at his wet paw... he looked confused as it was... orange.
"Hell... I ain't bleedin'..." he muttered to himself with a sigh of relief... before a powerful tingle surged through each impact site, and his goo-coated fingers, rapidly starting to spread. Jared grunted and stared in disbelief as his fingers started to fuse, thinking about how hard that would make it to pull a trigger. His whole paw was turning florescent orange, smelling like the polyblend his vest was made out of, even as his vest felt tighter and tighter, like it was his bottom layer instead of the top... then like it was a second skin.
He looked down, and saw his whole torso was coated in that very orange, and it was spreading down over his hips, making his pants melt away as both arms were coated more and more, his right arm's changes finishing at the elbow, the spread from the new hoof meeting him halfway. He stood unsteadily, looking about paniced as a tingle shot up his loins and into his rump. He moaned weakly, eyes falling on his now bright orange sheath, swelling out and releasing his orange shaft, which didn't look canine anymore. It looked... He gasped. It looked like that diagram of a deer cock he had seen once in one of his hunting 'zines.
That, and the other hoof he was growing, and the way his tail was shrinking behind him, no longer something he could see just by looking over his shoulder, all seemed to confirm what was happening. He was turning into a bright orange deer. As the change spread down his legs he was forced onto all fours, grunting as his body re-formed into the quadropedal stance, feeling more natural with every moment. Last, his head started to be taken.
The orange spread forth, wrapping around his face and diving down his throat, the tingling so intense as his structure changed under the orange, his head shifting smoothly from lupine to cervine, his howl of dismay turning into a bellow halfway. He was a deer. A bright orange shiney deer.
He didn't stand a chance.
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At least one hunter was watching Jared, grinning. Jack put away his box of shells labeled "Buck Shot" and glanced over the other boxes. "Bird shot", "Bolo shot", "Goo Shot", "Deer Slug", "Slug Deer", "Tater Salad", and "Rock Salt" were his choices at the moment. He pondered, before popping open his shotgun and putting two shells of what was labeled "Bolo Shot".
Humming quietly to himself and keeping one eye on his quarry, the newly changed stag, he closed the double barrel and took aim at those long, spindly legs. He grinned, and said one word into the silent morning, "BANG."
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Jared perked at the loud report and jumped over the log, running towards the meadow and away from his belongings. A couple seconds after the first report came a much more real sounding shot. Fire one, and following it was a whipping sound rushing at him. His hind legs were suddenly tangled up and tugged tightly together by something. He had enough time to look down at the black cord with dual weights wrapped tightly around his rear limbs, when another shot rang out, the same whipping sound following it.
He weakly tried to move, and the second shot caught him around the neck, wrapping up, the weights on the ends of the cord sticking together and pulling him back down with the weight. He shuddered, unable to do much more than paw at the snowy ground with a hoof, the contact with snow against so much of his form made it hard for him to thick, hard to move. The bolos only made it so he couldn't push away from the snow.
He looked around frantically in the low light of the morning, dark eyes searching the trees all around him, before a crunch on the ground sounded, coming from his blind spot, the direction he couldn't look while held down like this. It was getting closer. His breathing began to rush, broad cervine side heaving. Something grabbed the bolo around his neck and tugged. He was rolled onto his back, and at first Jared couldn't see anything... in the low light he made out the other being out of negative space and shimmering points across its surface, and his mind soon made a familiar image. A stag anthro, black and lustrous was tying his forelegs together. He tried to speak, but his vocal chords wouldn't pay attention. He let out a weak bellow.
The anthro grinned at the florescent feral, "Heh, hunters always were the most fun."
Jared was confused, his mind working slowly to connect dots, the cold really getting to him, as well as the shock of what had happened to him so far. He looked up to see that the odd things happening were nowhere near over.
The black buck's mouth was gaped open, and unceremoniously, it wrapped over Jared's head and shoulders, the wet warmth inside making the florescent stag shiver and writhe, though it did feel rather nice. The maw worked down, starting over his body as his forelegs were pinned to his front. The warm maw inched its way down, rippling walls all around him guiding him deeper, pulling at his form to get him inside.
The hoof hands of the dark stag grasped the former hunter's rump firmly and pulled in concert with a stronger swallow, getting all the way to the base of his catch's hind legs, licking teasingly over his meal's swollen sheath, one hoof patting his belly as the other moved to grip the bolo's hold close to the florescent stag's hind hooves, wet gulps filling the morning air.
Jared felt his head pressing into a more open space, only to hit the back wall, and feel himself have to start curling up into the chamber, getting stuffed in rather roughly by the slick deer. He kicked his hind hooves as best he could while they were bound, the bindings themselves getting into the slick maw. Soon the long tongue of the better hunter wrapped up his hooves and pulled them into the dark warmth, a low wet gulp surrounding him as he was forced to curl up fully in the dark stomach, shivering as a familiar tingling returned to his surface.
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Jack let out a polyblend scented belch, "oooh... that hit the spot." He stood, rubbing his gut and padding over to Jared's equipment, humming idly to himself while his belly worked at burbling and absorbing away his meal, the bolos merging into him easily, as they were made of his own material. He gathered Jared's gear idly, and walked up to his own hidden vantage point, leaving the salt lick for his feral cousins to enjoy if they chose.
He gathered his own gear and head off to his jeep, grinning down at the unconscious, bound and gagged anthros he had caught on the way to his hunting spot, thinking of the nice trophies they'd make. Maybe a nice coffee table, the pair on all fours, stuck in position... He licked his lips at the idea. It was getting far too easy.
The full stag clambered into the driver's seat and started up his jeep, driving the rather quiet vehicle back towards home, humming idly to himself.
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Gus was a polecat, and he had a splitting headache. He tried to move, but something was holding him still. He tried to speak, but he was gagged. He opened his eyes to see the backseat of a jeep, and wriggled, finding himself pressed against someone else who was bound and gagged. He looked out the window, seeing the morning light growing brighter. He saw buildings, and gradually recognized that he was back in town.
He saw a sign, "Jack's Taxidermy Emporium."
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Jack hummed idly to himself as he drove around to the back of his shop. Looking over his shoulder at all the gear he had acquired and the two bound males in the back seat, "Hmm... I'm gonna have to make two trips." He grinned darkly and slipped out of the car, a bit of a bounce in his step, his belly flat again already, but he felt satisfied.
He opened the back, nonchalantly gathering the boxes of gear in his hands, not giving the struggling polecat any mind as he walked off and up his stairs.
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Gus watched the strange deer grab gear and head up and into the apartment, waiting to see if he'd be out immediately, before starting to wiggle, trying to work himself along the seat to and out of the open door. He got a few inches before the stag re-appeared, heading down the stairs while whistling idly. The polecat couldn't tell what was so odd about the stag, until he realized he was naked out in the snow... and that his surface wasn't furry but slick shiny black.
The stag grinned as he hefted up the raccoon from beside the polecat, the one who was still knocked out. He grabbed Gus, and hefted him over his other shoulder, using a hind hoof to close the jeep before effortlessly walking back up the stairs with two furres over his shoulders. Gus watched the deer's tail twitch and swish back and forth with his rump as he ascended the stairs, the sight almost hypnotic to the disoriented mustilid, before he was being brought into the apartment, looking around frantically.
At first he saw just a nicely furnished apartment, before he noticed... all the furniture seemed to be made up of contorted figures, of different colors of the slick surface his captor had, boys posed into shapes of tables, chairs, a group of boys making up a couch, and all somehow also posed provocatively.
The stag continued to whistle as he went into a back room with no windows, a real metal table in this room. He set the raccoon on this table, and the polecat into a seated position on the ground... as if to make sure he could watch.
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Jack opened up the cabinet, tapping his hoof on the ground, before grinning. He turned, looking towards his two catches and holding up his taxidermy shears.
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