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Friday

12:45 pm

Cocks.

Aiden mindlessly tapped a pen on the notebook by his desk. He hadn't eaten all day, had barely slept, but none of that seemed to matter. He couldn't concentrate, but his physical and mental exhaustion weren't the main cause.

It was cocks.

All Aiden could think of was sex. Hardcore gay sex. Men, whether they were hung like horses or had tiny dicks, no matter their skin colour, their hairiness, their physique; if someone even looked male, Aiden's first instinct was to fantasise about having sex with them. Being in a heavily male-dominated field made working incredibly difficult. It didn't matter that he'd seen these people day in, day out, never thinking of them sexually other than in bored joking thoughts, or enviously at the guys who were in better shape. But, just like the ejaculating cocks that seemed to plague his mind, once he started thinking about it, he couldn't stop.

The team had gone out for lunch. Aiden didn't bother joining them when he left today. He was behind on work, and that was a good excuse to use. He got up, heading into the men's bathroom stalls. With most people eating in the break room, or out of the office getting food or dining out, he was lucky enough to find a stall free.

Locking himself in, he balanced his phone on the toilet paper dispenser and opened up his pants. His boxers joined his jeans down around his ankles, as Aiden sat his wide ass down on the seat, stretching his legs as wide as he possibly could. It had taken all of his energy not to watch the video any earlier in the day; it had been sitting there, calling him like a siren song.

Huffing, he raised each foot in turn onto the knee of the other leg. Aiden carefully removed his shoes, wriggling his socked feet as he slid the legs of his pants off, followed by his boxers. As obsessed with sex as he was, he suddenly found himself thinking clearly: he carefully draped his pants and boxers on the hook behind the door, far away - he hoped - from where they'd get messed. His feet rested in his shoes, as he looked down at the strange cock that seemed to be staring him, eye to tip.

Grabbing his phone in his free hand, he started to stroke his shaft as he set the pornography video to play.

It was like he had been blind before: how had he not seen the dancers, their bodies grotesque or beautiful, but every one at least a little inhuman looking. They were all also naked: that made his own nakedness seem fine. "Dancers" was also probably not exactly correct: there was gyrating to the bone-shaking drum beats, certainly, but it seemed less about enjoying the music and more about enjoying each other.

He must have been staring at the throng of dancers for too long; Cerberus - he didn't have any other name for him - grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him over towards what looked like a private booth: there was a curtain, though he couldn't figure out why a place like this would need somewhere you could go for privacy. Nevertheless, he followed along, his ass sliding along the cushion as Cerberus shooed him in.

When Cerberus drew the curtains, it was like they had been transported somewhere else entirely: he could still hear the drum beating, but everything else had been completely muffled. Part of him wanted to play with the curtain, to try to understand how it worked. But then Cerberus started talking, and the window for that closed.

"Enjoying yourself?" Cerberus asked.

He nodded. "I've never done anything like that before." He found himself fidgeting in his seat, unable to get really comfortable. "It was... it was intense."

"You've clearly want to get fucked," Cerberus observed, tracing some pattern on the table with his claws. "Suppose I were to say that we appreciate that."

"We?" he asked, but Cerberus seemed to ignore the question.

"It seems much more fun than that job you've got," Cerberus continued. "Perhaps a life change is in order. There's a lot of us here who would love to have someone we could unload into, someone we could just fuck raw."

Even though he'd just come from getting fucked, he was already fully erect once again.

"I can tell it appeals to you too. What would you say about making this a more permanent arrangement? Make it so you don't have to go back to your job, or your apartment, or the 'real world' any more. You'd need to agree to making a few changes, so you'd fit in, and be willing to give up everything you've got out there, but if that's what you want, we're willing to let you in."

Licking the cum off of his fingers, Aiden stared at the stall: he'd made a fair amount of mess, his ejaculate all over the floor, some going far enough to hit the door. Staring up at his pants, he grinned at having missed that with his most powerful shots.

Unrolling the toilet paper, he quickly went to work wiping up the puddles and droplets of cum that he could see. It was a bit hard since the tiles were white, but Aiden was particularly thorough. He knew he'd been in the stall longer than he probably should have, given how sore his ass felt. "And I didn't even get fucked," he chuckled quietly, grunting as he flushed away one set of semen-sodden toilet paper.

Aiden glanced about the stall: it looked clean enough, and he couldn't see any obvious shiny bits. If anyone came in here with an ultraviolet light, they'd probably be in for a doozy of a time, but he doubted that was going to happen. It'd just be the cleaner, the poor woman they hired to come in and make sure everything was nice for the people working here.

As he dressed, Aiden checked the time. "Past two," he thought; he'd been here for over an hour. "Almost time to go home." He sighed, thinking about the mass of work that was waiting for him back at his desk.

"No."

It came to him almost like a wave. What exactly was he getting out of coming to work? Nothing other than money. Did he really need all that money? It didn't hurt, but he'd gotten by on less while he was studying, and he was still single so there wasn't much pain in scaling his life down a bit if it came to it. Besides, he was barely able to work as it was: it was too hard to concentrate with all the hot guys around.

Aiden finished dressing, making sure to pick up his phone. Instead of deleting the video, as he'd planned, he put it on repeat, tucking the phone into his pocket. Making sure he still had his keys and his wallet, he emerged from the stall with a satisfied grin on his face. He whistled, washing off his hands. "Christ," he thought, "how long had it been since I've felt this good? This relaxed?" It had seemed like forever.

The hand drier made short work of the remaining moisture on his hands, and Aiden was out of the bathroom door, making his way through the door of one of the stairwells. "Quitting time," he told himself, as he tugged off his lanyard.

2:21 pm

George excused himself from the table, heading for the restroom. His lunch companions continued to chat around the table, although now a silence hung in the air: a silence of expectation. They were wanting an answer, and George wasn't willing to give them one just yet. He needed time to think, he had expressed; but he was doing nothing but thinking about the proposal since he had heard it.

This late into the lunch rush, the bathroom was conveniently empty. He stormed into the stall, fingers digging into the flesh of his hands. He has stayed as composed as he could - something he was very practised at maintaining - but this had been the limit. He had almost lost his temper: having not slept particularly well, although for very enjoyable reasons, had left him on edge.

George Goldwin did not take bribes.

The cheek of it almost made him choke on his water. That he didn't immediately storm out of the restaurant, and away from the young jackanapes with a big wallet but little common sense, he decided was due entirely to how strange the whole day had been. The sex had been invigorating: he hadn't slept after leaving the boy in the hotel. He'd been concerned about his face: had anyone else outside of that hotel room noticed it, he was sure there would be even more caricatures of himself as some cold, reptilian monster.

George locked himself in a stall, closing the toilet and sitting down to think. This was a dangerous situation. It could be a trap; maybe he was actually some spy sent to bring him down. It was so clumsy, though. "If it's a trap," he decided, "it's one they want me to see. What else is going on here?"

George knew how to play the game: he had traded on money and favours adroitly, coming out ahead more often than not. There was a finesse to it, a skill; none of that involved inviting someone to lunch and offering them the equivalent of a suitcase of cash to sway his vote. It was a lot of money, certainly, but George was never comfortable putting so much of himself into one pocket.

Sighing, George slumped. All of the wonderful energy he had felt since fucking that anonymous young man in the hotel seemed to desert him, and he felt his age creeping up on him. He closed his eyes, trying to piece together what it was that he needed to do.

"I don't really think that one was the body for you," the pig-man stated.

He didn't like this feeling: he knew he wasn't as young as he used to be, despite how invigorating the last couple of days had seemed to be. The aching joints were still there, as were the growing wrinkles that would only continue to grow. Fur would hide all of that, and that wolf-man body or whatever it was - the details were already fading from his mind - oh boy, had that one been built to last. The sooner he got to sample another body, he decided, the better.

"Sure," the pig-man continued, guiding him past other display rooms with other bodies on for show, "if you want the lust and brute strength, go for it. But you're not a guy of two - well, three - minds about anything. You've got that refined snobby charm that only the most privileged of upbringings can produce."

He tried to peek into the other rooms, see what else was on offer. The pig-man was right; it had been great trying out that other body, but it really hadn't suited him. "I definitely want something with that kind of strength and power," he stated. "That level of sexual energy, too."

The pig-man had chosen to ignore him. "There's only one thing that I can see working for a man like you," he said. He grinned. "I can practically see it on your face already. Plus I've got a little bit of first-hand knowledge that this is the one for you." He pushed open the final door in the chamber, one whose door must have been at least plated with gold. It hissed as it slowly opened, the shadowy shape growing before him as the dazzling light behind the body stopped burning his eyes.

A shudder of exultation rippled through him. It was the same intense emotion that a child has when it sees itself in a mirror and, for the first time, realises that it is his reflection. Only this was no mirror image: this was him, his new body, just waiting for him to slide into it. It was such an intense emotion that he immediately became aroused, his eyes continuing to burn as he gazed in adoration at the light glittering off of the scales.

"This is the one for you," the pig-man declared.

"Yes," he agreed, stepping forward to touch the golden muscles of the gigantic creature nestled behind the doors. "This is the one for me." He didn't even notice the light in his eyes burning through the white, like an expanding eclipse until there was nothing but the contemplative blackness of the same reptilian stare staring back at him.

"Glad we agree," he heard the pig-man say, sounding far away. "Now it's time to talk price..."

"Whatever it is," George said, "just name it."

Fortunately, nobody was around to hear him: George was still sitting in his stall, his mind seeming to rush a massive distance through time and space to bring him back to where he had been sitting. His ass was stretched; he could feel the ring embedding itself on his buttocks from where he'd sat down on the toilet. His erection had formed a sticky tent in his trousers that had only been spared an embarrassing stain by his thick underwear.

Releasing his massive cock from its confinement, George gave it an easing stroke, enjoying the feeling of each throbbing pulse along the veiny, reptilian shaft that spilled out of the lips that had formed between his legs to protect it. His eyes flickered from side to side, disappointed to see there wasn't a glory hole present. "This is not that type of place," George thought. He chuckled, imagining that given how horny and hard he was that he could probably thrust one right through if he were to jab his shaft at the wall.

His dragon shaft. The one he'd get to keep - forever - if he paid the pig-man's price.

Wadding up some toilet tissue, George captured most of the escaped sexual fluids and flushed it away. There was no way he could disguise the bulge, but he wasn't particularly worried about that. He had seen the sinewy muscular god that he was to become, and almost everything else seemed to pale in significance. George did have enough sense to not leave his dick flailing about, and tucked it back into his pants, quite proud of the way it bulged and spilled down one side of his pants. Leaving the stall, he stared at the black eyes meeting him in the mirror.

"Soon," he told himself, grinning as he washed his hands. The water was warm: he enjoyed that warmth. Part of him thought he should have been thinking through things in a calm, rational, dignified manner.

George Goldwin did not take bribes... until now.

It could very well cause him to lose the political career he had worked his whole life to attain. Everything he had represented was on the line. After having seen his lovely new golden dragon body, however, it seemed so silly.

But he needed whatever amount of money the pig-man would want.

"That body's mine," George told himself again as he left the stall.

3:57 pm

Miles's place was dingy. When Piers went to use the bathroom to pee - startling himself when he caught sight of his stone-grey skin in the mirror - there was mould growing for what he guessed might have been longer than either of them had been alive. Everything here had that off-brand feeling of someone trying really hard to fit in but not being able to afford even the best of the knock-offs. He felt ashamed: he'd just assumed that Miles was one of those rich people who did art because Mummy and Daddy's fortune meant they didn't have to work. Maybe he had been, but they had disowned him for being gay? It happened, he guessed: he didn't want to think about what his own parents would think.

Miles was waiting for him to come back out, his hole freshly douched from the things Piers saw lying on the bottom of the shower along with the mould stubbornly sitting in the corners. Wiping off a bit of errant piss caused by a bit of gunk that had been stuck over his slit, he flushed the toilet, washing up. He was less startled when he looked into the mirror, knowing nobody else had seen this. His thick erection crept over the sink, like a dog begging for scraps from the table. The veins pulsed in anticipation. After drying his hands, he rubbed them over his body, feeling the strange coarse texture to his skin, the heat of his body still radiating through it.

Walking out, he saw Miles presenting himself. His cock was an angry red, his hole quivering. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice breathy.

Piers nodded, walking over towards the bed. The condom was waiting for him, along with some lube for the Tab A that was going to go into Miles's Slot B. His manhood strained inside, feeling tight as the latex surface clung to him. The lubricant squelched out into a long, greasy line that his hand smeared around while he and Miles shifted their hips into an alignment.

"Oh god," Miles moaned: the rest of his body followed his sphincter and he started to tremble. "I d-don't care if it hurts. I just can't stand waiting any more..."

Piers didn't oblige right away. The head of his cock squelched and squashed up against Miles's ring, a bit of the tip managing to get in but not quite enough to count as penetrating. It was more like a kiss than anything. Wrapping his slippery hands into the crease formed by Miles's leg folding in on itself, Piers breathed out, then thrust forward.

They had done it in the shower without any other lubricant but their spit and what had come with the condom. That hadn't worked out great, although Miles hadn't seemed to complain. Piers had still felt bad since he'd clearly hurt Miles - thankfully not enough to draw blood, that would have killed the mood forever - but there was no denying that angry raw throbbing after they were done and the hole was quivering closed from its gaping openness.

"It's pretty simple, really." The dragon's voice seemed to rumble everywhere, even from inside. "I was once like you. Young. Strong. Human. The first goes away faster than you think, and eventually the second. Trading in the third to get the same feeling of the first two back - forever - seemed a pretty damned good trade to me."

Piers felt the condom straining, but it was too late to do any about that. His cock had never been harder. He could use it to hammer a chisel and probably make a decent start at a sculpture before it softened. The veins seemed to pulse, as though they were opening up even more. Even they felt harder as he plunged the tip of his shaft into Miles's asshole.

"Would you do it again?" He felt he had to ask.

"Without regret," the dragon answered. "You can't be afraid of making a decision, or of living with the consequences. It should be easier for a young man like yourself to give yourself over to the demon growing within you."

"A demon?" Piers muttered.

"What?" Miles asked.

Piers plunged in. His cock needed it. It was swelling, growing and becoming hungrier. They had only just gotten started, and he could feel his juices simmering in his balls and in the bits that connected them to the pipes that opened out into the swelling erection that didn't seem to want to ever go soft again.

"That's the best word for what we are: monstrous bodies, constantly burning with lust. Since you're young, you're probably swimming in those sensations all the time. For me, coming back to that... freshness was something else."

Listening to the dragon talk about demons and sex was making his head swim. He hadn't realised he was standing there, cock dripping and growing.

Piers had never felt so big, and Miles seemed to be aware of it too. Neither of them had noticed the condom had snapped, the latex curling up as Piers's penis continued to expand, straining and stretching Miles's sphincter as it plunged deeper. Piers imagined it probably hurt - he couldn't see, the too-good-to-be-bearable feeling had made him close his eyes - but if Miles was hurting, then he must have been a masochist. It was almost like having a phantom cock: every time he slid in a little further, prodding around Miles's insides, he could feel the quivering, expectant pleasure of Miles's rod, his hand flying over it while he tried to stifle his moans with his pillow.

"It's a one-way trip, though," the dragon stated. "You don't get to suddenly decide that, yeah, you really do want to know what that nice boy Miles is up to, or your other friends. Not even your parents get a look-in. You get to live forever as you - a version of you, anyway - while they get to go on with their lives.

"That's the price. You've got to show us that you're willing to pay up in full. When you're ready, all you'll have to do is fuck up your life. Not kill yourself, no - that defeats the whole purpose of what we're about - but you have to make it so no self-respecting person would want to slip into your shoes because you've filled them with too much shit."

"Oh god!" Piers could almost feel what Miles was thinking: the condom had broken, and Miles had just noticed that he really was getting all of Piers's flesh right up against theirs. He was probably worrying about diseases. Piers couldn't bring himself to care: it was too late anyhow. He thrust in deeper. That seemed to be the only thing that could quell the flames burning him from the inside out.

"If you decide that's what you want, then you'll come to this place again. Only for real, and forever. You'll get to see the occasional human again, usually some unhappy man who might be tempted to join us. Nobody you knew from before, of course. At least not by the time you get to them. After a while, it's just easy to forget who you were. But then, you have to be willing to give up your memories as well. Otherwise this would actually be hell!" A rumble shook the dragon's gilded body, and he started to laugh.

Piers wasn't sure, exactly, how long they had been going at it when he finally orgasmed. His mind had been flickering on and off like a candle. He should have been worried about it, he knew, but who could care when you were balls deep into someone's ass, cum shooting out of your still rock-hard cock, veins pulsing and throbbing as your lava-hot seed squirted into another man.

"The condom broke," Miles panted. At some point he'd been flipped around onto his front. His chest was a sticky mess.

"Don't worry," Piers panted, pulling out. He knew he wasn't going to,just like he wasn't going to worry about the slightly wicked, pointed cock stabbing into the air between them that didn't seem anxious to go down, even though the last dregs of his cum were oozing off of it.

5:33 pm

Philip had never felt this awful. His limbs shook, like he had a fever, as they throbbed and ached. He sprawled naked under the blanket: everything he owned felt too tight on him, like it was squeezing the life out of him. Selina swore nothing had shrunk, but Philip had his own opinions. "At least I'm sick," he thought ruefully, turning the cold compress around on his hot head. "I should lose some weight then, right?"

It wasn't for the first time that Philip told himself that he was sick; but each time it felt less and less right. His body's ache was because of the change in shape; the changes that nobody else seemed to see, the ones that had Selina whispering when she thought he was asleep about going to a doctor. The other type of doctor: the one when you were starting to go crazy.

Philip thought it was a good idea. He felt like he was going crazy. Every time he got up to pee, he swore he felt his weight balancing on the end of hooves. His fingers felt clumsy; they, too, had become worthless hooves that didn't seem to want to function. That's what his brain was telling him: Selina was telling him different.

That was the worst part: not being believed. He would do anything to believe that the huge animal torso and limbs that he could see and smell and feel were just some figment of his imagination, but it seemed like Selina was too accommodating of the changes for it not to be real. He wouldn't let her come too close - if he had to go down, he wanted to go down alone - but when she moved and touched him when she came back in to check in on him, she wouldn't grab his hand or anything that broke from the idea that it was a hoof, handing off the end of a human arm.

Philip's breathing went deep for a moment, and he closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He did that for Selina: he had enjoyed being fussed over, but she had become too anxious about him. It was making him feel confined, the same way that wearing clothes had started to make him feel confined, or at the very least wrong. Luckily, when you were sick, it didn't matter what you wore, so he had elected to wear nothing.

Letting his head sink into the pillow, Philip closed his eyes.

He sniffed the air again, his lungs expanding as he breathed in deeply, or as deeply as he could: a human mouth wasn't exactly designed to let in enough oxygen for a huge, muscular horse's body. At least it shouldn't have, but he didn't feel light headed, at least not because of that.

The ideas had crept in slowly, starting off as mere flickers of images, like an old, slow slideshow. He'd gotten it into his head to move around, but he wasn't sure whether it was to inspect the herd he seemed to be joining, or to get away from the intense, silent stare of the gargoyle beating down upon him. His eyes slid down, inspecting the horses. To a surprise to a part of him that seemed to be asleep, they all seemed to be male, and intact on top of that. He seemed to recall that most horses were gelded or female, but the idea dissolved like cotton candy in warm water as he walked around, admiring the horses.

The were definitely impressive: once he'd started thinking about them, his mind seemed more than eager to divulge all of its hidden stores of images and information about equines. He hadn't seen any that had been this alive, even those he had met in the flesh. He was impressed by them: their size, their strength, their potency.

The last struck him immediately, as one by one the horses stopped drinking from the lake he had splashed into. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up, as the gargoyle's demonic eyes bore down upon him. If he were to turn around right now, he was certain he would see the winged creature licking his lips.

His eyes, however, had been ensnared by the stallions. One pair started to rub their flanks together. Another would jam the tip of his long face into the rear of yet another, breathing in deeply and curling its lips back. His eyes wandered underneath, watching as one by one as the organs swelled out of the thick, leathery-looking sheaths, plunging into the air which made his head swim. The horse cocks twitched and throbbed, and he could almost feel his heart fall into the same rhythm.

Something was in the air: an electric feeling that stimulated the senses, tingling over his skin. Each breath was more laboured than the last. Watching the flesh strain and throb, the flared heads stretching out as the shafts twitched, he barely noticed his own, far more meagre cock bulged into full thickness. His mouth slowly dropped open, his eyes feeling heavy as a mental slowness crept into his head.

The images that had been building up in his head roared to life as the first adventurous stallion mounted one of the others. He watched as they struggled, the top horse trying to aim his cock at the bottom stallion's hole, both pairs of balls jostling up and down, swinging as they grunted and whuffed and tried to get into a good position to fuck.

A thick line of drool ran down his chin; he barely noticed as another pair of stallions began the dance. The air filled with their scents, which in turn filled him up, his mind overpowered, consumed with the need to mentally edge things along, almost as though he could read the stallion's thoughts, putting himself into both roles at one, and relishing the thought of being squashed together between their warm strong bodies as he joined in with them.

Philip jerks awake, a moan of anguish bursting from his lips a moment later. Footsteps approached, and soon Selina's face was pushing through the door, concern evident on her face.

As fast as he could, Philip twisted on his side; he tried to make it seem natural, like he was turning to speak to her. He did, in fact, say something. "Don't worry, I just woke myself up from a vivid dream, that's all."

"Do you want anything?" Selina asked.

"No thank you," Philip grunted, shutting his eyes to pretend to go back to sleep. "Hopefully I just need more rest." He waited, forcing himself to breathe slower and shallower, to ignore the feeling of his erection brushing up against the sheets as his penis tented the sheets.

Selina muttered something, but her voice seemed quiet compared to the pounding of his heart. Philip held out until he heard the tell-tale click of the door being closed before risking opening his eyes again, turning on his side and throwing back the sheets that had become sticky with sweat. His hard erection swung into the air, aching to be touched. The musk wafted over him, his body shivering as though from a high fever.

Breathing heavily, Philip pressed his wrists together, sliding his arms down as his cock swung up to greet him. He'd always been happy with Selina before; even when he'd been sick, if he'd gotten aroused he would somehow manage to persuade her good nature into giving him a quick hand job to help give him a hit. He still cared about her, and she about him; it made him feel immensely guilty, but that didn't stop his fantasies from catching his breath in his throat.

The phantom erection slipped its way inside him, stretching out his sphincter. Philip felt like he was swimming in a heavy, masculine scent that eroded away everything else. Turning his head, he bit down into the pillow, muffling his moans as he squeezed his throbbing, and now dripping, erection in between his wrists. He felt the strong presence of the ghostly male slide over him, even though he was lying on his back.

Being so turned on, he didn't last long: Philip exploded, spraying hot cum all over his chest. His arms fell to his sides, getting a small hit of excitement. Then another wave washed over him, dragging him genuinely down into sleep.

7:08 pm

There wasn't much to see from the street: just a stairway leading down, windows painted black to keep whatever was going on inside inside, and the steady beat of loud music. Beside Blake, Clive stood nervously, fidgeting the same way he had on the trip over. Clive had been a clam, trying to stay quiet and unassuming as he'd come over with some paperwork for the foreman. Blake had sensed him ever since he'd gotten out of his car: something as innate and potent as his sense of smell had screamed at him to go after Clive.

"H-here it is," Clive stated nervously. At work, he'd dressed conservatively; a little too business-like for a work site, a little too tidy. It seemed to spill into his personal life, as he'd traded his high-vis vest and hard hat for a bow tie and waistcoat. "It might not be what you're looking for, though." Blake did not have anything that upmarket; it wasn't his style. Instead, he'd decided to wear the leather jacket he had back when he could afford to keep a motorcycle, the least-stained pair of jeans he had lying around at home, and the snuggest-fitting T-shirt he had outside of the laundry hamper.

Blake clapped Clive on the shoulder. "No, you did great," he stated, something singing in his blood. It was stronger than the thing that had screamed at him that Clive was gay, and that he should most definitely talk to him about where gay guys go after work if they wanted to meet up. He wondered if Clive thought he was going to go in there and rough the place up; with the way Clive had been giving him subtle looks, Blake wondered if that wasn't exactly what he was wanting. "I... I think I'm supposed to meet someone here tonight."

"Oh?" Clive asked.

Blake liked the way he seemed to squirm jealously; he could hear the little bit of pain of rejection. "Clean city boy's after a bit of rough," he thought, "but too chicken-shit to go after it." Copping a feel of Clive's small, tight butt, he answered, "But I'm sure I'll be able to pay you back sometime. Hopefully soon. How about we go in?"

Clive made a noise that was either a squeak of pleasure or nervousness, which he tried to cover up with a cough as he led the way downstairs. The sound of dance music and cheery, over-loud chatter washed over them as Clive opened the door.

Blake's eyes widened as Clive slipped inside. He'd been to pubs frequently, and the occasional club - he didn't enjoy dancing, but girls had - but this seemed to be something different. The smell hit him: trapped masculine musk hitting him like a wave. It didn't really matter that most of the guys in here were refined office-types. That just seemed to get more eyes on him: appreciative hungry eyes. Blake grinned, wondering which of them was going to make the first move.

The stallion didn't stop for anything: rider and mount rode through the darkness, the only illumination coming from the blue flames that licked across the horse's body and yet didn't burn at all. Instead it just left him with a pleasant tingling that worked its way to its intended target. His cock drooled hungrily, his fluids being eaten up by the flame as they ran.

Shapes started to grow out of the darkness; shapes and light, burning from torches of multiple colours. He squinted, looking around. It was, in the loosest sense of the word, a farm: there were animals there of some kind. Things that resembled farm animals at least, and that had the same uninhibited nature of animals when it came to sex. They all had semi-human forms as well, and with them, humanoid creativity when it came to how they sated their lusts. A huge, muscular, three-headed dog was having his angry red rocket tempered by a latex-clad pig, his ass being pounded into by a guy with a goat's legs, horns and willingness to hump anything on all fours. More creatures moved about - half-stags shearing ram-men, centaurs and satyrs cavorting directly from Greek friezes, bull-men and donkey-men having "swordfights" as to which one went into the cattle crush and become the current slut - but the sight of those first three sent a tingle through him.

The stallion carried him over there, right to the edge. He slipped off the beast's huge back, giving him an obliging rub. In turn, the stallion gave him a nudge towards the trio he felt drawn to, breathing heavily. He felt something like being underdressed: he was more or less just a normal human amongst the rest of this exotic menagerie. One that, with half-surprise and half-acceptance, he realised he wanted to be a part of. It all just seemed like so much horny fun!

"Glad you could make it," the central cerberus head spoke.

"Hng! Hey!" grunted the satyr.

With his mouth full of cock, the pig-man just grunted, his strange hands forming a thumb's-up gesture.

"What do you like the look of?" the cerberus asked, the heads on either side panting with long red tongues as they transfixed him with lusty eyes.

"You, for a start," he found himself stating.

"Bold words," the cerberus grinned, "but what skin are you going to put into the game?"

"Huh?" Blake grunted, almost dropping the half-drunk glass of a drink he didn't remember. He was leaning over the bar, his head buzzing slightly: apparently he had finished off a couple of drinks already. The music was loud, and the room smelled of men. Clive had disappeared from the immediate area, but since he was leaning over to let a guy give his manhood a good groping through an unzipped fly he wasn't in much of a hurry to leave. He could feel the weight of the eyes on him, wandering over his body, wondering what was going on underneath those clothes that showed off his big, strong body.

Three pairs of those eyes were attached to the one body he was leaning over. They must have been chatting for a while, Blake reckoned, but for the life of him he couldn't remember any of it. The guy with the three dog heads should have been weird, he intuited, but there was a crackle of energy between them that he wasn't going to deny because of a few minor physical quirks. Besides, he could see the guy was starting to fill into a nice form of his own. Blake could almost see it for a moment, but then it was gone when the cerberus squeezed his hand. He groaned.

"I asked you what skin you were going to put into the game," the central of the three canine heads repeated. All three heads grinned at once. Blake wondered if the guy had ever sucked off three guys at once with them. He'd have to ask later, if the drink let him remember. "Not that I wouldn't be willing to give it to you for free. But a job's a job."

Guys were rubbing up against him on their way to get drinks, like randy cats marking their territory. "Too bad for them," Blake thought, "since I'm more of a dog person myself." Leaving his glass on the bar, he reached up, sliding his hands over one dog's face.

Blake felt the guy's leg thump on the stool. He wanted to laugh then, but the three-headed dog-man squeezed his cock. The latter's six eyes were focused on him still, but now the look of hunger had given way to a light, as though someone had just come home in his head. The three dog-heads beamed; Blake wondered if his tail was wagging. "Not tonight - Friday's my best night to make some quick cash - but I'll probably be ready for some more later. Find me later. No, wait. I'll find you."

His hand let go of Blake's junk, sliding out and giving his chest a push. Blake realised that none of the other guys seemed to find it strange that the guy who had just joined the group dancing in the middle had three heads, all inhuman.

"Not going to wait for that," Blake muttered to himself, turning to see which of the bunch of guys in suits staring at him and chatting was going to man up and ask if he wanted to fuck.

8:44 pm

"Are you sure you should be out tonight?"

Tarun sighed. Exasperation shot out of his eyes: the lovely purple ones he'd grown attached to. It felt like he'd heard that same song so many times tonight, it might as well have been his ringtone. He pinched Toby's cheek. "I've never felt better, darling. What you need to is get me a drink, be quiet, and let me get you a gig, okay?"

"Rather presumptuous of you, isn't it?" Bruce chuckled, crossing his arms.

Tarun dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "After the shit that I went through, I feel like a new man." He glanced across the bar, his eyes drawn towards the hot-looking tough in the leather jacket: he was sure he'd seen him somewhere else, but he couldn't quite place him. "And speaking of new man, why have I never seen that stud in your shitty little bar before now?"

"You want your band to play at my club, but call it shitty?" Bruce's eyebrows raised.

"Live gigs are where it's at, baby," Tarun explained. He slid his feet out of his shoes, sliding into Bruce's lap and started moving working on the zip of his pants. Everyone knew Bruce had a thing feet, and Tarun had had a lot of free time after his overdose to work out how to undo a man's fly and work on his cock. Fortunately, Bruce's pants weren't the buttoned kind. "You'll be dead in a month without them." The zip descended, the sound a drop into the ocean of loud conversations and louder music around them. "What's to keep them coming here? You need fresh young talent, and who better for a gay bar than a gay band?" His toes wriggled around, feeling the heft of Bruce's cock. "And you didn't answer me about this secret toy-boy you've been keeping from me." Tarun licked his lips.

"This is his first night in," Bruce asked. Tarun smiled back: the argument had stopped, and he hadn't said no to the impromptu foot-job yet. His band might have a chance yet. "The guy who came in with him, Clive? He probably knows. He might have given his name to the little Asian whore he was just talking to, but you'd probably have to pay if you wanted to get it from him."

Tarun wanted to ask: did he mean the guy with the nice body and the three dog heads? He didn't; he wasn't stupid. His own changes hadn't been noticed by anyone, and between himself, the hot nameless stud and now this dog-boy, he was sure something weird was going on. If it was the drugs fucking with his brain, he'd have to make sure. "Excuse me," he said, slipping back into his shoes easily. "I think I need to use the big boy's room."

"Up and at them." The deep voice rumbled.

"Just a few minutes more," he protested, the world still dark around him. He remembered vaguely what had happened: he'd been fucking the nice boy. George? Gage? Something like that. Then he'd turned into a shark and swam away. They must have finished, because his skin still felt sticky as he lay on the sand.

"I thought you wanted to fuck me again."

His eyes snapped open immediately. If he had been spent from fucking the shark-boy, he recovered quickly. That massive hunk of half-bull man-meat was standing over him, leering down intently. "I thought I'd lost you."

"You haven't. Now get up, I've got somewhere to take you."

The minotaur lifted him up, naked sandy ass and all, as if he was a child. Compared to the bull-man, he certainly felt small. He wasn't going to complain: the tip of that pink rod was sliding along his back, and it was going to go in him. Any delay on that happening, well, wasn't worth taking, not for all the self-respect in the world. He didn't think he really had much anyway.

Tarun loitered in front of the men's room. You had to be careful about how you went about what he wanted; especially with the growing ache in his balls that had been with him ever since he got ready for work. Toying with Bruce had been fun, but it had also been a bit of an outlet for his own wants as well. All he had to do was wait for the correct stall to become available: he'd been to Bruce's place before, and knew which bathroom stalls you used when you wanted to use the bathroom, and which ones were for when you wanted to "use the bathroom".

Music danced around them: it must have been a bar or a club, and a pretty popular one. He remembered the bodies rubbing and sliding up around him, but there was a very strange feeling about deja vu as he was carried into the men's room.

The minotaur plopped him onto the ground, not the worse for wear. "Here we are. Let's go in there. I've borrowed a friend to help us out."

The stall opened, and a guy staggered out. His pants were still open and his cock was still slick with saliva and cum. Tarun flashed a fake smile, and pushed past him into the hall. From the look on the guy's face, Tarun was looking forward to this. Whoever the hungry cocksucker in the other stall was, he wanted to know if he was really that good. "Hungry for more?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, fill me up!" the voice squealed.

He'd seen him through the hole in the wall, the one he had just stuck his dick through. He couldn't tell if it was a guy just wearing an outfit, or whether it was an actual latex pig-man who had his jaw open and the slick black fleshy mouth just waiting for his cock. The minotaur hadn't given him long enough to figure out: the stall wasn't really big enough for such a huge guy, let alone him as a plus one. Yet like magic, they had somehow fit, with enough room to get his cheeks limber and to find himself in to sex-hungry monsters.

He was looking forward to this.

If he had been able to breathe, the air would have been sucked right out of him. Everything felt amazingly easy: his ass seemed to just open up for the long, fleshy rod jutting out of the minotaur's body. He welcomed it as the sticky head jabbed into his prostate, with more stimulation following once they had gotten into a rhythm. On the other side of the wall, his cock had disappeared into the latex void, slick fluids and an impossibly flexible tongue sliding along his throbbing member as the pig-man gave him the blow-job to end all blow-jobs.

Large hands cupped his entire pectorals, making them disappear. It felt fantastic, like his body had become latex as well, and that he was being moulded into some new, exciting form. It gave him a buzz, one that was better than any - he was actually having trouble remembering - and it was flawless. The latex pig didn't need to rest his jaw, and the minotaur squeezed and thrust just slow enough to not tear through his insides, while still feeling like he was being fucked with gay abandon.

The best part was the feeling in his cock. While the pig-man had it in his mouth, it became soft and pliable while still staying erect and too aroused to even understand. Something inside him seemed to unlock as he felt it grow, and change. He could just imagine it: one kind of like the one sliding into his ass, oozing that hot, addictive goo, only more proportional for a hot young stud. He'd always had a big cock; this just felt so much wilder.

10:20 pm

"And who might that be?" the goat-man asked, sliding off the bed onto his hooves. There had been a sound at the door; not a bell or a knock, it was more like someone had thrown a rock at the door.

He immediately missed the gentle strokes that had been given to his chest. Since he'd grown his other dog-heads, slipping into a canine mindset had been easy; that apparently included belly rubs. His cock stood out proudly on his chest. How the fuck had the satyr managed to get him this raw and ready to fuck without even touching his cock?

It didn't take long for the satyr to return with their new guest. His heart caught in his chest: huge demonic wings seemed to stretch across the room. Grey, stony skin and green moss hung off of the demon stranger that had interrupted them. He was very definitely male, and had a humanoid body, but really seemed more like something from hell or on top of a castle than something that should walk in with an erection. "Oh look," the satyr announced. "It's an old friend."

Although he couldn't hear anything coming out of the gargoyle's mouth, he felt an odd tingling in his heads, as though he was trying to understand something being unspoken. He could tell the gargoyle had made some kind of joke about being surprised mostly because the satyr had laughed and tugged on one of the huge, taloned hands, beckoning the huge creature towards the bed. Amazingly, the gargoyle was able to fold up its wings; but then, he thought, he had walked in so his stony look must have just been what his skin looked like.

The satyr rubbed his hands over the gargoyle's muscles, and he felt slightly jealous. His cock drooled angrily, the bed sinking quickly. With two creatures - demons, his mind suggested - on either side of him, he was still able to look into both of their faces: one inscrutable to the point of not even being able to tell if he was breathing; one grinning and vivacious. Two extremes pulling him in two directions.

"He just got his heads," the satyr explained. Hands rubbed him on the chest again, and he moaned happily to have that sweet caress coax its magic through his body again. "I thought it might be interesting if we got some use out of them."

He went to argue - how do you suck off a stone, anyway - but the satyr put a finger up to his lips. Somehow, he felt it quieten all three of his tongues at once. It wasn't that he didn't want to; it was more, well... He found he didn't have a reason why not, and a throbbing need of why growing between his pants. It felt like forever since he'd last had sex, even though he was sure it had happened not that long ago as well. Time was strange in this place, he intuited; no wonder it messed with his head.

Nevertheless, he turned over, staying on his hands and knees. "What a good dog he is," the satyr joked as he and the gargoyle moved together on the bed. It was a joke, but he felt a genuine surge of warm happiness regardless.

Takeo moaned, the lips of the strange, grey young man on his lips. He never kissed. He never had sex for free with random strangers either. Tonight he'd expected to bag a few ugly old men with stiff cocks and fat wallets. But there had been the big muscular guy who had turned him on that had made him really, really want to fuck. There was the guy who had come in with the band, the one with the magnetising eyes that he was fucking sure that he knew, but couldn't possibly have because nobody forgot eyes like that. He'd seen the Cock-Pig - that was the nickname he gave to the fat guy who had disappeared not long after the club had opened and had yet to come out of the men's room. Word had been he was insatiable, and he sucked a cock very well. Even he'd been curious enough to want to go in.

But he hadn't. He had a job to do. Only he didn't want to do it. He just wanted to get down on his knees in the alley, just like his body was doing for him. His hands moved up and down the moaning stranger's body, feeling his flesh burning hot even under the strangely hard skin. Takeo had had aches to teach him to add extra padding to the knees of his pants when he went out for work, and he was glad to have spent the money at the sporting goods outlet at the university and had worn them tonight. The ground felt hard and sleazy. He'd never done anything like this, not even for the clients who paid big bucks.

They weren't alone in the alley. Takeo wasn't the only guy on his knees, one hand on another man's cock and the other on his own. A few guys were being fucked in the ass - he had two extra heads to turn and look at them all - with some on their hands and knees while others were pinned up against the unforgiving walls as the rubbish smell wafted over them. Even over that, though, was the smell of cum, fresh and ancient, whirring through his head like a drill.

The balls against his chin were changing as he sucked on the strange, pointed cock jutting out of the foreskin: strangely bestial but even more strangely human too. They were puffing out, his scrotum growing as hard as the tip dribbling juices along the top of his mouth as he slid his head down. He didn't care.

His own cock throbbed and swelled in his hands.He'd never been big in that department: that wasn't part of the fantasy that he was supposed to convey. He'd held massive cocks in his hands before. But this was more, somehow. Thick, yes. Veiny, yes. But the skin was what was doing his head in. The straining skin that seemed to sensitive to be bearable as he slid his hand along its slick surface. His foreskin seemed to have thickened,his cock-head sliding out of it more and more as it grew in his pre-cum-slippery hand. There was something else too: he could feel it deep inside, throbbing and swelling, but not quite yet. Not yet.

He didn't mind too much as the membrane of skin started to grow between his - his mind suggested "sheath" would work - sheath and the thick, firm muscles of his abdomen. It felt right, like something that had been missing and was sorely needed. The satyr had one; with the amount of rocky foreskin the gargoyle had, it counted as one; the dragon had one too.

Each of them was getting close. He could tell by the way their cocks felt. The satyr's was the familiar throbbing and pulsing of living, fucking flesh. The gargoyle's rock cock got warm, then hot. It should have been burning his precious puppy lips, but his body seemed to enjoy heat and pain, but sex most of all. Steam drizzled out of the nose on that muzzle, like the time he'd watched someone unleashing a whole lot of spunk underwater. It almost felt just as good.

"Can I join in?"

The heavy, muscular voice was behind him. He cursed: he'd used the side-heads to go down on the two demons. Whoever the third one was was right in his blind spot, and unlike some dogs he couldn't just tilt his free middle head backwards to see who had arrived. That didn't stop his nose or ears from working. He breathed in, smelling sweat and tasting hot beef sliding over his remaining tongue. His ears placed the speaker's voice quite high up on his head. The intruder was a big boy.

He felt the satyr's eyes turn towards him. He was slightly envious, and slightly annoyed: the demonic prick shouldn't be so calm this close to cumming those big goat balls of his. It was up to him; he could see it in those eyes. He had to choose to be the slutty whore this time. It was all up to him. Was he really this much of a dirty, back-alley whore, to get fucked by three demons at once?

The central face grinned: of course he was, if it was on his terms.

"If you're big enough to impress me," he heard a himself that wasn't himself say. "And I've seen plenty of cocks, big boy. Just how big are you."

He heard the bedsprings groan as the intruder got on the bed. Massive hands grabbed his hips, pushing his buttocks wide open. A bovine snort echoed past his head.

"Let's see, shall we?" the minotaur growled as it started to shove an over foot-long cock into his hole.