Not Gay
Your friend has an exciting proposition. The only problem? You're not gay.
Not Gay
By Xerox2
(CONTENT WARNING: This story is porn. Do not read it unless you want to get horny and lose yourself to your inner animal for a little while.)
Conjure an image of one of your best friends. Choose someone specific, someone you've known since childhood. Picture him hanging out in your living room: the way he stands, his clothes, his face. Do you see him? Watch the corners of his mouth curl into a strange, unfamiliar smile.Your conversation has taken a strange turn.
"So it's a deal?" He asks, extending his hand.
It's his eyes, you decide. They're too focused.
"IF it's real," you say.
"It'll be real."
You reach for his hand but stop short. "And you're going to prove it before you so much as take your shirt off."
"Oh, absolutely," he says.
Now you recognize that smile. It's the one he gets when you're playing games together, just before he snipes you. You shake his hand. And why not? He can't fulfill his end of the bargain. It's impossible. Fantasy.
He's got a firm grip.
"Deal," you say. "But you should know, I'm not gay."
Your friend relaxes back onto the couch. "Not gay. Sure. Though I do wonder about those pictures I found on your computer."
A rock drops into your belly. "Stop."
"All those drawings of sexy guys turning into animals. . ."
"It's not like that," you grumble. "I, uh, insert myself."
He chuckles. "You do, huh?"
"No, I mean-- ah, forget it."
He raises his hands. "Hey, I'm just making jokes. Everybody's got a kink. Who am I to judge?"
You spend a silent moment adjusting your cushion.
"So how long have you. . ."
"Wanted to fuck my best friend?" he finishes.
You nod, and he takes his turn looking uncomfortable.
"Ever since I've wanted to fuck anyone. You're my first crush, dude."
"Wow. I had no idea."
He shrugs. "I tested the waters once or twice. You weren't interested. Didn't stop me from sneaking a few peeks in the locker room. By the way, that dick of yours?" He kisses his fingertips. "Perfect."
Your insides squirm. "Alright, that's enough. . . flirting. I want things to go back to normal between us. You forget what you saw, and I'll forget about your, uh, tragic crush."
"Until I transform you."
"Yeah," you scoff. "So don't get your hopes up."
"A deal is a deal," he says, smiling that strange smile again. "Anyway, I gotta pee. Be right back." He stands and heads for the restroom.
Never in a million years did you suspect he had a crush on you. What other secrets is he hiding? You thought you knew him so well, but who is he really?
Something cold and wet slaps against your neck, and you leap to your feet. Your friend is standing behind the couch, one hand holding a squat mason jar, the other wearing a glistening latex glove, still hovering over the spot you were sitting.
"What the fuck, man!?"
"Don't touch it!" he says. Your hands freeze mid-reach.
"Why not? What the hell is this stuff?"
"Just a little something I bought from a speciality store."
"Dude. 'Business as usual' does not include surprising each other with back massages."
"Just wait."
"Wait for wha--"
A shiver runs down your spine, and you gasp. The lotion's chill flashes into heat and burrows into your skin like a thousand white-hot worms. It doesn't hurt. In fact, it feels. . . good. The affected skin twitches with a life of its own. A delightful buzzing sensation heralds the formation of innumerable new follicles, each one birthing a hair in time-lapse speed. Soon the heat fades, leaving you panting, your face still a mask of surprised bliss.
"Now you can touch," says your friend.
You snap your slack mouth shut and reach for your neck. You find a ridge of long, silky hair running down between your shoulder blades. No, not hair. Fur. Shorter, bristly hairs, cover the surrounding skin, which itself now feels tough and leathery. It's alien, but you can feel your touch. It's yours.
"What the fuck?," you say, gawking at your friend, "It's REAL!?"
"Real as anything," he says, glancing at the pale lavender substance in the jar.
You dash to the bathroom and rip off your shirt in front of the mirror. A mohawk of straight, black fur runs halfway down your spine.
"I've got a mane!"
Your friend leans in the doorway. "Just a little something to grab onto during," he says with a wink.
Your breath catches.
"Oh no. The deal."
"The deal," he says, shrugging.
"Look, can't I buy it from you? I'll pay anything!"
"Nope. You know the kind of payment I want. Won't cost you a cent."
"But I'm not even gay!"
He winces. "Stop saying that. Gay has nothing to do with it. We're just a couple of good friends, hanging out, doing favors for each other." He stands beside you and hooks his arm around your shoulder. The mirror reflects a familiar pair of buddies.
"And need I remind you," he continues, "this whole 'turning into an animal' thing is your bag, not mine. I'd rather have you just the way you are now. But I'm going to give you what you want," he says, stroking your mane. "And you're going to give me what I want."
His fingers slide down the curve of your spine. You grit your teeth at the sensual touch.
"How far does it go?"
"As far as you want."
You swallow.
"Is it temporary?"
"So many questions!"
"Dude, it wears off, right?"
"The packaging says 'mostly temporary.'"
Your mane prickles. You'd never be the same. It's an impossible dream, and all you have to do is, well, something kinda gay. Your friend's grinning at you like a hunter who's returned to find some poor critter snagged in his trap. It gives you goosebumps.
Why did the changes have to feel so good?
"Fine. I'll do it."
He claps you on the back. "That's a good boy."
You wince and turn to face your soon-to-be-lover. "So, uh, how do we start?"
"We start with a beer, because you need to chill out, dude."
"Yeah, that sounds good."
Your friend heads to the kitchen, and you slump back on the couch. He hands you a beer and sits next to you, a little closer than normal. The lights and sounds of the TV wash over you without sinking in. You're too distracted by the very real pricking of your mane's hairs catching on the upholstery. What will that sensation cost you? You sip your beer. Anxious images of kneeling in front of your naked and horny friend mingle with a thrilled anticipation of more changes. What will growing a tail feel like? Your penis swells in your pants.
"It looks good on you," he says.
"What?"
"The mane. It's hot. Kinda punk, very exotic. If it were up to me, I'd just leave you like that, no other changes."
"Oh, uh, thanks."
You glance at his lap and find the bulge of what is clearly an erection tenting one of his pant legs. It looks big. You shift to hide your own boner, but he's already noticed it. You swallow the last few drops of your beer and set it down with a sigh.
"Alright. Let's do this."
"You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be. Just lead the way."
"With pleasure."
You roll your eyes. He mutes the unwatched TV.
"First, let's get comfortable," he says pulling his shirt over his head and unbuttoning his pants. You follow suit, and soon the two of you are sitting on the couch in your underwear. Now that he's mostly naked, you notice how buff he's gotten since the last time you saw him shirtless. You shift, feeling a little inadequate.
"Now what?" you ask.
"Now's the fun part," he says, hooking his thumb into the waistband of his underwear. "We whip it out and show off what we're packing."
You take a deep breath and pull your underwear down. Your dick, still erect from the tiny taste of a true transformation, bobs free. You resist the urge to cover yourself, only wishing it didn't seem so eager. Your eyes dart toward your friend's naked lap.
His dick rests on his thigh, fat and flush but not hard enough to stand. Its pink, circumcised head points towards you, returning your stare. You've never seen another man's dick so close before. It's thicker than yours, especially just behind the glans. Unfamiliar veins pulse in time with your friend's heartbeat.
"Damn, dude," he says. "You've got a great dick."
"Uh, thanks," you say, suddenly very aware of his stare..
"I'm serious. The shape, the smoothness. . . It's like a model cock."
"Yours is bigger."
"Yeah. Honestly, I always thought you'd be more of a grower."
You blush. You're tempted to end the whole deal then and there, but then you see the jar.
"Alright," you say, "We're naked. You owe me more of that lotion."
"Fair enough," he says, dipping his gloved fingers into the greasy mixture. "Now then, what should we change first? Not that handsome face of yours. You'd probably look cute with a tail, but that's a little intimate. . ."
"How about you give me the jar so I can do it myself?"
He scoffs. "And give up all my leverage? Besides, this is a good way to break the ice. Here, pop your feet up. Let's give you a shiny new pair of hooves."
You lift your legs onto the couch, and he pulls them onto his lap. Your heel brushes against his dick. It's warm.
The lotion is cold on the arches of your feet. He massages it into the skin, threading his fingers between your toes.
"Won't be able to do this for long," he says. "It's a shame. You have very sexy feet."
You blush, but the warmth seeping into your bones sweeps your embarrassment away. In a flash, your foot becomes your body's largest erogenous zone, pulsing with bliss in his firm but gentle grip. Massaging fingertips find the boundaries between muscles and tendons, uncovering little sparks of bliss that shoot up your legs. Your mouth falls open and you gasp, an undeniably sexual sound.
He smiles but doesn't mention it.
"Ooh, I think something's happening," he says. "Look."
Even without opening your eyes, you know he's right. Your feet are cramping, but the haze of pleasure filters any unpleasantness from the pain, leaving only a delightful aching stretch. You peek at the feet resting on your friend's naked lap, and they're not your own. These are larger, longer, and they're stretching before your eyes. Your friend wraps his fingers around the narrowing arch and continues the massage, sensually stroking up and down. The similarities to a hand-job are undeniable, not just the motion, but the pleasure of his grasp squeezing your bones into a new shape.
He stretches your feet like clay, pulling them twice as long, rubbing their supple skin into grey, leathery hide. A pressure grows in your ankle. He gives one a firm squeeze and it thuds into a new configuration, releasing a jolt of bliss that tenses every muscle in your body. You peep another small, pleasured sound.
"Does it feel good?" he asks, seeming genuinely curious.
"Yeah," you say. "Keep going."
The muffled thunk of another resettling joint, and this time you bite your lower lip in silence. The balls of your ankles are no more. Your heels melt away.
"This is fucking wild, man," he mutters, gripping at your toes. "They're all stuck together." A twinge of pleasure tickles your smallest toe. "Shit, dude! I just pushed your pinkie toe into your foot." Another twinge, and another, each one marking the end of a toe.
"This little piggy went home, and this little piggy went home. . ."
Your blissed-soaked brain hardly registers the sight of your friend's dick standing between your feet. You're too absorbed watching the spectacle of the lump that used to be your big toe swallowing your remaining nail like quicksand. Now your middle toe is the only one that remains, and unlike its kin, it's swelling. Your friend rubs the fleshy knob, and the skin at its tip splits open painlessly, revealing a dark mass. He works at it, stroking downwards, pulling the skin back like a stubborn foreskin to reveal more and more hoof.
Inspired by the phallic sight, your hand finds its way to your erection. You stroke yourself absently and flex your increasingly heavy toe against your friend's hand, eager to free your forming hoof. The toe-skin sheathe stretches around the mass, hits the point of no return, and slips down with a soft, wet sound.
"Almost done," he says. You don't want it to end. You don't want to think about what you'll owe him after this. Instead, you close your eyes and focus on the sensations of him finishing your other foot. Pure bliss.
"Having fun?"
Your friend's voice startles you. He isn't touching your feet anymore. Your eyes flash open to find him gazing over you, his hand wrapped around his own dick, mirroring your stroking.
You yank your hand away from your penis. "Sorry! I wasn't-- I was just" you stammer.
"Hey, it's cool," he says with a chuckle. "That's what I'm here for. Of course, I don't want you to finish before we get started, so how about we make a rule: no self-touching."
You nod, mostly to get him to stop masturbating to the sight of you. He lets go of his dick, giving you your true glimpse of his erection. He's enormous. Sure it's a few inches longer than your own, but that girth! All these years hanging out, you never knew he was hiding a monster in his pants.
"Well? Don't you want to try out your new hooves?"
He stands and offers a hand to help you to your feet. You take it, and a combination of him offering more help than you were expecting and your unfamiliar hooves sends you stumbling off-balance. He catches you in a hug, skin on skin. Your penises touch, just a tap, then he steps back and you're standing on your own two hooves.
You're taller.
"Turn around, try them out!"
You walk to the back of the couch, hooves clopping noisily with each wobbling step.
"It's like standing on tip-toe but easier. Want me to do yours?"
He scoffs. "Uh, no thanks. This is your thing, not mine."
You deflate, feeling silly for even asking.
"But, he says quickly, "this has got to be the hottest thing in the world to you, right?"
"Kinda."
It's certainly fascinating, and yet--
"Something's missing."
After a pause, your friend snaps his fingers. "I think I know. You're still acting like a human."
"What? What should I do, prance around and whinny?"
He laughs. "Maybe! That's what you're into, right?"
"I'd feel silly."
"See, that's what I'm talking about, acting like a human. Modesty. Opinions. You're acting like we're still equals."
"But--"
"Humans don't have big, awkward hooves. Or a mane."
He follows you behind the couch, and your eyes can't help but stare between his legs. His dick doesn't bob with each step, rather the thick, upward-curving organ looks sturdy enough to hang from. And if you held it, would your fingers even meet on the other side? He'd better not be planning to stick that inside of you. The only place you could see it 'fitting in to' is a sex store, cast in sillicon and placed under a sign declaring "XXL."
"You're staring," he says, standing in front of you. "Go ahead and touch it. It won't bite."
"You sure about that?"
He snorts. "Positive. Come on, no one's here to judge. Aren't you curious?"
You are, a little. And you do owe him. Slowly, you reach out and touch it. It's hot, and hard as a tree branch. You wrap your fingers around it and they do touch, barely. It flexes in your grip, its purple-blushing head swelling a little.You give it a couple strokes. It feels a lot like touching your own dick, only numb and, well, bigger.
Your friend puts a hand on your shoulder and lowers his forehead to meet yours. His breath touches your lips. Before you know what's happening, his cold fingers warp around your dick and start to slide up and down. You gasp and widen your stance with a gentle clop. His grip is teasingly loose. You wish he'd tighten up, stroke faster, really work those handsome muscles and give you a proper hand-job.
Where the hell did that thought come from? You're not gay! You drop his dick and step back.
"That's enough."
"That's all a pair of hooves buys me?" he huffs.
"I've got a long way to go before I'm a proper horse."
"Then let's speed things up. I'm getting impatient."
Before you can react, your friend slips behind you and grabs your mane.
"Bend over."
"But I--"
He interrupts you with a solid slap on your ass.
"Ow!"
The flash of pain fades into a dull tingle. He used the gloved hand.
"That's what you get for disobeying your master," he says.
You snort. "Master?"
"Humor me. I'm not going to fuck you. Yet."
You rub your ass cheek. Instead of a welt, you find a hand-shaped patch of bristle-furred hide.
"Alright, but no funny business," you say, bending over the couch.
"That's a good boy," he says in a condescending tone that makes your cheeks burn and your dick flex against the upholstery.
You hear the jar open and a splash of cold lands on your lower back. The gloved fingertips press hard, giving a deep-tissue massage sparks the lotion into a swarm of ember sparks that burrow delightfully inward. Something moves deep inside your pelvis. It's your coccyx awaking from its deep slumber, uncurling, stretching toward the surface, pressing against your skin. He pinches at the emerging nub, coaxing it free.
Once again, a flood of physical sensations wipes your mind clear of higher thought. It's not that you're becoming stupid, you note as your mind slips, your thoughts are merely simplifying. Etiquette and expectations are swallowed under the waves of bliss that swell each time your glans scrapes against the couch's fabric. The awkwardness of exposing your ass to your friend melts under the heat of his fingers, wrapped around your straining, stretching stub of a tail. He tugs another vertebrae into existence with a satisfying pop! You realize, distantly, that you just moaned like a girl.
Once again, his slicked-up stroking inspires your hand to find your dick. Complicated concepts like "agreements" are far beyond you now. The only thing that matters is the tug tug tug of him pulling inch after inch of tail into existence and the curious way your masturbation amplifies the tingling snowfall of long hairs sprouting at its tip. You're so close to cumming, and then--
"Hey!"
His shout brings you back. He's no longer touching your tail, and the waves of pleasure ebb away.
"Sorry. My-- my hand slipped," you stutter, releasing your dick.
You try to lower your tail, but he catches it and slides a chilly pair of gloved fingers down your ass crack, right over your pucker. You yelp and scramble over the couch, tumbling awkwardly onto your hooves with a lot of frantic clopping.
"What was that!?" you cry.
Your friend smirks and shrugs. "Hand slipped."
You start to scold your friend, but your asshole gives a powerful spasm that stops you before you start. Your eyes bulge. The electrostim sensation of change floods into your bowels, and your sphincter's muscles crawl. Finally, the contraction ends, but as your asshole relaxes, it blossoms, extruding, swelling until it presses against your ass cheeks. You slap your hand over your crack. Your palm finds hot, wrinkled flesh rising to meet it.
"Oh my God," you mutter.
"You've got a horse's ass, don't you? I wanna see!"
Your asshole twitches nervously. It's a heavy, ponderous motion. Above, your tail flicks back and forth.
"I don't. . ." you start only to catch a stinging whip from the end of your tail. "Ah!"
You grab hold of your new limb and crane your neck to get a better view. It's not the silky, flowing horse tail you pictured. Short, grey fur covers most of its length, floofing into a bristly black tuft at the end. You stare at the odd limb until you're hit with a flash of recognition.
"Is this-- Am I turning into a donkey?"
Your friend shrugs. "The lady at the store just said it was 'equine.'"
You touch the short, black bristles of your mane and glance down at the grey fur above your hooves.
"I am!" you cry. "I've got donkey-parts!"
Your friend looks uneasy. "That's not a problem, is it?"
"I guess not," you admit. "I was hoping for something a little more dignified."
Relief washes over his face. "Well. It seems fitting, considering the undignified things I'm going to do to you."
You swallow and drop your tail. It curls between your legs.
Your friend sighs. "Again with the modesty? Look, I don't want to have to say 'you owe me' again. Just do what I say. It's simpler that way, isn't it?"
"Y-yeah. I guess."
"Good," he says, walking slowly toward you. Your gaze is once again drawn to that magnificent dick of his. The word 'magnificent' leapt strangely to mind, almost as if someone else put it there.
"Let's start easy," he says, reaching forward. "How about a hug?"
You swallow and step forward, being careful not to crush his toes under your hoof. Slowly, you wrap your arms around his chest and draw his naked body close to yours.
"That's it," he coos, returning the embrace. "Nothing we haven't done before. Just a couple of guys hugging it out."
But this is no more a friendly hug goodbye than the impassioned embrace you'd share with a beautiful woman. Here, instead of softness, you find stability. His arms hold you with a confident strength. His skin is warmer than a girl's too, almost hot, especially down below. As your hips draw together, your dick knocks against his and, after some adjusting, settles beside it. The awkward fit makes this all feel more taboo, like you aren't supposed to be hugging another man. His meat throbs against your belly.
"There we go. Isn't this nice?"
"Y-yeah," you mutter. "It's cold in here."
He slides a hand down your back, and your mane prickles on end. His fingers trace around the base of your tail, and it flags upward on its own. You just stand frozen, squeezing him for support as his fingers dip between your cheeks and find your puffy equine anus. You both gasp. It's a strange feeling, multiple fingers groping across your oversized asshole. It protrudes enough that he can really get a grip on it, and he does. Your dicks flex against each other.
"Holy shit," he says.
"You said it."
"Guess I don't have to worry about you being big enough to take me."
"Take you?" you start, but before the line of inquiry can go further, he pulls you into a kiss.
The unexpected kiss strikes you as the gayest thing you've done yet. Maybe it's how quickly your own lips return the gesture, or maybe it's the fact that he's such a good kisser, but most likely it's because you're actually enjoying it. Between growing a tail and the little circles your friend's fingers are tracing around your asshole, you're too horny to care that the mouth your tongue is exploring belongs to a man. If anything, the personal taboo of making out with your best friend makes it that much hotter.
Your hips rock forward, your neglected dick desperate for some kind of contact. Your friend rumbles into your mouth and returns a gentle thrust against your stomach. Soon you're full-on frotting each other.
You check, but your inhibitions are nowhere to be found. It must be your new animal side coming through. Animals don't care how they're getting off. Whether it's the winking pussy of a jenny or the hand of the stableboy, they follow their impulses. It's freedom. You can do whatever you want. Right now what you want is to grab your dick and jack off, but you'll need a distraction.
Your friend is too absorbed with the kiss to notice you've opened your eyes. Peering around him, you spy the mason jar sitting open on the couch's armrest. It's within reach.
It's like dipping your fingers into spreadable butter. You scoop a generous portion and return your arm to the hug before he has a chance to notice. It's the feeling of your lips stretching into a smile that alerts him to open his eyes, but it's too late. In one quick swipe you run your serum-gunked hand down his back, hairline to ass. You even have a chance to cup his balls before he pushes you away.
"What the shit!?" he stammers, reaching for his back. "Did you just--- oh. Woah." His eyes go wide.
You're well familiar with the hot, tingling pleasure that's overwhelming your friend. It's the same feeling currently soaking into the bones of your fingers. There's no time to lose. You step around your slack-jawed friend, scoop another dollop of the lotion, slather it onto your dick and balls, and begin to stroke.
There's the relief you were looking for.
Damn, you're hard. You plop down on the couch and continue masturbating. Your friend is facing away from you, breaths coming in short gasps, his shivering ass hovering before face. A bump swells, nestling from the Y at the top of his crack. Under the skin, something twitches and strains outward, stretching the bump into an ungainly, fleshy protrusion. It flops and wriggles as it grows, every inch of length purchased with a supreme straining effort.
A stiffening in your hand draws your attention. Thankfully, despite a lengthening of your palm and your fingers merging into a kind of fleshy mitten, you can still stroke your dick. It's gotten bigger, you notice with a swell of pride, and your balls are leading the way.
Your testicles are already twice the size they used to be and still growing, stretching the wrinkles out of your darkening sack. Suddenly, they tense, and a surge shoots deep into your pelvis, tickles around your prostate, and pushes its way up your penis. The urethral ridge on the underside of your shaft swells as the surge rises. It hits the tip, and you watch as your urethra opens up like a tiny mouth, stretching into a protruding, circular orifice that immediately spurts a gush of cloudy precum. It splatters on your chest, and a strong musty scent hits your nose. It's not human, but there's no mistaking the scent of sex.
A tugging in your wrist pulls your thumb back into your hand, and you lose the all-important grip on your dick. Desperately, you rub the ungainly, proto-hoof, against your shaft, but it doesn't satisfy your needs. With a grunt, you grab your dick with your other, still-human, hand. It's like grabbing a third arm. Your fingers feel tiny, but the mix of lotion and precum makes a fine lubricant and you stroke away.
Every upward tug of your shaft coaxes another inch of growth, and you stare, mesmerized as the swollen, mushroom head of your dick advances toward your face. Your glans lifts like a blushing cobra's hood, spreading your cockhead into a blunt, equine knob that's both grotequely inhuman and undeniably hypnotic. Somewhere below, halfway down the pillar of horseflesh rooted in your crotch, a medial ring flexes to the surface. As you stroke, it catches on the ridges of your paddle-hand with a pleasurable thrum.
"Holy shit," gasps your friend. He's staring at your depraved display, masturbating a dick that looks a lot smaller now that it's standing above a set of donkey-sized balls. A steady stream of precum dribbles from its tip, down his furiously jerking hand, and drips in long glossy strands from his shiny, hide-covered balls.
You stare, mouth hanging open, your brain soggy with enough sex hormones to drive a full-sized jackass into rut. Only your weakening grip alerts you that your once-dexterous wrists are being replaced with clumsy, weight-bearing joints, and instead of soft hand-skin, you feel the scratch of furred foreleg. At its tip, a heavy bulb of skin slips back with slick sound to reveal a simple, black hoof.
"No," you groan. "I'm so close."
You hug your mottled, throbbing pillar of donkey-cock and thrust into your own embrace. Its blunt head slides against your ear, and you can hear your desperate heartbeat pounding in it. A spurt of precum splatters down your back and catches in your mane. The lotion's electric tingle tickles the skin of your arms and chest, bringing you ever closer to the climax you crave.
A pair of gloved hands grab your hooves and pry the perverse pose apart.
"Okay, that's enough," your friend grunts.
You struggle. "Stop, please! I'm almost there!"
He wrestles you, pausing only to slap another palmful of lotion onto your shoulders. Their muscles swell in thick cords that stretch your skin into hide. With a laugh, you use your newfound strength to yank free of his grip and hug your dick once again. Then your tendons yank back, and your shoulders thud into a simpler sort of joint.
Suddenly, you can't hug yourself at all.
You're helpless to do anything but watch as your biceps and triceps contract at once, pulling your elbows almost to your chest.
"No!" you cry in frustration, flailing your forelegs like a rearing horse.
Your friend dodges a flying hoof. "Careful with those!"
He reaches into his backpack, and you get a decent pair of thrusts against your chest before he returns with a length of rope. Another brief struggle ensues, but your awkward livestock limbs are no match for the human's dexterous grip. He grabs your hooves, folds them to your elbows, and fastens them against your chest before bending down to secure your legs. You thrust against the scratchy rope and yelp when it pricks your sensitive flesh. Your dick wilts, pitches forward, and lands on your friend's head with a slap.
"Jesus, that thing's heavy," he says, brushing it aside. He stands and glowers over you, arms folded. A ropey donkey tail flicks irritably behind him. "What the fuck was that!?"
"Just following an urge. You're the one who said I should act like an animal."
"I meant like a pet, not some wild--"
He reaches around to his back. "Oh man, you got me good. I can't believe I have a fucking tail. It feels so weird hanging back there."
He twists around to see the length rooted just above his toned, mostly-human ass. He groans, and his eyes begin to swim with tears.
"I'm a monster."
This was not the reaction you expected.
"Hey, don't be sad. I uh, I think it looks good on you," you offer.
He sniffles and wipes away a tear. "You do?"
"Well, yeah," you say, glancing away.
"I have to admit, it did feel. . . pretty good when those new vertebrae started popping in."
Upon hearing this confession, your dick-- which has been retracting into its sheathe since its encounter with the rope-- reverses direction, spilling forth and stretching toward the floor.
"It does feel good," you say.
"Mhmm. I'm surprised you didn't cum when you got this piece of work," he says, nodding toward the third leg dangling between your other two. "Wait a minute. Are you getting horny? Am I turning you on right now?"
You shake your head. "No way."
Your friend smirks and saunters over, the sway of his hips highlighted by the thick tail swinging behind him. Despite your best efforts, your dick twitches. Veins as thick as drinking straws throb across its surface.
"You are! So what then? You're only attracted to dudes if they're on their way to becoming animals?"
"Get off it, man. I'm not gay for you."
"Right, right. Sure," your friend says, bending forward and pressing his ass into your face. His tail flags upward and lands on your head with a thwap. This unique view on the subject of Tail vs Ass has the expected effect, and your friend gingerly catches your penis on its way up.
"Now this is something else," he says, running a fingertip along the scalloped edge of your glans."Guess you're a grower after all."
"Mhm," you grunt. You wish he'd stop all this exploratory touching, grab hold, and really get to work.
"How different does it feel?"
"Very. And yet, the same? I still want to bury it in someone. A woman," you add hurriedly.
He grips your dick and rubs your medial ring with his thumb."Good luck finding a woman who can take you. Look at this. You've gotta be the best-hung man on earth right now." He sighs. "It's kind of a shame, really. I was looking forward to having you fuck me in the ass."
"That was your plan?" You ask. He nods.
Your relief mingles with disappointment. Sure, fucking your friend's ass wasn't exactly something on today's to-do list, but you're so desperate to cum that the pink, human pucker inches from your face is starting to look as good as any other.
Your dick flexes against his grip. "I know one way to make it fit."
He peers back at you. "You mean use the-- No way. Even if I had a donkey's ass, look how big you are!"
"It would fit," you say, invisibly twitching your protruding asshole against the couch. "Trust me."
His tufted tail flicks your mane in thought. "I don't know. This is getting too weird for me."
"Come on. We're just a couple of friends doing favors for each other."
"Hm! You've always been a quick learner. Alright, fine." He reaches for the lotion, talking as he gathers another dollop. "I think my balls may have yours beat, by the way. God, I'm dribbling. Look at this!"
A string of precum drips from his fuzzy balls and lands coldly on your stomach.
"They're churning," you observe.
"Oh yeah. Probably wouldn't be doing this if they weren't. Alright here goes nothing."
He takes a deep breath and slides his lotioned-up fingers down his ass crack. You have a front row seat to the sight of his pointer finger pressing against, then disappearing into his body. He gasps, and the tail resting on your head flags upward at the intrusion.
"There," he says, pulling his finger free. "That should do-- ohh"
His grip tightens on your dick as he tries to keep his balance. The skin of his ass crack darkens, and his no-doubt-expensive wax job disappears under a fine layer of grey fuzz. The crevice immediately in front of your nose bulges, then is pushed apart by his swelling asshole. It purses once and settles into its new position: protruding like a dark, wrinkled- jewel set in an ass-crack fitting.
"Oh, God," he whispers. "It's so big."
He purses it experimentally. It's still shiny with lotion.
You press your face into his ass, wedge your nose between the freshly fuzzy cheeks, and give his pucker a big kiss.
"Hey!" he cries, jumping forward.
You're as surprised at your action as he is. You saw something you wanted and went for it. The question of whether that something was the lotion or the asshole is quickly forgotten under the tingling warmth seeping into your face.
"Dammit, dude!" he groans. "You got it on your face. Ah, there it goes."
You flash him a victorious grin. Your lips feel swollen and floppy. Your nostrils flare larger. Then it stops.
"Aww, man." you groan, huffing a sigh through your enlarged nostrils.
Your friend shakes his head. "You were so handsome. Now?" He fishes through his discarded pants, grabs his phone, and snaps a photo.
"Look at yourself."
At first, the image looks like one of those TF photomanipulations. But this lacks the medium's hallmark imperfections. It's real. And the half-transformed figure staring needily into the camera is most certainly you. Even with the awkwardly swollen lips and nose, the bound hooves, and the turgid donkey's dick rising from your lap, it's still you. Your stomach thrills at the uncanny sight.
"Delete that," you say, mangling the words a bit with your floppy donkey-lips. "You can tell it's me!"
"I don't know," he says, regarding the photo as he reaches for his dick. "I kinda like it."
"At least finish my face," you beg. "Please!"
He sits beside you and strokes your swollen nose with the back of his hand. You shy away, but he maintains the touch.
"You want me to change your face? Fine."
He dips his still-gloved hand into the lotion, pulls out a big smear, and reaches toward your head.
"There's just one thing," he says, stopping just before your face. "These new balls of mine have needs of their own. And you do owe me."
He locks eyes with you and glances toward his dick. It stands, elegant and solid as ever. The implicaiton is obvious, and a gush of saliva wells in your mouth.
You slump over, your bound hooves landing on your friend's lap. You open your mouth and lean in.
"Hold on," he says, catching you by the mane just before your lips reach the prize. He slathers a palmful of lotion all over his dick. "There. I don't like you being better-hung than me. Doesn't feel right."
You look up in shock. He leans back into the couch with a shrug.
"Better hurry before it grows too big for your mouth."
You turn back to the cock. Already, new veins are rising on its lotion-slick surface. You lower your mouth over it, close your lips, and give it a suck.
The pungent chemical-lavender taste of the magical salve floods your mouth, followed by the equally pungent, but far muskier, taste of dick. It feels an awful lot bigger than it looked now that it's pulsing between your lips. But it's not that bad. In fact, the act of sucking living flesh conjures long-dormant memories of suckingling at your thumb. You relax and begin to nurse.
A moment later, his cock gives a shivering strain and swells a size larger. The growth stretches your jaws so wide they ache. Thankfully, you can already feel the organ's heat worming deep into your mouth.
In a way, giving a blowjob is a lot less intimate than making out, you think as his dick bumps the back of your throat. There's no interplay like there is with kissing. The only hints of eroticism are the pleasured twitching of your friend's legs and the occasional moan emanating from above.
Immediately after that thought, he places his hand on the back of your head and pushes down.
Your eyes bulge as a cock you could barely fit into your mouth surges past your uvula and down your throat. There's a flash of pain, a wave of nausea, and an urge to breathe, but they fade as quickly as they come. Your enlarged nostrils draw a solid, uninhibited breath, and the magic salve is already turning the painful stretch of your esophagus into fuzzy, tingling bliss.
"That's a good boy," he says, clutching your mane and bobbing your head up and down his dick. His free hand slaps a palmful of the lotion onto your face. The world goes black and tingly. Seeking fingertips ensure every crack and crevice is covered, diving deep into your ears and nostrils, stretching your features into clumsy donkey shapes.
What follows is a sexual race between swelling dick and changing face. Your expanding tongue thrashes for room, and just when it seems you can't possibly handle any more, your jaw pops, your skull groans. You feel his cock retreating from your throat despite the fact that your leathery lips are still suckling at the base of his dick. Your muzzle is coming in.
Your front and rear teeth part ways, taking position on opposite ends of a growing expanse of toothless gums. Instead of a bridle's steel bit, the first foreign object to find these gums is the swelling ridge of your friend's new medial ring. His cockhead pops into the back of your mouth, and you have time to draw a single gurgling breath before his glans inverts and the freshly-blunted organ surges back down your throat.
You are only vaguely aware of your head changing. There's a thickening of your neck, a broadening of your nose, a flopping in your ears. You open your eyes to find a tear-blurred scene stretched like a wide-angle lens.
"Ah, dude," your friend moans, "I'm gunna-- I'm gunna--"
You get a single second to wonder what your friend is "gunna" do before his balls lift. Halfway down your throat, his flare swells large enough to snap a theoretical choker. A soup-can's worth of hot donkey spunk is injected straight into your stomach. His twitching, gasping, head-fur-clutching orgasm seems to last an eternity, but, finally, his body slumps into the couch. He releases you.
The moist, gurgling sound of you unskewering your head from his cock is without a doubt the lewdest noise you've ever heard. Like a perverse sword swallower, you watch, eyes bulging, as two feet of saliva-slick donkey dick slide free from your new muzzle. The flared head stretches your maw, pops free, and lands on his chest with a splat.
"Oh man," he sighs. "That was amazing. How was it for you?"
It's still tricky to make sense of the panorama-stretched view, and it's only now that you catch your friend's outstretched arm holding his phone, its camera pointed at your face.
You reel back and shout an objection, but your words catch in the back of your mouth, twist, and escape your flapping lips as a donkey's unmistakable bray.
"HaaawwW~! HeeHAWW!" you bellow.
"Sounds like you really had a blast," he chuckles. "Or several."
The phone swoops toward your face, and now you can make out the screen. You'd think that after all this time spent fantasizing about seeing a different face in the mirror, you would have been ready, but the donkey's mouth drops open in shock. Then again, the expression doesn't really read as "shocked." It's just a donkey with its mouth hanging open, a strand of saliva waving from its stupid, grey lips. It's an animal. Trying to read its emotions feels pointless. And if that's the case, judging the animal-- instead of your friend, the human-- for that delightfully messy blowjob would be crazy.
He's the freak here. Rutting is just something animals like you do.
This existential crisis is interrupted by a burp that fills your muzzle with the pungent scent-taste of cum. Your friend waves his hand in front of his face.
"Aww man, that's rank."
He's right, but you find the musk compelling. You turn and give his still-dribbling dick a hefty lick as it retreats into his sheathe.
"Hey!" he gasps, pushing your head away. "Careful. I'm pretty sensitive right now."
There's a deep rumble in your stomach. You glance down and find it bloating. A forest of gray fur is prickling from its surface. You burp again.
Your friend pulls off his gloves and scratches behind your ear.
"You still in there?"
You nod, and he looks relieved.
"I gotta admit, this wasn't how I pictured it going down. Pretty wild-- fucking your crush as he turns into an animal. Very kinky. I liked it more than I thought I would."
As if on cue, your ribcage barrels outward with a loud snap. The rope securing your forelegs creaks under the strain.
"Uh oh. Maybe having you swallow that stuff was a bad idea. It did say 'external use only.'"
Your friend starts tugging at the knots to loosen them, pushing your still-erect dick out of the way. You steal a couple thrusts against him.
"Still convinced you're not gay?" he asks, smiling at your desperate humping. "Or did I change your mind a little bit?"
The weighty question doesn't get through to you. The lotion's warmth is pumping through your veins now, wrapping your mind in a fuzzy blanket. You're horny. You want to fuck. Was that what he was asking? You bob your head as the last of the rope falls away.
"That's what I thought," he says, beaming.
He helps you up. You manage to stand on your hind hooves for a moment, but another bloating, stretching, spam sends you pitching forward. You land on all fours with a loud clop. Your dick flexes, slapping against your growing potbelly and sending droplets of precum flying.
"Jeeze man, get a hold of yourself!"
You're hardly listening. Your entire body is bulking up. You slap your dick against your belly again, and your moan escapes as another breathy bray.
"Shit, man. I owe you one, but you're getting pretty big. Better hurry up."
Your friend bends over the side of the couch. His tail lifts and hangs to the side, revealing the oversized equine pucker nestled between his ass cheeks. You push your muzzle against his rear and give the fleshy knot a lick with your broad tongue. It tastes like a stable.
The human moans. "Yeah, that's it. Lube me up. I'm sure as hell going to need it. What are you waiting for, man?"
His tail slaps you in the face, breaking you from your trance. You rear up and land on his back, forehoves scraping the couch cushions for purchase. Your hips jerk and thrust by reflex. Your first few jabs miss the mark, smearing streaks of precum across your friend's belly. He reaches back, grabs your wildly punching dick and lines it up. On the next thrust, your cockhead slams against something hot and pliant, then pops inside.
Relief.
You bray loud enough to wake the neighbors as your dick slides into his velvety, gripping insides. Your mind is blank. There are only sensations. Pleasure. The thud his hole swallowing your medial ring. That isn't your lifelong friend beneath you. It's nothing but a pleasant sheathe for you to sink your dick in.
Orgasm comes quickly. Your floppy lips peel back from your donkey teeth, and you grunt a guttural "whinny-HAW!" If someone walked in right now, they'd see a donkey fucking your best friend, his own semi-flaccid donkey dick dribbling translucent cum onto the couch.
He collapses with a sigh, pulling mostly free of your dick, though your trumpeted flair remains buried inside.
"There. You enjoy that?'
The gears in your brain are starting back up. You nuzzle his flank and nod.
"Damn, man. We went all the way." He turns and kisses your nose. "Thanks. I know I was pretty pushy. I hope you had fun."
You lick his face, and he chuckles.
"You know, if you want to do this again and you're looking for something a little. . . straighter, there's a farm not too far from here. Maybe we can find some jennies, get you some tail."
You blink. Why would you want jennies? You have all the ass you'll ever need right here.
EPILOGUE:
The hot water of the shower strikes your face, runs down your skin, and you sigh. It feels good to stand on two legs again.
Your friend pulls the curtain aside and sidles under the stream with you.
"Good morning," he says, giving you a peck on the cheek.
"Come on, man," you say, craning your neck away halfheartedly.
"Right, sorry. You're not ready to go full time yet."
"I've gotta think about it some more."
He nods and dips his head under the stream. You steal a glimpse at the shiny-wet dick flopping between his legs, and your heart rate quickens.
"I told you there were side effects." he says, lathering your tail with shampoo. "This is what you get for going full-donkey."
"Yeah," you mutter as the wrinkled sheathe between your legs unfurls. A pink, humans-shaped cockhead as thick as a soda can slips free.
"Wanna do it again?"
(Author's note: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought in the comments below!)