Christmas Mousse
A bit late, but whatever. Hey, when I started writing this, it was before Christmas, and therefore seasonally appropriate! :P
Not done deer-like TFs before, but the pun could not be resisted. =D
Enjoy.
Brandon sighed, watching the snow fall outside his window building up on the streets. It had been falling the last few days over the weekend, and now it was too deep for him to go anywhere. He was stuck, his house mates away for the Christmas season. He dropped the curtain and trudged back to his couch and flopped down onto it, kicking his slippers off across the room. He reached over to the side table and grabbed the remote. The TV flicked on, to some random food-themed reality show Greg, one of his house mates, was fond of watching. Grunting with disgust, he muted the sound and opened the guide. A litany of Christmas movies and pay-per-view channels greeted him. Brandon shifted and started to flip through the channel listings, trying to find something that wouldn't make him feel more depressed or alone. Eventually, all options exhausted, he gave up and closed the guide, resigning himself to watch the silly cooking competition the channel Greg had left on. He stared blankly at it as the TV chefs tried to make some disgusting lump of what was probably meat edible.
Ringing snapped Brandon out of his television fuelled stupor. He felt around the couch, and heard the phone slide down between two cushions. Grunting, he pulled off the other cushion and tossed it aside to retrieve the handset, still warbling loudly. It was Greg.
"Hey, Greg."
"Hi, Brandon?"
"Yeah, everyone else is gone. You still coming home tonight?" he asked, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear. He grabbed the couch cushion with his other hand and placed it back in its place, picking stray popcorn kernels off. He stood and walked into the kitchen.
"Naw, my car's stuck in the snow. I'm at my buddy's place overnight a few hours away until they can clear the streets or something. I uh... Well, I was wondering if you'd looked in the fridge yet."
"No, not eaten anything. Why?"
"There's a... well, remember I was cooking the other night?"
"Doesn't narrow it down much." Brandon said, grinning. He levered the sink cupboard open with a foot and tossed the handful of old popcorn into the garbage. "The night before you took off? You left that big tub of stuff in there. Did you forget to take it with you?"
There was a moment of silence from Greg. "Yeah, as I recall, you screwed with my alarm."
"It might not have been me," he said, his grin growing wider.
"Right," Greg said, his tone one of resignation, "anyway, that stuff isn't going to keep forever, so you might as well have some now. I was going to bring it out tonight, but since that isn't happening anymore, there's no reason you can't enjoy some on your own."
Brandon heard a muted voice on the other end say something to Greg and his house mate replied, the answer similarly muffled.
"Hey Brandon?"
"Yeah?"
"Look, I gotta go. I'm sorry I'm not going to be back tonight. Try not to let the weather get to you, and enjoy the mousse."
"The what?" Brandon asked, an instant after the line went dead. "Dammit." He sighed, and sat the handset down on the counter next to the sink. "Whatever, it's food, I guess."
He cracked open the fridge, the interior light flickering as it always did for a moment before coming on solid. Normally, the fridge was pretty packed, but over the last week the supply had dwindled as the two other guys they shared the house with took off for the holidays. It looked sadly sparse. A half-empty carton of milk, some mysterious leftovers in containers, a couple eggs, and a variety of condiments. A large container sat in the corner of the bottom level, a piece of tape on it labeled "Greg". Brandon pulled it out, shut the fridge and placed the container on the counter. He popped the top off, revealing some brown and white swirled substance within. He scooped a bit of the soft, fluffy stuff up with a finger and stuck it in his mouth. The confection melted in his mouth, the chocolate sweetness spreading over his tongue.
"Holy crap," he muttered. It was the best thing he'd eaten in weeks. He grabbed a spoon and brought the container back with him and parked himself down in front of the TV to keep himself amused while devouring the tasty chocolate fluffy stuff.
Brandon snapped awake to pitch darkness. He sat up, hearing the clatter of a spoon in a plastic container - the empty bowl the dessert had been in. Brandon stood, careful not to step on it, and picked his way across the room towards the window. He pulled the curtains aside, immediately assaulted by a wave of frigid air swirling down from the window. In the dim light outside, he could see the snow continuing to pile up. It had drifted up against the sliding glass door now, almost halfway up his shins. None of the other houses he could see through the snowy gloom had power either - a line must have come down. "Of course." He trudged across the sitting area back towards the kitchen. He crunched his toe against the corner of the wall and cursed, the pain shooting up his leg. He moved slower, waving his hand in front of him to try and catch the edge of the counter. Finding it, he felt his way along to where the fridge was, and then opened the cabinet above. He pulled the flashlight down and switched it on.
The familiar features of the kitchen greeted his eyes in the stark, strangely colourless beam of the flashlight. He took a couple candles down from the cabinet and a book of matches. He took one of the candles into the short hallway outside his bedroom and the bathroom and set it on the short table there. Brandon pulled a match out of the book and struck it. It fizzled and slipped out from his fingers. On instinct, he ducked to grab it, and smacked his head on the desk for his trouble. For an instant, the world spun, and he fell back onto his ass as the hallway wheeled around him. He sat, stunned, for a minute while he waited for his balance to settle down while the pain in his forehead faded to a dull throb, matching the one in his foot.
"Urgh, fuck everything..."
He stood back up, grabbed the matches and struck one again. It blossomed to life this time. The hallway warmed up as the candle began to burn with a small, bright flame. He blew the match out, and checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He could see a small red welt forming where his forehead had made a hasty greeting with the table and grumbled again.
He took the candle into his bedroom and placed it on the table next to his bed. He let himself fall backwards, bouncing gently for a minute before settling into the blankets. He sighed, and closed his eyes.
Brandon woke up to a bright light shining into his face. He opened his eyes to find the lights back on. He pushed himself up and saw the candle still burning, a small pool of hardened wax dribbled out on the table. He leaned over and blew it out. The clock on the table beside the candle was on, having kept the correct time from a battery. It was 1:20 am, and he had left a mess in the other room.
He stood up all the way, pausing a moment as something felt a bit... off. He felt himself flush with heat and shuddered as his skin prickled.
"What was in that stuff?"
He clapped a hand to his stomach, pausing as he felt something unfamiliar. He looked down and was surprised at the sight of his T-shirt stretched taut over his chest. It wasn't nearly this tight earlier. It felt a bit like he was swollen, everything felt big, puffy, and too hot. He stepped toward the door of his room and found himself throwing his arm out to the door frame to steady himself. Brandon stared at his arm, as if it was someone else's. A light dusting of blonde hairs were peppered through his normally dark brown, and the veins on his forearm were standing out. In his groggy state, he could almost see them pulsing to the beating of his heart. It seemed bigger somehow, even his fingers seemed thicker.
Bracing himself against the wall, Brandon moved down the hall towards the kitchen. His heart thudded away in his chest, every couple steps he had to pause to catch his breath and keep from falling over. Something was wrong. The stuff Greg had told him to eat must've been bad after all, and this was some kind of strange food poisoning, or stomach bug. After what seemed like an eternity of shuffling down the hallway, he reached the living room. The container of the mysterious dessert lay on the floor on its side, his spoon shining in the light of the lamp a couple feet away. No longer thinking straight, he made his way across the room to clean up his dishes before someone came to shout at him about it again.
A sharp popping noise gave him pause. He looked down at his left shoulder where the seam of his shirt has just popped, his swelling muscles pushing the fabric beyond the brink. A few wiry, tan hairs poked through the open seam where a spreading tuft of hair was growing thicker. He reached with his other arm to try and pull the seam back together and immediately became aware of the constricting shirt, the tightness of it pulling against his right. He frowned and pushed against the resistance and was rewarded with another sharp noise of the seams bursting on the other side.
Brandon's head swam for a moment in a feeling of power. He'd just popped the seams on his shirt by basically flexing. He started laughing, drunk in the feeling and disorientation. He flexed his chest, watching the muscles under the taut fabric bouncing up and down as he did. He'd never been scrawny, but he hadn't exactly been this... pumped up either. As he flexed, a tear started forming over his chest, another tuft of the same dun hair taking root in the valley between his growing pecs.
The tingling on his skin spread down his abdomen to his crotch. He doubled over as a couple sharp twinges in his groin tore his attention away from his wide, hairy shoulders and thick chest muscles. Brandon fumbled with the buckle on his belt, trying to open it to get his pants off to see what was going on with his junk. It became clear that his jeans were in for the same fate as his shirt - his legs had become huge, thick, corded muscle straining against the stretched denim. His legs tensed and he heard a few fast pops as the seams began to give way.
"My... god... Greg... Hhnnngggn!"
Another twinge in his crotch pressed the urgency of removing his pants. He felt a building heat in his hips and waist followed by the odd feeling of rapid swelling. The buckle of his belt snapped back out of his fingers as the slack he'd gathered pulled away. He felt the waistband begin to tighten, not stretching out as his belt became taut. He tried pulling at his belt buckle with his oddly cumbersome fingers, not able to pull up any slack to undo the buckle. As he strained against the belt, he felt his shirt starting to ride up, seemingly of its own accord. His normally dark tummy hair was almost blonde white now, spread across the hills and valleys of his - since when did he have cut abs? He was totally hot now: thick, veiny forearms, wide, strong shoulders, legs like a titan.
He propped himself up on an elbow, the seams on the side of his shirt buckling and popping. More hair peeked out from under them, a flap exposing his fuzzy navel in the rolling muscles of his abs and obliques. Even through the delirium he was in, Brandon noticed the large outline of his raging semi in his crotch, nestled right up against his belt and nearly running around to his side. He found himself giggling at the sight, and decided it was time to lose the pants. Brandon tucked his fingers into the popped outer seams of his pants and pulled. He reveled in the feeling of his muscles straining with their new strength, the way the muscles in his back pulled against each other, and the way the momentary resistance of the seams gave way to a satisfying rip, tearing the front of his pants nearly off. Tatters of strained fabric hung from the stubborn waistband, hardly covering anything. His massive thighs were covered in a pelt of the odd tan fur, a couple large veins running down the muscle. The end of his oddly red dick peeked out from the leg of his boxers, the fabric pulled tight against his legs even as they rode up near to his crotch.
Grinning, he gently pulled the leg of his boxers to one side, allowing his package to slip out into the cool air. Through the mental haze, he hardly noticed his balls had swelled to nearly double their size and that they were safely nestled into a taut, furry package sporting the same tan fur most of the rest of his body was now covered in. Gingerly wrapping his fingers around his growing length, he noticed a small flap of fuzzy skin, snug against the base and slightly attached to his groin.
"A ... a sheath? I'm a fucking animal," he murmured.
He could feel his meat pulsing to the beat of his heart, each beat sending small thrills of excitement up his rod into the rest of him until his whole body was pulsing with excitement. A small squeeze sent a burst of arousal through him, his cock quickly coming to full mast, nearly the length of his forearm, pulled slightly to the side by the tightness of his boxers on one side. He stared at it, marveling at his length. Gone was the familiar glans, replaced with a tool that had more in common with a horse or... a deer. He was turning into a stag.
As if on queue, two white-hot points of pain and pleasure erupted on his skull above his ears. Not wanting to let go of himself, he shifted his weight up off his left arm so he was in a sitting position. He put a hand to his head at one of the throbbing points and felt a small but growing bump under his skin. A wave of numbness ran down his face from his nose, rolling over his mouth and down his chin as a pressure started building there. He felt his mouth and teeth expanding, his nose pressing out from the rest of his face. The bump under his fingers erupted into something long, hard and velvety. The sudden growth threw his sense of balance off, and he tumbled sideways. His growing headgear bonked into the floor first, wrenching his neck sideways in an unexpected and disorientating way. Dizziness swarmed him for a moment and when it cleared, it seemed to take a lot of the mental fog with it. A sense of panic grew in Brandon's mind. He released his needful meat with a jerk, and held both of his hands up to his head.
"What the fuck?!"
Instead of the graceful, twining antlers of a buck deer, his seemed broader. He pushed himself up to his feet, which seemed as yet unaffected. Wobbling, holding his hands at the end of his expanding headgear to avoid crashing into walls, he sidled through the bathroom door. He stared at the mirror for a minute, jaw hanging open.
He looked ridiculous. His shirt was in tatters, most of the seams popped and large tears through it with his fur hanging out. His nose huge and bulbous where it met his lips, sticking a good few inches out from his face. Not like a real, feral moose, he thought. "Thank god for that," he muttered, watching with an odd fascination as his surprisingly agile lips moved. His eyes were darker, browner than before. His... his antlers stretched out to the side, scoop like, and cumbersome.
It was all he could do to stop himself from laughing. He chuckled, quietly at first before loosing himself to the sheer absurdity of it all. He was standing there, half-moose, with a massive inhuman boner, still half-dressed in torn, worthless clothing. He grasped the remains of his shirt with a hand and tugged. The remaining fabric did not provide much resistance, and the ruined garment pulled off his impressive upper body. Wide, sweeping pectorals tucked into his rippling shoulders, massive triceps curling against his veiny, furry biceps. Obliques swept down from his lats, tucking into his tight abs. Watching his muscles flex and twitch in the mirror was turning him on. He reached down to his belt, slid it up a bit and sucked in what little excess there was around his midsection to try and gather enough slack to pull his stupid belt off once and for all. His thickened, furry fingers somehow managed to knock the peg out from its hole, and he released the leather strap from his waist as it creaked back into shape. Tucking his thumb into his waistband, he pulled the tatters of his jeans off with his boxers, finally freeing his huge dick from the awkward sideways strain it had been under before. He pulled it up against his belly, where it rose almost to the bottom of his pecs. He felt an odd pop in his lower back, and turning slightly in the mirror, he saw a small tuft of a tail, nestled at the base of his sweeping back, just above the round, perky muscles of his ass. Perfect for grabbing, smacking, then stuffing full of huge, juicy cock...
Brandon shuddered, acutely aware of his aching member, and a growing need to be filled in his rump. He grabbed his pole with both hands, unaware of the shifting occurring in his feet. His throbbing cock smooth and velvety under his rough palms, he started involuntarily thrusting forwards, clear, sticky fluid welling up from his cock slit. He managed to keep his balance, even as his heels pulled up off the ground, his darkened toenails growing thick as they merged together into huge, wide hooves that clattered on the floor. An eye twitching, he glanced around the room for something - anything to fill the aching emptiness growing in his ass. He spotted the smooth plastic handle of the plunger, tucked in next to the toilet. Brandon ground his teeth, feeling a bead of pre drooling down the bottom of his length, and with both hands aimed his tip at the plunger. Holding his urethra closed he ran his hand up his now nearly two foot long cock, gobs of pre being forced out the end. It dribbled down onto the plunger, coating it in the slick substance. Brandon reluctantly released a hand from himself and quickly pulled the plunger out from behind the toilet, and slammed it onto the floor where it stuck. Gingerly positioning the end under his needy hole, he squatted abruptly. Another sharp pain as the knob penetrated his asshole, the handle barely filling the aching need. The satisfaction of it made him squirm, a pulse of white-tinted goo spewing out from his dick. Effortlessly he squeezed his gorgeous quads, shuddering as the plunger's length pulled against his insides. Brandon fell forward, his forearms landing on the bathroom counter, hands still clenched around his veiny pole, and almost of their own accord his hips began thrusting back and forth, the stimulation from both ends clouding his mind in a lustful haze.
"Hnuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhhh!"
His voice was bestial, rational thought nearly abandoned. His hips humped mindlessly at his hands, barely making an effort to keep them steady. The plunger's handle flexed and bowed as it was rammed into his ass over and over. His hoof-like feet slipped a little on the floor, changing the angle of the plunger just enough.
The end of it hit his prostate, and Brandon felt a bolt of sexual lightning erupt from his groin. The orgasm lit his mind in white fire, his mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy as his cock spewed thick ribbons of white cum along the mirror. Again his groin clenched flinging more of his spunk out from his bestial dick. Veins standing out on his skin everywhere, his muscles contracting, twitching as the fire in his head ebbed, he suddenly felt extremely weak. He slumped down over the counter completely, his softening cock still spurting the white substance, a twinge of pleasure running from his prostate with each pulse.
His antlers came to rest on the counter beside him, making him unable to turn his head too much without lifting it. He lay still for a minute, trying desperately to catch his breath. His ass was full and his belly felt empty somehow. He'd deal with the mess later. Right now, he was content to bask in the afterglow, his chin nestled in the crook between his bicep and forearm.
"You're sure he'll be okay?"
"Relax, Greg, your friend will be fine."
Greg shifted uneasily in the chair.
"Catch," the other figure said, tossing a garment at Greg.
He caught it, Brandon's scent still on the shirt. "How.... long will it last?"
"As long as you want it to, really. Use the charm when you're ready to change him back. If you don't say something to remind him of it, he won't remember anything."
Greg bit his lip. "And... it'll work for me too?"
A laugh. "This isn't the first time someone has asked me to turn their friend like this. It'll work whenever you want it to. Just give him more of the catalyst in the - wait, what kind of dessert did you say you made?"
"A ... a chocolate mousse."
A moment of silence passed before the other man spoke again. "You are a cheeky bastard, you know. But yeah, make yourself another mousse with the catalyst, and you'll be moosing it up in no time."
Greg's heart skipped a beat. He'd be able to finally be with Brandon, on his terms.
"One last thing, bud. There's your end of the deal to keep up."
Greg looked up, a nervous expression settling on his face.
The sound of a belt buckle and pants hitting the floor. "I've already got a tip for you," the other man said with a smirk in his voice, "I'm sure you know what to do with it."