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To say that Hugh had come to despise Gianna was something of an understatement. It wasn't just because she'd been the first to push back, to rebuff his advances. It wasn't just because she'd called his bluff, of forced herself on him, or even that she'd used that miserable event to blackmail him in to being her petty servant. No, more than everything else, the reason he most despised her was because she'd managed, in one awful moment, to bring back the confusion that Hugh had spent years of concerted effort trying to eliminate.

Hugh, of course, could more than easily remember where such confusion had initially come from. Growing up short, with a cute face and more fur-floof than muscle, he'd had more than his fair share of boys calling him out for being girly, in that way that made it sound like the most shameful, pathetic thing a boy could be. It hadn't helped that he'd been too quick to cry when one of them had told him off or gave him a shove.

He'd grown tired of it, tired of the abuse, of the exhortations that he'd be better off playing boring nonsense with the girls than sports and stuff with the boys. True, he'd been fairly inept when it came to sport, but at the same time, he certainly wasn't going to just give in - if he had gone and hung out with the girls, even if they'd let him, it would have meant admitting that every mean thing the boys said about him was true.

No, he had to snub the girls, and get in the guys' good graces somehow, even if he was kind of secretly jealous of the girls at the same time. After all, no one called them out for crying, or for not wanting to fight or play ball. Heck, they could do whatever they wanted, even dress and act kind of like boys without anything more than an occasionally disapproving stare from one of the more traditional teachers. And yet any time Hugh slipped at being a guy, there was always someone there to humiliate him for it.

For some reason, the more he failed at it, the more he hated failing at it, and the harder he tried to succeed anyway - the more people refused to take him seriously, the more he wanted to make them. The only way to do that, it seemed, was to buy into every part of it: to be a guy to such an extent that no one would question it, would even think to call him girly or weak.

Because he couldn't do a whole lot to make himself look the part, he'd had to double down on his actions and attitude to make up for it. Which meant that anything girly was out of the question: no crying, no whining, no trying on your sister's dress even if you were really curious about what it felt like to wear one. No being cute, or pretty, or submissive, or whatever else might be mistaken for a feminine trait. Nothing but being a boy, and then a man, maybe even someday a man's man, with the attitudes and perspectives that came with it.

And so he'd bought into all of it wholeheartedly: the "man code," and everything that went with it. The notion that all men should be alphas. That women were in fact inferior, conquests to be had and trophies to be won. The virtues of acting aggressively and taking what he wanted. Sure, he couldn't exactly put them all into practice, and his antics had gotten him punched out more than once when he'd come on too strong to girls in high school who'd already had boyfriends, but he'd learned to take the punches, shake it off, and show up the next day sporting his injuries with pride. After all, that's what a real man would do, wasn't it?

True, it didn't exactly win him everything he'd hoped for. Women still shunned him, and he was still too damn short and cute and fluffy. But at the same time, though, while some guys still dismissed him, others actually started to give him a certain, grudging respect - especially the kinds of guys who were fighting and grinding for recognition just like he was. And that, it turned out, was enough, enough that he kept persevering at what he was doing, even if it meant that some people despised him. At last, he was getting some sort of recognition, some sort of respect - and all it would take to maintain it was to keep being that ideal, if distorted, vision of manliness indefinitely.

Which was, unsurprisingly, easier said than done. The thing was, when you got down to innate personality, what Hugh actually possessed didn't exactly jibe well with the ideals he was planning to live by. There was nothing natural to him about dominance, or aggressiveness, taking charge or getting in someone's face. There were times that he'd wonder whether it was the right path, or whether he'd be happier in a role that was more submissive, or at the very least neutral.

And yet, everywhere he looked, there were always men, bigger and tougher and better at living up to that alpha ideal than he was. Always watching, always waiting for him to slip up, like those kids in grade school had. Waiting to show him that he wasn't worthy, that he was exactly the way his face and fur made him out to be: weak, pathetic, cute in the most derisive way. And every time he let one of those doubts, one of those weak thoughts or desires or actions slip through, he was sure they were going to call him on it.

On the rare occasions he did let something slip, for the most part they actually didn't poke fun at him, but by that point the response was so ingrained that even a stray, wavering thought, one that he never gave voice to, was enough to bring back that humiliation. No, he couldn't afford to be confused; there was only one right way to be a man, and for the sake of his own pride there was nothing he could do but keep at it, and cram any dissenting feelings so far down inside him that they would never escape. He had to become, in every way, the persona that he'd constructed, no matter the consequences, building on it more and more until it became indistinguishable from an actual personality. Had to be that man, whether such a notion was inherent or not. And once he reached that point, there was no going back. Whatever other feelings he had inside, true or not, could go hang - he was going to show the world just how much of a man he was, no matter what that ultimately ended up looking like.

Somehow, up until that point, he'd actually managed to more or less pull it off. Sure, he hadn't exactly arrived: macho didn't equal money, and he'd only made it to the third year of an econ degree at a middling state school before it had run out. Still, that had been enough to land him his current job doing finances at the dealership, and while he wasn't exactly rolling in cash, it was more than enough to live on as a bachelor without expensive tastes - besides, as an alpha, surely it would only be a stepping stone to much greater things, right? The same with women - maybe he hadn't had anything in the way of conquests to that point, but he got to share a workplace every day with a woman who was both attractive and not so assertive as to forcefully rebuff his advances. The fact that she hadn't responded favorably, either, hadn't really fazed him, as he had assumed, based on what he thought he knew about women, that as long as he was persistent he would eventually wear her down to the point where she would accept them.

The fact that he really didn't know quite what to do if she had said yes had also failed to concern him; after all, no alpha could possibly fail in a situation like that, not with the confidence he'd been sure he'd had. Certainly, it had been confidence enough to brag to his small circle of similarly-situated friends who were equally frustrated in love, and in their eyes, just the fact that he kept pushing made him more than enough of a man. Not perfect, not even close, but it was still a good, independent life, with at least some genuine respect and admiration from his peers. And there had seemed nowhere to go but up - at least until Gianna had grabbed him that one fateful day.

While she'd seemed out of reach, in the back of his mind, Hugh had acknowledged that Gianna would have been the ultimate conquest. Feisty, spirited, confident, the kind of woman who wouldn't give in easily. She'd been protected, though, by Jonah, who not only was his boss but also the picture of a man's man, and someone that high up in the masculine hierarchy had to be paid a certain level of respect, at least to his face. When he wasn't in the picture, though, Hugh had certainly tried, and while he'd never really gotten anywhere with it, he'd managed to cop a feel often enough. He'd never been quite confident enough to actually get his fingers on her spade, but he'd goosed her butt plenty, and groped her breasts a couple of times, even if they were ever so slightly a stretch to reach. Each one, somehow, felt like a little bit of a triumph, and to his mind, hardly an offense; as some sort of alpha, of course, such contact was obviously the least he was owed.

But then, one week, her personality had grown even more forceful, and by the end of it, she'd dragged him into that stupid room off of the repair bays and... did it to him. Humiliated him, called him out, put him on the spot and right back into the confusion that came with actual intimacy. And he... for all his pressing, for all his bluster, he'd choked, and all his preparation for being a man hadn't been enough. Then, when she'd grabbed him, flipped him over onto that table with the strength a woman shouldn't have had, and jumped him... it had been crazy, absolutely terrifying, but when she was on top, pressing down on him, pinning his arms and making him submit, in that moment... he'd enjoyed it, intensely, vividly, so much so that he'd gone over the edge far more quickly than he'd imagined. As soon as he had, though, he'd consciously realized it: not only had he let that wrong desire come bubbling up out of him, in that horrible moment of weakness he'd given into it entirely. He'd enjoyed being made to submit, and that was something that a real man couldn't ever, ever do.

Maybe, if that had been the end of it, he might have been able to recover, to find some way to spin it, to get back on top. But then she'd gone after him, humiliated him while he was at his weakest, twisting the knife, shoving how pathetic he was down his throat. And then threatening everything that held his life together, making him beg, making him say that she owned him... his pride hadn't just been crushed, but close to obliterated. And once he was down, she wouldn't let him back up.

He'd been deflated, in both body and spirit. Even when he was alone, his fantasies of dominance and power suddenly rang so emphatically hollow that even the most forceful pornography he had couldn't manage to stir a proper erection. All he could think of was how much he'd failed, how he'd given in to the wrong things after completely miffing the right ones, that maybe he deserved to be defeated, humiliated.

Except, as the days went on, the grinding reality of it began to conjure up less passive emotions than defeat and depression. Every day, Gianna treated him with zero respect at all, seeming to assign him purposely petty and meaningless tasks, not because she really needed them done, but just to serve as a constant reminder that she was still dominating him. Despite it all, when other people were around he'd tried to keep up the swagger of his facade, but even he wasn't really believing it. And while maybe he couldn't see it, he just knew that they were all laughing at him behind his back, talking about just how pathetic he really was, even without a word falling from Gianna's mouth. When it got to the point that even Amanda wasn't afraid of staring him down, though...

That, then, was about the point that he actually started getting mad. Gianna wasn't just some bitch who had spurned him, or some asshole who'd failed to acknowledge him, but someone who was actively trying to destroy the core of who he was. She'd turned the world inside-out, made everything wrong, in one fell swoop wrenching away his status as an alpha male and trying to turn him into something that didn't even deserve to be a guy at all. To his mind, she was defying the way the world should work: guys were supposed to be the ones who acted, and women the ones who reacted; guys were supposed to dominate, and women to submit. It was all her fault, and from his perspective, there was only one way to make the world right again. He had to regain his role as a man; which meant that he'd have to put Gianna back into her proper role as a woman. He wasn't sure how, but somehow, he'd have to make her submit.

Even knowing that, though, he hadn't actually been the one to propose it. No, that had come courtesy of Frankie, Matty's third cousin twice removed or something, not a particularly close but relatively long-standing member of his small circle of friends. They, of course, had all been hanging out at Stan's place, pounding beers and grousing about the women who'd pissed them off. Hugh, given what he was going through, had been the loudest of the bunch, rattling off a buzzed litany of all the ways Gianna had wronged him, and how he had to take that power back from her, had to reestablish himself as a man.

"So, why don't you?" Frankie had asked.

"What, are you kiddin' me? She's like a, a head taller'n me or something like that, strong enough to fling me around the room! How'm I supposed to do that?"

"Well, first, don't be drunk - you sound like an idiot when you are. But more to the point, who says it just has to be you? We've already established that this woman is just about evil. I mean, what kind of proper woman does the shit you've been going on about? And really, what kind of friends would we be not to help you turn the tables on a bitch like that? Assuming we all get our turn, of course... that is, once you've gotten all that revenge out of your system."

"Wait, are you seriously saying what I think you're saying?" Matty had interjected, sounding a little nervous. "You're not really proposing we go out and... gang-rape a woman, are you?"

"Nah... won't be rape, not if we do it right. After all, thanks to Hugh's going on for fucking ages about her, we already know that she goes into heat practically every other day, which means there are plenty of opportunities. Probably even on a predictable schedule, if Hugh can remember it. That means all we've gotta do is two things: figure out when her next heat is, and find a way to get her alone in a room with all of us. We just hold her down a little, let the heat take over, and trust me, when the time comes to stick it in, the last thing she's gonna do is protest. Well, maybe a little, just for appearance's sake, but give her a few thrusts and she'll be into it in no time. From then on, it's off to the races - once a woman in heat gets going, we're all gonna tire out long before she does. Nice, easy, simple, you get your revenge, we get to end our collective drought and get us some, and no one gets in trouble. In fact, she might actually thank us once we're done for taking care of that heat for her. I mean, damn... just thinking about this is getting me fired up! And since we all know Hugh's up for it... the rest of you guys in, or what?"

Matty had still looked a little hesitant, but also more than a little horny, so he'd agreed to make it happen, and Stan had said that sure, he'd go for it as well. That had been that: as soon as Hugh figured out that Gianna's next heat would conveniently coincide with Jonah being absent for the afternoon, they'd set it up. Frankie had snuck in with his pickup next to the van in the back lot, loaded the mattress in, and he and the guys had climbed into the van to lie in wait. From there, it was as easy as feeding Gianna some bogus story about hauling some boxes out there for shredding, and at just the right time, relishing in the opportunity to give her a forceful shove right into the arms of his waiting comrades. Thinking she still had him firmly under control, Gianna hadn't suspected anything at all, and the plan had worked perfectly. All it had taken was that perfect, triumphant shove, and now he was standing there in the van bed, looking down at her wriggling form pinned down to the mattress, legs already spread apart to the maximum extent that her snug skirt would allow. Still looking up at him defiantly, of course, but he knew just how soon that would change. From that moment on, he was back on top, and now that he had her pinned down, he was going to put her back in her place in a way that she wouldn't soon forget. This time, he was going to show her exactly which one of them was the man, and it for sure wasn't her.

True, even held down, there was still something intimidating, even malevolent, about the woman looking back up at him. Maybe it was the expression: not fear, not fury, not even a sense of heated arousal, but that same casual contempt that she'd shown him before. Even pinned down like that, even in the face of her complete and utter helplessness, she glared back up with such a defiant sense of superiority that Hugh couldn't help but gulp nervously in response. Somehow, impossibly, she seemed to think that she still had control of her situation, and despite how intimidating that was, it actually managed to bring enough indignation back to stiffen Hugh's spine and override his nerves. No, whatever she though, her time in power was over, and it was his turn to gloat, his turn to take control.

So, in return, he willed himself to put on his most swaggering, confident expression, stepping forward like he actually owned her, standing in front of her prone, powerless form and unzipping his fly in a slow, deliberate motion, one that Gianna could't possibly help but focus on, a little gesture of his own to remind her of the inevitability of her submission - although she'd get to experience that firsthand, soon enough.

"Heh..." he began, gloating down at her trapped, prone form. "You didn't really think I'd let what you did go unanswered, did you? That I'd just roll over and let you have your way forever? Well, too fucking bad, because that time ends now. From now on, it's time for me to be in power again, and it's your fucking turn to be the bitch!"

Gianna still somehow seemed to be oblivious to her position, actually managing to grin smugly back up at him, her personality managing to be unrestrained even though her limbs most certainly were. She was so delusional, in fact, that she actually managed to talk back to him!

"What, this is supposed to be your big revenge? Round up some of your dorky friends up and... what? Like you'd actually have the balls to straight-up rape me..."

Hugh snarled for her to shut up, although as soon as he said it, it seemed like a mistake - from the look in her eyes, she seemed to think that he was already losing his cool, that even now she was getting to him. And maybe her confidence was, a little, but there was no way Hugh was going to show her that. It took a little effort, but he quickly managed to get his composure back into place, trying to use his tone to shake Gianna's confidence with some of his own.

"You know what? You call call it whatever you want, but it's about so much more than just simple revenge. It's about setting the world the right way round again. It's about putting everyone back in their proper places."

"And you're gonna do that by raping me? Yeah, right."

"Dammit, it's not about rape!" Okay, so that composure wasn't exactly holding, but he still managed to fight his emotions back under his control. There was no way he was gonna let her really rattle him; not here, on the cusp of victory, not when he was about to exert his total control over her.

"I mean yeah, sure, you know what's gonna happen - not exactly a mystery there. But it's not gonna be rape, right? I've got a nose. I know you're in heat. And I know exactly what happened when you were in heat the last time. The way you tricked me, turned the tables, made everything all screwed up, made me all screwed up, turned the entire world upside-down. This time, though, it's gonna be different. You're gonna take on the role a woman in heat's supposed to take, even if we have to force you to take it until you actually want it. That's why these guys are here: I'm not taking any chances of you turning the tables again. You're going to lie there and get knotted like a good little bitch, just the way a woman's supposed to. And I'm gonna be on top this time, taking you the way that a man's supposed to. And then everything's going to be right again. Everything's going back to the way it was. I'm going to be a real man again, and you're going to know your place, and respond to me like the good little bitch you are. Or who you're going to be, at any rate, by the time we're done with you..."

That bitch, though, actually had the temerity to laugh back up at him - even there, waiting to be taken by him, she still saw him with nothing but derision! He knew she'd change her tune soon enough, but despite that, the grating tone of her laughter gnawed at him, made him seethe inside - and that was before she started speaking again.

"Heh... you're a real man? Yeah, right. If you were a real man, your knot would already be buried by now. A real man wouldn't be standing up there yapping and posturing, he'd be doing something about it. You're actually proving how pathetic you are with each minute your muzzle continues to flap."

Seriously? Still trying to belittle him, still trying to question his manhood even now? Forget raping her - he was just about ready to haul back with one of his feet, kick her squarely in the crotch, and then see how much she wanted to mouth off after that. True, women probably didn't feel that kind of impact as much as men did, but he sure wanted to do something to wipe that insufferable smirk off her face. Why the fuck didn't she get it? Why couldn't she react to the situation the way a woman was supposed to? Right now, in her position, about the only thing she should be doing was begging him to be gentle when he fucked her, completely accepting what was surely going to happen to her. But no, fucking Gianna had to throw a wrench into even that.

And yet, that wasn't even the worst part. Sure, she could say whatever she wanted, but that wouldn't get her out of her situation, or at least it shouldn't have. But his friends were all right there, holding her down, listening to every word of her disparagements - and in that moment, he couldn't help but wonder what they were thinking, whether they were buying any of it... and whether they were starting to think those bad things, those disrespectful things that Hugh had tried so hard to avoid: that he was as weak and as pathetic as he looked.

Horribly enough, Frankie actually looked over, and the irked expression on his face only aggravated Hugh's fears.

"Yeah, seriously, dude. She wronged you; we get it. We've heard you go on about it plenty. Good lord, we've fucking heard it, every single goddamn night since it happened. And seriously, you know we're not here to listen to your ego trip. The final showdown of the Maximum Poker League season's on in a couple of hours, and you know I'm not gonna miss seeing that live. I'm not missing my turn either, though, so stop yapping already."

Dammit! The last thing he needed was Frankie turning on him in the middle of this, not when he was so close! The problem was, though, that he wasn't nearly as close enough as he'd have liked. Gianna's stupid, withering words had punctured what arousal he'd been mustering along with his rage, and at the moment his cock, still balky after what Gianna had done earlier, wasn't exactly playing along. Even the scent of her heat, unmistakable in the confined space, barely seemed to be coaxing it forward at all. With his confidence rattled, though, it seemed like it was taking all of his concentration just to maintain it, without a lot left over for getting aroused. He tried to think ahead, tried to anticipate how delicious it would feel to actually be on top of her, relentlessly fucking her spade as he dominated every part of her, but the fantasy just wasn't holding - his mind, unbidden, kept interspersing parts of their earlier encounter until the fantasy shattered under the harsh light of their previous history.

Frankie, though, didn't seem to care either way, impatient as he was, and certainly wasn't shy about taking action - while he'd only been supposed to hold Gianna in place while Hugh took his time with her, now he was leaning forward, shoving her skirt up and actually using a knife to rip apart the crotch of her panties. As they fell away, though, what they revealed did the opposite of stirring confidence in him. Suddenly, there it was again, staring him in the face: the image of Gianna's spade, flared out in a display of crimson absurdity, as intimidating and alien now as it had been before. Seeing it brought back memories of the last time in an instant, even more vivid and crushing, and whatever nascent arousal he'd managed to maintain was completely blown away. The problem was, though, that was exactly the moment he actually needed it, what with Frankie staring back up at him, the ski mask doing little to conceal the impatience in his eyes.

"See? Definitely ready. We agreed that you got first dibs, for your so-called revenge and all, but I'm not waiting forever here. You wanted her, you got her, so take your turn and let the rest of us get at it."

"J-jeez, fr-"

"Hey, no names! You wanted her to see your face, but the rest of us, we only agreed to do this because hey, it'd be fun, but without anything coming down on our heads over it!"

"Yeah, I fucking know what I promised! Just... gimme a minute, okay?"

All right - whatever he was feeling, it was time to get serious. True, if it had just been the two of them alone in the back of the van, he'd have been just about at the point where his confidence would have collapse, and he'd probably have turned and ran as the situation began to break down. But he couldn't do that - not here, not in front of his friends, not in front of other men with whom he'd lose face, lose his reputation as a real man, if he caved. No, now was the time to be bold, to double down on all of it. He undid his pants, letting them fall and kicking them over to the side, hoping that his manliness would be more apparent - and kicking himself for wearing just a pair of loose boxer shorts which didn't show off much of his bulge at all, little of it though there was at that moment.

Well, nothing about that particular problem that a little manual stimulation wouldn't solve, right? Plus, stroking himself in front of Gianna's trapped form had to be intimidating, didn't it? At least he hoped it did, because his continued nerves meant that his idle stroking wasn't exactly creating a particularly immediate response.

The thing was, though, that it was beginning to seem apparent that he didn't exactly have an unlimited time to get himself in working order. Frankie was already scoffing at his troubling lack of an erection, in no uncertain terms, and his other friends were looking more and more restless. There was no question that he had to get on top of her and kick this off, and soon, or they weren't going to respect him no matter what.

Giving up on any additional pretense, he yanked down the boxers as well, doing everything he could to will himself hard, but his cock wasn't having any of it: just hanging there, looking as pathetic as he was beginning to feel inside. Well, he was far too into it to feel any shame about his body, at least, so he wrapped his fist around his shaft and started going to town on it as hard as he could, trying to push the most vivid possible fantasies through his mind, fantasies of what he was going to do to her, how he was going to put her in her place, own her in ways even she couldn't imagine, closing his eyes, hiding Gianna's actual terrifying spade from view, doing what he could to make it happen. And yet, for all his efforts, he could barely feel any arousal coming from it, and when he opened his eyes to look down at a knot that hadn't even begun to properly swell, his nerves began to turn into panic - well, that and an absolute, raging fury at the mess Gianna's assault had left him in.

He growled down at her, teeth bared, eyes flashing hatred.

"This is you! I don't know what you did to me, how you did it, but this is all you! This is all your fault! I never had problems, never didn't feel confident, until I had to deal with you! Oh, but I'll get it back, though. I'll definitely get it back. Because when the three of them get through with you, when I've watched them put you in your place, fuck you so hard that all you can do is moan and give in like the little bitch you are, then I'll be ready. You know I'll be ready."

"Yeah, right. It's gonna take a lot more than three of your dorky friends to make me into a bigger bitch than the one you are."

That comment, for Hugh, was just about the last straw. He really was about to kick her - heck, he was just about ready to ball up his hand into a fist and ram it straight into her spade, to see if that would shut her the fuck up! As he was about to act, though, the overhead light seemed to flicker for a moment - and when it steadied again, to his consternation, the four of them were no longer alone in the van.

He froze for a moment, blinking, as he couldn't quite believe what was in front of his eyes. In the corner of the van, just a little bit behind where Stan was pinning her arms, there was a... thing, for lack of a better word. For all the world, it looked like a person-sized burlap sack, lumpy like it was filled with potatoes or something, and topped with a strange sort of cowl. From within the sack, though, something was rippling, and a moment later, a white arm emerged from its folds. The arm, though, was just fundamentally wrong, and a moment later Hugh realized why: it consisted of nothing but bones, disjointed parts floating through the air with neither fur nor muscle to connect them.

When the hand floated up to the cowl, removing it, the strangeness only increased: it retracted to reveal nothing more than a misshapen pyramid pile of bleached-white bones, with bits of something dark and sinister shifting and glinting in the few tiny spaces between them. Whatever the fuck it was, it was just truly, fundamentally wrong, and if it was something that could just appear out of nowhere...

Hugh, honestly, didn't even know how to react. Of all the ways the situation in the van could possibly have gone, this one was so far out there that surreal didn't even begin to describe it.

"W-w-what the f-f-fuck are you?" he said, vaguely in its direction, and to his horror, it actually responded - not with proper words, but with a horrid, staccato clatter of bones cascading over each other, the sharp awfulness of it somehow resolving into halted words delivered in a deadened, chilling monotone.

"h-ugh. thought more promising. anticipated delicious reversal. submission to domination. foiled machinations and forced submission of female in parTicular. however, bored. disappointed. get hard. penetrate spade. force knot in and take back control."

"I, I..."

"not talk. get hard. take back control. take back masCulinity. take by force."

That, somehow, was enough to shake him out of his rattled state - whatever the fuck that thing was, he didn't need one more voice questioning how much of a man he was.

"Hey, what do you think I'm trying to do, here? It's not my fault my stupid body isn't responding the way it's supposed to!"

"interesting words, those. thought, uttered by one on bed below, frequently enough. hmmm. wonder if lesson needed on tRue consequences of body not perforMing as intended or desired..."

"W-what, you're gonna make it so I can't get hard or something? Guess what, genius, that's already kinda where I am, isn't it? A-and what the fuck is some screwed-up bucket of bones gonna do about it? How'd you get in here, anyway? I don't know what the fuck you are, but I..." He trailed off as a bony arm swung in from the periphery of Gianna's view, clearly pointing in Hugh's direction.

"took intriguing situation, perFormed poorly, made boring. no passion. no excitement. not what was desired. so, as usual, have to create new intrigue. create new sceNario. not most original one, true. still, more than curious to see reAction of comrades, test limits of friendship and respect. yes, curious indeed. not as planned, still interesting enough. plus. even more curious to see limits of... comMiseration. enough talk, though. time for action, consequences."

The damn thing had swung its awful, bony arm to point at him, and Hugh was about ready to hurl more invective at it in response, but the tip of its bony finger flashed - and suddenly the entire world was washed out in a strange, buzzing crimson, obscuring his vision in a haze and seeming to dull all his other senses. There was the faintest sensation within him, like his fur, skin, and everything inside it was crawling somehow, but nothing else seemed to register. Even his desire to move, to attack or to flee, seemed all but gone, his limbs moving in extremely slow motion, if they were even moving at all. Hugh wasn't even sure he was still in the van any more, as he couldn't hear his friends, couldn't smell Gianna's heat - in fact, beyond the crawling sensation, the only thing he could feel was a sense of cold, one that passed through his fur like it wasn't even there and chilled him with a strange sense of horror to his very core...

But then, just like that, it was suddenly over, the terrifying feelings extinguishing in an instant, and he looked around to find himself right back there in the van. It seemed, from that glance, that nothing had changed - his friends were still there, Gianna was still pinned, and that weird-ass thing was still crouched in the corner. The only thing that seemed a little strange was that the perspective was inexplicably off, slightly but noticeable enough.

"Hey, what the hell was that! Everything went blank, and..." and... what the fuck was that sound reverberating in his ears? It sounded almost like his voice, almost the same inflections, but the pitch was completely fucked up, like he'd been breathing helium or something.

"What the hell's wrong with my voice?" He cleared his throat, but when he tried to speak again, the weird sounds persisted. "It still sounds wrong, but... oh man, what am I doing? Whatever the fuck you think you are, you weird, bony fuck, I'm not gonna let even you stop me!"

He wasn't sure, but he swore the thing laughed somehow in response. Whatever - he'd show it that he wasn't going to be intimidated! The whole situation was beyond absurd, now, but there was no going back - he was going to get things back to the way they were supposed to be, going to take Gianna and be a real fucking man again, even if he had to strangle his own cock into rigid submission first.

He reached down, determined to use whatever death-grip it took. The problem was, to his consternation, it somehow wasn't wear it was supposed to be. What, had it managed to get so un-erect it had actually dropped down between his legs somehow? If it had, though, he was sure he'd have felt it against his scrotum, but there was no sense of it - for that matter, even more confusingly, he couldn't really feel that either. He fumbled around for a moment longer, even as other parts of him started to feel... weird, wrong, in some unclear way. His hand definitely wasn't making contact with what it was supposed to, though, and what his fingers did end up touching was just... weird, smooth and fleshy and totally the wrong shape.

"What the hell? Where the fuck is my-" Hugh began, but trailed off as soon as he looked down to see what was going on. The problem was, looking down was no longer a straight shot down his flat chest and abdomen to what should obviously have been there. Instead, his chest was actually protruding forward, two hemispheres swelling out against the fabric of his shirt, and in between them, the slightly lighter strip of fur on his abdomen trailed down into... nothing at all. No cock, no balls, just the dark edge of something incomprehensible.

"What... what the fuck is going on?"

To Hugh, it made no sense - and perhaps that was a rational conclusion, since as far as he'd known before, such a thing was completely impossible, at least short of several incredibly complicated surgeries. And yet, the fact that it was impossible didn't explain the protrusions bulging from his chest, each one culminating in the clear and unmistakable outline of a nipple against his shirt - and not just the little dimple that usually hid beneath his fur, but something several times larger, its tapered shape making it clear that it was unmistakably the female variety.

And as for his cock... well, it was gone, all the way gone, and as terrifying as it was, he couldn't stop his fingers from going back down to confirm what was there in its place. They pressed in lightly against the puffy flesh, finding each of the pads in turn: one, two, three, ringed together in a vaguely triangular pattern that left little doubt as to its nature. Yet that, somehow, wasn't even the strangest part - standing there, legs pressed together, there was still an empty space for his fingers to navigate, like somehow even more of him had mysteriously gone missing. It was all so bizarre, so impossible, but it was hard to deny what all his senses were telling him: that somehow, unbelievably or not, he was suddenly and thoroughly female.

Needless to say, that realization was something that Hugh's psyche didn't handle particularly well. After all, decades of self-brainwashing in the service of undeniable manhood had left him with a view of women as not only some inscrutable other, practically another species, but also as something vastly inferior, little more than the object and submissive recipient of male affection and sexual aggression. The more he'd committed to being a man, the less esteem he'd given to women, and the more he'd codified those schoolyard rules: the worst thing a man could be was female, weak and fragile and vulnerable. He'd never actually considered it, because the idea of being transformed into a woman was so ridiculous, but if it had, he'd have probably seen it as not just an ignominious fate, but as a fundamental failure, a loss and betrayal of everything he'd strived for. To suddenly come face to face with it, to have become a female with all the repercussions that would wrack on his psyche, was too much for him to handle, not in that moment.

The most natural initial reaction from him, then, was one of denial. What was happening was far to crazy to occur in real life, so... he had to be dreaming, right? Of course - it all made sense, if he looked at it that way. After all, that bizarre sack of bones couldn't possibly exist, and was surely nothing more than the stuff of nightmares. The same with his ridiculous form - it couldn't possibly be true, just some strange dreaming juxtaposition, and everything would be back to the way it was once he woke up. Heck, it was probably just some annoying subconscious way of telling him he probably shouldn't wake up tomorrow and go rape Gianna or something, although screw that - a bullshit dream like this would only strengthen his resolve, if anything.

Fine, then, he'd just have to will himself to wake up. Except... he closed his eyes, opened them again, screwed them shut while trying to concentrate, telling himself to wake up, just wake the fuck up already. When he opened his eyes, though, everything was still there: his shirt, the breasts poking out of it, the metal floor of the van, one of his friends whining about something that he couldn't be bothered to care about because of his own fucked-up situation. Still, it could be a dream, couldn't it? Except... he could still smell things, like Gianna's unmistakable heat, and you couldn't smell stuff in dreams, right? And when he reached over to pinch his arm, an arm that seemed decidedly less muscular than it had been, he could clearly feel the pain. Which meant, to his horror, that it wasn't actually a dream. But if it wasn't, how the fuck could it possibly be real?

No... it had to be something else, some kind of crazy illusion or something some elaborate prank generated by his screwball friends. And yet, it wasn't VR or anything - he definitely wasn't wearing the bulky equipment that required. And if it was some other illusion, a hologram or something, he'd still be able to feel his damn cock, even if he couldn't see it, and another effort showed that it definitely wasn't there, not found by his fingers, and he couldn't even feel it on its own, like he would if it were actually there. Was it... was that really his reality, then? Did that sack of bones truly have the power to pull off something like that? Unless somehow his sensations really were being tricked by something else - if his friends had slipped him something, it could still be a hallucination, some sort of drug trip. But even with that, he'd have thought his body would still feel fundamentally the same underneath it all. The more he concentrated on it, though, the more things felt wrong, felt not male at all: the breasts that actually swayed against his chest when he moved it, the sensation that his legs were somehow attached at slightly different angles and could feel his weight resting on them differently, the weird, creeping sensation that somehow he had different guts churning in his belly, maybe even more than there ought to have been. Everything really was just kind of wrong, in a way that even drugs shouldn't have been able to do - not to feel things that had never been there in the first place.

What the fuck truly was going on? Hugh glanced back up, the realization creeping in that maybe it wasn't a dream, or drugs, or some crazy setup - that maybe, somehow, he actually had been turned female. Sure enough, nothing else looked distorted: there was the interior of the van, just lit well enough to make things out clearly, even if they all had a yellow cast to them from the inadequate overhead light. Gianna was still there lying on the mattress, hands pinned behind her head, angry red spade still flaring out between her legs. The weird sack of bones just sitting there in the far corner, Matty huddled and whimpering in the opposite corner off to the side, and Frankie...

Frankie was just standing there in front of the mattress, staring right at Hugh, an uncomfortably predatory grin on his face. Not only that, his ski mask was gone - as was any shred of clothing below his waist. The boneheap, however, hadn't done any similar manipulations to him: no, his cock was right where it was supposed to be, jutting out thick and red, knot fully swelled and tip seeming to point unwavering at Hugh's belly, its flesh vividly crimson and stretched tight as a drum. Hugh's gaze seemed to fixate on it for a moment, as he felt simultaneous bursts of panic, jealousy, and... something else he couldn't quite understand. He hadn't exactly made a habit of looking at other guys' junk for obvious reasons, and sure it was bigger than his own had been, but it seemed far too huge...

...and as Frankie took a step forward, his grin only increasing, Hugh realized why. Before, that sort of size might have been used for bragging, but it was effectively academic - he'd never actually have to do anything with it. Except that now there was a spade between his legs, a spade that that was feeling more and more weird every time his eyes glanced down at Frankie's shaft, although he managed another stride closer before Hugh's confused mind managed to put the disparate concepts together. It was clear enough what they were all in the van for, and if Hugh had a spade now, there was no question what Frankie's designs for it were.

The panic that spiked through Hugh's chest was the most powerful he'd ever felt, as the realization finally settled in: contrary to every belief and possibility, she was now a woman, and Frankie was only a few steps away from having his rigid and very ready shaft in the proximity of the spade that now sat vulnerably between her legs. And once that happened...

No, no, no! What the hell was Frankie thinking, anyway! He was supposed to be Hugh's friend, and in any case, it wasn't exactly like he was the most attractive thing in the van at the moment!

"H-hey, what the hell are you thinking?" Hugh barked at him, the indignation not really hiding the panic, or the disturbingly high timbre of his voice. "There's a chick in heat right fucking there!"

"Yeah, I guess," Frankie replied, not even bothering to glance down at her, all of his attention seeming entirely focused on Hugh. "But you see, that chick over there didn't make me wait because of her drama. Didn't make me sit around getting blue-balled. No, you're the one who had to sit there and grandstand, had to make that freaky thing show up. You're the one who got me frustrated, and now, thanks to this way-beyond-fubar situation, you're now someone who I can relieve that frustration with. Plus, you're still frustrated too, even if you don't know it - one glance between your legs is enough to let any guy know that. So, what's gonna happen between us, it sure seems like a win-win to me."

"What! Are you out of your mind? I'm not-"

Oh, no - was that what all of those weird feelings down there had signified? Not just nerves, but that true strangeness, not quite a feeling of warmth, almost a sensation of something... flowing inside, accompanied by a slight tickling, cooling sensation on those weird pads that made up her spade, not too noticeable amidst everything else that was going on, but suddenly things he could feel all to clearly. How, though? How could he possibly be getting aroused in a situation like that, aroused at the sight of a guy's dick? Unless... what if all his attempts at arousal had somehow carried over to being female? And now they were just as visible, maybe even more so, but in exactly the opposite way, signifying exactly the opposite of what he felt. Did it even count as arousal? Because if it did, it just felt... wrong, not like anything was erect or powerful, just that weird combination of nonsensical feelings. And they weren't even in the right place, not just in that stupid spade, but further inside somehow, stretching along the length of her hips and up into the lower part of her belly. Which, of course, caused the final piece of the puzzle to settle terrifyingly into Hugh's mind. The spade, the most obvious part, was just the entrance, tied to all the weird feelings inside, and it was that unfathomable part that was going to have Frankie's cock jammed up inside it. No... he couldn't actually be doing that to him, could he? Invading him just like that? And yet, there he was, getting closer and closer...

"T-that doesn't even matter! I'm your friend! You can't want to, to do something like t-that..." From the tone of Hugh's voice though, even he didn't believe that. For that matter... could he even call himself "he" anymore? He couldn't just... admit to being female, couldn't stand the notion, but however he perceived himself, the fact of the matter was that he had a spade, now, and someone who was very intent on seeing what it could do.

Hugh involuntarily stepped back, feeling the metal of the van's door pressing against his rear, one that seemed to extend out further than it had before. For a moment, his panicked mind had a thought to pull the door open, and escape - but all he was wearing was that stupid dress shirt, now, and the rest of his clothes were now behind where Frankie was advancing from. In his panic he almost reached for it anyway, but started when he realized how close Frankie actually was - reaching for it would put him squarely in his grasp. If he'd been thinking more clearly, maybe he would have gone for it anyway, but instead he ended up simply acting on terrified instinct, shrinking away and sidling along the side of the van with his back up against it. He made it to the corner, even, before his foot caught on something and he stumbled on something. Looking down, though, he realized that something was Matty, looking straight up between Hugh's legs as he tried to regain his footing. No, not him too! He jammed a hand down between his legs, trying to cover up the wet, offending spade, even as he tried to sidle along faster, tried to somehow get past Frankie in that confined space, even as he kept coming...

"Um... a-are we okay with this? Is this actually happening?"

Hugh's head swiveled over - somehow, he'd forgotten about Stan, but there he was, still holding Gianna in place, crouched there against the wall separating the bed of the van from the front compartment. He, too, was looking Hugh over, without the terrifying confidence of Frankie, but looking all the same. How the hell was he supposed to get past him?

He froze for a moment, trying to figure out what to do, how to escape - and he had to escape, because there was no other way to deal with everything that was happening, no time to stop, or think, or work through what he was now and how to deal with it. He had to get away, get to somewhere safe, get away from all this craziness, but Frankie was suddenly there, in front of him, blocking out his field of view, and when he tried to shrink back, tried to sidle away even though there was nowhere else to go, Frankie's hand slammed into the van's wall off to his side, the entire thing sounding with a metallic reverberation. His hand didn't go anywhere, though, and all of a sudden Frankie's masculine, brown-furred arm was blocking that only potential avenue of escape.

No, the only place to go was back, shrinking away as much as she could, feeling the cold metal of the van's wall as her fur pressed flat against it. Wait... she? No, no, no! She couldn't think like that, not like that, not that she was some weak, contemptible woman... and yet, standing there, cowering, shrinking back from Frankie's masculine presence as something unequivocally female spread weird, wet warmth between her hips, all of a sudden it seemed flatly impossible to think of herself at all as male. Not when she could all but feel him as he leaned in, sticking his muzzle in against her shirt, in between her breasts, sniffing at her like she was a... a bitch in heat!

"Mmm... damn, I don't know how, but you even smell as cute as you look. Heh... you know, that's the thing that actually bothered me about you, for so long. How you looked all cute and soft, kinda just right. How I'd actually get kinda turned on just looking at you. But you just had to be a guy, had to act like a man's man, had to be so damn confusing about it. Had to kindle those feelings in me that I couldn't act on, because I ain't gay, ain't gonna be with someone who can't take a knot once in a while. All those times lying in bed, feeling all conflicted, wishing that I didn't have to be, wishing that you were the woman that you halfway looked like so I could feel how I wanted and wouldn't have to be confused any more. And now, somehow, here we are, and all of a sudden there really is no more confusion. You're a woman, the way I imagined it, the way you're supposed to be, and now we can be together, just like that, the way we're supposed to. Heh... now that I think about it, kind of like what you said earlier, right?"

What the fuck? As bad as it had seemed, somehow his words had managed to make the situation far worse. Just like that, she was thinking back, thinking across the entire span of their relationship, looking for clues: weird looks, unusual behavior, stalking, whatever else there might have been. Like that time he'd blundered drunk into Hugh's bathroom while he'd been taking a shower - harmless at the time, of course, because it was clear that Frankie had been straight, and so the sight of Hugh would have done nothing for him. Except, somehow, it had, and now every weird thing about him, every thing that Hugh had dismissed as irrelevant, now mattered more than ever. Only, now that she could see that it mattered, it was too fucking late. Dammit! None of this was supposed to happen, none of it would be happening if she was still a guy!

"You're n-nuts!" Hugh stammered, her voice truly sounding desperate now, that spark of indignation barely there. "I- I thought you were my friend!"

"Yeah, I'm your friend. Have been since we met. Maybe not for the reasons you thought, or even that I thought, but we're still friends, of course. It's just that now, we're gonna be friends with benefits."

Hugh stared back in disbelief at Frankie's casual candor. How the fuck was he just... okay with this? Whatever weird fantasies he might have had, what kind of guy saw one of his buddies impossibly transformed in front of his very eyes, and had his first thought be that it would be a good idea to ignore everything else and have sex with her? Heat had a way of doing that, sure, but it wasn't even her heat!

"T-that's insane! Are you even listening to yourself? Dammit, stop looking at me like that! S-so what if I look like this? The reason we're here is because of Gianna! We're here for my fucking revenge, to put her in her place! S-so stop focusing on me and go do her instead!"

Frankie didn't bother to heed her demand, though, still standing in front of her, blocking her path, looking down at her as he shook his head slightly, keeping that stupid, careless, lecherous grin on his face.

"Heh... maybe you're here for revenge or whatever, but the rest of us, we couldn't care less about it. The only reason we're here is because you promised to bring some chick for us to do it with. Like I said from the start, the whole point of being here was for all of us to get some. And yeah, sure, it's been a while, so I was willing to wait, take my one turn out of four. The way I see it, though, this situation's really the same, just a little improved, right? We all still get some, even you, but this way, only one of us at a time's gotta wait, and you don't even have to wait between turns at all..."

"Except one of the women you're talking about i-is me! I, I don't want to have sex, not like a woman, not with things going inside me!"

"Eh, sex is sex, right? I mean, yeah, I sure wouldn't wanna be in your shoes, but I figure it's gotta feel good either way, somehow. I mean, maybe you're not gonna get off the way you thought you were when this all started, but I figure you'll get off somehow, seeing as how that's one part of sex I've never heard canine chicks complaining about, once they get into it at least. Heck, given what we all saw before, it's probably easier for you now anyway - after all, now you don't have to worry about getting it up first." Hugh saw Frankie's other hand move out of the corner of her eye, and for a moment unconsciously followed his gaze - down to his disturbingly erect member, now only a matter of inches away, and thanks to her even more diminutive form pointing vaguely at a spot on her lower chest. "See? That's already taken care of..."

"What, seriously?" Seeing his cock in that close, knowing what it meant, sent another wave of panic surging through her chest, making her feel more trapped, more desperate, even while at the same time, another wave of something wet seemed to suddenly surge out of nowhere, flowing down against the surface of that vague, alien thing inside her. "You know there's no way I could possibly want that, you cruel, sick son of a... hey! What the fuck are you doing?"

Frankie's arm was no longer blocking her path, but that was only because both of his hands were now grasping at her waist, his grip feeling stronger than she had thought possible. Then again, though, this time he wasn't just shaking Hugh's hand, but grasping for purchase. She saw the muscles on his arms bulge for a moment beneath his fur - and then, with seemingly little effort or resistance at all, she was rising up into the air, feeling the metal wall of the van rubbing her fur in the wrong direction as she slid along it.

It was terrifying, being pulled directly up off her feet like that, just hanging there in the air with no footing, no purchase. Her panic took over, leaving her flailing, her heart pounding in her chest, not sure what to do, or if there was anything she could do in that precarious position.

At the same time as she was going up, though, Frankie was moving in, and suddenly he was just there, his chest pushing in, sandwiching her own between him and the wall of the van with enough force to hold her in place against gravity as his hands momentarily released. She was squashed enough that all she could do was manage a couple of gasping breaths, feeling the truly surreal sensation of her newfound breasts being pressed halfway flat back against her own chest.

Even her muzzle was shoved in against his shoulder, her surprised cry muffled against the fabric of his shirt, as the aggressive return of his hands was enough to shock her away from even that terrifying pressure. They were ostensibly supporting her, but were no longer around her waist - instead, each one was wrapped around one of her buttocks, fingers pressed through her fur and digging in against flesh that suddenly had much more give to it than it had before. His grip was intense, not to the point of pain but shocking enough, especially given the way she could feel his grasp pulling them subtly to either side, and the things between them feeling almost like they were somehow spreading a little in response.

The pressure on her chest, at least, was relieved as his grasp solidified, but he was still against her, and the feeling of him holding her there, of him being there, sent her panic soaring to new heights. She tried to push him away, but her flailing arms couldn't find purchase; tried to close her legs but his own stupid hips were in the way, already in close, far too close, to hers...

"Ah! Let me go! Seriously, Frankie, this isn't funny anymore! Just let me down, please let me down, just don't- nngh!"

She cringed, her eyes going wide, as she felt it: a point of hot, hard flesh suddenly poking against the lower pad of her spade with a sudden, jolting force. She felt the pad give somehow, sort of buckling in along one of its edges, the point skittering along until it fell away from the top of the pad's surface. As soon as it did, though, she could suddenly feel it against not just one pad, but all three simultaneously, and more than just a point: solid flesh pressing along each pad's inner edge, shoving them apart from each other, and each one just giving in like the first one had, stretching out to nudge at the fur on her thighs, enough for the tip to nudge against something else, something actually inside her, something that seemed to actually stretch more readily than her spade, even as it registered the intrusive thing's heat more vividly. And just like that, Frankie was in - not all the way, but she could feel him shoving everything open, and knew that his intrusion could only get worse.

"No! Don't touch me down there! N-not with, with that!" She flailed at him, tried to somehow shrink her hips back, to squirm herself away from the thing penetrating a part that she shouldn't have even had in the first place, but Frankie's grasp on that part of her held her far too much in place, and his shaft easily followed whatever small moves she was able to make, keeping it wedged firmly between the pads of that stupid spade, hovering on the verge of plunging into whatever was beyond it. She tried desperately to... to close it back up somehow, to find some muscle down there that she could clench to push it back or keep it out, but she didn't even know where to begin. It didn't feel like there was even anything down there, at least not anything that Hugh could consciously control, the spade just spreading under pressure with no obvious way to make it do the opposite.

"Damn, your spade feels good..." Frankie's voice emanated from just above her, so close that she could feel his hot breath rustling her headfur as he spoke in a voice aggressively tinged with arousal. "Just the way I imagined, all warm, and wet, and so fuckin' tight. I haven't even pushed in at all, just let the tip get in there, and already you're hugging it. Oh man, I can't wait to feel you wrapped around me. I just know we're gonna fit together oh so perfectly..."

"You crazy fuckface! Get the hell off of me!" Even though the inevitability of what was happening was just about to come crashing down on her psyche, she still tried to do... something, flailing at him with arms that no longer seemed to have a commanding force behind them, and certainly no fighting skills whatsoever to back them up. Certainly, it wasn't enough to dissuade Frankie, not when he was that close - the bastard even started nuzzling at her head, licking at her ear, like he thought it was actually an act of love or something! She kept flailing, though, her panic causing her to fight back against all reason or hope for success, even as he kept talking, kept filling her head with the kind of words she didn't want to hear: not there, not on the verge of him raping her!

"You know that's not gonna happen. Not when we're so close. After all, you know the rule, don't you? Heck, it was one you made up when we were on the prowl one night, when you were trying to show off how tough you were, how much women were gonna be your bitches. You remember how it goes... how no doesn't count once your tip touches her spade, and once it does, it doesn't pull away until you're both good and satisfied. Heh... or until I am, at least that's the way I usually say it. Considering it's you, though, I'm gonna make extra sure that you enjoy it. Thing is, while I got no idea how this actually works, I kinda want you to stay this way, so I'm gonna show you exactly how good a woman can be made to feel..."

"W-what? No! I don't want to feel that way! Dammit, I'm supposed to be a guy, this isn't supposed to-"

Whatever else Hugh had been trying to say quickly dissolved into a shocked, almost ear-splitting shriek, as Frankie's cock was done just sort of nudging at her. In fact, for a moment it actually felt like it had been pulling back a little, but then it shoved forward with a force that didn't just nudge the pads of her spade aside, but slammed in against their inner edges and shoved them apart, not just somewhat but to what felt like their limit - and they weren't just spread for a moment, but stayed that way, stretched out around the girth of his shaft, its heat stroking every bit of their inner edge as more and more of it slid past them.

The rest of it actually took a moment longer for her to register, before it suddenly hit her all at once. That other vaguely female part of her, the wavering line of heat that had snaked up between her hips into the lower part of her belly, was suddenly well-defined, but in the worst way possible: it resolved into something soft and stretchy and yielding, but only because all of a sudden, every single part of it was exhibiting those traits, stretched completely taut around the thick shaft, feeling every contour of it as it was forcibly molded around its shape. There hadn't been any sort of gradual progression to it, though, no real sense of it going in - all of a sudden, it was just there, and that part inside her had gone from vaguely noticeable to intensely stretched and completely full.

It was a completely alien sensation to Hugh, one that she couldn't even properly parse, the notion of something just being there inside her, especially when that inside thing didn't correspond with anything that made sense. Not that Hugh had ever really understood what went on inside women, but he'd always assumed that it was just like the opposite, like a cock flipped inside-out, and would have the same sorts of feelings, just arranged in a different way. Not the way that things felt right now, not so diffuse and stretchy and utterly helpless, not even able to do anything to the cock it were stretched around, other than to be stretched by it, to absorb the warmth pressing so tightly against its surface and to respond with a flash of warmth of its own, feeling almost as though she were blushing inside.

There were at least a dozen different sensations to take in, but they all seemed to slam into her simultaneously, accompanied by the reverberating shock as the follow-through from his thrust brought the rest of his body crashing against hers. There was a solid thud between her legs as her spade, already stretched, had the thick edge of Frankie's knot hammered home against its pads, the rest of his hips slamming in close and hard against her pelvis, splaying her thighs open further to either side. It was powerful enough that she could feel her body thump back against the van's wall, enough that her breasts rocked up against where Frankie's chest was pressing in before falling back down, nipples rubbing against the fabric of her shirt with uncomfortable intensity.

It was a hammerblow of sensations coursing through her spine, flashing through her mind in ways she hadn't thought possible, enough that for a few seconds she just froze, overwhelmed by the combination. As she began to sort them through, though, as the sense of impact subsided, some things remained constant: the dominating, stretching warmth shaping her insides, and the heavy, unrelenting pressure of the knot against the outer pads of her spade, not trying to penetrate something that couldn't possibly have accepted it, but a clear sensation that the thing invading her insides wasn't going anywhere, wasn't going to let her go free, but just stay there, dominating, forcing her body open around it, taking over in a way that Hugh was never supposed to experience, never supposed to feel...

It was then that the panic surged back up, useless as it was, in response to her being invaded, and she cried out against hit, her flailing beginning anew.

"Aaaahhh! I can feel it inside me! No, no, oh fuck no, it's so wrong, it feels so fucking wrong! It's not supposed to be in there, nothing is! I'm supposed to be a guy, I- ngaah!" She paused, gasping, as she felt hm move somehow inside her, feeling her insides comply, stretching and sliding slickly along his length as he did. "No, don't move, don't push it in more! Take it out take it out take it out!"

For a brief, hopeful moment, it almost felt like he was going to - she could feel the flared ridge of the thing as it slid out from the deeper parts, feeling the pads of her spade pulled slightly outward as the shaft drew back along their edges, the inner parts it had retreated from relaxing back into their vague but far less violated state.

"Oh thank god you're actually taking it out, I thought you ngghhh-"

The ridge, though, didn't even draw back to within proximity of her spade, though, before thrusting back in, her body reverberating from having him slam back against her as her inner flesh was stretched back into shocked conformity, one particular part somewhere inside her feeling especially bizarre as the thick, hard shaft ground rapidly across it. For a brief, puzzling moment it almost felt like the head of Hugh's currently nonexistent cock had had something white-hot aggressively rubbed across its entire surface, but then the feeling shifted, diffusing weirdly and seeming to radiate out across the surface of his insides, skittering along from where it was stretched on one side of his girth over to the other. The sensation, though, was over nearly as soon as it started, returning her to the feeling of nothing more than him in there again, perfectly still as he forced her insides taut around him, forced her back into being able to do nothing but feel him inside her, to feel that horrible sense of being filled, of being female...

"N-no, please! Aaahh! Stop! Nnngh... please, just don't, don't do this... don't make me... nngh! Don't make me feel, don't make me feel this, make me feel like this..."

She could already feel him sliding back out, though, feel her body tensing in anticipation of what was coming, hoping beyond hope that he actually was going to pull out that time, and shuddering as he relentlessly slammed back into her. All she wanted was for him to stop, to get off, to let her be - to let her be male again, or at least imagine that she was, instead of that horrible crushing reminder of him inside her, reminding her that her male part was gone, reminding her of how female she was by forcing her into the most female stance possible: suspended there in his arms, feet not even touching the ground, cock buried deeply inside her and forcing her to react in the most horribly yielding, feminine way. Each time, though, that hope was shattered as another pounding thrust rang home inside her, giving her no respite at all as the cock returned once again to dominate her.

It was awful, feeling him dominate her, swelling to overtake her entire world. She could feel him against every part of her, against her thighs, her breasts, her chest, her spade and insides most of all. With her muzzle pressed in against his chest, his musk dominated her sense of smell, even overtaking the tang of Gianna's heat, and the panting of his hot breath against her ears dulled what other background noise there was, as everyone else seemed oddly silent. Pressed in like that, even her field of view was dominated by the dark fabric of his shirt, above that a blank metal arc where the van's wall met the ceiling, and nothing visible beyond that. All she wanted to do was make it stop, but every few seconds or so he'd make another lightning-quick thrust, forcing her to gasp as he pounded into her and cutting off whatever disorganized protestations she was able to muster. Even through it all, she could feel her arms continuing to fight him, tugging at his fur, pushing at his chest, but it seemed as though the strength had been sapped from them - and from her legs even more so, not even seeming capable of pushing back at all from their splayed open position, her calves and feel able to do little more than flap limply in response to his thrusts. She wanted to fight, wanted to make it stop, but the thrusts kept coming nonetheless.

Hugh was still tugging at him, begging incoherently for him to stop, wanting desperately for it to end, to somehow go back to the way things were... and to her surprise, for a moment, he actually did, although it seemed almost like he was steeling himself for something. Then he did pull back, for a moment, but far less than he had before, and far more rapidly - only to return with a thrust that had far less force behind it, but far more speed. Only this time, there was no pause, no feeling of him just sitting there and dominating, for as soon as he'd pushed back in, he was already pulling back to begin another rapid, humping thrust. What he'd done before, she realized, had actually been unusual - this was the sort of thrusting that Hugh had actually been familiar with, the kind that had been watched and stroked to in countless porn videos, that rapid canine humping that left bitches dazed and moaning in no time at all.

Hugh, of course, hadn't had any real insight into why that had happened, other than that they'd obviously been slutty little bitches that enjoyed being pounded for some reason. Now, though, he suddenly understood why. When the thrusts had been isolated and apart, he'd felt that weird sensation as something had stroked along a particular place inside of her, but they'd been halfway masked by the force of the impact from them, and the sensation had faded quickly once he'd returned to being motionless. Doing it the normal way, though, and those thrusts were both constant and far more erratic, the head of his cock rubbing less evenly and thrusting more towards one particular point, rubbing unpredictably right or left, up or down, making that part stretch even more tightly and rub even more closely along him. With each hump, the pressure was slightly different and along that particular point it suddenly mattered most of all: if the thrust was up or down, the stroke felt normally intense, moderately rough against something that almost felt like it mapped to that now-nonexistent cock. If it was off to the other side, the stroke felt more diffuse, an almost ghostly, tingling touch that spread weirdly across what felt like a much larger area. When it was directly to the side where the sensitive part was, though, it felt like every erogenous zone in her body had been concentrated all together within one infinitesimal, impossibly sensitive point, one that had the entire length of the shaft pulled across it, grinding impossibly closely against its flesh with an intensity bordering on agony. Whenever it happened, time seemed almost to slow down, making her feel every inch of intensity as it dragged across her. Even then, it didn't provide any respite, because as soon as it was over, there was another thrust for her to react to.

He didn't stop, thrust after thrust stretching her, rubbing her, tugging her spade back and forth as the knot push and ground regularly at its pads. Her entire body was in motion, rocking, reverberating, muzzle buried in his chest and panting desperately as the sensations continued to flood through her, wave after unending wave. She couldn't even fight back any more, just hang on for dear life, first begging for the sensations to stop, and then, to her horror, praying that they didn't. Because, she realized, they actually felt good, each stroke deeply arousing, stoking a crazy tension that built steadily and unstoppably within her, far more powerfully than anything Hugh had felt as a man. One thrust blurred into the next, and all she could feel was that thrusting, that grinding, the feeling of him against her, inside her, anywhere and everywhere, forcing her to feel what he wanted her to...

And then, somehow, in the midst of all that sensation, there was a moment of strange, absurd realization, one that came as everything finally burst through, shattering the last remaining defenses of Hugh's remaining bastion of masculinity. The situation was simply no longer possible to deny, to write off, to evade or avoid. Hugh was female, unquestionably so, and not just female, but being fucked, being raped, being violated by a canine with complete power over her. And just like a female in Hugh's warped worldview was supposed to, she was enjoying it, she was giving in completely, unable or unwilling to even put up token resistance any longer. She was completely wrapped around him, dominated by him, unable to act, only to react, unable to affect the cadence or flow of what was happening, unable to even deny or back off the stimulation that he was forcing through her with each thrust, only able to take it and feel it build her female arousal to a fever pitch. In fact, she was sure that it wouldn't be long at all before his cock, stroking relentlessly at that impossibly sensitive spot, would bring her inevitably and inescapably to a deeply feminine climax, and that when she did, when she completely surrendered to the most feminine experience and emotion possible, that she could no longer even pretend to be a man. She would be a woman, she would surrender, and there wasn't a single thing that she could do except feel it happen to her. And somehow, perversely, it was at that point that all those repressed desires for submission surged back to the surface, and made her feel, in that moment, that such an outcome was the most arousing thing that could happen: no more struggling,no more fighting it, no more having to do anything other than to feel, than to let it happen.

In that moment, faced with that undeniable realization, Hugh just... let go. Even she couldn't have explained the true reason behind it. Maybe she'd given in to that strange cauldron of long-suppressed desires; maybe it had been the nonstop, overwhelming stimulation overriding her thoughts and her actions; maybe it had even been the realization itself, the knowledge that nothing she could do could have changed what was all but guaranteed to happen, so it made more sense to accept it rather than fighting it further with whatever capacity she had left. Whatever the reason, the last bit of fight went out of her, and she embraced the inevitable, the claws on her hands digging in against Frankie's back as her cries echoed throughout the van, completely unrestrained as his rapid, frantic thrusts pushed her instantly to the edge.

If Hugh had still been a guy, she was sure she would have climaxed immediately, but for whatever insane reason the rapid, nonstop thrusting just kept her there, every stroke leaving her painfully, agonizingly close, aching with the tension waiting to be released. It was only when Frankie stopped, when he kept her stretched along the whole length of his shaft, that the tension released all at once in a single, shuddering burst. It was nothing like a male orgasm, not at all - in fact, it almost seemed something akin to an electric shock, spasming rapidly through her core, forcing a loud, impossibly shrill wail to reverberate throughout the van's interior, a sound she couldn't even believe was coming from her. Most surprising of all, though, when the core of the shock suddenly surged back between her legs, was that her insides weren't just some stretchy, passive thing after all. There were some kind of muscles all around it, and while she had no idea how they worked, or if they even did voluntarily, suddenly they clamped down hard, pushing the surface of her insides down even more tightly around his cock, if such a thing were even possible!

She heard Frankie start in surprise, then give out a powerful moan of his own - and then her entire body was shaking, her arms and legs suddenly weak and trembling, as the shock crested over into a bizarre sensation of buzzing warmth, not wholly unlike what his male form had felt when he'd cum, but instead of just feeling it in her groin, the sensation blossomed out through her entire core. It was an ecstasy both familiar and alien, one that overwhelmed instead of simply elated, leaving her feeling weak as a puppy, limp and panting against Frankie's solid chest. There was only one muscle in her entire body that seemed to be flexing, and that was the one wrapped around her insides, sending deep, powerful throbs rolling through her as the contracted with a rapid cadence that gently faded.

Unable to do anything else, all of her focus seemed to gravitate towards her core, towards that rolling climax squeezing her relentlessly together against him. All she could feel was that sensation, that feeling of him inside her, of her body clutching desperately at him, and only as those contractions faded did she think about the other, reciprocal side of the equation. A notion that somehow actually hadn't occurred to her up until that very moment, until she realized there was only one reason a guy slowed to a complete halt after steadily humping someone.

With that realization came a brand new sense of horror, as enough of her focus returned, enough of Hugh's retained persona to realize the significance of what was about to happen, of the deep, grunting, growling noise Frankie was making above her, of the way his cock seemed to get even harder and strain even tighter against her insides, the way his hips seemed to vibrate between her thighs.

The significance, and the notion, was one of conquest, that ideal culmination of triumph at a woman's complete capitulation. To Hugh's philosophy, of course, that conquest didn't come when a woman was finally convinced to give in, or even when her spade was finally penetrated. No, the moment of conquest, the moment when a man truly claimed a woman, was when he buried his cock deep and shot his seed irretrievably within her. And if that, for a man, was the ultimate victory, than it was only reasonable that for a woman it was the ultimate capitulation, the ultimate surrender, being claimed by a man and marked inescapably by his presence. In the moment, at the height of it, it had seemed easy to just let go and accept that capitulation, but now that that sensation had faded, now that Hugh's awareness had returned, suddenly the last vestiges of masculinity seemed to be on the line. If Frankie claimed her like that, left her filled with a guy's seed, marked with something buried so deep that she would feel it minute after minute, hour after hour... if she was so completely conquered, so completely and irrevocably forced into that female role, even if somehow things went back to normal afterward, would Hugh ever again be able to lay claim to being a real man, being the one and only thing he'd for so long aspired to?

And yet there she was, nuzzled against his chest, barely able to move, her insides still giving off a few weak throbs around him, still clenching around him and drawing him closer even though they knew what was coming. Even if she had been able to move in a meaningful way, there was no possibility of pulling away, as Frankie's hands still clung tightly to her butt, holding her hips close in against him, and keeping him fully inside her. All she could do was feel his tip press in relentlessly against her flesh as it shuddered and violently erupted.

As she felt it happen, it really did seem like erupt wasn't an understatement. From an abstract sense, at least, Hugh had known that a guy could fire off more than powerfully enough; when he'd tried it out of curiosity, even Hugh's corgi-sized balls had managed to land a shot halfway across the room, and he'd fantasized about how far his spunk would go within an actual woman. True enough, Gianna hadn't been fazed by it, but Hugh had hardly been in a state to notice then.

Now, though, being on the receiving end, there was no denying it. It wasn't just a splash, or spurt, or anything like that, but an actual, palpable impact as the first jet of it hit home against her insides. She could feel it thump again and again into the same spot, the initial force of it followed by a sticky heat that seemed to spread and ooze deeper inside of her, to the part that his cock hadn't been able to reach, at least not with the knot outside of her. Each spurt, though, seemed to force more of it deeper inside, and she could feel it clinging to her, collecting and pooling somewhere as it began to cool, in counterpoint to the impacts and bursts of heat lower down. And those kept coming, jet after jet thudding against her until she could feel her insides actually squirm from the repeated pressure, far longer than Hugh could ever have recalled ejaculating as a guy.

Then, finally, it was over - physically, at least. The thudding stopped, and Frankie groaned again, his chest shuddering slightly against hers as he finished. He kept it in a minute longer, though, making sure she could still feel him there, stretching her, letting her know his violation was complete. Even when he finally pulled it out, and set her back down on her own wobbly legs, she could still feel all his stuff inside, wet and sticky and still a little warm, oozing against parts of her that were still sensitive enough to feel every drop of it that adhered to them. To feel his stuff irretrievably claiming her somehow, reinforcing the fact that she was a woman now, in every single way that mattered.

Hugh wanted to... to sob, to completely break down, to lose it and take Frankie on with every tooth and claw and foot and fist that she could, to yell at the top of her lungs and deny every bit of it to anyone who mattered. To do something to shake her mind out of its paralysis and humiliation, to erase the last few minutes and her pathetic capitulation from her psyche. And yet, all her body felt at the moment was drained, drained and tired and oddly relieved somehow, barely even able to stand, still halfway leaning in against Frankie. Barely even caring as she felt him reaching between them to undo the buttons on her dress shirt, one by one, barely even resisting as he pushed her arms down and shrugged it the rest of the way off of her before pulling her back in against him, her nipples still thrumming with agonizing sensitivity as her breasts nestled in against his fur. She couldn't even fathom why he was trying to hug her, petting at the fur on her back, like they'd actually done something willingly together, instead of him pushing her up against the wall and claiming her, shattering every masculine aspiration Hugh had ever had, like her protests hadn't even mattered.

"Hnhh... Damn, Hugh. Never thought I'd say this, but you're one hell of a lay..."

"You... you r-raped me..."

"Did I? Yeah, sure, I guess you bitched about it when we were starting off, but I sure didn't hear you complaining once we got going. Heck, I felt you cum around me, so I know for sure you enjoyed it. And really, you want to accuse me like that? This coming from the person who plotted to capture a woman, hold her down, and rape her until she wanted it. You want to complain now, here, you haven't got a leg to stand on."

"That's not it! Don't you... don't you fucking get it? I'm a guy, a real guy, I'm supposed to d-dominate, take charge, supposed to be on top, not be the one getting fucked, all weak, and girly, and..."

Frankie half-chuckled, leaning down to nuzzle against the top of her head. "Oh, Hugh... you never did quite get it, did you? You never were manly or tough; really, there was no question that you were always gonna be a cute, femmy, weak sort of guy, and no one really cared. The reason we went along with it, the reason we fed your delusions of manliness, wasn't just because we agreed with your points, but because it was so freakin' hilarious to watch such a cute little guy trying so hard to be a badass all the time. And now that you're a chick, well, it really doesn't matter, does it? No one gives a shit if you're cute and girly, because if you're a chick, that's how you're supposed to be in the first place. To be honest, as a guy, all that attitude kinda made you fucking annoying sometimes, and the way you are now... yeah, I like this you way the fuck better. And I'm not saying that just because I did you or anything. Heck, I bet your other friends would agree, too, once they're done with..."

He trailed off, his arms falling away from her. "Come to think of it, what the fuck are they up to? Would have thought they'd have been louder, going at it and all..."

Frankie stepped back, leaving her wobbling precariously as he looked around at the van's interior - and its one noticeable absence, one that Hugh quickly realized as well. She'd been so lost in what had happened to her that she hadn't been able to notice anything beyond Frankie and what he was doing that she somehow hadn't noticed it. Somewhere in the intervening time, Gianna must have managed to get free from the others and escape. There was now just the two of them, looking back at her awkwardly, both without pants and with their dicks literally in their hands. Actually, Hugh realized, it really was just the two of them - whatever that weird sack of bones had been, it had faded back away into the shadows.

"Um... what the fuck?" Frankie said, looking between the two of them. "What, you finished with her already and decided to let her go or something?"

"Er..." Matty stammered back. "We, ah, kinda got distracted watching the two of you, and by the time we noticed her opening the door she was already running. I tried to go after her but I was to hard to put it back in my pants, and I couldn't just run around out there with my dick out, so we just... decided to watch instead?"

"Well, I'd say I'm surprised, but I'm honestly not. Heat or not, she looked a tough one, and if you guys didn't bother to keep a close eye on her, I'm not surprised she gave you the slip. Hmm... problem is, though, we didn't exactly get her back around to the right frame of mind, and if she goes to the cops..."

"S-she won't," Hugh mumbled in response, swaying on legs that still seemed unwilling to hold her up, thoughts still swirling as she looked at the three of them, thinking about what Frankie had said, about the qualities she'd loathed so viciously as a guy, and about how... appropriate they all were for a girl. How she hated being that, how that male part of her thought that it was worse than death - but the more everything sank in, the less that part of her seemed to matter at all, and the more those strange, long-suppressed desires swelled to the front of her consciousness. That it felt good to surrender, to accept that submissive role laid out in front of her. She stumbled forward a few steps, hips still shaking, before all but collapsing back down onto the mattress, not caring that it stank with Gianna's scent, not even that her butt plunked down on top of the wet, slick spot that Gianna's heated spade had left there.

"You really think so?" Matty asked, looking down at her with a weird mix of guilt and undisguised arousal. "We did kinda kidnap her and all..."

"She won't call, but not because she doesn't care about that. She won't call because she's a vicious bitch who hates me, probably even more now, and seeing me transformed, seeing me fucked by my own friend... I can't imagine her lifting a finger to stop that from happening to me. The only thing that surprises me is that she didn't stick around to watch the whole thing."

"Heh... figures. Kinda interesting that you'd say that, though. I mean, these two dimwits are still sitting here hard because they didn't do her before she got away. Given how fucked up you claimed to be over what happened, I figured you'd play that up, get us all to take off so you could go have a good cry or something. Unless you're saying you don't want to be done yet..."

"That's not what I- Dammit, seriously? You really think I-"

"Yeah, I kinda do. And you know, as much as would like to keep you all to myself, we did agree when we started this whole thing that we'd share in everything, you included - and a promise is a promise. Plus, since that other chick got away, and these guys can't seem to figure out how to put their pants on while they've got a hard-on, seems to me like you're kinda obligated to relieve them, doesn't it?"

"B-but-"

"Aw, come on. It's not like it's gonna hurt or anything, considering you're more than wet inside now, and somehow I doubt they're gonna mind sloppy seconds all that much." He stepped back, shoving Matty forward until he was standing over her at the foot of the mattress. "Go get her, buddy, and once you're done, Stan can have his turn. The both of you better make it quick, though; like I said before, I ain't missing my show, and seeing how it's my truck out there, if you're not done before then I'm gonna leave you here and Hugh can give you a ride home in her clown car - well, assuming she's aware enough to drive at that point. Don't take it too hard, though. Gotta make sure she comes, too - we did promise we were all gonna get off, and she is still our friend, so we do owe her that..."

Hugh knew she should have said something, anything, back in response, but the way Frankie had just... left her to his friends, just stood there like he wanted to watch them do her, too... she didn't even know what to think. She didn't even know what she wanted, any more: as Matty crouched down, knowing what he was going to do, she wanted to shrink away from him, but a significant portion of her body and mind didn't want to comply, wanted to stay right there instead, the sight and smell of him doing far more to conjure up a new wave of wet, dripping arousal between her legs than any notion of resistance.

"This is pretty damn weird, man." Matty reached out, placing his hands on her knees and pushing them apart, leaning down to get a better view. She hadn't been expecting it, not from Matty, and because of it didn't really think to act until it was done, but at that point the action felt futile - now that she was spread, now that he was staring at all the femaleness between her legs, what was the point of hiding it again. Still, she couldn't quite believe he'd had the nerve to do it, although maybe Frankie's implicit permission had enabled him, or maybe it was just the scent of Gianna's heat that was still wafting around the enclosed van. Either way, though, there he was, just staring at her - in fact, they all were.

It was hard, in that position, not to feel a supreme sense of irony. The plan had now gone so far sideways that Hugh was exactly where Gianna had been, flat on her back on that dingy mattress, spread and exposed to the gaze of her three friends, looking up at them stroking at their dicks in anticipation of what they were going to do to her.

Matty, though, was especially wide-eyed, just staring at her like she was the most fascinating thing ever. "Wow... I gotta say, I couldn't have imagined seeing you this way in my wildest imagination. This is just... so strange, but I can't lie. Like this, you're actually kinda hot, you know, cute-hot, and your spade... it's just gorgeous, nice and dark like a doberman girl's, so much better than those played-out ones they have in porn, they way it's so tight and puffy, how it looks all soft and inviting nestled in there against your fur, all slick and glistening, like it wants me there, like it's waiting for me..."

Somehow, hearing Matty going on and on about her spade, about how much he loved the weird, squishy, defenseless thing stuck unwillingly between her legs, manage to make the truly surreal situation weirder still. Especially since it was the most direct and honest compliment she could remember him giving her. Even as far as male friendships had gone, none of them had been particularly close, more commiserating with their situations and sharing each other's worldview more than anything else. Now that she was female, though, suddenly that relationship was different: weird, praising, something that actually looked like willing instead of grudging appreciation, although what they were appreciating...

There was no time to think through what it meant, though, as Matty was trailing off, a strange look spreading across his face: intense, almost blushing, his ears twitching and wavering like they were caught between desires.

"I, um, I... I'm sorry!" he yelped, almost barking it out, and before he even finished saying it he was already springing forward. Just like that, he was on top of her, his hips shoving in between her thighs and working to shove them apart. He was a little shorter than Frankie, and Hugh found her muzzle shoved in against the side of his neck instead, yelping in surprise as the impact of him landing on top of her knocked the wind out of her lungs. She gasped desperately for breath, the feeling of panicked powerlessness as her whole body was pinned beneath him. He quickly propped himself up, at least relaxing the pressure on her chest, but it was only to give the rest of him more leverage, using his strength and weight to press her thighs further and further open, all while still rambling on above her.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm supposed to ask, but I just can't wait - I have to get off, right now, and you're just so cute, so ready, that I just have to... I have to..."

There wasn't any teasing, or poking, or weird games of anticipation like there had been with Frankie, just him shoving his hips in, her feeling her thighs spread just far enough, his tip catching against the warmth between the pads of her spade - and then, with a cry and a desperate, frantic thrust, her spade and insides were stretched around him all at once.

Matty, though, didn't have any intention of waiting, of taking a moment to savor the feel of her around him or to slowly build up a rhythm. From the moment he was in, his hips were in constant motion, his canine cadence made even more frantic by his pent-up desperation. His shaft was shorter than Frankie's had been, but somehow even thicker. Its girth pressed the pads of her spade deep into the fur of her innermost thighs, and the stretching sensation inside her was far more intense, feeling everything inside so close around him that she could intermittently feel his heartbeat pulsing within it as it stroked rapidly against her. It was so thick, in fact, and she was so tight around it, that there seemed absolutely no room for variation - each thrust rubbed equally along each and every part of her insides that were wrapped around him, and every single thrust ground against her most sensitive spot with maximum intensity.

And just like that, there wasn't even any notion of fighting back, just feeling the rapid thrusts making her own hips buck back down against the mattress, moaning into his neck as the sensations reverberated through her. There wasn't even any conscious thought or decision, about fighting or about letting go, just her moaning, whimpering little barks sounding nonstop, her exclamations sounding alluring even to her own ears, her body reacting naturally without needing any further input from her rational mind. In that moment, it wasn't about wanting it or not, whether she'd said yes or said no, just that it was happening, that it felt warm and good and supremely, horribly right.

This time, there was no hesitation, or guilt, or sobering realization of her situation. This time, the rapid, frantic thrusts stoked the tension in her belly to a fever pitch in no time at all, and then she was cumming, only when it happened this time Matty hadn't stopped. The shock burst through her body just the same, but each thrust rammed another aftershock through right after the first, her insides practically on fire and the one tiny spot shuddering in the agony of pure, overwhelming touch. Then her inner muscles were spasming, each one sharper and harder, weirdly out of time with his unceasing thrusts. They faded more quickly, though, almost as though the thrusts were somehow massaging them back into quiescence, but the tension inside of her refused to abate, only fading slightly as the spot within her continued to feel the full brunt of his shaft with every stroke.

The strange sensation of arousal within her refused to abate or give in, and the intense, bizarre shock of female climax echoed through her twice more, Matty's determination plowing him through each of them. After the third one had faded, though, and another seemed to be building within her, Matty's thrusts came to a sudden, shuddering end, followed by another vigorous, if shorter, eruption. And she just lay there again, feeling it, taking it, letting him claim her without struggle or protest, or even the desire to do so.

And yet, it was even more than that. It wasn't just that it had happened, or that she'd let it happen. It was that, from start to finish, she hadn't really felt bad about it. It had just felt right, but beyond that, it hadn't even felt alien any more. Now that she'd felt it before, now that she'd known what to expect, it had seemed almost... natural, maybe even kind of normal, without anything to complain about. Even the feeling of him against her, the sensation of him holding her down and humping her into the bed, had felt right, more right than anything else Hugh had felt sexually before. Like it was somehow where she was supposed to be, how it was supposed to be for her, not some weird knife-edge of bluster and dominance; not fighting and striving and failing to perform, but feeling someone holding her, humping her, meeting her natural submission with their essential dominance, demonstrating their unquestioned attraction to her by never slowing down and never letting up. Like she was being accepted for the first time, not just partly but completely, accepted so deeply that they claimed her, left their most intimate mark within her, without hesitation. The remnants of her carefully constructed female persona screamed in virtual agony at the torrent of conflicting thoughts crashing against them, screamed of her complete and fundamental failure, but for a moment the suppressed desires, now fully freed, managed to hold sway over the female form that they were so suddenly and serendipitously harmonious with.

In a way, it was almost intoxicating, that sudden rush of being desired. Hugh had been used to it for so long, that feeling of distance, of being brushed off and shooed away as some sort of pest, and now that actually was with her, as warm and close as it was possible to be, whatever she'd wanted before, it was suddenly hard to let go of it. It was the reason that when Matty was finished, instead of trying to shove him off or roll out from under him, she'd actually wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him down to cuddle against her, why she was reluctant to let him go even after he'd pulled out of her, perversely enjoying the feeling of his closeness, of the loving, barely-coherent things he was whispering in her ear, about how she was the best, the first he'd ever had...

Frankie, though, hadn't had any qualms at all about showing his impatience, kicking at Matty's bare butt until he rolled off of her. As soon as he'd rolled off one side of the mattress, though, Stan was climbing onto the other, and after seeing her easy submission to Matty's sudden advances, any inhibitions he'd had before had been completely stripped away. His hands were on her instantly, flipping her over, pulling her up, bracing her trembling arms and wobbly knees upright until she was propped stably enough into place on all fours... which, she realized, was the position a bitch naturally took to be mounted. Somehow, her body knew it, too, and she could feel her stubby little tail curling up on its own, the better to present her to him.

He didn't waste any time either, taking only long enough to line up his tip between the pads of her spade, pressing in just enough to make sure it wasn't going anywhere, before hooking his elbows tight around her hips, his forearms pressing down along the back of her thighs, his fingers splaying through the soft, dense fur. She felt him arch down along her back, his muzzle rubbing along the top of her spine, before shifting over. It was then that she felt his teeth, digging in against that natural spot between her neck and shoulder, not enough to hurt but to dig in just enough against whatever was there, whatever primeval thing that left her suddenly halfway relaxed, her spade seeming to shrug naturally out around his tip. And then he was inside her, thrusting hard and fast and steady, his arms locked around her in such a way that they held her rigidly in place, not even able to buck down or away in response, only able to stay there and accept the force of each deep, powerful thrust.

Being taken like that, like an actual bitch in the most submissive, feminine way possible, her body completely dominated by that embrace and the instincts that seemed to take over... at that moment, it seemed like there was no going back. All she could think of, feeling each impact stoking her body, feeling the sway of her breasts and the hammering of the knot against a spade eager to receive each impact, was that, as strange and horrible as it was, this was somehow the way it was meant to be: being female, being taken, completely dominated and utterly uninhibited, free to call out happily and enjoy it as she was rapidly and thoroughly taken, free to come around the cock that would surely bring her to climax either way. The repercussions of feeling that way would surely come later, but in that moment it seemed the only possible decision, the only thing that made sense. This was all supposed to be happening to her, and she was supposed to be enjoying it exactly the way she was, taking on the role she should have accepted all along.

She didn't know how many times she actually climaxed around him, only that when it was over her muzzle was pressed down against the mattress, panting profusely, Stan's cock jetting proudly inside her, his hands flat against her shoulder blades letting up only after he'd finished, petting at her fur instead.

"Oh, yeah... attagirl, Hugh. Mmm... such a very, very good girl..." And in that stunned, exhausted, thoroughly used moment, Hugh couldn't have agreed more.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over - and as the sensations faded, a far more harsh and accurate reality settled in. Whatever delusions her female climaxes had spawned, the facts were abundantly clear: she was lying there naked, on a dingy mattress in the back of a panel van, the strange feminine parts inside her filled to the brim with the spunk of three separate guys, spunk that she could feel actually dripping down and coming out along the inner edges of her spade. Spunk from a trio of back-to-back rapes, and she'd actually enjoyed each one. She wasn't sure she could say the last two even were rapes, since she hadn't resisted, hadn't said no, hadn't even wanted to. Some weird part of her had taken over, had told her despite everything she knew that it had been okay, that it had been what she actually wanted, but now, looking up at the guys who'd been with her, the last thing she saw in their eyes was respect. Attraction, maybe, or lecherousness, or lust, but no real respect at all. She'd accepted that role, been with them all as the woman she'd become, and now, in their eyes, she knew they saw her as exactly that - which, according to the perspective they'd shared, didn't afford her much respect at all. They'd never really seen women as people, precisely, but as something to game, something to toy with and use and conquer, to be fucked and then held up as trophies... and now there she was, the subject of it all, looking up at them even as she imagined all the bragging stories they would tell to each other about what happened, maybe even to others. What would happen to her reputation now? Although... if she was stuck like that, stuck in a female form, would it even matter?

Desperate as she was to collect her thoughts, though, Frankie was already dressed, tapping on his watch and chivvying Matty and Stan towards getting dressed as well. Hugh had been thankful for that, for an excuse to cover her nakedness against their suddenly troubling stares, but when she'd managed to regain her feet, stumbling over half-bowleggedly to retrieve her boxers, Frankie had stepped on top of them before she could scoop them up.

"Nah... boxers are for guys, remember? Doubt they'd work well with that spade of yours, loose and all like they are. Thing is, though, there was the most surprising thing I found in that box over there. Looks like your erstwhile girlfriend left a few things behind in her haste..."

He stuck his hand forward, opening it to reveal a wad of pink fabric that he carefully unfolded. It was a pair of panties, vividly pink with bright red seams, the leg openings edged with scalloped lace.

"Dunno if they're your size, but it's better than wearing nothing, right?"

Depressingly, he probably was right - as girly as they looked, it was a far sight better than letting the rest of them watch as their cum dripped out of her. She pulled them on, and while they didn't fit perfectly, they were stretchy enough that they managed to settle into place. It felt downright weird, feeling them press in tight between her legs like that, but after a moment they somehow felt comfortable against her. They didn't stop the guys from leering, though, and while she'd been able to retrieve her shirt, Frankie had decided to hold onto her pants for safekeeping - after all, he'd claimed, it didn't make sense to have spunk dripped all over them. It was a casual humiliation, one that would have sent the old Hugh into a raging fury, but as worn out as she was, she'd simply gritted her teeth and accepted it.

They'd tidied up quickly, pulling out the mattress to stick in the bed of the pickup truck, tidying and stacking all the boxes where they were supposed to be. Hugh had pulled the dress shirt down as much as possible, covering as much as she could, but the parking lot was thankfully deserted, no one around to leer at her but her three friends, who had already done just about everything else the could to her anyway.

Hugh had intended to leave them, to drive the fuck home on her own, but every time she tried to walk her hips still squirmed and shuddered around her aching spade, leaving her stumbling about like she was completely drunk. Plus, her keys were still in her damn pants, which Frankie had laid claim to - he tossed her the house keys, but gave the car keys to Matty and told him to drive it home, as he lived close enough that he could easily walk back to his own place from there. The three of them, apparently, would take Frankie's pickup back - despite the fact that it only had two seats.

Frankie had Stan drive, taking the passenger seat for himself, slapping his thigh like he wanted Hugh to ride on his lap. Hugh grimaced, and tried to climb over him, preferring even in her condition to straddle the center console somehow than to endure being there against him again. If it had been Matty or Stan, she might have felt differently, but Frankie had been the one who'd started it all, the one who'd begun her sudden, shocking transformation from dominant guy to willingly taken bitch. He'd stripped away something that could never be replaced, and for that Hugh was furious, even if she was currently too cowed to express it.

Frankie had grabbed her, though, and whatever her wishes she'd ended up in Frankie's lap anyway, feeling his still-bulging crotch pressing up against her butt. That wasn't even the worst of it, though - casually, like he was doing nothing of note at all, he'd pressed his hand flat against her abdomen, shoved it down the front of her panties, pawing idly at the pads of her spade and smearing the gobs of leaking cum across them.

"Mmm... yeah, with you as a proper bitch now, I think all our lives are gonna be a lot more interesting, don't you think?"

That was enough, finally, to set her off - but when she spoke, her voice somehow wasn't furious, just cold. "Don't call me a fucking bitch. I don't care what the fuck happened, but my name is Hugh, and don't you forget it. Call me anything but that, and you can forget about anything 'interesting' from me ever again. And get your hand off my crotch, dammit!"

"Eh, in a minute. If you're gonna get in a snit about it, figure I got to enjoy that feeling of you while it lasts, yeah? Anyway, not really like you've got any say in it, the way you completely failed to stop anything from happening back there..."

"Grr... that was an exception! I mean, how would you fare, if you'd just been turned into a woman, and didn't know how anything worked? Just because I got off in the end, that's no fucking excuse, especially from someone who claims they're my friend. And whatever happened afterwards... with you, you know I didn't want it. Yeah, fine, you get to have it your way this time. We were all there with that in mind, so fuck, maybe I even deserved it, this one time. Do it again, though, 'friend,' and I'll so fucking call the cops down on your head. And for the last time, get your hand out of there!"

His hand finally pulled back, but gave her breast a long, lingering grope before it went back down to his side.

"Whatever. You ask me, though, you should be thankful. Back there was the first time I've ever seen you actually enjoy something without posturing or grousing about it. If it works, why change it? Might as well embrace what you are, since you sure don't seem to be changing back - and if you can't, there are plenty of us who're more than willing to embrace it for you..."

Luckily enough, Hugh's house was their logical first stop, and Stan had made good time, arriving there before Matty had with her car. It meant that she wouldn't have to listen to any more of Frankie's nonsense, or feel any more of his pawing. For a moment, though, she was halfway afraid that he wouldn't let her out - that he'd hold onto her, have Stan drive them all back to his place, and then take turns raping her well into the night. Instead, though, he swung open the door and let her go, looking back at her with a smirk - and planting a solid smack, of the kind Hugh had been so enthusiastic about dishing out, right on her panty-clad behind. She'd stumbled forward, smarting, barely able to catch her pants as Hugh flung them at her, grateful that her neighbors weren't yet out and about. She scurried inside nonetheless, though, bolting the front door behind her and crouching there, waiting, until she heard the loud, rough engine of Frankie's pickup pulling away into the distance.

The only thing she could think to do was to stumble into her bedroom and fall into bed, eyes closed, alone with her thoughts, feeling the stupid girly panties pushing against her spade until she screamed, ripped them off, and threw them across the room. She finally ended up just laying there, a towel under her butt to catch the awful stuff dripping out of her, feeling her breasts wobbling slightly on her chest as she looked up, feeling as blank as the white ceiling above her. She just felt... used, defeated, practically dead. The whole stupid plan, Gianna, Frankie, and everything else, had been about setting the world right again, about putting everything in its proper place, and now... now it was more wrong that ever, fundamentally so, upside-down and inside-out and so completely fucked up she didn't even know where to begin.

She'd tried so hard to be a man, a real man, to live up to what that was supposed to mean, devoted years in total, fucking years, to the single-minded pursuit of that ideal. Now, just like that, she wasn't. Not a real man; not even a man at all. Stuck with breasts, and a spade, and a girly figure, completely unable to convincingly pass as a man at all even if she'd tried. All that work, all that pride, shattered, useless, a code that she couldn't even live by, not with the role it relegated all women to. She was supposed to be a man, but wasn't, couldn't be a woman, but was anyway. She was what she'd been conditioned, for so long, to despise and hold in contempt, but now that she was, she had no better way of looking at it. Whatever Hugh had been was fading away, trailing fragments of ruin behind it, but there was nothing left over to fill in in his place. There was nothing left but emptiness and despair... and those strange desires, the ones she hadn't thought of for years and years, providing her with the only shred of solace. And yet, it was still an impossible paradox: to look back on her behavior with nothing but contempt and failure, while at the same time retaining memories of every moment of enjoyment she couldn't have been capable of having, of an acceptance that had been so wrong, but so freely given and accepted, no longer contingent on proving some ephemeral sense of pride and worth.

It was all too much, far too much, deeply ingrained thoughts and perspectives and desires warring and arguing into furious, grinding incoherence. It was too much to sort through, too much to deal with, exhaustion predominating most of all. She almost wanted to cry, to let all those emotions flow out somehow, but her mind immediately chastised her for considering such an unmanly display... and then immediately shot back with the truth: She was lying there, the spade between her legs filled with spunk from multiple guys, basically the ultimate indicator of her femininity; compared to that, crying seemed the most petty infraction possible. Finally, she just gave up on all of it, squeezing her eyes shut, the last thought she had before collapsing into an exhausted, dreamless sleep focusing on the feeling of the stuff pooling inside her, and wondering what exactly happened to the stuff that didn't come back out...

When she awoke the next morning, sleeping far longer than she was used to, the first thing she noticed was that at some point during the night, her shirt had gone missing, and she'd ended up in a pale pink bra and pair of matching panties that she couldn't remember pulling on.

Looking around her bedroom, though, she realized that it wasn't the only thing that had changed. The walls looked basically the same, but Hugh's ratty curtains had been replaced with white, frilly ones, and the pin-up posters had changed from the usual bikini models to male athletes in speedos and tight compression shorts. There were no clothes hanging out on the floor and poking out of the dresser, either - everything seemed far more neat and tidy than she was used to. Even the bed was done up in different sheets, satin and pale lavender along with floral-embroidered pillowcases. If it weren't for the layout, and the fact that her desk looked just about the same, she'd have been hard-pressed to tell she was in the same room she'd fallen asleep in.

As different as it was, though, the most important parts were still the same: the breasts still swelling out against her bra, and the soft fabric of her panties snugged in tight enough to feel clearly against the pads of her depressingly present spade. Whatever the fuck was going on, it hadn't just been a dream, or hallucination, or some other crazy thing that had temporarily clouded her mind. She was still female, which meant that it had all actually happened - and if that wasn't enough to cement it, the horrible, weird sack of bones was just sitting there, lurking in the corner like it had been watching her sleep.

When it noticed she was up, though, it shifted itself somehow, the cowl turning and sliding to reveal the clutter of bones that made up what passed for its face.

"ah. awake now. how does greeting work... yes. Heather. good beginning of day."

"Heather? Who the hell are you talking to?"

"point. should demonstrate situation. wallet on nightstand. pick up, open. should begin to explain."

She gave the thing a strange look, but shifted over to look anyway. Sure enough, her wallet was sitting right there, seemingly unchanged.

She picked it up, unfolding it - and then froze as she saw the identification staring out at her from within its glassine window. It had the same last name, but the first name was Heather, and in place of Hugh's photo was a face that looked uncannily similar, but clearly female - exactly, then, the way she must have looked now.

"Wh... what the fuck is this? Are you trying to say I'm not, not even Hugh anymore?"

"no females named h-ugh. too hard to explain away. heather close enough, so name now known by. h-ugh still in own meMories, but only heather now known to others, eveRyone not in van. job, car, both unisex enough, no need to change. wardrobe updated to better reflect status, though."

Hugh just stared down at her stupid driver's license, feeling whatever persona she had left slipping away even more. If Hugh was just gone, gone in the minds of everyone else and replaced with this... no! It couldn't have been, it just couldn't, but the more she stared at the name, the more it looked, the more it felt like her own.

She flipped the wallet shut, dropping it on the bed beside her before glaring back at the thing in the corner, but she didn't even feel any real rage towards it, just more of the directionless emptiness that seemed to consume more and more of her.

"So... what, this is just it? I'm just some, some woman I'm not, that I don't even know how to be?"

The boneheap shifted, almost seeming to shrug, before it answered.

"question reasonable. answer is simple, unexpected. plan was to transform, enjoy observing encounter with each friend, then change back and leave experience seared into psyche, see if chauVinism continued anyway. however. once transform occurred, once observed while fully engaged, unexpected conclusion arrived. male form was... wrong somehow. improperly preSent in particular realm, while female form was right. so, left current sex intact. seemed to enjoy results, so conClusion was direct. correct choice made."

"Wait, you think I enjoyed having all that stuff done to me?"

"not thought. statement of fact. enjoyment readily observable, capitulation voluntary and enthusiastic. that feMale sex is preferred, deep down, not in question. whether will come to accept, unknown. however. doubt that complaints about change will last. each contact, each encounter, will feel more corRect. desire to restore male form already fading, eventually fade completely. same with desire for dominance. should be interesting to watch. will keep watching, until rightness confirmed, until desire to accept female sex comPlete, unquestioned. until then, will make sure progress towards female self continues."

The sense of despair she'd felt from before came swelling back as the clattering answer played out in its chilling monotone. There would be no easy out, no switching back. Thanks to that thing, this was her life going forward, strangely and unfathomably and thoroughly female. She let her gaze droop down, let the despair settle in, even as the horrible sack of bones gave out a clattering sound that seemed as close as it could come to a laugh.

"yes. can tell enjoying prosPect already. do not worry, however. acceptance will arrive more swiftly than anticipated, and despair quickly forgotten. form is now correct, and mind will inevitably accept correctness. unusual to serenDipitously perform favor, but willing to accept results. perhaps even One will relent as result. will accept thanks later, however, once accepTance fully established."

With that, it seemed to actually fade away, its form progressively becoming more and more transparent until, after a few seconds, it was no longer there at all, just a blank patch of wall blurred and obscured by a curtain of tears as Hugh, or Heather, or whoever the fuck she was supposed to be now finally succumbed to wracked, despairing sobs.

It was all over. Hugh was over, gone, a stupid, failed memory, with nothing but confusion left over, no clear way to live or act, no clue whether to accept or defy what she now was. Nothing to do, but... whatever she had always done, moving like an automaton, empty to her very core. Wiped the tears from her eyes, showered, made coffee. Stared into drawers full of panties and blouses and other feminine things, selecting items at random and pulling them on, straightening them into place as she stared blankly at the near-total stranger gazing back at her from the mirror. Found her car keys, discovered her pants no longer had pockets, stuffed everything in a purse instead, stared at it before slinging it over her shoulder, feeling some weird, ingrained impulse that by doing so she'd managed to fail even more completely as a man, shrugged it off and walked out the door. Drove into work, watching the lights shift from red and green, watching the stripes on the road flash hypnotically, one by one, past her deadened eyes. Walked into work, praying that no one had noticed, praying that everyone had - and then coming alive, again, when she noticed how they reacted.

Men no longer grudgingly acknowledged her, but greeted her enthusiastically, actually making eye contact, no longer seeming vaguely irked to even be dealing with her. With other women, though, the transformation was so much more pronounced, it might as well have been black and white: instead of looking pissed, or snarling, or shooting looks of annoyance and daggers of hate in his direction, they were all smiles, warm, friendly, inviting, more than happy to make small talk like there was an instant connection between them. Even Amanda, her closest coworker and the woman she'd hounded the most relentlessly, seemed to have forgotten all those transgressions entirely, opening up immediately about her day like they'd been close friends for years. She'd managed to respond, somehow, but it only left her feeling even more empty, like she was truly inhabiting someone else, someone who had all these relationships she'd never experienced. Someone who was liked, accepted, maybe even loved - and that, more than anything else, made her someone who she didn't know how to be. It was a new feeling, one that was supposed to be good, one that conjured up what she'd felt before in her friends' previous embraces, one that left her spinning. This was all good, wasn't it? Better than before, better than all that striving for nothing, suddenly and effortlessly accepted just by being whoever this new person was... and yet, and yet...

Was this really her? Was this really who she was supposed to be? She didn't know, she couldn't, but she also didn't have a choice. She was Heather, now, with everything that entailed, and somehow that was who she would have to be, even if she didn't have the slightest clue where to begin...

(Note: this story is bonus content for the ongoing story series The Boneheap, retelling part of it from a different perspective; you might also want to read the original chapter it is based on.)