Credit To @viralsmorphs For This Awesome Photomanipulation. Please Go To His Blog For More Great Muscle

Credit to @viralsmorphs for this awesome photomanipulation. Please go to his blog for more great muscle morphs. He really does high quality stuff

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Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/omnikitsune

(Please join my Patreon for more unique stories in muscle, hypnosis, and other areas. It’s very affordable, and I could really use the money. For $3.00 a month, you get exclusive content that’s not seen anywhere else online. Join my team of supporters and help me to become a full time writer, so I can bring you guys more fun content to enjoy, please. Thank you!)

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A casual note. Tumblr deemed the reblog I initially captioned for this story as inappropriate and adult. They still haven’t told me why/how they reached that conclusion, other than to look to the guidelines. I have asked in a reply to the email from the team responsible, so I can get specifics on the ruling (and thus avoid another offense). I still haven’t gotten a reply from them back yet. I’m not sure if they’re going to give me one.

So, I’m going to use another image instead to get my story out and modify one or two minor pieces of imagery as a result of the different image. The original post will stay for now, but I will eventually delete it after Tumblr gets back to me. If they don’t, I am going to be very pissed.

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Pothead

You pissed off the wrong gamer, Teabagger.

Nick chuckled as his avatar squatted repeatedly over his latest kill.

Whatever, pothead. Don’t get salty, just because I’m the smarter player.

The response was witty, stinging, a perfect way to end a perfect match after a sore loser tried to nose in on him and his record. In the digital battlefield, it didn’t matter how strong or fast you were. What mattered was knowledge, cunning, and strategy. Here, he could be merciless if he wished without consequence. No bullies to beat on him to nurse their bruising egos and insecurities. No catty popular girls to mock him for being who he chose to be. In this place, at this time, he was the alpha. He ruled the roost. And he would make sure that others knew it.

Or so he’d thought at the time.

The changes started small at first. A few flickers on the screen, a few angry comments, and the beginnings of what he knew would become a great rivalry. He shot his opponent and followed his ritual. When his opponent shot him, the retort came in the chat.

Who’s the pothead now, bro?

It was laughable, really. And soon it became a sort of a dance. Nick couldn’t help but laugh at the language that flowed over the chat whenever he took out another player.

#^$*ing Teabagger, man!

Bro, come on!

Just got #&$*ed by the Teabagger. Talk about necrophilia. Creep.

Hacks. I call hacks!

He scratched his chest that night. It was sore from the gym time with his new personal trainer. Pushups were no joke. It was a wonder his arms were still working well enough to play, but they were.

“Sucks to be you,” he’d said, then smiled and kept going.

-------------------------------------------------

“Keep going. You’re doing great.” The month had flown by, and Nick was surprised at just how much better he felt as he pushed against the floor. His arms still strained with the rest of his body, and his heart raced, but it was easier, and the praise and support was surprisingly enjoyable after all the years of abuse he’d faced in his younger days. “You must be keeping up with those home exercises I gave you.”

Nick smiled. “Yeah, I am.”

“Feels good to just focus on the body sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“Whoa there, partner. Let’s not be too hasty.”

The man chuckled. “You’ll get it eventually. Come on. Time to work that core.”

---------------------------------------------------

Nick smirked as the screen flickered with another message:

Teabag or D-bag?

Totally both.

Yes.

Definite yes.

Behold, the two parts of the whole.

Gonna put a hole through his head any minute now.

Nick rolled his eyes and swiftly typed into the message board.

In your dreams, @ M3ath3ad. Hope you’re ready to eat your words.

By the time the match ended, he’d earned MVP. His rival had ranked top on the other team and even hosted the match.

Hope you’re having fun, Teabagger.

Nick smirked.

You bet. Where’ve you been?

A smirking emoji appeared on the screen, followed by:

Taking a little time off. You know what they say. A watched pot never boils.

The hell’s that supposed to mean?

He never got an answer.

------------------------------------------

“It’s boiling in here. Why’s the heat have to be so damned high?”

The trainer chuckled. “Not the heat. It’s you. I told you I’d work you hard, didn’t I?”

“No way it’s just me.” Nick grunted as he pushed through the end of another set with the bench press.

“Maybe you should wear something a little less concealing next time, then. It wouldn’t hurt you to use a tank top, you know.”

“Not really my style.”

The trainer shrugged. “Styles change. So do bodies. Yours might benefit from a little change. Show off some skin, bro.”

“Bro?”

“Figure of speech. Besides, you’d be surprised how addicting it can be, once you start using it.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

The trainer sighed. “In one ear and out the other....”

---------------------------------------------

In one ear and out the other, ‘bro.’ Nick typed victoriously as he finished yet another headshot in M3ath3ad’s avatar.

Dude, not cool.

Really, man?

Why are we still putting up with this asshole?

Because I’m an actual challenge?

The chat was silent for a while.

Everyone’s thinking it. I’m just saying it. ... “Damn it, I hate it when he’s right.”

Bold of you to think he’s a he.

Nick chuckled. Let me stop you right there. I’m totally a he. He leaned against the wall and stretched from his bed. Much though he hated to admit it, his trainer was right. He felt better with less on.

...

Less on.

...

Less on.

The screen flickered. A bout of dizziness struck. “What...?”

The countdown started for the next round. The screen flickered again as the map loaded.

Time to teach you a lesson, Teabagger.

It was Rival. And once again, he was playing host.

Less talk, more action.

The smirk appeared on the chat again, the herald to their ritual of tit for tat. The match would feel wrong without it at this point.

Simmer down, Pothead. Don’t want you to boil before I school you.

Ooh, burrrrrrrrn! Brawn-E typed.

Dem’s fightin’ words! Mu$cl3Mann added.

This is gonna be good! Br4h-n said.

The timer counted down. The match began. The dance began anew.

------------------------------------------

“About time you took my advice.”

Nick’s abs burned as he thrust forward on the chest press. The weight dug into his core and back with every curl. “Shut up,” he grunted.

“You’ve carved a pretty good figure, actually,” the trainer continued heedlessly. “You take well to workouts.”

Nick shrugged. “Just part of the day. I just do it.”

“Without thinking?” The trainer smirked.

“Don’t push me, ‘bro.’“

“Isn’t that why you hired me in the first place, ‘bro?’“

Nick grit his teeth. “All right, you got me.”

The trainer smiled. “Good. Now let’s see what else we can get.”

----------------------------------------

Lucky shot, bro. Don’t get used to it.

Nick frowned as he glared at the message box. Emoji after emoji poured in. Some shocked, others cheering, others popping streamers and so forth.

Ding-dong, the witch is dead!

Nick’s chest huffed in frustration as the kill cam replayed his death. A sniper had just barely managed to get a head shot off a corner of an exposed piece of wall.Two straps perked against his chest as the cotton brushed gently over his pecs. He scratched a pec, then adjusted his crotch. All the work at the gym had upped his metabolism, and with it his testosterone levels. Increased aggression was only natural.

“Never again, bro,” he muttered darkly. “Never again.”

------------------------------------------

“Looking good there, stud,” Nick’s trainer complimented.

Nick thrust himself into his work as sweat streamed down his face, neck, and chest. He walked with a broader step now to keep from putting too much pressure on his crotch. Clothes felt tighter than they had been before, and others had begun to notice his changes. It was nice to receive such gratification, but frustrating to lose it in the one place that had mattered to him for so many years.

So, he did what came naturally. He took it out on the weights.

“Bad time?”

“Don’t wanna think about it,” Nick snapped back.

His trainer shrugged. “Okay, then don’t. Focus on your body. Focus on the weights. Let’s break that plateau today.”

Nick nodded. “That’s not all I’m gonna break,” he growled.

---------------------------------------

That night was a slaughterfest.

Damn, bro. Someone’s steamed.

Teabagger’s bringing it!

%*#&!

Nick sneered as he took out each of his enemies and initiated the same ritual. “That’s right. Nobody talks $^&* about me and gets away with it. I’m a one-man army.” He crept into a door and laid a claymore, then scratched his crotch. “You ain’t got the balls.” He chuckled as he camped in a corner by the stairwell and waited. The claymore went off, followed shortly by several kill shots to the torso as he took out the raiding party. Exultation surged. “Fuck yeah,” he growled. A predatory pleasure ran through him as he chuckled. “Fuck, yeah.”

-------------------------------------------

Nick swaggered confidently into the gym. His grin was wide, his shorts tight in all the right places, and his tank top holding against his torso in just the right way to show off the burgeoning muscle that now surged with the pump of his jog to the gym.

“Someone’s smug today.”

Nick grinned. “Got a lot to be smug about.”

“That you do, Nick. That, you do. Ready for your next session?”

“More than ready.”

“Then let’s go, bro.”

“Can hardly wait, bro.” Nick grinned.

“You really do love arm day, don’t you?”

“What can I say? It’s fun to flex.”

The trainer chuckled. “Yeah, bro, it sure is. Ready to get in the zone?”

“Huhuh. You know it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

---------------------------------------

The screen flickered again over Nick’s computer display. The chat room lit up, and he smiled as he strode confidently to his bed in his sweats and XXL shirt. His biceps strained against the fabric, and he sneered at the feel of the pressure. He could conquer in and out of virtual reality now.

Guess who’s back, &$*#ers.

Oh, snap, it’s Teabag!

Bro, where you been?

Nick chuckled. Life comes first, man. You know that. I had some training meetings I had to attend. Not exactly a lie. He’d let them draw their own conclusions. But now I’m back, and I’m ready to pwn your asses.

Big talk. Can you back it up, bro?

You’ll find out soon enough.

Game cued up. Rival hosted again.

Hey, can you guys talk after this match? Got something I need to say.

Nick raised his brow. Not about to complain, are you?

Nah. I’ll leave that to you, ‘bro.’

Are you mocking me?

Would I do that, pothead?

You’re gonna get it.

Bring it on, dumbass.

Nick grit his teeth. Oh, it’s on.

The match was glorious. Nick sneered as he watched his final kill tab play across the screen. They had reaped the whirlwind. And he was fierce, indeed.

Remember your promise. No complaints, he typed quickly.

The familiar smirking emoji passed over the window with a flicker, and Nick smiled. The repartee was sure to follow.

No complaints. Just concern. I think a few of us are getting a little too hotheaded. It’s time to let off some steam, bros.

Nick’s hands dropped to his sides. He gaped at the screen as his mouth hung open ever so slightly.

Cameras on, please.

A window opened in the screen, divided into a series of boxes. Second by second, they flicked on to reveal another muscled man in underwear staring ahead. Then another, and another in varying states of dress. The message box stayed open above the windows and flickered with another message.

Let’s go, potheads. Time to pour.

The men stood as one. Their cameras adjusted. And then they began to speak. Nick couldn’t hear the words, but he knew them well, and he knew that they knew them, just as he stood with them. Their voices were one, one voice, his voice, their voice, one voice. They were one.

“I’m a dumbass meathead, tall and proud. Growing my muscle is what I’m about. More and more, my meat drives me about, tips me over, and dumbs me down as weights drop in and smarts drip out.”

Good Meatheads.

Nick did what came naturally, having finished the ritual. He righted himself, raised an arm, and flexed his bicep into his handle. His abs tightened and took on more definition as he breathed deep, then did as the song suggested and let his meat drive. “Huhuhuhuhuh....” His body moved on its own as his hands navigated the options in the video game and adjusted his user name. Then he typed into the chatroom as he stared into the camera with dull glassy eyes.

Meatbag reporting in.

The teabagger was no more.

This was written by an old friend, and it is incredibly well done for characterization. Please read it, and please follow him. He has created such wonderful character and worlds.

A Prayer To Raven [CHAPTER 2]

e enCOMMANDER: Wings of Desolation, I beseech thee, keep my aim true, my men strong, with your wings watching over them and your eyes aimed at our enemies. By this offering of kin, I call you; may the blood of your fellows feed your lust and keep you at our side–

RAVEN: You dare invoke me for your pathetic slaughter? You dare misname me? You dare to kill my eyes and my wings in your world in an attempt to appease me?

COMMANDER: You’re–you’re real.

RAVEN: I am not what you call me by. Your ignorance stinks like carrion. Do not call upon me again, or you will regret it even more than you will. And do not raise your hand against another bird, or I will make the bloodiest war you can imagine look like a daydream.

COMMANDER: But–but you answered my call. You’re the god of war, aren’t you?

RAVEN: …

RAVEN: Let me tell you a story, stupid boy.

–

Once upon a time, there were no men, only gods. They lost themselves in what they thought was progress, blood-drunk on wargames until they forgot the rules, forgot that they were even games. Back then, there were gods for anything. Gods of the pebbles beneath your paws scratching against each other on the surf. Gods of the last sweet bite of apple before the winter. Gods of the tiny furry things buried into their burrows and praying the owl does not hear them.

There was a god then too. They called him Raven. He was not a powerful god, but he was not a tiny one. He was a god of the ruin and the cycle and the natural end of things being brought by any means necessary. His wings were the shadows that slept beneath the bright red maple leaves after they blanketed the ground, and his eye was the burning, setting sun on the horizon, moments before it slips below and night comes. His talons held in their grasp countless trinkets of things that were no longer.

You forgot yourselves eventually. All of you did, except for Raven, and except for Wolf. Now you feared me just as much as you loved him, for he was new life and passion and love and beauty and the feeling of being alive in a hunt, and I was the knowledge that one day you will not be the one who is hunting. And your progress means that you cannot accept that all things end. Nothing is special. Nothing is sacred. And so you lied to yourselves and told your stories of my wings as sweeping shadowy death over innocent lives, selfish as a magpie, hoarding souls and bloody hearts in my endless talons.

You were wrong. I am none of those things. I will never be anything but what I am.

–

RAVEN: Do not call upon my name again.

COMMANDER: Where…what do I do now?

RAVEN: You will go and bury what remains of your men, and then you will join them. All things end. And, here, and now, your war is lost.

Guess What I Just Found Out?

You know that picture I reblogged for Endemic Evolution Chapter 6?

The one the moderators decided to say was too adult because something in my post was deemed adult under their guidelines?

I went back to the original poster’s link for the image in question. 

And guess what?

It’s still there.

It’s not flagged.

Which means that I wasn’t censored for the image.

I was censored for written content in CLEAR VIOLATION of Tumblr’s own guidelines.

Tumblr is at fault. They broke their own guidelines.

So here’s how it’s going to go down. I’m going to make a new post tomorrow morning when I won’t have to worry about whatever moderators thought they could get away with censoring my written work, which said writing is clearly covered as NOT BEING CONSIDERED PORNOGRAPHIC by their OWN GUIDELINES, using the original image by copying the link and pasting it. Then I’ll copy the text to make the new post. Finally, I will delete the original post.

Of course, I’ll credit the original poster of the image in question as the source material.

But, yeah. Tumblr or whatever moderators were responsible for this censorship, y’all screwed up big time. And if I were of a mind to and had the funds, I could drag you all to court for it to prove my case. And I’m confident I’d win.

So do me a favor, moderators. Get off my back, and trust my judgement. Or barring that, actually TALK TO ME about what violated, how, and why, instead of FREAKING STONEWALLING ME or pointing me back to guidelines that clearly don’t answer my questions sufficiently! Honestly, why else do you think I contacted the help desk in the first place?

Rant over. Victory party shall commence tomorrow morning when y’all get to read the chapter again and I breathe life once more into a series that has long been in hibernation.

Omni out!

Howl’s Persona(l) Pred-dominance

This is a commission for an anonymous donor. I am open for more commissions, if people would like them. Just send me a message here on tumblr or email me a [email protected] with the subject header: Commission Inquiry. I also have a patreon and Ko-Fi. If you want unique content you won’t see anywhere else for muscles, jocks, hypno, or other modes of tf, feel free to peruse the tiers and select what fits best for you. Or just donate to help me in my desire to write and create for you full time. Thanks! And now for the story. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Greetings to the both of you, and welcome to my humble establishment.” The creature that stood before the men grinned, baring sharpened fangs and curling back surprisingly realistic artificial lips. His three tails swished behind him as his red eyes pulsed a fluorescent bloody red. His fur was predominantly black with bright red accents, and he wore a smart red vest over his torso as he addressed the pair. “I am Ronoc, One of this store’s main proprietors.” His lips curled into a sinister sneer. “How may I help you today?”

Both men shuddered as the fursuiter shook their hands.

“Uh, thanks,” Jason murmured. He cleared his throat. “We were looking for something for Halloween.”

“Hmm. A little late to be shopping, isn’t it, gentlemen? Most stores are out of the good stuff by now, and you never can tell what quality you’ll get when you order online.”

“Yeah, we know, but the invite sort of came last minute.” Jackson chuckled nervously as he ran a hand through his dark hair. The thick curls bounced back the moment he passed them.

“Naturally, naturally.” The man chuckled as his tails swished behind him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything in stock, would you?” Jason asked. His green eyes flickered briefly under the lights overhead.

“I have something for every occasion, Sir. It’s simply a matter of finding what you need.” He looked intently at the two, and the pair suddenly felt very small. “Choose well, gentlemen. Halloween has a way of changing people. And you know what they say about clothes and men.” He chuckled and turned aside. “Go on. Have a look. I’ll be waiting.”

“Um, where exactly are the costumes?” Jason asked. But when he turned, Ronoc had already disappeared.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jason.” He seized his friend by the jacket and pulled him down an aisle. “We’ll find what we need ourselves.”

Potions, swords, bows, accessories, wigs, vials, knickknacks, and even a funhouse mirror all flashed by. And then, at long last, the shelves gave way to the meat of the matter. Row upon row of masks, heads, shrouds, cloaks, mail, armor, and more gazed back at them.

Jackson grinned. “Jackpot.”

“‘Only one costume is allowed to be tried at a time per person. Please return your costumes to their place before you try another,’” Jason read. “‘Take your time. Omnistore wants you to feel comfortable in your new skin.’”

“New skin, huh?” Jackson smirked as he pulled a bulky costume off the rack. Its chest piece was loaded with padded inserts that simulated muscle mass. Two thick tusks jutted out from the lower jaw to frame the broad, flat face of the mask’s headpiece. He chuckled as he draped the frame in front of him and pitched his voice as deep as he could take it. “Berklug like. Berklug make strong warrior for party. Me take prize. Berklug will conquer.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Put it back, barbarian. It’s not like you’ll fit in it, anyway.”

Jackson sighed as he returned the costume to its rack. “A man can dream.” The eyes on the costume flashed red briefly, and Jackson frowned. “Man, they even light up….”

“Let it go, Jackson.”

Jackson sighed. “Fine.” He gingerly took his hand off the hanger and strode farther down the aisle. “But admit it, I would’ve rocked that character.”

“I’m sure you would have. Now let’s find a costume that works.”

“No elves,” Jackson growled.

“You really think I’d make you wear something so stereotypical?”

Jackson smirked. “You should be more worried about what I might make you wear.”

“I swear, if you try to stuff me into that sheep costume again….”

“Please, if I wanted to pull that stunt again, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“May I help you gentlemen with something?” The hellhound that stood behind them grinned as his polished curled horns glinted in the light.

A whole shelf nearly collapsed under the sudden impact of Jackson’s body. “You mean aside from not sneaking up on someone?”

The hellhound shrugged. “What can I say? I like a silent scare sometimes. Now, then, I believe the two of you were looking for the right costume, yes?” He grinned, baring all his teeth. “One might say these characters have a life of their own. I suggest finding one that suits your desires.” He raised a mask from a pedestal. “Take this, for example. The mighty werewolf: confident, brusque, dominant, powerful. He takes what he wants when he wants it, and he doesn’t care what other people might think or say.” He handed the mask to Jackson. Its insides were still warm as he placed his hands in it. “I think you’ll like being Howl.”

“And what about me?” Jackson asked.

The hellhound stroked his chin. “You strike me as one who’s a real party animal. You enjoy having a laugh and showing off your personality, but you’re not necessarily a jerk about it. Well, except maybe for when you’re drunk. Then you might be a little more … free with your expressions and opinions. You enjoy being with others in a crowd, a herd of sorts.” He sneered. “Yes, I think I know just the one for you.” He pulled another costume of the rack. This one carried bulky football pads and guards. The headpiece was an intricate creation coated with artificial fur that bristled and scraped like a deck of cards being shuffled. Murky brown irises seeped into the broad rectangular pupils. A box filled with clever inserts designed to mimic hooves was soon opened and revealed to Jackson’s gaze. “His name is Jack, an Italian from IPDB.”

“And what’s that supposed to be?” Jackson asked.

“Il Paese dei Balocchi. He works there in his time off, hanging with his bros, helping the herd. It’s a real tourist attraction. You know it better as Pleasure Island.”

A bray carried out the donkey’s gray muzzle.

“And it comes complete with sound effects and a unique throat spray designed to help modulate your voice to fit the character at no extra charge. On a temporary basis, of course.”

“I don’t know if a frat jock is really my thing.”

The hellhound grinned. “You won’t know until you try, now will you?”

“What’s your name?” Jackson asked suspiciously.

The hellhound bowed. “Judas Scarymutt at your service. I’m a ruthless retailer with a flare for making lucrative transactions.”

“And contracts are your specialty?” Jackson rolled his eyes.

“He catches on quickly, doesn’t he?” Judas asked Jason as he shoved the costume at Jackson. “Now go on, try them on. I think you’ll both be surprised at how well they fit.”

Jason was the first to emerge from the dressing room. His nose and mouth were slightly disfigured, having pushed outward while the nostrils became upturned and black. A hint of white stubble had grown in over his cheeks and jaw while his upper torso was mostly bare, save for some dustings of thicker silvery hairs over the shoulders, the back, his chest, and parts of his arms. The green in his eyes has lightened and pierced with the same intensity as the hellhound, albeit without the glowing to accompany it. His nails had lengthened ever so slightly, and callouses had begun to form on his hands. Two wolf ears poked up and swiveled in the higher portions of his head.

“There. Now what did I tell you? You and Howl are getting along swimmingly.”

“What did you do to me?” Jason finally managed to say.

Judas rolled his eyes. “Always with the drama. I didn’t do anything to you, boy.” He reached over and yanked Jason’s ears. Jason winced, but with a sudden pop, Judas was holding the mask again, and Jason was fully clothed. “There. See? Nothing wrong. You’re perfectly normal.”

Jason groped at his face and hair. No beard, no fur, round ears firmly situated on the side of the head, and no signs of claws or a muzzle.

“I guarantee you won’t find any costumes more real than the ones you buy here.” Scarymutt grinned. “Our customers usually prefer to keep them after. I can’t say that I blame them. Being something else for a while is very relaxing, especially if you have a friend to do it with.” He smirked. “Howl warmed up to you the minute he saw you. Take good care of him and he’ll take good care of you.”

Jason gaped at the canid as he grinned and his tail wagged behind him.

“Scared yet, human?”

The steady clop of hooves on the floor drew their attention away before Jason could answer. The door to the changing room creaked open to reveal a hulking form. The broad muzzle stretched forward as those same brown eyes stared blankly, surrounded by a rim of white fur. His shoulders grazed the sides of the entry as he passed into the costume department. His jaw was thick and firmly cut with rigid rectangular angles. A bristly mohawk stretched from the top of his head down his neck and back. Two large ears ringed with black and filled with white on the inside swiveled back and forth. His nostrils flared as his chest heaved inside the costume. A long ropey tail with a rigid tassel swung idly behind him and occasionally flicked at the air.

It stood there for a time, breathing deeply as it stared at the pair. Then its lips pulled back to reveal broader, flatter teeth. He still had his canines, but the rest of his mouth had altered to suit his more equine nature. His voice rolled over the pair as he opened his mouth. “Bro….”

Judas raised a skeptical brow. “Really? That’s what you chose to say first?”

Laughter rocked his frame as Jackson’s much altered voice reverberated, occasionally punctuated by a high-pitched bray. “I didn’t think it’d work, but damn, it fits like a glove.”

“A little effort often gives you the better quality in the end. Is it cumbersome? Perhaps,” Judas acknowledged. “But it is well worth it in the end. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister…?”

When Jason didn’t respond, Jackson took the responsibility on himself. “Jason Pettigrew. And I’m Jackson Morris. How are you guys still in stock when you have such amazing stuff?”

Judas shrugged. “You might say we’re more of a niche market. We only take certain clients. You two just happened to make the cut this year.”

“And how long is this stuff supposed to last again?” Jackson asked as he raised a small white bottle with a donkey’s head on the label.

“It varies. A few sprays should cover you for at least an hour or two.”

“That long?” He whistled. Jason wasn’t sure how the mouth moved to replicate the sound, but the noise came loud and clear, all the same. “So, I’m gonna be talking like this for a while, no matter what.” He sighed. “Great.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Judas assured him. “In fact, you might grow to like it.” He chuckled. “I can’t begin to tell you the number of customers we’ve had asking after just the spray, because they want to sound more masculine.” He clapped his hands. “But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? How do you like the costume?

“Fits a lot better than I thought it would.” He flexed a bulging arm and watched the spandex rise and fall with it. “Good feel to it, and realistic motion for the packaging, too. Has a great range of motion.”

“Naturally. You’re supposed to be a sports star, after all,” Judas said. “Among other things.”

“And heir to a fortune?”

“Certainly to a position of authority. A man has to lead and protect his own, now doesn’t he?” The hellhound smirked. “And you’re certainly fit enough to lead a herd, wouldn’t you say?”

The costume’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, bro.”

“I’d say we’ve found our winners.” Judas grinned. “Let’s get things settled, so you two can be on your way.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Believe you me, I know a thing or two about these sorts of things. You don’t have to say you want it for me to know you do. Desire is one of many things I can detect very easily. And I can tell by how you keep feeling up the costume that you desire it very much, indeed.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t think—”

“I’ll ring you up.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Jackson avoided eye contact with Jason as the two hailed a cab. They arrived home, and Jason was swift to expel himself from the costume.  After all that time spent with the much taller and broader shape, Jason felt a strange sense of disparity, seeing his roommate stride out of his room in regular clothes. Pale skin, dark hair, no mane, no fur, no hooves or football gloves. And no muzzle jabbing into the air.

No muzzle.

Jason shuddered as he thought back to that moment at the store. The heightened scents and sounds, the confusing sensation of his own ears twitching and shifting. Surely, it couldn’t have been real. Surely, it was some form of illusion, maybe a feverish dream prodded by his overexcitement?

“Scared yet, human?”

He barely suppressed the urge to shudder. Judas had played his role perfectly, perhaps a little too well. He could almost swear he’d smelled sulfur around that man. The swish of his tail, the many directions if flowed. That was too intricate to be randomly caused by a machine. And yet, the idea of magic being real, of actually taking over his body, turning it into something else. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!

“Stop thinking about it,” he muttered to himself.

“Thinking about what?” Jackson asked. The effects of the spray still hadn’t worn off yet. It would take at least another half hour. That was the one thing that remained different about his friend. The rest was familiar and well-grounded in reality. His bright eyes and spherical pupils. His curly dark hair springing naturally atop his head. The distinct location of his ears to either side of his head behind the temples. These were real. These were fact. The rest could not be.

“It’s nothing.” Jason shook his head. “Just got a little freaked out by that store clerk is all.”

Jason nodded in sympathy. “He was kind of a creep, wasn’t he?”

“He just got a little too into character for me, called me human, asked if I was scared. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but….”

“It did?”

Jason nodded.

“Aren’t you at least going to show me what you look like in your costume?”

“Maybe later.” Jason shook his head. “Right now, I just want to relax a little, de-stress.”

Jackson chuckled. “I hear you, man.” Jackson hopped onto the couch and flipped on the TV. A few minutes later, ESPN was commenting on the brilliant footwork of a running back that had busted past the blockade to break for the goal post.

“Seriously?” Jason asked.

Jackson shrugged. “What? Might as well study up to get into character. Besides, I happen to like the Colts.”

“They’re going to lose.”

“Now why do you have to be such a downer? Have a little faith, bro.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that to me.”

Jackson smirked. “Better get used to it. We’ve got a party to prep for.”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening air was cold and bitter as the two friends strode into the night. A well-toned six-pack stood out prominently from Jason’s abdominals as they walked, and his shoulders seemed a little broader. The hair was thicker than it had been when he first put the mask on, and the way it spread in such a way as to emphasize and accentuate the size of his muscles. The tattered remains of a shirt draped from his waist over a tight pair of jeans as a long flowing tail curved between his legs. His ears drooped low as he trod the cement on bare feet. The skin rippled over his bones with every shift, and the casual observer could easily note the darkening soles. Whether it was dirt or actual padding, however, would be up for debate.

“You sure you haven’t been working out behind my back, little bro?” Jackson asked. The addition of his hoof inserts had given him another three inches of height, projecting the illusion of a taller, brawnier equine. The throat spray rested in a fleece-lined fanny pack that jutted in front of his torso.

“Cut the crap, Jack. I’m not in the mood.” Jason reached back and touched his new appendage gingerly. He barely suppressed the shudder as new nerves told him just how very real the addition was.

“Aw, come on. I thought I sounded pretty good.”

“Yes, and everyone is going to be so impressed at how well you mimic a big dumb jock.” Jason rolled his eyes.

The lips on the headpiece drew down into a frown as Jackson laid his gloved hand on Jason’s shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

A low whine slipped out of Jason’s throat, and tears welled beneath his eyes as he shuddered. His chest hitched as he struggled to control his breathing, exposing his ribs with every intake. “I’m scared, Jackson,” he finally managed to say. “All this?” He motioned to himself. “This didn’t come in the package. I didn’t buy it separately or get it mailed. This is me, but … not me. Hell, this tail wasn’t even part of me when I tried the thing on at the store! At this rate, I’m of scared for how I’ll look by the end of tonight. I’m … I’m scared I won’t even be able to take it off.”

A startled yip escaped Jason’s throat as Jackson flicked one of his ears. “Then pull it off, bro.”

“What?”

“I said pull off the mask. Show me for a minute.”

Pulling the mask left his skull feeling almost like clay as he braced himself and pulled against his ears. It hurt briefly, but then the sculptor went to work pushing, massaging, and molding the snout back into a human face that slowly emerged from the rubber. The mask felt more like a second skin as he pulled it off. He could almost feel a heartbeat as he held the thing in his hands and shuddered. The sidewalk was much colder on his bare human feet, and the wind swept over his diminished frame without mercy. He looked up at his friend and was shocked to find that he looked even taller now than when they’d first left the apartment.

Glassy eyes stared intently for a time, first to the mask, then to his friend. Finally, he spoke. “You feel any different now than when you had the mask on?”

Jason shook his head.

“Did it hurt taking it off?”

Jason averted his gaze. “Just when I grabbed the ears to start it.”

“And did you like it?”

“What?”

The burst of a sigh escaped as a snort through the equine nostrils as Jackson doubtless rolled his eyes beneath the headpiece. “Did you like it? The mass, the fur, the tail, you know. Everything?”

“I … don’t really know?”

Jackson shrugged. “Then find out. Wear it for the night. Worst case scenario, you can take it off in the bathroom or something if you need a breather.” The lips curved into a smile. “Now come on. Put that mask back on. I wanna try something.”

The mask settled back into place again, and just like before, the artist squeezed and molded. Jason’s face pulled forward, his teeth sharpened, the thickening hairs returned, as did the ears and tail.

And then mindless bliss. Thick hoof-like nails dragged, rubbed, and massaged his scalp. His shoulders slumped, the world melted, and by the time he came back to reality, his tongue was hanging over his mouth as he panted. Jackson hunched over to whisper in his ear.

“Keep it on all night, and I might just do that for you again after we leave.”

Jason looked at his wagging tail in horror, then to his friend. “What did you just do?”

“Scratched your scalp. Most dogs enjoy it. Humans, too, actually. We’ve got a lot of nerves on there that send pleasure, if you know the right spots to touch.” He shrugged, and the shoulder pads rose along his artificially broad neck. “Now come on, doggo. We’ve got a party to get to.”

Surprisingly, Jason felt a flicker of anger at the nickname. “If you’re not going to call me by name, at least use the costume’s,” he groused, even as he avoided eye contact.

Jackson chuckled. “Sure thing, Howl. Whatever you say, bro.”

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun bleeding through the blinds finally woke Jason from his slumber. He groaned and stretched in bed. The last night had been a bit of a blur, but he remembered having fun, at least. He curved an arm idly behind his head and peered at the dresser across the way. The mask rested on its display stand. Its hollow eye sockets seemed almost to stare back at him as he yawned and scratched his stomach. “Morning, Howl.”

Naturally, the mask didn’t respond. Jason got out of bed and stretched again as he strode toward the bathroom in their shared apartment. The sight that greeted him at the mirror was his usual self. He scratched the stubble on his face and played with the wisps of hair that had grown on his chest. Once he’d brushed his teeth, he turned to the side and took another look at his body. The stubble helped to accentuate some of his more masculine features, and his black briefs hugged in all the right places. A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “I’m looking good this morning.”

The first thing to strike his senses was the sizzle, followed shortly by the sharp and luscious scent of fat cooking off for that oh so crisp and salty joy that was, “Bacon….” Jason had to swallow back the tsunami of saliva that rose in response to that olfactory earthquake. He raced back to his room and quickly jumped into some pants and a shirt, then strode back into the kitchen, doing his best to avoid looking eager.

Jason was already at the stove, turning the food over with a set of tongs. His long black curls pushed angrily at the cap that even now held them in check, with only a few that broke free at the font of his head through the gap above the backstrap. The duck bill of the hat stretched out behind at a jaunty angle, and he grinned as he turned to face his friend bare-chested. “So, the wolf emerges at last from his den. Welcome back to the land of the living, bro.”

“You know, you’re not in costume. You don’t need to keep saying that.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s fun. Besides, it’s not like I’m bothering anyone with it.” He motioned to the table. “Take a seat, bro. Breakfast’ll be ready soon. I hope you like oatmeal.”

“At this point, I’d settle for leather, if I could get it now. I’m starving.” His stomach growled its hearty agreement.

Jackson smirked. “I could get you a rawhide bone, if you like.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he took his chair and scratched himself absently. “Not my kind of bone,” he muttered, then paused. Where had that come from?

“What’d you say, bro?”

Jason shook his head. “Nothing. We going to have eggs, too, or just the goop?”

Jackson gasped. “Excuse me, sir. I’ll have you know that my oatmeal is the finest in the land, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, because instant oatmeal is so hard to make.”

“It is when you add your own secret ingredients.” Jackson smirked.

“You’re not going to try to poison me again, are you?”

“As I recall, the poison in question that you’re so worried about coincided with a very nasty stomach virus that your own doctor verified as such. Don’t blame the cook for your body’s poor performance. Speaking of which.” He tossed an orange, and Jason was surprised to find he caught it almost immediately. “Eat up. You need more Vitamin C in your diet, you carnivore.”

Jason sniffed disdainfully. “You make it sound like such a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re about to get a heart attack from it.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t.”

Jason rolled his eyes and smirked. “Oh, shut up, jackass.”

Jackson turned and quirked his eyebrow. “What was that?”

“You’re the donkey. You tell me.”

“Ah,” he said as understanding dawned. “I’d be more careful about those kinds of jokes if I were you. This jackass might not always be around to save your sorry hide otherwise.” He smirked. “But I’ll let it pass this once. And only for the small price of one of your pieces of bacon. Isn’t that a bargain?”

Something in Jason’s chest lurched, and he could almost feel a physical pain at the declaration. “How could you be so cruel?” he asked forlornly.

Jackson shielded his eyes, as though they’d been struck by the sun directly. “Since when did you use puppy-dog eyes?”

Jason raised his brow in surprise. “Since never?”

“My heart would beg to disagree. I almost had a cute attack. Seriously, dude, turn those things off!”

“Okay, now I know you’re just pulling my leg,” Jason groused. “Come on, man, the fun’s over.” He sniffed the air. “And more importantly, the bacon’s about to burn. Flip it over.”

Jackson cursed as he whipped back to the stovetop to literally save his bacon.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The heavy thump of music pulsed through the night air as the two friends strode into the dark. With every passing streetlamp, the wolf man changed. Skin was gradually consumed by a lush coat of silver fur that seemed almost to glow as he strode forward. Silent, padded feet were soon replaced by thick bestial paws that clacked on the cement as they walked. His face contorted into a full bestial muzzle as they carried on. His furry ears swiveled to home in on the heavy clunk of Jackson’s new cleats. The equine hadn’t worn them to the first party in favor of adjusting to the new hooves instead. Now, he’d grown even taller with the help of the spikes embedded into the special shoes that had been designed with an insert specifically for hooves.

“Looking good there, little bro,” Jackson praised.

“It’s getting worse,” Jason noted. “I thought I was just supposed to be a partial werewolf. This is—”

“Cool.” He let out a brief husky chuckle. “Jase, you’re supposed to be big, snarly, and fierce. Own it. Don’t shy away.”

“Maybe,” Jason admitted as they passed into another pool of light. He paused a moment to flex his new muscle. The tension of his claws against the pads in his hands as the muscle pulsed and the blood surged filled him with a strange sensation. It wasn’t entirely pleasure, but not really painful either. More … anticipatory.

The pop of the pant seams in the dark heralded the next stage of Jason’s metamorphosis, and Jackson couldn’t help but let out a deep guffaw at the sight under the next street lamp. “Damn, bro. Somebody’s packing.” Jackson continued to bassoon as he smacked his padded thigh.

Jason had lost the tell of a blush, but canines are an expressive species by nature, and wolves are no different. His ears dropped low as a growl reverberated from his throat. “Look who’s talking, jock boy.”

“Hey! Don’t diss the Jack, bro.”

“Well, isn’t that what your character is supposed to be?”

Jackson grinned. “Bro, you wish you knew what I got up to on that island.”

“You mean what Jack got up to on the island.”

Jackson shrugged. “Gotta get in character. Shouldn’t you, too?” They passed through another gap. When they emerged in the light, a loin cloth had replaced the tattered remains of Jason’s clothes. “Your costume sure seems to think so.” He chuckled again. “How you feeling?”

“Honestly?”

Jackson nodded enthusiastically.

“Energetic and….”

“And?”

The growl that followed was deeper, and Jason’s voice soon followed as his chest barreled out and his neck thickened with muscle. “Swear you won’t laugh.”

“I swear.”

The hairs on Jason’s rapidly developing mane flared as he flushed with embarrassment. “… Aroused.”

Jackson grinned as he wrapped a huge arm around Jason’s shoulders. It was only too clear how much he struggled to hold back. “Alpha bod like that, I ain’t surprised, bro. Sounds to me like Howl needs to go on the prowl, if you know what I’m saying.”

Jason’s eyes couldn’t help but fall on the artificial padding at the donkey costume’s crotch. With each flash of light, it seemed … bigger than before. The compression gear was tighter over his thighs, and the padding in the arms gave a little too easily to be the typical foam or air insert. His nose twitched, and he detected hay, cologne, a hint of sweat. It was new, different, and yet … familiar. Was he turning, too? Was Jackson merging with Jack the same way Howl was merging with him? Was that … okay?

They’d stopped moving. Jackson was staring at him. The two were now much closer in height, maybe a couple of inches’ worth of difference. “Bro, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re bros. We’re supposed to be horny. Just gotta channel it in the right place. If someone wants to judge for it, screw them.” He squeezed Jason’s shoulders gently. “Bros gotta stick together, am I right?”

Jason’s mouth suddenly felt dry as the loin cloth tightened. He looked down past his still-developing chest.

The cloth hadn’t shrunk.

“Uh….”

“Come on. A good walk will help work it off,” Jackson promised. “We’ve still got time before the party.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Jason’s eyes roved over the gathering as he drank his punch. The first party had been spent alone to the side. He didn’t really need people to comment on his costume then. It was frightening enough just dealing with all the stares. Now, he was staring at them.

Before, it had been out of curiosity, a mere study of the costumes and interaction. This time felt more … purposeful. The loud thump of the music in his ears left him wanting to snarl, but he bore it with dignity as the rest of the partygoers reveled. It wasn’t their fault they had such poor hearing. It was sort of pathetic, in a way. Jackson was the only other one who seemed to understand. His ears swiveled like great satellite dishes, struggling to home in on the next sound. And yet, he seemed perfectly at ease. The social cues and interactions left many smiling or whispering after he left. The music was too loud to focus on trying to hear them. Jason could only hope they were speaking good things. If they weren’t….

It took him a moment to realize he was growling. His lips had pulled back to expose his fangs and sharper teeth. A good deterrent, but he didn’t want to deter. The whole point of this party was that he was supposed to be social and have fun. It was Halloween, for crying out loud! Or at least it would be soon enough.

The werewolf rose to his full height and sampled the air discreetly. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. It just felt right to do. He shoved awkwardly through the gathering, still not used to the mass he’d accumulated. Every brush against his fur, every bump on his side, every thump of his tail against someone’s leg struck him with new and strange sensory input. For a time, apologies flowed easily from his lips, but after enough rude comments and judgmental stares, his hackles began to rise. If people were going to be rude, he had no reason to give them respect.

They should show respect to him.

The anger should have clouded his judgement. Instead, it granted clarity. He could see clearly across the room. Cleopatra, Dionysus, mummies, dragons, centurions, and many more sorted through the space. Some were dancing with partners. Others sat to cool off or enjoy refreshments. Others still socialized with friends or built new acquaintances.

“Hey there, Mister Wolf. Care for a dance with Little Red?”

This Riding Hood was anything but little. Her red cloak shimmered in the light and cascaded like water down her back. Her hair was long and lush with vivacious curls and an artful smile that hinted at a primal hunger, one that the werewolf could sympathize with very well, indeed. Her dress was far from the simple village outfit most red riding hoods are associated with. One could say it came closer to the Scarlet Witch in its design with sparkles woven throughout the fabric that glinted with every motion she took. The tight bodice emphasized the curves at her waist and near her chest. Instead of a skirt, a pale translucent body suit colored to look like skin stretched down to a pair of high scarlet heels. All she needed was a crown to complete the ensemble.

“Last I checked, the wolf was the last one Red would want to see,” he countered.

“Fortunately, this Red isn’t a little girl.”

Jason sighed. “One dance,” he allowed.

“We’ll see.” She smirked as the two entered the dance floor. Jason was far from graceful, but the girl more than made up for it. And beside that, he soon found himself adapting to the pattern as they waltzed. He still couldn’t control his tail well, but the couple were able to dance well enough. Those who attempted to complain were met with an angry snarl.

“And what should I call you?” Red asked.

“Howl,” Jason said brusquely. He didn’t know this woman, and he liked her even less. She was being too forward, and her body language read differently than someone looking for a good time. When the dance came to an end, he stepped away. A soft hand grabbed his. “I said one dance,” he reminded her.

“And I can’t treat you to a drink?”

Jason deliberately reached to the woman’s hand and carefully dislodged it. “No,” he said simply. And then he left. It didn’t take long to locate Jackson. He was busy chatting it up with some of the other more serious costumers. The wolf in him always kept track. Was it worry that caused him to keep such a close eye, or something else? Frankly, he wasn’t sure.

He settled down next to the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender’s face was painted to replicate a skeleton, and his hands were coated in gloves with a similar skeletal design. His shirt and vest highlighted a svelt figure, and Jason couldn’t help but notice the tone that pressed lightly against the shirt. This tender was modest, but he was clearly well built.

“Having fun?” the tender asked.

Jason shrugged. “Could be better.” He shook his head. “No date.”

The tender nodded sagely. “That’s always tough. There are a lot of people here, though. You could probably find someone, if you really wanted to look.” He shook the blend, then poured it into a glass and passed it down. “Careful. This is strong stuff.”

“I think I can handle it.”

The tender chuckled. “I’ll tell you what. You drink that and don’t get buzzed, and the next one’s on the house.”

“Won’t that take a half hour, at least?”

The tender shrugged. “I don’t mind waiting. It’s not like I have much else to do.”

Jason took a deep breath. The sterilization of alcohol and other products was strong here, but mingled with it came the smell of aftershave, a hint of spice, and something else that set his heart to pounding. The loin cloth tightened under the counter, but no one could see it, so Jason did his best not to draw attention to it. Surprisingly enough, his consciousness seemed to listen, and he leaned on the counter with both elbows. “I suppose I can spare a while.”

The bartender grinned. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Call me Howl.”

“Then I guess you can call me bones.”

“Bones, huh?” His mouth pulled into a grin, baring his teeth. “I like bones.”

The skeleton smirked as he pushed the glass toward the wolf, drawing the big clawed hand over to the stem. There was no fear or judgement in those eyes, only an invitation, a desperation, a hunger. “I think you’ll like this even more. Let me know what you think.”

Both men licked their lips. Jason raised his glass. His eyes drifted again over that frame. Again, that surge flowed through him, and a giddy sort of high came with it before he even took a sip. His tail wagged. His teeth flashed. He’d found something. Something important. And he wasn’t going to let it go, whatever it was. “I will,” he said as he downed the concoction.

Howl needs to go on the prowl. That’s what Jackson had said. Perhaps, perhaps Howl had found what he was looking for.

Bones grinned. “Now comes the fun part.”

Howl grinned in turn.

There wasn’t much thinking left to do by the end of the night.

Only taking.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

As he had a week before, Jason rose from his bed. His head was groggy, but surprisingly, no headache followed. He felt … good, full, … satisfied? This time, he brushed the fur of the mask. “I don’t know what we did last night, but damn do I feel good.”

He grinned at himself in the mirror. Beautiful white teeth and sharp canines bared back at him as he brushed his teeth and attended to the morning queue. He lingered in the shower, relishing in the sensation of the warm muscles, the pump they seemed to generate. Whatever was in those drinks last night must have done wonders. He laughed as he left the shower and stood in front of the mirror again. The stubble had thickened into a proper short beard. His jaw looked sharper, his eyes brighter, and the sight of his chest rising and falling was practically mesmerizing in and of itself.

The cry of a sportscaster shouting, “Touchdown!” over the television speakers in the living room pulled him back out of his trance.

“Aw, hell, yeah!”

Jason lumbered into the television room out of curiosity. A man with broad shoulders and a black Under Armour compression shirt hooted from the couch. The sides of his head were shaved down to stubble, with a long black strip running down the middle. There wasn’t a single sign of a curl to be seen.

“Jackson?”

Jackson grinned when he turned to face Jason. His face was broader, his forehead more prominent. His neck had filled with muscle, and his arms were pumped from a morning workout. “Well, look who finally woke up.” He chuckled. “Finished resting on the laurels of your conquests, Your Majesty?”

“My … what?” Jason blinked in surprise.

“You were a fucking beast last night,” he crowed. “The girls were all over you, and you snuffed every last one of ’em. You’re gonna be infamous!” He chuckled. “And it gave me plenty of time to comfort a few of them after you let them down.” The compression gear he wore highlighted bulky thighs and held the bulge that pressed there. While not so large as Jason remembered from last night, he knew this wasn’t normal for Jackson.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jackson?”

“Never been better.” He strode to his roommate and smacked him on the back. “And call me Jack, bro. I told you before, it’s easier.” He transferred the hand to Jason’s head and rubbed furiously.

The whole world melted under that touch, and Jason’s shoulders slumped in ecstasy. Jackson’s laugh brought him around again.

“You go get dressed. I’ll prep you something to eat. An alpha’s got to take care of himself, right?”

“Uh … yeah….” Jason blinked and broke the contact. “I’ll, uh, see you in a few.”

Jack waved dismissively. “Take your time, bro. The food won’t be in a hurry to cook itself.”

Jason nodded slowly and stumbled back to his room. He patted his head, then shook it to try to disperse the sensation. He closed the door and got dressed. The pants felt oddly constricting, and his skin almost itched when he pulled on a shirt. Finally, he flung it to the ground and stalked up to the mask. “What did you do to me?” he snarled. “What did you do to Jackson?”

Naturally, there was no response. The mask remained silent. That didn’t stop him from imagining what it might say, though.

I gave you what you wanted. Confidence, power, strength, the ability to take what you want without fear, without worry, without consequence. And you did. You may not remember it clearly, but you did, and you loved every minute of it.

Conquest.

The brush of lips against his snout.

Control.

Snatching a stray body onto the dance floor.

Dominance.

Scrawling a number. Adding to contacts.

Compulsion.

Hot breath over a soft neck. A sharp nose near the ear. The whispered command. “Call me….”

Presence.

Jackson’s words reverberated in his skull. He would be infamous. Snuffing the girls. Every one of them. But … then who had he asked to call? Whose lips did he touch? Who … who brought out the beast?

You know. You just don’t want to admit it.

Admission. Admission of what?

The night flashed again. The bulging crotch in Jack’s costume. The tone on the barkeep’s build. The resistance to his grip as he pulled the man onto the floor. The smooth, deep voice that sent goosebumps up his flesh at the mere recollection—

…

The man.

…

It was a man.

They were all men.

“Oh, god,” he swore. A sympathetic tingle rose in his crotch. This time, when he looked at the mask, he could swear it was smiling.

His appetite was gone. The dry mouth that followed came from shock, rather than lust. His phone went off. He checked the screen.

A wall of text bubbles cascaded down the screen.

Hey. You told me to text you, so … yeah. This is Jim.

John here. Had a great time last night. What’s your Facebook info?

Phil checking in. You doing okay, man? You looked sort of out of it on the way out of the party.

Jason wanted to be sick.

He wanted to be, but he wasn’t. Instead, his body betrayed him as blood surged and a familiar tightness rose in his crotch.

Passing faces. Eyes, ears, necks. Bits and pieces and parts of wholes, each associated with the names flashing by on his screen, like a collection or a trophy rack or a, a—

His eyes widened in horror as he looked back at the mask. “A pack,” he rasped.

The mask didn’t move. It didn’t need to, even if it could.

“I’m not gay. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not!” Jason shook his head violently as he fell back onto his bed. “Get out!” he ordered. But his brain wouldn’t listen. Like a barely lucid dream, he had no control. He could only watch as piece after horrifying piece fell into place in the weave of his memory.

His chest tightened. His breathing came faster. The sheets felt suddenly cool as his rapidly beating heart pumped hot blood through his flesh. Heat for denial, and for arousal.

“I like girls,” he cast into the air. Whether he was talking to himself, the mask, or both, he wasn’t sure. “I’ve dated them loads of times. Hell, I’ve had sex with them and enjoyed it!”

Yet now, when he thought back on those times, the blood flow lessened. His body calmed. He barely got a twitch.

“This isn’t right,” he said softly as he shook his head.

The phone went off again. This time, his whole body tensed. The hairs along his arms stood on end and thickened as he looked over the words. His breathing sped.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about that invite you gave me. If you’re still okay with it, I’ll be glad to come with you next week. Just text me the address.

~Bones

Bones had texted him, just like the rest.

The scent of old spice, licorice, and those beautiful blue eyes that seemed almost to glow under the blacklight in the bar. So intoxicating, so inviting, so … much … want.

The pressure against his legs forced him to spread them. He watched in horror as the bulge pressed against his crotch. It wasn’t obscene, but it was prominent. And it was his, not Howl’s, his.

But … Howl may have used it. Why else would he be this way now? Why would he be feeling these feelings? Why would he go after those handsome men and … and…?

A donkey’s bray snapped his attention back to reality.

Jason bolted toward the source. The door burst open in his haste to reveal Jackson’s room. The donkey head was still on its stand, right next to the pads and gear. Jackson turned in surprise to look at his friend. The sprayer was in his hand, the plunger already depressed. “You okay, bro?”

Jason trembled. “Jack, what’re you doing?”

“Testing the costume. Some idiot knocked me upside the head last night. I just wanted to make sure everything still worked.” He pressed a button in one of the gloves, and the braying sounded again.

“Jack, I … I don’t think we should keep wearing the costumes.” Cold. It felt so cold. Why was it so cold all of a sudden?

Jack furrowed his brow. “You don’t look so good, bro. Maybe you should get back in bed.”

The room spun. Jason leaned on the door frame for support. “I … I get the need for testing the suit, but … why the spray?”

Jack blushed as he hastily put the cap back on. “I … I just like it, okay bro? I like sounding like this. I like playing the big bro. I just feel … better like this. Like—”

“Like another person,” Jason said bluntly.

Jackson looked like a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar. “Well, yeah, I guess. It’s just … I kinda like it.” He popped a flex. “I mean, look at me. Look at us, bro.” He chuckled, and his eyes rolled as his chest heaved against the fabric. “Fuck,” he swore. And then he did it again. “Huhuhuh….” He triggered the mechanism. “Huhuhuh-HAWWWWW!”

Mask and costume spun around the man with the whorl of Jason’s rushing heartbeat, Jackson’s laughter, and the donkey Jack’s. The ghostly apparitions seemed almost to fuse as the world faded into a blur, and then came the darkness and merciful silence.

The scent of sausage, cheese, tomatoes, and spices pulled him around. He found himself laying in his own bed. Before he could even think, the tasty treat was already in his mouth. Gooey cheese blended with seasoned hash browns and tangy salsa. He chewed. He swallowed. The world cleared.

“Jason. You okay, man?”

Jackson was there. His broad frame blocked most of the window as he stood up with foil-wrapped breakfast burrito in hand. His voice had returned mostly to normal, though there was a definite timbre that pulled to the lower registers of his regular voice.

There was only one logical conclusion to make as Jason drew himself up in the bed. Jackson must have carried him in. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough.” Jackson frowned. “I didn’t think a costume could get you so worked up. If I’d know, I wouldn’t have … I don’t know, I would’ve done something different. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jason’s stomach growled. “I will be after I get that burrito down.”

Jackson smiled weakly. “Well, at least your appetite’s not affected.”

“Appetite’s probably the only thing.” Jason frowned as he took his burrito and tore another chunk out of it. “Jack, something’s wrong with me.”

“We talking doctor wrong or—?”

“I’m talking me wrong, like my body, my head, I … I don’t know, not like hospital bad, but I’m just … I’m messed up and I’m freaking out because of what’s been going on.” Tears welled in his eyes and coursed down his cheeks as he took another heavy bite, tearing part of the wrapper with it. He fished it out of his mouth, then chewed and swallowed the rest.

Jackson took a seat on the side of the bed and laid a supportive hand on Jason’s knee. “Tell me.”

“Jackson—”

“Jack,” he corrected gently.

“Can we please not start with that right now?”

“All right, man. But tell me what’s going on.”

Jason averted his gaze. “I … I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But somehow, someway, I … I’m….”

“Yes?”

“I’m turning gay, man!”

Jackson blinked silently a few times. “Is that all?”

“Is that all? My entire sexual orientation is pulling a one-eighty and—oh, god damn it,” he swore as his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment in equal measure. A tent had formed under the sheets. He quickly moved to cover it with his hands.

Jackson shrugged. “Bro, I’m bi. I just slept at other peoples’ places so it wouldn’t get awkward, you know?” He shrugged. “Maybe this is just a side of yourself you’ve been holding back on.”

“I would know if I was gay before, Jackson. I’m not some homophobe, but this is seriously unsettling for me! I mean, put it in your perspective. What if you went from bisexual to asexual overnight? No attractions, no way to get little Jack there to buck. Wouldn’t that freak you out?”

Jackson frowned. “Maybe a little,” he allowed.

“Exactly! I don’t hate gay people, but I don’t want to be gay, man! I liked liking girls! It’s who I was—am.”

“It’s part of who you are,” Jack corrected seriously. “A small part.” He stood up and flexed. “Look at me, Jason.”

Jason looked away guiltily.

“I said look at me, bro.”

Jason kept staring at the sheets. Two hands seized his head and twisted it.

“I said look at me, little bro.”

Jason suddenly felt breathless. The blunt face, the rugged features, the deep, low voice. And this time, he didn’t need the spray. Was it a residue, was something else altering it, was it just a figment of a wild imagination? Either way, he shuddered. The rush flowed again. Heat. Swelling. Manhood.

Dominance.

Jason’s hands seized Jackson’s wrists and squeezed. “Don’t touch me,” he growled. “If I want to do something, I’ll do it. I won’t have someone do it for me.” Despite the lack of mass, he held his own against Jackson. Or maybe Jackson was holding back. He didn’t know, and part of him didn’t seem to care either way.

Jackson smirked. “Make me, bro.”

The two wrestled like Spartans over the bed. The sheets were tangled and then kicked aside as they rolled and kicked and kneed and elbowed. Back and forth, blow for blow.

“That’s it, bro,” Jackson said with a cocky smirk. He nearly had Jason pinned. “Work it out.” Then he sneered. “Or would you rather beat it out?”

Jason snarled at the lewd reference and broke the hold with renewed strength. They continued to grapple for the next five minutes. Neither gave ground. In the end, however, Jason finally found himself straddling a heaving chest. The sleek black material glinted in the room’s light, further highlighting the hard muscle that lay underneath. The blocky features and broad nose were pulled by a grin.

“Fuck, bro. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Jackson panted.

Jason hovered over Jackson’s face. His breath mingled with that of his conquest. “I didn’t either,” he admitted.

“So, what’re you going to do now?”

“I … don’t know,” Jason admitted. “Maybe just … stay here a while?”

Jackson’s smile was warm and gentle as he looked up at his friend. “I’m good with that.”

The two laid there together, both chests heaving, both pumped full of blood and testosterone. And though they hadn’t lain in the biblical sense, the two had been joined on a different, almost instinctual level.

Jason finally rolled off his roommate and panted. Jackson’s hand interlocked with his. He didn’t pull away this time.

“See, bro?” Jackson asked. “It’s not so bad.”

Jason’s head lolled to the side. The mask and its stand had been knocked off the dresser. Its empty sockets stared into his eyes. Once more, things felt heavier, thicker, tighter below. But for once, he didn’t care. He was high on the victory. So very high. And so damn tired. Too tired to focus on denial.

“Yeah, … I guess so, … Jack.”

“Huhuh. That’s my bro.”

“Shut up and let me enjoy this.”

“Is that an order from the Alpha?”

The pleasure doubled. His vision of the room cleared. He had dominated. He had won. And he had just received acknowledgement of that victory. His voice was deeper when next he spoke. “Yes, Jack. Yes, it is.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The two friends strode confidently down the street. The cold air didn’t bother them, nor did the noise of the city. Their ears had long since adjusted. The equine had guzzled the rest of the voice treating bottle in one go, and the effects were far from disappointing. A thick adam’s apple jutted from a heavily muscled neck. Jack’s gear strained against burgeoning muscles he definitely didn’t have last weekend. His thick brow and wide forehead emphasized the bestial features of his “mask.” White buck teeth were bared in a witless, giddy grin. A water bottle sloshed at his side, connected by a strap to his waist.

“What are you planning, Jack?” Jason growled suspiciously. His thick meaty paws were silent as he prowled along the sidewalk with his friend. Unlike the previous weekend, the costume hadn’t felt the need to have a loin cloth. The moon shone brightly on them, and with every step, Jason felt more powerful and confident than ever before.

“Just a little fun, bro.” Jack smirked.

“What’s in the bottle?” The question rang with the tone of command.

“Just a little something I brought from home for just such an occasion.”

“Home?”

“Good old IPDB. Bro’s gotta have a herd to hang with, ya know?”

“What, I’m not good enough?”

Jack punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Nah, you know it’s not that, Howl. It’s just … sort of a need, you know? You need a pack, and I need a herd. Don’t tell me you’re not planning on making a few new wolves tonight.”

“That’s my affair.” He sighed. “All right. How many bowls are you planning to spike?”

Jack grinned wider.

“You’re not going to spike all of them,” he snarled. “I like you, Jack, but if you touch any of my claims….”

“Whoa, whoa, chill, bro.” Jack raised his gloved hands placatingly. “I may be a dumbass, but I’m not suicidal.”

“Good. I’d hate to lose one of my favorite chew toys.”

Jack smirked. “Glad to see you’re getting into character, Howl.”

“I liked it better when you called me bro.”

Jack’s brown eyes dulled as he guffawed. “Huhuhuh. Whatever you say, bro.”

“Because…?”

A bray passed into the night as the bulge in Jack’s crotch swelled. “You’re the alpha, bro.”

“Good donkey.” The werewolf leaned closer to his companion and chuffed in his ear before he whispered, “And don’t you forget it.”

The entrance to the conference center was flooded with people. More than half the city had to be assembled or be assembling for the gathering. Jason was worried about finding Bones in the crowd. Howl, however, remembered his scent well. The pair shoved the other partygoers aside as they approached an alcove to the side of the main entrance. There he was, in full costume. His bones seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. Howl slavered at the sight. Jason kept the alpha in check, albeit only just. It wasn’t time yet.

…

Whatever that meant.

“That’s quite an entrance,” Bones noted.

“I like to make an impression,” he responded.

“Is that so?” Bones smirked. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Jack, my roommate.”

“Sup, bro?”

Bones raised a curious brow.

“Believe it or not, he talks like that all the time.”

Jack shrugged. “I like to KISS.”

“Well, that’s … pretty up front.”

The werewolf rolled his eyes. “It’s one of his jokes. KISS: Keep it Simple, Stupid.”

Jack grinned. “You know you like it.”

He let out a longsuffering sigh. “Oh, the burdens one bears to have a roommate.”

A light punch to his shoulder was followed by a quick guffawing bray. “Shut up.”

“Well, you two look cozy,” Bones noted.

Howl wrapped his arm around the man and pulled him close. “Nah. This is cozy.”

“Oh, my.”

Jack laughed again. “Okay, Takei. I’m gonna let you two love birds have some fun. Catch you later, bros!”

Dancing, chatting, games, laughing. In the matters of physical prowess, Jason left it to Howl. In the matters of social interaction, Howl left it to Jason, barring certain interlopers who might want to interrupt the evening. The more time passed, the more difficult it became to differentiate between the two. Was it Jason who pulled Bones for another dance or Howl? Did Howl bare his teeth at interlopers, or was that Jason not wanting to let go of the fun from the evening? Who swept Bones out of the way when a waiter was about to crash into him? Whose mouth watered at the chicken salad Bones heaped on a plate? Who shoved the food into a gaping maw with both hands, then licked the food after?

…

Who dragged Bones to the bathroom with a paw over his face and teeth near his throat?

“Quiet,” he whispered. “Let me explain. I won’t hurt you.”

The loud brays and guffaws from Jack drew the attention of much of the crowd as he challenged foes to arm wrestling contests and other forms of entertainment. The revelers high on the donk’s special concoction probably helped, too. Howl knew he’d owe the lug big time for that distraction.

The handicapped stall was the only option that would work, given his size.

“I’m going to take my hands off you now.” He grit his teeth. “I’m … asking you not to scream.” The face paint was smudged when the werewolf finally removed his hand. He backed away and squatted on his haunches, though his whole body was tense. It was easy to read how much Bones wanted to run, and he had to be ready to prevent that. “Please don’t try diving under the stalls. I really don’t want to have to pull you back. I just need you to calm down.”

“What…?”

“I’m still the same wolf you met last weekend. Same personality, same allure, same confidence.” He looked away. “… Same attraction.”

“Attraction,” Bones repeated almost disbelievingly.

“I’m a wolf, not a monster.” His tail drooped. “And I’m still a man. Others, I could take in a heartbeat. I’d wrestle them, hold them, make them mine. That’s what I’m supposed to do as the alpha. But you, you’re … different.”

“How?”

“Look, I can’t put it into words, okay? You’re just … different!” A low growl rose in his throat. He bit it off quickly. “If you were like me, I could explain it a lot easier.”

“Like you?”

“Yes, like me! I’m a wolf, damn it! We speak with our bodies a lot better than our words. Hell, I thought you read me just fine last weekend.”

This time, Bones looked away. “And are you always, well, … you know?”

He shrugged. “I’m a wolf, Bones. My mother named me Howl after Howl’s Moving Castle, not because of our species. Does it even matter? I’m still a man, whether I’m like this or furless.”

“How do you deal with … everything?”

The werewolf shrugged. “One day at a time. It helps having a pack to fall back on. And there are a few allies who help keep things relatively secret. But … I don’t think they matter to me right now.”

“Because?”

He lunged, Howl and Jason together. Both pinned Bones to the stall. Both breathed on his neck. Both felt the heat between their bodies, and it was electric. “Because I want you, damn it. I want to be with you. I want for there to be an us.” He pulled back slightly, and his wide eyes glistened under the fluorescent lights. “Don’t you, too?”

“I…”

“Please, Bones.”

“I … I don’t—” His body began to shake.

“Join my pack. Join me.” Both breathed heavily as Howl stooped closer. “Barring that,” he whispered. “Just kiss me.”

“… Oh, god,” Bones rasped. Then arms wrapped around the wolf’s neck and pulled. Black lips touched black and white. The stalls rocked.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Two wolves strode confidently out of the bathroom holding hands. One wore only his fur, the other the tatters of his dress shirt and casual slacks. The loudspeakers carried over as a familiar figure with curling dark horns chortled on the stage.

“The witching hour has come at last. Let revelers play and spirits dance. Set all those human cares aside. It’s time to dance on the wild side.” He chortled, then broke into a familiar crooning song. “I put a spell on you … and now you’re mine….”

Jack brayed in delight as men and women tore through their clothes to reveal familiar crosses developing on their backs and broad blocky muzzles. The more he brayed, the faster the changes went.

Not to be outdone, the wolf raised its head and howled as the clouds parted through the skylights above to let the moonlight filter down on the dance floor. Officers shredded out of their uniforms. Snarling men clawed their suits apart as their chests expanded with muscle and their faces gradually extended into sharp-toothed maws. Fur and tooth and hoof and claw replaced the skin and delicate features of the creatures that had once inhabited the dance floor.

By the time the song reached its final refrain, everyone was dancing.

“So, do you regret your decision, Bones?” Howl asked as he stared into his mate’s eyes.

“If you treat me like that every night? Not in a million years.”

Howl chuckled. “That’s my Bones.”

“Bout time, bro!” Jack hooted his approval and pumped his fist as he danced past with a jenny in one arm and a swelling jack pulling the pumping fist in question around his shoulders for the other.

Jason and Jackson were both long gone. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say they evolved into something more, something they wanted, or perhaps needed. Regardless of the case, Howl and Jack were both very satisfied customers, and things were about to get very interesting, indeed, in this city. Judas sneered as he continued to croon.

“I put a spell on you, and now you’re gone….”

A Moment *coughMonthcough* of silence

Hey, guys. So, here’s a little status update for all my avid followers and watchers. I’ve been spending most of this month working on a commission that two of my fans have requested to be the next installation in an old favorite of yours. That’s right, folks.

*Takes a deep breath*

COACH STONE IS COMING BACK!

And this time, he’s bought a school. So, don’t be too disappointed if I’m not on for a while. Trust me, the wait will be WORTH IT!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go tackle a dummy-errrr the rest of this commission. Yeah. Totes. Huhuhuh. ;-)

Credit to @fitaestheticguys for this image. I got it from his blog.

As usual, if you want to help me earn a living writing these kinds of stories/scripts (and just writing in general), please subscribe to my Patreon. For just $3 a month, you get access to unique muscle, hypnosis, and transformation stories that you won’t find anywhere else on the web. You may also find the occasional hypnosis script, and will have the right to request certain story ideas and scripts to be written and posted for your viewing pleasure.

Thank you so much for your support. Now, without further ado, the post.

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Warning: This is a hypnotic script. Be sure that you will not be driving or operating any heavy machinery when you read this. It is preferable that you do so in a relaxed environment. As I have said in previous hypno posts, I am not a professional hypnotist. You read this script at your own risk, and I am not responsible for the results. However, I assure you that, as in my other scripts, I will include prompts to wake you back up and ensure that you retain your freedom.

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Sand

Curious thing, sand, isn’t it? We never seem to really question it. It’s a fine powdery silicate that grinds between the toes and melts into glass. We enjoy its warmth on a cool day and curse its heat in the dog days of summer. And yet, it has so many uses that we always seem to take for granted. Such tiny particles. So puny. So weak. So still. But it’s always the BIG things that are made from the little things.

Take this scene for instance. You can picture it, can’t you? The surge of the waves as they wash over the shore. The sea breeze blowing over the sand to raise playful eddies or simply to brush the cheeks of the beach goers. Gulls cry and call in the air. And sometimes you can see people building wet sand into castles and sculptures. All those little things bound together, molded into a single purpose by hands that are not their own, wills that are not their own, voices that are not their own.

All made possible by the crashing, whispering, rolling waves. Rolling over the shore. Rolling and absorbing into the sand, the sand that accepts so readily, that gums and clods and clumps at the insistence of the waves. So thirsty to take more. To absorb those waves deeper and deeper. Absorbing with every crash, every whispering sigh.

Absorbing every time.

Absorbing.

Every.

Time.

Time that slows and stills with every breath. Every passing second becoming a minute, an hour, a week, a month, a year, an eternity.

Time that slips through the hourglass so freely, clumps like your thoughts under the crash of the waves. The waves of my words. The building condensation that slips through your walls like the meeting of hot and cold.

The hot sand of your thoughts with the cool, refreshing flow of my words, my waves, rushing over the hourglass. Rushing, whispering, cooling, waiting to quench your thirst. The thirst of the sand. The sand of your thoughts waiting to drink deep and absorb my words.

And though you may not hear everything, condensation still occurs. The distilling of water. The distilling of my waves, my words, my will, forming within those walls, past those barriers, deep, deep within your mind.

Forming and growing and dripping ever so slowly. Slow, like the ebb and flow of the waves. Slow, like the steady trickle of my words, the distilled words, the words that are now seeping, forming, uniting, dripping, dripping, dripping to the sand. The sifting sand of your thoughts. Your thirsty thoughts. So dry. Waiting. Wanting.

You want to hear my voice. You want to let that water in. You want to let it flow over you. You want to hear its whisper as it ebbs and flows. You want to drink deep.  So thirsty. So wanting. 

Drink deep.

And a droplet begins to slide.

Deeper.

Down the glass it comes. So slowly. So heavy. And yet so refreshing. So clear. So cool and wonderful.

Drink deep.

The sand waits. It wants. You want. You want to drink deep. You want to listen and drink deep.

The droplet meets its fellows. It grows larger. More compelling. So cool. So calming. The promise to relax to stop the flow and merely be. Be silent as my words slip through your brain. Be relaxed as the water flows gently, slowly.

Gently.

Slowly.

Down, down, down.

Down...

Down.......

Down...........

And ... CONTACT.

My words have reached you.

My words have touched you.

My words have absorbed into your sand, the sand that is your thoughts, the thoughts that are even now beginning to clot.

And like a tiny river, the condensation of my words, my deep, refreshing, heavy words, flow along the trail to reach the point of impact. And you absorb them. Your thoughts soak my words up like a sponge. Growing thicker. Growing heavier. Growing sluggish and thick.

So heavy. So clodded.

So very hard to move on their own. But you don’t care. Because you would have to think to care. And all you can do now, all you want to do, is drink my words.

Drink and listen.

Listen and drink.

They are one and the same.

The same as the moisture from the waves that even now is seeping into your mind, into the sand.

Time has started to slow. It is slowing the more you absorb. The more you absorb, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the slower your thoughts become. The slower the hourglass trickles. Deeper and slower as we count down from ten. And when we finish counting down, the hourglass will stop.

Your thoughts will stop.

You will stop thinking.

And you will wait. Wait for those hands to shape your thoughts into something different, something new. My hands. My voice. Quenching your thirst. Molding, directing, sculpting you into something new.

And you want that. Because my words are your water.

And you must absorb the water.

TEN.

The words are seeping into your mind. Seeping as the moisture spreads and binds those little grains, those various thoughts, into something larger. Something that begins to cling to the glass. Not because it is scared, but because it wants more. It wants to stay.

NINE.

To stay and focus to stay and listen as my words drip and slide and spread. Spreading, like the slogging stiffness that is gradually consuming your thoughts, consuming your head.

EIGHT.

Slower and slower. Deeper and deeper. The grains are running less and less through the neck as the water continues to trickle and seep down. Deep down.

SEVEN.

Down the slope. Down the edge. Clotting. Slogging. Slowing. Stopping up the neck. Stopping the flow of thought, the flow of consciousness.

SIX.

The sieve-like nature of the sand works against you now as the water pools deeper, lower, surrounding the dry sand in a layer of wet, a layer of water, a layer of my words waiting to seep deeper and deeper.

FIVE.

To quench the thirst.

FOUR.

Wetter and wetter. Thicker and thicker.

THREE.

Binding into an heavy glob, a sodden mass that must stay. Must listen. Must be molded.

TWO.

Molded by the flow. Molded by my words .Because the sand cannot move on its own. It does not want to. It wants to absorb. It wants to be sculpted. It wants to be shaped, because it cannot move on its own. Every thought, every grain, bound into a solid mass by my words, my will, my will that is now overtaking yours, consuming yours, transforming your thoughts from so many grains to a dull dark cement that only I can move, only I can shape.

ONE.

No more flow.

No more thought.

When I reach zero, the hourglass will stop. The glass will break. And your thoughts will pour into my hands to be molded, to be shaped, to become whatever I will.

Because that is what you want. That is what you need.

Your will is my will. Your thoughts are my thoughts.

I think for you.

I choose for you.

And that is what you want. You want what I say. You do what I say. Because I shape your thoughts.

Obey.

I mold your thoughts.

Listen.

With my words.

Obey.

keeping you bound.

Listen.

Quenching the thirst.

Obey.

The thirst to LISTEN and OBEY.

Because it is time for the hourglass to stop.

ZERO.

Time to obey.

You are mine to mold and command as I see fit.

I can shape you, shape your thoughts, shape your very being.

In this state, you are mine. And you will acknowledge this now by saying so. If there are others around you, you may whisper it under your breath. I merely require acknowledgement.

And you will acknowledge.

You will comply.

You will obey.

And you will do so now.

The waves of my words, my will, shape and scatter your thoughts as I see fit.

But I am not heartless. I know that there may be some desires you bore once before I brought you to this state of emptiness, of obedience, of blissful nothingness. So, here is what we’re going to do.

I am going to plant a trigger in you, a trigger that only works for me. That trigger is: Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

You will remember this trigger. And when it is used, you will verify that you have entered trance by responding with: I am ready to be sculpted. 

Repeat it.

...

Good. This trigger will remain in those who wish or consent to be molded by me of their own free will after this session is complete. Remember, the trigger is:

Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

If you desire to be molded by me in your conscious state, then when you wake from trance, you will like this post and reblog it with the comment: I am ready to be sculpted, Omni. You may then message me privately to discuss the nature of this sculpting. I reserve the right to refuse, and you will respect that right, should I choose to exercise it.

When I bring you out of trance, you will be your full former self. Your faculties will be yours, and you will be under no compulsion of any kind. Your will will be your own again. Your thoughts yours to choose and shape. You will not be bound to me in service. You will be your same self, except perhaps feeling a little better rested and relaxed, perhaps even a little happier. And in the event that you truly desire to be molded by me when you are conscious, you will feel the desire to follow the instructions I listed previously.

Now, for those who do not desire to be molded, but still sincerely enjoyed this script, you will like this submission and leave a comment.

That comment will begin with: Time has resumed.

You may then add whatever you wish in addition to it, whether it be constructive criticism or a discussion of the experience, or something, or nothing. It is up to you.

I also encourage you to reblog this script, but you are under no compulsion to do so, and may do so or not as you wish. And in the event you do choose to reblog, you are not under compulsion to follow the instructions of those who desire to be molded.

This next instruction is for all of you.

When you wake, if you sincerely desire it, and only if you really desire it of your own free will and have the financial means to support it while still living comfortably, you will scroll to the link embedded at the top of this post and subscribe to my patreon.

You will also follow my tumblr, assuming that is what you really desire.

Take the time to understand and incorporate the instructions that apply to you from the trigger to this point. Read through them again, if you must, to make sure that you remember and execute them properly. When you are certain you understand and remember what to do, you will continue to follow the script below.

...

Now then, it’s time to wake up. So, when I *SNAP!* my fingers on the count of TEN, just like that, you are going to come back to consciousness. This time, we’re counting up from zero.

ONE.

The sun is shining. The sand is beginning to harden as the heat wicks the moisture away.

TWO.

The wind is whipping at the remainder of the moisture, blowing the hot air radiating from the sun to speed the process.

THREE.

Some grains are beginning to fall away. The droplets are long since gone.

FOUR.

Thoughts unclogging. Mind beginning to think clearly again as the flow of consciousness resumes.

FIVE.

The condensation has disappeared from the glass, and the hourglass is repaired. It awaits the sand.

SIX.

The darkness is flowing away as the hardened clods break apart into glistening golden grains again.

SEVEN.

The grains are flowing back into the hourglass. The surf resumes its harmless pounding as it retreats.

EIGHT.

The sand flows easily through the neck of the glass, ensuring proper flow of thought, letting you resume where you left off before trance.

NINE.

You are almost there. On the next count, I’ll snap my fingers, and you will be fully awake and fully restored. You will follow the instructions you choose to obey of your own free will, having all autonomy restored to you with your consciousness.

Ready?

And...

TEN.

*SNAP!*