Date: Thu, 11 Aug 2005 02:47:27 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop: Hound: Chapter 10

Headshop: Hound
Chapter 10: Yard

By Xformguy@yahoo.com

I remember sleeping contently at Kane's feet. I lay in the bed with he head
propped over his ankles while he and Bullet lay amid the tangle of sheets.
Then it was morning and I stood up in the bed on all fours, stretching my
back. Kane was there and he bent over me and put a collar on me. I
remembered the dark fear of it - - the collar would trap me in this shape
for as long as I wore it - - and I remember watching it go around my neck
in the mirror above his dresser. I was a black lab with a collar; it was
hard to sink in but, at the same time it was utterly obvious from how my
body felt and what I was seeing. I felt trapped between two frames of
movie, denying the obvious in my head, but living it reality.

Bullet shooed me off the bed and it was the first time I had to walk on all
fours. It felt strange to jump headlong to the floor, and I did it
clumsily. The stairs were worse - - I felt like I was going to face-plant
at the bottom - - but I skittered to a stop on the hardwood. Bullet kept
herding me out the back door and then I was in the yard with the other
dogs.

The scents immediately overwhelmed me and, with my heart pounding, I went
everywhere around the yard, sniffing everything. Needing to piss, my
instincts took over and I just lifted my leg on a bush and pissed, right
there in the open, in front of everyone. Before I could come to grips with
that, I walked a little farther, squatted, and shat out a load. I kicked
grass onto it and then went about my business before the embarrassment of
it could hit. Then it did hit, and I was freaked out. I was a dog. There
was no denying it. I was being a dog and my brain recoiled from it even as
my body enacted it.

I sat down and kicked at the collar with my back leg, realizing I was
folded up in a position no human could attain. My back claws kicked at the
leather band, trying to dislodge it - - I desperately wanted to be a human
again - - but it felt like the leather was adhering to my skin; no matter
how hard I tried, it wouldn't budge. Frustration overwhelmed me and I
didn't know what to do. I moved around the yard, blindly emotional, in a
subdued panic.

The other dogs watched me suspiciously from their private corners. There
were these big igloo type things in the yard, out of which they popped
their heads and watched. The cocker spaniel yiffed at me as I passed by. I
stopped to sniff his doorway briefly, tagging his scent, but I was still
freaked and kept going. The German Shepherd that hung out by the food and
water dishes growled as I came close and I just veered away. There were
others there, some of them hiding from me, some of them just blankly
curious about me. I circled the yard several times in my frantic state and
settled back to the cocker spaniel, who had seemed most friendly.

He'd come out of his igloo, as if to greet me, and we circled each other,
taking in each other's scent. We sniffed each other's asses and bumped
shoulders. We yiffed at each other. I wondered who he was, really . . . was
his story like mine? Had he been trapped like me? I nipped at his collar
and he seemed to realize what I was doing so he stood still, but just like
mine, it seemed stuck to his skin. I couldn't get my teeth around it. When
I bit harder, he yipped and backed away from me.

Bullet fed us and brought us water a couple of times a day. The Shepherd
got his first of course, then we each went up to the dishes and got what we
could get. The first time I pushed my face into the water the lapped it up,
I got this perverse thrill. There was something very primal and satisfying
about dunking one's face into a water source and drinking your fill. It was
the same with the meat. Bullet brought out piles of lunch meat and we all
gobbled them down, chunks at a time, without chewing. I couldn't remember
what it tasted like, but the feeling of the meat in my stomach was
beautiful.

When night came and it got cold, me and the cock spaniel shared an igloo,
curled against one another, sharing body heat. I had dreams that seemed
impossible - - where I was a giant that towered over the yard, where I was
standing on only two of my feet, where I had hands. When I woke up with
these images in my head, I remembered them. My intellect was there, folded
up and receded in the back of my head. I could use it if I tried very hard,
and, in the sleepy haze of the igloo, I could remember that I had once been
a human. It seemed impossible, but I remembered it.

The days passed. I couldn't count them. I would stand there on the edge of
high-wooden fence and I would concentrate, hauling my intellect forward and
reforging a connection to it. I would understand again the concept of time
the way a human would - - organized into hours and days and weeks, and I
would try to count the number of nights I'd slept in the igloo with the
cocker spaniel, but then I'd realize I couldn't read his name tag, and I'd
shift over to trying to puzzle out the letters and to read the word, and
then Bullet would come with the food and water, and all of it would shatter
and slip away for me.

I was depressed. The other dogs seemed subdued most of the time. They sat
around, laid around, ate, drank, shit, pissed, and slept. But that was
it. Some of them interacted - - I being one those - - but even that got
old. I remembered being so active and so pressed for time before coming to
the yard - - there had always seemed so much to do, but it was gone
now. This was my life. I laid around too.

The yard was fairly large, basically just a flat dirt floor with some
bushes and trees in the back. The fence was impossibly tall and I could
smell the vegetation outside of it, almost as if it were calling to me. I
spent some time early on, probing the edges of the fence, poking my nose
into the minute cracks between boards, trying to get an idea of what lay
beyond, but that became tedious.

Sparky came back, full of himself, and he and the shepherd seemed to be
friends. Not long after Sparky came back, Kane appeared on the back
deck. The emotions that burst inside of me were overwhelming. God how I
loved him! He was standing there with a woman who seemed creeped out and
hugged her arms close to her torso. She was anxious and her eyes surveyed
the yard as Kane directed Bullet to the shepherd.

Seeing her the Shepherd had come away from post by the food and sat in the
middle of the yard, as if presenting himself to Kane and the woman. Bullet
came over and undid his collar. What followed was a terrifying explosion of
flesh, warping and twisting, filled with screams and howls, as the German
Shepherd mutated back into a huge, pink, hairless man. He was tall and
built like a body builder, all curved and cut. He was on all fours,
drooling like Sparky had done, shaking his blond head, collecting
himself. He pushed his way to standing on his wide flat feet, using more
strength and determination than agility. He was pissed and it radiated from
him in waves.

"I won't do it!" he screamed at her, even before anyone could ask
anything. His words were bellowed and slurred.

"Michael, please!" the woman pleaded, "Sign the papers. Let's get on with
our lives."

Kane stood there impassively and Bullet had retreated to a safe distance. I
padded my way to Bullet and put my nose in his hand. He reached down,
smiling, and petted my head. I felt loved.

"You fucking cunt!" Michael screamed. He started to stalk toward the deck,
again, using more brute strength that finesse as he tottered toward the
steps. He was so enraged that the woman felt the threat immediately. As
soon as Michael's foot reached the bottom stair, Kane moved to the top and
glared at him. This cowed Michael considerably. "Stop doing this to me," he
pleaded to Kane, "She's blackmailing me. You know it isn't right. It's my
money . . . I earned it!"

Kane stood his ground, then glanced over at the woman. She watched the
exchange, then turned and re-entered the house. Kane reached around and
picked up a mason jar with some red liquid in it from the top of one of the
dog carriers. He took a couple of steps toward Michael and the big guy
seemed to know what was about to happen.

"Please don't," he said, "Let me stay a man for a little while."

Kane splashed the liquid onto Michael's considerable chest, painting it
red. Michael accepted it and stepped back into the yard. We could all see
that the liquid was soaking into his skin. He moved back to where he
normally lay - - his place - - and sat down heavily, hanging his head down
between his knees. Kane and Bullet went back into the house.

We all smelled the pheromones in the liquid. It was obvious it was having
an effect.  We could all see Michael struggle with it. He sat with his
hands gripping his knees, as if holding on for his life. We could all see
his human cock get hard and throb, full and hairless and pink. Only minutes
passed before Michael grabbed it and jacked off frantically. He shot only
about ten strokes later, and we all watched his journey to becoming a dog
start again. He did that for hours, cycling between trying to hold off, to
giving in, to transforming, to laying on the ground, exhausted, angry, and
still horny. After the third time, he jumped Sparky and started fucking
him. The rest of us retreated in fear, but Sparky seemed to expect this,
even allow it. Maybe they had an arrangement or something. By dark, Michael
was a German Shepherd again and his libido seemed to abate. When Bullet
filled the meat and water dishes, he replaced Michael's collar, keeping him
stuck in that form.

We were all trapped. All for different reasons, yet, all mastered by our
own cocks. Days passed and Sparky's words came back to me. I was horny. We
were all horny to some degree, but it became acute for me some days after
seeing Michael's episode. I remember having jacked off at least once a day,
sometimes twice. Now, I couldn't even hold my cock. I tried to force my
front paws to it, even to rub it, but they wouldn't bend that way. I could
lick it - - which was a whole different experience than I was used to - -
but never with enough control to suck it. I ended up teasing the tip
incessantly, which only drove me crazier. I wanted my hands back - - even
for a while - - even to do what Michael had done.

It seemed to be affecting all of us the same way, because I caught all of
us sporting hard-ons at one time or another. The cocker spaniel tried to
fuck me, but I as bigger and growled at him. He retreated in fear. The
problem with that was, it only made me hornier to be around him, smelling
his pheromones, the pre-cum that oozed out of him. The whole yard was in a
frenzy and we all milled around in the night, looking up at the bright disk
in the sky, howling our frustration, begging for any kind of release. We
did it all night until the disk went away and then we all lay in the dirt,
our cocks trapped beneath us, dozing in the hot sun.

Bullet came out with a huge metal pan and filled it with water. He led me
to it and forced me to stand in the water. It bugged me to stand in the
water and I had to fight the instinct to run away, but Bullet held me there
gently. He soaped me up and his hands rubbed all over me. I remember
standing there, freaked out by the water on my back, wondering what the
fuck was happening . . . it took me long minutes to realize it was just a
bath and with that realization came the one that my brain was eroding,
day-by-day. It was already more of an effort than I could manage to think
clearly and just this realization was slipping away from me.

Bullet bathed me and I relished the feeling on his hands on my body. He
touched parts of me that hadn't been touched since I'd changed and I was
soaked in his gentle attention as much as the water and suds. I got
hard. He smiled, reached down, and started to jack me off. Whatever clear
thought I had melted away into this bliss. It was a whole different
experience from jacking off than I remembered, but then my memory was
strange now. He worked me until I was standing there shuddering, and when I
came, I yiffed and licked at his face as I shot. The rest of the afternoon
became a lazy blur of satisfaction after that. God how I wanted him to do
it again.

There was a lot of activity on the back deck at one point. I piqued all of
our interests and we milled around in the yard, watching Kane and Bullet
move in these large dog carriers. They were occupied but the smells were
confusing. I was getting human and dog in equal measure at the same time,
not a blend, but like there was a dog and a human in there at the same
time. They whined and barked softly, shifted around inside their carriers,
and were generally miserable.

Later, an uptight guy appears on the deck with Kane, looking like some
monied college, all glasses and tweed. He peered into dog carriers
carefully, checking out each of the three one by one before retreating to
one side with Kane. Bullet opened the carriers and led the occupants
out. We were all a little shocked to see muscular, built young male bodies
topped by the head of a dog. They were completely human except for their
heads, and together looked like members of the same frat. They all had the
same markings on their shoulders and after puzzling it out for an hour or
so, I remembered they were greek letters . . . although I couldn't remember
which one. One of the frat-dogs had a bulldog's head and was slobbering all
over himself from the droopy jowls. Another had the head of a Doberman, all
long and lean. The third, atop an asian guy's body, had a Chow's head, with
a huge collar of fur around his neck.

They all wore collars. They all seemed confused, moving between standing up
and squatting down like a dog and I wondered what they were thinking in
their heads. Kane came with another mason jar of the red liquid and dropped
a little on each of their heads. The effect was pretty immediate, as they
all started to sport hard-ons. Kane just said, "Fuck each other," and they
went to it. They did it for hours, working in combination, jacking off
alone, daisy-chaining, all the time barking, yiffing, and howling either
the pleasure, the pain, or whatever they were feeling. I saw the professor
guy sitting in a leather chair at one end of the deck, watching the
display. He was naked and jacking off to the spectacle.

Of course, this drove all of us in the yard nuts. The horniness we
constantly tried to manage resurfaced, smelling and watching the frat-dogs
go at it. Maybe watching this spectacle was the last straw, but soon after
this, something in my head changed.

All along, I had felt my grip on my thoughts slipping and had fought it. I
had forged and re-forged the link to my rational mind, but it had kept
receding farther, making it more of an effort. That nights, watching the
frat-dogs go at it, feeling so fucking horny I couldn't stand it, milling
about the yard with my fellow dog-boys, our cock hanging out of our
sheathes . . . I lost my grip. Maybe I had just given up.

After that night, everything I felt or thought or experienced was a single
stream of "right now." Events skittered across my perception and were
lost. Time couldn't be measured and thus, became irrelevant. I laid around,
ate, and did what dogs do and I didn't care about anything beyond it. I
couldn't remember exactly who I was and it didn't matter. All thoughts of
once being a human were so far away as to be just a dream I had curled in
the igloo with the cocker spaniel, both of us warm and happy and sleeping.

When I saw Kane or Bullet, I was filled completely with love. For Kane it
was smoldering, respectful, a deep longing for something I had once had but
knew wouldn't have again. For Bullet, it was warmer, kinder, and more
familial. But for both, it blotted out everything else when they were
present and once they weren't in my line of perception, it vanished to a
dull memory.

At some point, new guys shows up. They weren't dogs, but they were one of
us. We could all smell that familiar scent on them and one of them was way
hairier than they should have been. They came in over the back fence,
grunting and hissing at themselves. On of them had a huge stick with a
metal head. We all poked our heads out from our igloos and the Shepherd
barked at them a couple of times. I caught their scent and it registered as
something I had smelled before, something I remembered as important and a
powerful intimate emotion surfaced.

I came out of the igloo and padded over to them, sniffing at them, trying
to place their scent. I remembered sex, especially when I smelled the one
with the big stick and I pressed my wet nose into his hand. They spoke to
one another, but the words were quicksilver and I couldn't follow them. He
bent down over me and I felt his hands on my body. He petted me and I
beamed with love, licking his forearm as he stroked me. He probed around my
collar with his fingers and unhitched it clumsily.

As soon as it came off, my body exploded in pain. I yelped and tried to
run, but within only a couple of steps, I hit the dirt, my legs knocked out
from under me. I didn't know why it was happening and I was sure I was
dying. My senses folded in on themselves, and I couldn't tell what was
happening around me, but I remember rolling over and over in the dirt,
moaning and yelling. Their hands were suddenly on me, holding my muzzle
shut and my body still while whatever was happening happened. My body
. . . changed.

I grew and had this sensation of bursting out of my skin, with my legs and
arms and ribcage pressing against my flesh and pushing it outward as they
expanded. My head cracked open and spread, then knit back together and my
muzzle melted out of their hands. My hands pushed out of my paws as my
fingers broke, stretched, then healed. My feet widened and shortened and
flattened. My nuts felt like they'd been kicked and my cock oddly got hard
during the process, then seemed to push into my body.

Everywhere I was in pain and my brain couldn't keep up with the
sensations. It abruptly turned inside out, and concepts and memories
exploded over my attention, more than I could keep up with, more than I
could process. I writhed and moaned, but someone's hand was over my
mouth. I pulled away and turned over in the dirt, pressing my hard-on into
it.

"Jack?" a voice said softly. There was a hand on my back and it stroked me
while I panted through the sensations in side of me that were starting to
subside. I opened my eyes and looked at my hand . . . a perfectly normal
human hand, smooth and pink.

"Dude," a second voice came, "Get up. We have to go." The voice was
registering now, actually both of them were. It was Benjamin. I remembered
having fucking him, it came to me clearly now.

Wearily, I pressed my chest off the ground, getting my hand under me. I
pivoted back on my toes and was irritated that my legs were so long now. I
spread my knees and squatted between them and this didn't feel natural. It
took me a moment to register that I wasn't comfortable on all fours now and
it felt wrong.

I looked up at Curtis, the owner of the first voice, who was still stroking
my back. I couldn't smell him and my hearing was all wrong, muted and
dull. I had command of words again, but they were flying around my head in
waves of ideas. I marshaled a couple of them. "W-what?" I asked, my voice
smooth, but dry as the dirt I was squatting on.

"Jack," Curtis said, "We have to go."

Benjamin appeared in front of me and I looked up at him. He was huge, maybe
6'5" and about 90% human by the appearance. He had shrunk considerably when
I had fucked him, so I understood more why he had been so pissed at the
situation. He stood there brandishing an axe. "We're not going anywhere
yet," he said darkly, "There's something I want to do."