Date: Sun, 17 Jul 2005 05:05:40 -0700 (PDT) From: Alistair Bentley Subject: Headshop: Hound: Chapter 7 Headshop: Hound Chapter 7: Alpha By Xformguy My body was hitting the wall. I was walking through a strange part of town in a daze, my body chemistry having a meltdown. I was having trouble concentrating on anything, as thought or emotion, and just wandered in a daze. I would become lucid from moment to moment, realizing I'd lost minutes to the mental blackout. I looked at my hands and they were shaking uncontrollably. Only when my stomach gave a long, growl and felt like it was folding up inside my body, did I realize how much I was starving. It made sense - - all the physical changes in my body were taxing my biochemistry; I needed to refuel. Walking on the street was nightmare enough. My sense of smell had kicked up another notch in sensitivity and I was getting bombarded by new layers of smells that before I hadn't been able to detect. They were making my brain work overtime to keep up. Now I was also hearing new things, too: high pitched, electronic whines that felt like they were splitting my head open; tremendous thrumming sounds from beneath the ground that shook my bones and rattled my ear drums. Whenever my brain resurfaced, all of this overwhelmed me back into my haze. I hit a fast food joint, but was stopped by the "No Shoes No Service" sign. I dropped my shoes on the ground and slid my feet into them, but with what had happened, they were about three sizes too big now; that's why I wasn't wearing them. I couldn't stand on my heels, it just hurt too much and somehow, I had developed enough muscular control in my feet to stand on the balls of my feet for long periods. But, when I tried to walk in the shoes, perched forward like that, they just flapped. I didn't care; I had to eat. At the counter, I stood in line and tried to ignore the weird stares I was getting from everyone. I looked like a freak and I knew it. They could tell easily, but I suppose I was just borderline enough for them not to say anything and not react too strongly. I looked at the menu and realized that all the colors in the signs, usually so garish and bright, were muted. I looked around, and everyone's clothing, all the advertising signs in the window, the counters I KNEW should be bright red, were washed out. I was losing my color vision. I just shook my head; I didn't have energy to deal with that now. I got up to the counter and tried to order, but what came out was this long, rambling slur of a sentence. I knew they couldn't see it for the fur, but I flushed bright red and rolled my eyes at myself. I concentrated and spoke the words, but it was very hard suddenly to control my lips, tongue, and throat. Even when I managed to speak clearly enough, my voice was deeper and rough, not like my voice at all. I reached around to my back pocket and pulled out my wallet, but my fingers were so stubby, I basically threw it across the floor. Sighing, I retrieved it and to concentrate hard to unfold it and pull out my debit card. I handed it to the attendant and she ran it through the machine. She handed my the slip of paper and a pen and I took it carefully. I bent over and tried to sign my name, but the pen fell out of my grasp. My fingers were shorter and my thumb had lost its range of motion, barely able to move off the side of my hand. I concentrated hard and managed to scrawl something; luckily, they didn't really care about my legibility. I got my food and hit a booth. I ate five hamburgers, taking huge chunks of them and swallowing without chewing. They slid down and sat in my belly like a lump. I nearly dropped my cup of cola when I tried to pick it up. I hand wouldn't grasp it completely, so when it moved I had to catch it with both hands to keep myself from pitching it off the table. I cupped it in both palms and sucked the sugary liquid through the straw. I touched my stomach as it started to cramp a little and felt changes there. My entire belly had collapsed, as if all the flesh between my hips and my ribcage had gotten thinner. My stomach worked on its meal and I fidgeted around trying to find a position in the chair that wasn't uncomfortable for my pelvis. My tail was very unhappy as I was basically sitting on it. The way it moved unconsciously, I had to keep a tight reign on it, especially given my pants were so loose that you could see it moving around back there. A wave of fatigue hit me as the food started to digest and the cola hit my bloodstream, spiking my sugar, then crashing it almost immediately. There was a TV on and I watched it, propping my head on my hand, but soon enough, I lost consciousness on the table. Something hard rapped on the table and it felt like it was striking my skull. I looked up to see a middle-aged guy, clean cut and preppy, sporting a bit of a gut, and dressed in the manager's version of the fast-food uniform. While he clearly wasn't a cop or a security guard, he had a nightstick and pounded on the edge of the table. I came awake in blast and, sensing a threat, I snapped at the man. I literally moved my head toward him and bit at the air, letting out some kind of growl from my throat before I could catch myself. We just stared at one another for a minute before he spoke, "Let's go, sir. You've finished your meal. Move along." They way he said "sir" was with the tone that one would use with - - ironically - - a dog. From the faces of the people around me, I could tell I was freaking out the customers and, from a business perspective, I guess he couldn't have that. Whatever. I grunted something, not awake enough to concentrate on speaking, and flopped my shoes out the door. Outside I took them off, hooked them in my fingers, and started walking again. It was into the afternoon by now and I was passing a place that looked familiar. What threw me was that I'd never seen it in daylight. It was the warehouse where the Headshop was located. I stopped and looked at it quietly for a second, trying to discern the waves of smells that were coming from its direction and they were mostly familiar. I drifted toward the door, crossing the huge parking lot, and feeling anger start to well up in me. I moved through the porn shop - - the Mohawk-guy-attendant gave me a concerned expression - - down through the leathershop and directly into the alcove. The same huge, bodybuilder black guy was on his bouncer stool and the Proprietor was at the counter, opening a box with a box-cutter. "Make it stop!" I demanded, my voice now more under my control, but still sounding like I was talking through a glass of gravel. With perfect aplomb, the Proprietor said, "Make what stop?" He sliced through the packing tape with a quick flick. I fumed, totally not in control of myself. "What do you mean, `what'?!" I yelled at him, "I'm turning into a subhuman freak!" "No," he said calmly, sheathing the box cutter's blade and setting it behind the counter. He opened the box and dumped out a passel of leather dog collars. "You're turning into a dog, not a subhuman freak." "Please, I don't want this," I pleaded, shaking my head from side-to-side, "I don't want this." The Proprietor stopped sorting the dog collars and looked me in the eye, his voice taking on the tone of a mentor, "Men often want things they can't articulate or don't understand. Your own desire brought you to this place and attracted what happened. You should let it play out and experience the result." "If it plays out, I'm going to be a fucking DOG!" I screamed, "Not a man. Not capable of understanding these things you're talking about." "Oh, you'll be surprised what a dog is capable of understanding." I started to break down at this point. I put my hands on the counter and leaned forward, my head pointed downward as I choked back the black emotions that were bubbling up. I felt again the shame of deserving this somehow, I had walked into it. I felt again the horrible humiliation of losing control of my body and behavior - - what I'd done to Ken. I felt again the black terror of becoming an animal. "You have to tell me how can I stop this!!" I insisted. The curtain opened and the guy walked in. It was the same guy from a couple of days ago, the huge body builder with the buzz cut, nose piercing, and tribal tattoo. He seemed even larger today than he had before and towered over even the bouncer. His scent smashed into me and practically threw me across the room. All at once I wanted him. All at once, every bit of concentration I had about my plight disappeared into a wave of lust. Luckily, that wave burst over the hard rock of my anger and, while it pooled at the shore, the rock was in control. "Excuse me!" I screamed, "I'm trying to have a private conversation!" "Alright," he said, putting up a palm to mollify me, "touché." He retreated out of the alcove. "Please," I said, waving at the wall of bottles, ointments, sex toys, and paraphernalia, "There must be something here that can give me some kind of control over this." The Proprietor's eyes went down to the collars on the table. They were wide, maybe one-and-a-half inches and had a variety of silver studs on them, some square, some round, some pointed. He sighed and spoke, "These collars are for Kane, actually," he said, "When worn, they freeze you at your current stage of transformation." "Can I have one?" I said excited, standing up. I thought about Curtis and Benjamin for a second, too. "or several?" "When you take them off, all the transformations you had built up will happen immediately," he continued, "So, they won't cure you." I reached out and fingered one of them, smelling the black leather. "No, but I could get back to being a human again, right?" "You'd have to get back to being a human first," the Proprietor explained, "Then you could freeze yourself in that state." I thought about the boys again. "I think I could do that." I started to pick up one of the collars, but the Proprietor took it out of my hand. "They cost $1,000 per unit," he said. He collected all the collars from the counter. "What!?" I said, "I don't have that kind of money!" "Well, Mr. Stokes," he said, "I run a business. I can't give my merchandise away for free, now can I?" I fumed at him. "You asshole! You've set this all up on purpose." "Mr. Stokes, until now, we've had a positive working relationship. I caution you against souring my mood against you, after all, there are worse things than being a dog." "Like what?" I spat. He reached under the counter and brought out a small bottle, maybe 5-inches high, and set it on the table. Inside was a tiny, naked man, maybe 3-inches tall, and cup full of yellow-green liquid. I bent over and looked at him, sitting cross-legged on the glass, up to his chest in the liquid. My nose twitched - - it was piss and carried the same overall scent as the Proprietor. The little guy was tattooed and pierced and had that criminal look - - fuck! It was that semi-criminal guy I saw in the sex club the first time I'd come here. The little guy shot me a bird. I looked at the Proprietor. "He demanded merchandise for free, Mr. Stokes. That equates to robbery," the Proprietor said, "Are you attempting to rob me?" "No," I said quickly, taking a step backward from the counter. The Proprietor put the bottle back behind the counter and said, "Very good then." "What the fuck am I going to do then?" I asked, almost rhetorically. "You are already aware of the avenues open to you, Mr. Stokes." I shook my head and left the alcove, feeling abandoned and distraught. I plunged through the river of pheromones from the muscle-guy as fast as possible to avoid being distracted. He was there with another guy - - a muscle-twink - - and I concentrated on getting out of his range. Out in the parking lot, there was enough crap in the air to obliterate the effects of his pheromones. Parked right in front of the door was an enormous F-150 on full-mag tires. It looked like a tank to me, especially at my new, smaller size. It was dark green, had a good coating of dried mud along its bottom edges, but was otherwise immaculate. What caught my attention were the smells and the sounds coming from it. I heard very subtle whining, as if a small child were whimpering to himself, and the smell of sex, male sweat, and dog was heavy on it. I went around the side. Secured in the bed were two shapes underneath a tarp and I recognized them as dog carriers. The tarp was tied down the shield the occupants from view. I knew what they were without looking. On the back of the truck was the license plate "KANE01." Fear bubbled up quickly. I wanted to save the dog-boys in the carriers - - I KNEW that's what they were - - but the thought of running into Kane was ripping through me. He had been the cause of all of this. He'd turned me into a freak. Yet, as the source of this shit, he might be able to solve it. No doubt, he was here for the collars. If I could get one, it could let me have a normal life again. There was suddenly a presence behind me. I had heard him walking up - - I mean, he wore those shit-kicker boots with the metal work on them, how quiet could he be to my new ultra-sensitive hearing? I could literally feel his footfalls in the soles of my feet. His presence was huge and dwarfed me as he approached from behind. I saw both his boots plant themselves next to my feet and then his huge hand on my shoulder, moving to my neck. It felt intimate and obscene at the same time that his fingers should be stroking such a sensitive part of me. "Boy," he said simply, "You've sniffed me out. About time." I turned to look at him, marveling again at how huge he looked. He was wearing jeans and a black, sleeveless t-shirt that was stretched over his titanic muscles. I remember him being not particularly tall, but since I had shrunk, I my forehead barely came up to his chest. One of his hands stroked his dense beard while the other held the box of collars the Proprietor had been opening. "I need one of those collars," I told him simply. He smirked and dug into his pocket for his keys. He thumbed the remove for the alarm system on his car and it chirped, sending a spike of sound through my head. There were layers to that sound that humans couldn't hear and MAN! it hurt. Kane opened the door, deposited the box, and turned to me. Faster than I might've thought possible, he grabbed my by the neck and pulled me to him, raising one titanic arm and shoving my face into his hairy armpit. He put me into some kind of headlock and was much stronger than me, so no matter how hard I braced with my feet and pushed against his torso with my hands, I didn't budge from his grip. His scent and sweat were rubbed over my face, getting into my new fur there, making it impossible not to smell him. An emotional reaction overtook me, one of respect mixed with healthy doses of fear and threat. I was intimidated. He released me and I stumbled back. He seemed satisfied with himself. "I'm the alpha here," he said, "You don't make demands." I heard myself saying, "y-yes, sir," and caught myself looking down at his boots. "That's better," he complimented, "Get in the truck." I absolutely didn't want to get into the truck - - God knows where he would drive me - - but I circled around to the passenger side, fumbled with the door handle, and climbed into the seat. He fired up the engine and all the subtle noises it made tweaked my hearing. I could actually hear the belts groan and whine on their wheels. He drove us. I sat there meekly. I wasn't sure where we were going, but it seemed to be away from town. He looked at me from time to time, then abruptly reached over and took my shoes from around my neck. I couldn't wear them, so I had tied the laces together and hung them around my neck. He snatched them off and tossed them into the utility space behind the seat. "Take your pants down," he ordered. I blinked, not sure what he was getting at. A second later, he slammed his fist into my chest really hard and I shucked my pants to my ankles. We drove in silence for several minutes, I was panting from anxiety, with my cock hanging out - - or up, since it was attached to my belly now. Again, without warning, Kane reached over with his huge meaty hand and cupped my nuts, digging his fingers deep behind them and pressing against the flesh there. I jumped at this, but stay still while he probed. He brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply, giving out a satisfied sigh. "Put `em back on," he ordered and I did. "Get down on the floorboard and stay there." I didn't immediately react until I saw his fist forming, then I scrambled down until I was crouching in the floor board. The "crouching" reaction happened, as my intellect and emotions swapped control of my body. I was getting that acting like a dog totally activated my BEING a dog. And so, I crouched and looked up at Kane with a mixture of awe and threat. He was my alpha; I realized this on a chemical level. I'd do what he said because he said it. I trusted him - - somehow - - even though I was afraid of him at the same moment. It was disorienting to my logic, but my emotions understood it completely. I sat there crouched down on the balls of my feet, my head laying in the seat, watching Kane work the truck. We drove for a while; I don't know where and, at the moment at least, didn't care. He pulled the truck to a stop and got out, retrieving the package of collars as he did. He was about to leave me in the truck when he remembered I was still crouched there. "C'mon," he ordered, "and stand up straight." I did so and got out of the truck, my brain flip-flopping again. The house was large, two-story, had a wrap-around porch, and looked just a touch run-down. The blue-gray paint was wearing out and there were shingle missing. But the sight of the place could not equal the scent of it. I basked there taking in the myriad scents from the huge, fenced backyard, sorting out the smells of more animals than I could count, most of them dogs, or men, or something in between. It was glorious to my dog-brain and terrifying to my human-brain. I was at the seat of Kane's power. This was his domain. I couldn't begin to imagine what was inside - - well, I could and did imagine it and it was pretty scary. "C'mon," Kane ordered, "Heel!" And I followed him inside.