Date: Thu, 21 Jul 2005 03:23:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop: Hound: Chapter 8

Headshop: Hound
Chapter 8: Stogie

By Xformguy


Kane's house was ranch style, meaning the bottom floor was mostly one huge
room, divided by counters and wide open archways into regions. It was
decorated the way a man would decorate, without much flourish and with
practical furniture that didn't quite match. He entered it and moved to the
counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, picked up the
phone, dialed a bunch of numbers and listened. I guess it was his
voicemail. I came into the room slowly, apprehensively.

Kane punched some numbers on the keypad, checked his watch, the hung
up. "BULLET!" he called as he took a couple of steps toward me. There was a
staircase in the middle of the floor and down it bounded a guy . . . well a
dog-guy. He was about four feet tall, covered in wooly, iron-gray fur, but
was otherwise human shaped. He was unabashedly naked, had a sheath attached
to his belly, and a nub tail right above his ass crack. He padded down the
stairs with the enthusiasm of a dog meeting his master, which was exactly
what he was.

As he passed me, he gave me a broad smile beneath his bushy iron-gray
goatee, waggled his pointed ears, and sniffed me. I sniffed him right back
and caught the scent of Kane on his fur, although it was old and musty,
like worn cotton. The dog-guy kept his smile and licked his black nose with
a long, flat tongue. His eyes were bright and he winked at me before he
bounded over to Kane.  I noticed that he was wearing one of the collars
from the Headshop; I wondered how long he'd looked like that.

The dog-guy presented himself to Kane, stood a couple of feet away until
Kane's body language let him approach. He hugged Kane around the waist and
pressed his face into Kane's belly. Kane brushed his hair back and
scratched behind the dog-guy's ear, causing the dog-guy's leg to tremor
uncontrollably. Then, Kane released him and pushed him upright by the
shoulders.

"Bullet," Kane explained, "Patricia's on her way. Get Sparky ready." Bullet
nodded then retreated toward the back of the house.

Kane looked at me and gestured with his fingers for me to stand next to
him. I sheepishly padded over on my bare paw-feet and soaked in his
presence. He was observing me, moving me sideways by my shoulder, when he
unceremoniously wrapped his arm around my chest, put out his leg, and with
his superior strength and weight, wrestled me to the floor.

"Hey!" I yelled, "Stop it!" I was too surprised to struggle much, and my
wriggling was completely ineffectual.

I ended up on my back with my arms stretched out over my head, held in
place by the weight of his calves on my biceps. His huge shit kicker boots
were next to my head and his ass was on my chest; I sniffed at it through
the jeans. He gathered my legs to his chest, reached down and slid my pants
off my waist and up and off my legs, tossing them aside.

I started to get hard. No doubt he could see it, because my cock was so big
now it was hardly subtle. He pried my legs apart, folding them down and
bent himself over until he could smell my crotch. His huge fingers gripped
my nuts and pulled them aside while he sniffed, and I let out a sigh. He
then seemed to inspect my body, all the while rubbing his denim-covered ass
in my face as he moved. He took my cock in his hand - - testing its girth -
- it drooled pre-cum. He used the tip of it to rub the pre-cum into my
belly hair, causing me to twitch and moan quietly.

I was getting into this, my emotions were bonding to Kane's body - -
especially his scent that was cascading over me like it was on a
sprinkler. I didn't want this to happen because of what Kane had done to me
and what I would become once he stimulated me enough. He had me covered and
folded in half, and his fingers were roaming over my most private patches
of skin, all without my permission. Yet here I was, not resisting; did that
count as permission?

Mustering some courage, I tried to free my hands from underneath his
calves. He smacked me in the head with the heels of both his boots. When I
didn't stop, he put my nuts in his hands and squeezed, causing me to call
out and go limp. He held them long enough for me to be sure I shouldn't
struggle, then he let go.

Kane hooked my thighs underneath his arms and hauled my body vertical. I
grunted hard as all my weight went to my shoulders and neck, gritting my
teeth while my legs swayed. I made another token attempt to resist, but he
nutted me again until I thought I was going to throw up. Honestly, being
caught in a high-school wrestling hold and having my nuts crushed was too
much to process at one time, so I submitted. Kane now had a clear view of
my ass and, with my legs spread, his fingers went to probing my pucker. I
grunted again, experiencing something between outrage and desire. I hated
that he was doing this to me, but fuck it felt good. His hands went to my
tail, which freaked me out. They slid up and down it's length and it
twitched uncontrollably out of his grasp each time. When he grabbed the
base of it, it felt so uncomfortable, I wriggled. This time he didn't crush
my nuts, but he sat hard on my chest to keep me still.

We both perked up at the sound of car engine pulling up to the house. Kane
pushed his boots off my head and got his feet flat on the floor, standing
up and releasing my body all at once. I grunted again as it flopped hard to
the floor. I stretched out, thanking god for the release of tension on my
neck and shoulders. Kane stood over me and pointed to a dog bed set up next
to the couch.

"Sit," he commanded, pointing to it. I was low to the ground and thus, in
my emotional mode and Kane's scent was so intoxicating that I'd do just
about anything he wanted. I might struggle a little, but I still did
it. When he gave the order, my body responded even before my brain could
really process it. I scrambled to all fours and loped to the doggy bed,
sitting on my haunches obediently.

Kane walked over, grabbed my t-shirt by the collar and hauled it off me. He
collected my pants as he moved toward the door, fishing out my wallet and
keys and dropping them into an open shoebox on a shelf by the front door
with several other wallets. He dropped my clothes in the corner by the door
and opened it before whomever was there could ring the bell. I hung my head
down and, without Kane's immediate presence, realized what I was doing and
what was going to happen. I was becoming Kane's dog. SHIT! I practically
was his dog already. I was going to lose myself. The ease at which he could
take me over - - just by being physically close - - was insane to me, but
I'd just experienced it; I couldn't deny it. I didn't know what to do and
wasn't even sure there was something to be done.

Kane let someone into the house, someone feminine. I could smell the
perfume, the soap, and the distinctly different flavor of body scent that
was coming from her. Her clothes were light, satin by the smell, and her
heels clicked as she entered the room next to Kane's clomping boots. I
realized how naked I was, brought my knees to my chest, and covered my
genitals with my hands as best I could. With everything I'd already
experienced, embarrassment felt like a luxury, but it was one I took
anyhow.

She entered and surveyed the room, only barely acknowledging my presence in
the doggy bed. She wore a black satin dress and had a bearing that spoke of
1940's Hollywood aristocracy. She was a throwback to a time when elegance
and civility were prized higher than honesty. Next to Kane, she seemed
regal.

"He'll be ready?" she asked succinctly.

"Bullet's fetching him," Kane explained.

She opened her black, leather clutch, pulled out a fat envelope and handed
it to Kane. She then approached a doorway off the main room and entered it,
revealing a bedroom with a four-posted bed beyond.

There was commotion from the back of the house and I watched as Bullet led
in a dog from the yard. I didn't know the breed, but he was medium-sized
and sported a coat of long, straight, cream-color hair that reached from
his back to just above the floor, cresting above his long snout. His
attention was forward and he clicked impatiently at the linoleum as Kane
approached, bent down, and unhooked his collar. As Kane removed it, I could
see that it had the same metal emblem as the other collars from the
Headshop.

The dog immediately let out a long, whining sound that could only be
described as a scream. It wasn't of distress or fear, but of pain. He
shuddered violently as he stood there, and, amid a lot of cracking,
popping, and bubbling of flesh, he started to transform. With the way the
dog-flesh stretched and pulled, it looked a man struggling into a leotard
that was a size too small. Human shapes pushed their way out of his flesh,
which protested violently, but complied in the end. Paws flared back into
hands and widened back into feet. His chest collapsed and flattened,
widening his shoulder in the process. His gut filled in and his pelvis
rotated. Haunches resolved back into thighs and calves. His snout melted
back into a human jaw line and skull inflated again with primate
roundness. Fur fell out into a cloud around him.

In the end, there was a guy there instead of a dog. I watched all of this
with certain horror, knowing this would happen to me. From the way he had
screamed and grimaced and endured, it looked horrible. I shuddered in my
doggy bed while he stood there on all fours, panting at the floor, a
rivulet of spittle dripping from his lip to the floor. Kane was impassive
watching this and Bullet had already fetched a broom and dustpan for the
volumes of discarded fur.

The guy shook his head from side to side and tried to collect himself,
looking around sheepishly. He saw the open doorway ahead of him and we all
followed his gaze to the movie-star woman who stood there, who had
discarded her dress and now stood in the negligee that she had worn
underneath. She posed for him in her high heels, displaying her white thigh
for his pleasure and guiding his gaze up it to the unseen, but imagined
reward at its top.

The guy smiled broadly, put all his weight on his hands, and brought his
legs up underneath him. Balancing with his arms, he pushed himself up onto
his feet, tottering a bit. He was completely human-shaped . . . even his
genitals were normal. The only strange thing about him was the mop of
cream-colored hair that hung straight from his receding hairline to his
shoulder blades; it was a weird color, but in modern times, hair could be
any color. The same cream-colored hair dusted his body in all the human
places, darkening at his pubes, which were iron-gray and black. Kane and I
watched as he developed a normal, pink erection in response to Hollywood's
offer.

"Awyeah!" he said, sounding like a horny teenager, and he dove forward,
wrapping himself around her body and hauling her onto the bed. They started
to go at it when Kane walked over and closed the door to give them a
modicum of privacy. It was a complete illusion, because I could hear and
smell everything that was happening in that room despite the door.

The transformation I had just witnessed weighed on me. The images, the
scents, the sounds of it were rattling in my head and I started to sink
into a black dread. It would happen, I kept telling myself, feeling the
weight of the inevitable. Bullet kept sweeping up the long fur and stuffing
it into a trashcan he'd hauled over from the kitchen. He seemed to notice
my distress, but only smiled at me like a simpleton, either too unaware of
how I felt, or, like an adult patting a kid on the head when he spoke of
monsters under the bed, ignoring the distress as inconsequential.

Kane had left through the front door and I could see him standing in the
bed of his truck through the broad front window. He was unhooking the ties
to the tarp for the dog carriers. I had forgotten the dog-boys in the back
of the truck - - more meat for the mill, I supposed.

I could leave. It occurred to me, but I couldn't get my body to move. I
could run away and wanted to it viscerally. I could run and hide somewhere
that Kane couldn't find me. But I needed a collar. I needed it to stay
human - - assuming I ever got back to being human. But the guy I'd just
seen - - he'd returned to being fully human - - that meant I would to - -
it was just a matter of time. It was just a matter of enduring becoming a
dog. I knew I couldn't just leave, even to find Curtis and Benjamin and
fuck each other until we were a semblance of normal. I didn't want a
semblance; I wanted to BE normal. Besides, I had no clue where Kane's house
was and Kane - - even the memory of his presence was too strong to disobey
- - fuck! I was his dog already!

The door to the bedroom opened and the guy swaggered out. He had already
gone through the first stage of the transformation because his cock, which
had been normal and pink, now hung lurid and dark in front of him. It was
swollen to an abnormal size and there was just a hint of his deflating knot
in the shaft as he approached. He lounged on the couch near me and
stretched out his legs, releasing a purring sigh as he did. I could smell
the cum and vagina smeared on his crotch and on his chin; he hadn't even
bothered to wipe them.

"You're new," he said, turning to me. His hand reached toward me as if to
pet my head, but I flinched away and he withdrew it. "What's your name?"

"Jack," I garbled at him, still having not quite mastered my new anatomy,
"What's yours?"

"Sparky," he said with a grin. His hand rubbed down his torso and he purred
again; he gripped his languid and bloated cock and resettled it, cupping
his nuts for a second. He sniffed his fingers afterward.

"No," I said, "Your real name?"

He looked at me confused, as if he were struggling to remember it. "It's
Sparky," he told me finally.

"Your mother named you `Sparky'," I asked him.

"No," he said. He repositioned his long legs and put his feet flat on the
floor, spreading his knees some, then groped his nuts again, almost
compulsively. He held them as if doing so was reassuring. I could see him
thinking about it, again, struggling to remember, but he never said what
his real name was.

"You do this often?" I asked, nodding toward the bedroom. I could see
Ms. Hollywood, sprawled across the bed, propped on an elbow, watching us
talk.

"Not as often as I'd like," he snorted with a big smile, "That's what sucks
about not having hands. . ."

I raised and eyebrow quizzically. "Huh?"

"You're really new then, huh?" he asked, "Must not have gone through it
yet, but, by the looks of you, you'll find out soon."

"What are you talking about?"

He held up his hand and waggled his thumb at me. "No thumbs," he said, as
if were obvious what he meant. He made a fist. "No grip," he explained, "No
jacking off."

"Oh," I said. I just looked him. THIS was what he worried about?

"My woman comes for me every now and then," he kept explaining, "She likes
it dirty, so she comes by, gets me out of the yard, and we fuck all
night. It's great!"

"Don't you keep changing?" I asked.

"Shit!" he said, "That reminds me." He reached down on the floor and
snagged the collar from where Kane had dropped it. It was a broad leather
band with the metal emblem of the Headshop and a small gold bone-shaped
dog-tag with "Sparky" engraved across it. He put the collar on and snapped
it in place, then gave a mighty shiver. "This time, she wants me human," he
explained, "Except for this." He shook his cock at me.

"What about your life?" I asked him.

"Huh?" he asked. He looked at me like I was insane for mentioning it.

"Your life," I explained, "Your friends, family, job . . . y'know, your
life."

Sparky looked wistfully into the bedroom at his woman, who was idly rubbing
her finger in circles around her aureole, waiting for him to return. "She's
my woman . . ." he said. Again, I could see him trying to work it out and I
realized that he was trying to remember his life - - and couldn't.

"How old are you?" I asked him.

He looked at me with his brow wrinkled, his eyes searching mine. "What year
is it?"

"2005," I answered.

He looked down at the floor, as if trying to do the math. After a long
silence, he looked at me again with a broad smile of internal denial,
"Dunno, man," he said, "Kane says aging gets weird if you stay a dog a lot,
and I stay a dog a lot."

Bullet appeared in front of us and handed Sparky a fist full of roast
beef. Sparky's attention perked up instantly and he devoured the lunch meat
in several gulps, barely chewing. He then lounged back into the couch, eyes
closed, relishing the taste. "Awyeah," he muttered, "You should always eat
right after you change. It always feels so much better."

Bullet had gone back to the kitchen and brought back another fistful of
lunch meat and tapped Sparky on the knee until he noticed. Sparky gulped it
down just as fast, not bothering to wipe the spit from his lips as he tore
into it.

"Sparky!" Ms. Hollywood called from the other room. We both looked at
her. She had positioned herself on the bed with her legs spread, giving us
a show. Sparky launched himself toward her with another "Awyeah!" He kicked
the door shut and they started going at it again. I just shook my head and
tried to block them out. Was I going to end up like him? Unable to even
remember my real name?

"Sparky's a loser," Kane said. I hadn't seen him enter and he stood by the
doorway, rummaging through a shoebox. "He and his woman met and fell in
`love'," Kane said, making quote signs in the air as he said it, "but she's
an aristocrat and he was a bar tender. This solution keeps his life neatly
segregated from hers and he doesn't much care if all he does is eat, sleep,
and fuck."

"I'm NOT a loser," I asserted.

Kane looked at me and we exchanged our first meaningful communication. He
kept rummaging in the box. "I've got a `Rex'," he said, "a `Scout,' a
`Spot.'" He started walking toward me and held up a wad of bone-shaped dog
tags just like Sparky's, each with a different name.

"I have a name," I said, "It's `Jack.'"

Kane was standing in front of me now, and my courage started to flag the
moment his scent enveloped me. He looked down at me; his eyes were
impossible to read, but were hard enough to make he think he was pissed. He
bent over at the waist, reached down and grabbed the base of my cock,
brushing aside my hands. I sighed as his fist closed over it and the
pleasure of the pressure made my hips buck once.

"Nice and thick," he said, releasing it and standing up. He picked one of
the tags and held it up to me. It read "Stogie." Then he started to walk
away.

"But I have name," I insisted.

He turned at the base of the stairs and said, "Yes you do. C'mon, Stogie,"
he ordered, "Heel!"

And my body reacted. I loped across the floor, keeping myself low and in
that doggy-headspace, looking like some deformed ape, and followed him up
the stairs. Instinctively, I knew it was time. Everything I had been
dreading for days was about to happen.