Date: Sun, 22 Jan 2006 03:37:00 -0800 (PST)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop-Neighbors-Chapter 2-Huff and Puff

Headshop: Neighbors
Chapter 2: Huff and Puff

By Xformguy@yahoo.com

"Little pig, little pig . . ." came Brandon's voice through the door, "let
me in . . . or I'll huff and I'll puff. . . "

Cameron didn't know what to do. He stood staring at the wooden slab that
was the door, his body a battleground of emotions and desires. His half-pig
body shook and grunted with desire. Outside the door was a cock and he
desperately wanted to suck it. But the thought of putting another guy's
cock in his mouth was equally as disgusting to him and the realization that
he'd been preyed upon by the faggot down the hall incensed him.

Brandon had obviously put the slime on his door knob. He'd obviously known
what would happen. The sheer violation of it was more than Cameron's mind
could process, shaking as it was with images of hard cocks flowing freely
through it now.

He could only start there, naked except for his sweats, grunting and
breathing shallowly and sweating. He wanted Brandon's cock. It was
undeniable. He only hoped he had the willpower to avoid taking it.

"Little pig . . ." Brandon called softly, "let me in . . ."

Cameron tread close to the door, even put his hand on the deadbolt before
he stopped himself. His hoof-fingers got around the lever that would open
it. "Go away," Cameron called weakly.

"Ah," Brandon said, his face close to the door, "you are there. I thought
for a second it had gone too far."

"What. . .grunt. . .have you done to me?!"

"You're gonna let me in," Brandon assured him, "or next time, I'll make it
worse. Maybe you'd like to be flopping on the floor without any arms or
legs?"

Cameron backed up a step in horror, imaging this. He wouldn't think it
possible, but the changes he'd experienced . . . made it possible. He knew
that Brandon wasn't joking.

"Let me in little pig," Brandon called softly. Cameron did nothing and
Brandon smashed his fist into the door and screamed, "Let me in you fucker!
Or else I'll make it permanent!"

At Brandon's outburst, Cameron had sunk to his knees into a squat and his
breath caught in his throat. He was suddenly terrified and the emotion
overwhelmed his reason suddenly and completely. He felt himself getting
hard again, and felt his cock start to corkscrew inside his sweats. He
didn't understand what has happening to him, but he had an overwhelming
need to suck Brandon's cock. He reached up and unlocked the door, then
scampered away on all fours to the mouth of the hallway.

Brandon opened the door just a crack and slipped inside. He was just as
Cameron had remembered him, young, wearing a cocky expression across his
goatee, and dressed in slouchy clothes that smelled of weed. Brandon locked
the door behind him, then stood in front of it. He observed Cameron for a
long moment, as if checking out his own artistry.

"You turned out nice, little pig," he said softly.

"Why . . . (grunt) . . . did you do. . . (grunt) . . . this to me?" Cameron
said from this crouch.

Brandon smirked. He stood with his back against the door and he jutted out
his hips. Cameron's heart leapt suddenly, the need for Brandon's cock
resurfacing despite his outrage. "You never looked at me, but you are now,"
Brandon said, "I like you this way. Maybe I'll keep you like this."

"No!" Cameron grunted.

"Take off those sweats," Brandon demanded, "I want to see the full effect."
He rubbed himself across his crotch, outlining the growing erection in his
jeans. Cameron's eyes focused on the bulge and his snout quivered and
sniffed reflexively, compulsively. He wanted to smell it very badly.

Still in the squat, Cameron peeled the sweats over his ass, exposing his
absurd pig tail, then pushed them down his thighs and calves until he could
step out of them. He crouched there, blushing furiously and covering his
own hard-on by trapping it between his thighs and leaning over with his
hoof-hands on the floor. He looked up at Brandon with a mixture of contempt
and lust and saw Brandon tracking the outline of his cock with two fingers
across the denim.

Still squatting on all fours, Cameron moved toward it
hypnotically. Something in his mind was losing ground and he could feel the
animal in him surfacing over his reason. A high-pitched trill came from
Brandon's pocket and Brandon fished out a cellphone, manipulating it with
one hand, while the other gripped the base of his cock through his
jeans. The sound had knocked Cameron out of his reverie for a moment, and
he balanced there on his hoof-hands and the balls of his feet, strangely
comfortable in this stance.

Brandon smiled at him and tucked the cellphone in the crook of his
shoulder. "Yeah?" he said into it, "Yeah, I'm here now."

Brandon winked at Cameron as he smiled and undid his jeans with his
hands. He pulled one flap away, revealing a swath of pale, smooth skin just
over his pubes and hips. He reached in and massaged his cock with his hand
while he talked, knowing the effect it was having on Cameron. Cameron
grunted and swayed on his hands and feet, thrusting his pelvis reflexively,
wanting Brandon's cock so badly.

"Yeah. Yeah," Brandon said, "Is that him in the background?" Brandon
giggled a little, "Hold the phone up to him," he ordered. He took the phone
and dropped it on the floor before Cameron. "It for you."

Cameron looked at the phone suspiciously. On the readout was a the face a
young latino guy with a thick, dark goatee smiling stupidly. It was the
caller ID photo that Brandon had keyed to the incoming phone
number. Cameron reached out and tentatively took up the phone, inexpertly
holding it with both his deformed hands. He pulled it to his huge ear and
grunted out "Hello?"

"Cam?" came a gravely voice, "Is that you? He said^Ċit was you?"

"Duane?" Cameron confirmed. The voice was distorted, deep and strange, but
it was his friend's voice. He'd known Duane for years; he knew his
voice. The ramifications of his being involved dawned on Cameron. This
situation was larger and stranger than he had thought. It pushed him even
further out of his normal mindset and his hands started to shake.

"Jesus! Cam!" Duane explained frantically, "This guy! He's done something
to me! I don't have hands! I've got hooves! Fucking hooves!! And
my. . . cock! Ohgod! Help me! Heeeeeeeeeee. . ." and his voice broke into a
frantic screeching sound, rising and falling with each breath that Duane
took. It could only be described as a bray, a strange horse-like braying.

Cameron dropped the phone, but he could still hear the braying over the
speaker. It subsided and Duane voice came again, "He's fucking me! Jesus!
No!"

When Cameron looked at Brandon, his world changed. Brandon had pushed down
his jeans to mid-thigh and his long, pink cock jutted out. Brandon shifted
slightly and his cock bobbed back and forth as his hips moved. Cameron lost
all pretense now of not wanting to suck it. Whatever control he had tried
to maintain evaporated and he crawled toward it in his animal gait, leaving
the cellphone and whatever was happening to his friend behind.

Cameron did what had been unthinkable two hours ago, he squatted before
Brandon and slowly, delicately, took Brandon's cock in his mouth, careful
to avoid the new tusk-teeth he'd grown. The taste of hit was intoxicating,
and Cameron sighed around the shaft, pushing the head deeper into his
throat. He now what his quivering pig nose next to Brandon's sparse pubes
and he sniffed spasmodically as his tongue danced across Brandon's cock.

Cameron didn't really remember what happened after that, but he knew he
sucked Brandon's cock thoroughly, moving and down the shaft and sliding it
into and out of his throat, all the while, his tongue flexed and lapped and
vibrated around it expertly. He grunted continuously, showing Brandon his
fervor. He reached up and pushed Brandon's pants to his ankles and gingerly
played with Brandon's nuts with his hoof-hands, wishing he had proper
fingers to grasp and massage them.

But, his whole world became Brandon's cock, as all other thoughts were
simply gone from his head. He knew it was his mission in life to please
Brandon's cock, to make it spurt, and he knew the juice that would come
from Brandon's cock was his life blood and he had to have it as much as he
needed oxygen or water.

Cameron lost track of time, but Brandon knew how long it was going. He
braced himself for the onslaught of the pig-man he had created and yet was
surprised at the frenzy at which his cock was getting sucked. It was
pushing him closer to the edge every second. He used his knees to push
Cameron off of him and his cock popped out with a wet slurp and a look of
sheer dismay on Cameron's face.

Brandon toed off his shoes amid the bundle of his jeans, and stepped out of
both. He moved to the couch and sat down, propping his socked feet on the
coffee table. He reached down and gripped the base of his cock with his
hand, wagging it at the pig-man. "Let's go," he said, the pig-man scrambled
over and downed it again.

Brandon groaned and moaned, bucked his hips, and concentrated on not
shooting too fast. This whole thing had taken a lot of time and money to
set up; he wanted his money's worth. He stopped Cameron several times,
leaving the pig-man panting and grunting softly on the floor between his
legs, his hand on Cameron's forehead, holding him back. Cameron's eyes
never left Brandon's cock. When the need had subsided, he released Cameron
back to his work, and they would do it all over again.

Eventually, Brandon couldn't hold it off any more and with a scream of
triumph, he shot his load into Cameron's face. Cameron sucked it even more
eagerly once the liquid began to flow, and he buried Brandon's cock in his
throat to the base, letting it pour into him. He kept himself on it until
it stopped and Brandon's body started to go limp and Brandon started to
breath again.

When Brandon's cock started to soften, the spell on Cameron's brain lifted
slightly. He understood what he was doing and a wave of disgust hit him. He
reeled back, knocking the coffee table askew and he stood completely
upright. He stumbled and fell into the arm chair. He had the taste of
Brandon's cock and cum in his mouth and he shuddered at it.

Brandon was watching him, panting and flushed, as if gauging Cameron's
reaction. Cameron avoided looking at Brandon's softening cock, as it still
held some power over him. Then Cameron's body started to ache and vibrate,
just like it had before. He rushed out of the room to the bathroom,
terrified he was becoming more of a pig, but when he got to the mirror, he
saw the effect was lessening. His huge pig ears had shrunk. They were
normal sized now, if still triangular and jutting out of his head at weird
angles. His half-muzzle had melted back into a normal semi-normal jawline,
but it was still wrong and he still had his pig nose. His hoof-hands
changed, giving him workable fingers again, even if they were still fused
into two huge ones. His cock and his tail stayed the same.

"You need more cum," Brandon said. He stood in the doorway to the bathroom,
fully dressed now, holding his cellphone. "One or two more loads from a
willing donor should do it," he said. His eyes were moving up and down
Cameron's body, as if appraising merchandise.

"You deformed me . . . (grunt) . . . just to get a blowjob?!" Cameron
thundered.

"Consider this a practice run," Brandon said, "Next time, it might be more
extensive. You've got a good mouth on you and your body is very hot. Maybe
next time I'll make it last longer."

Cameron wanted to strike Brandon. He wanted to punch Brandon in the face
over and over again while he kneeled on his chest, bringing out blood from
this lips and nose. He imagined it, but stayed his rage. When it came to
it, he was still deformed and, amidst all the images of Brandon's pounded
face in his mind, were cocks. Whatever was happening to him wasn't yet
over. He believed that Brandon could indeed make it worse. He had mutated
Cameron to a large extent; it stood to reason that he could turn Cameron
completely into a pig. Cameron believed it because he was already over the
edge of his reason. He had fallen into a place where literally everything
was possible, so he chose caution.

"There . . . (grunt) . . . won't be . . .  (grunt) . . . a next time,"
Cameron hissed through nasal grunts.

"Whatever," Brandon said. He left Cameron in the bathroom and headed out of
the apartment. Cameron stayed where he was until the door clicked shut,
then raced out into the living room and engaged the deadbolt, sighing a
deep, nasal sigh of relief.

Cameron retreated to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to
absorb what had just happened. He couldn't stay in the living room. The
smell of Brandon's sweat on the couch cushions was still palpable and it
drove him back to his bedroom, where he felt safer. He'd blown a man. He'd
been drugged, mutated, and he'd put a cock in his mouth and sucked it until
a load of cum had been dumped in him.

Even sitting there, his body was a mass of conflict. When he saw Brandon's
cock in his mind, remembered the heft and taste of it, his stomach churned
with disgust while his crotch flared, his cock starting to corkscrew in his
sweat pants. The taste of Brandon's load was both an incomprehensible
delight and a humiliating burst of fluid. When Cameron realized that
Brandon's cum was still in his stomach, he retched and scrambled to the
toilet. He held the sides of it with both two-fingered hands and coughed
over the bowl. He wanted to vomit, felt his gorge rise, but something
prevented it. He ended up hovering there for a while, grunting softly
through his piggish snout, his body making its decision on his disgust.

Nothing happened. Images of cocks still flared through his mind from moment
to moment. Whatever Brandon had done to him was still happening. He was
still deformed. The cum he'd eaten - - he'd been forced to eat, he reminded
himself - - had reversed the effects. "One or two more loads," Brandon had
said, would fix him, return him to humanity.

Leaping up from the toilet, Cameron grabbed the mouthwash from the counter
and fumbled it open with his weird new fingers. He gargled and spat,
gargled and spat, until he could no longer taste Brandon in his mouth. He
shed his sweat pants and got into the shower, turning the water on so hot
it scoured his skin.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he could see his lean body covered on all
sides with the coarse black hair. His light brown body hair was still there
- - a fan on his chest, a wide line from his navel down to his pubes, a
light dusting on his legs and ass - - but it was interspersed everywhere
with black strands that stood up straight from his skin. The effect was
ugly and wrong as if Cameron's body was the battle ground over which two
physiologies had fought and had won an uneasy truce.

With his forehead on the tiles of the shower, the water sluicing down his
back, Cameron felt alone. He couldn't call the police or the hospital - -
how could he explain any of this? How could he explain that all he needed
was some more cock and he'd be fine. The images kept coming, recycling
through every man he ever had seen or noticed. Every one of them had a cock
and he assigned shapes, lengths, and girths to all of them, imaging their
sex, turgid and dripping. He grunted and licked his lips in
anticipation. From which of them could he get more cum? And how?

Cameron started suddenly and pushed himself off the tiles. DUANE! He had
forgotten, in his despair, that Duane was in this, too. He'd been changed
too, somehow. Cameron wondered which barnyard animal he'd been impregnated
with, which was pushing its way out of his flesh and muscle.

Cameron got out of the shower, toweled off quickly, then raced to the
phone. Duane didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he was so deformed he
couldn't pick up. The image of Duane's cock entered Cameron's mind, soft
and thick, laying across his nuts as Duane sat naked in the gym pulling on
a sock. Cameron had seen Duane naked so many times it had been a
commonplace sight, just another image he associated with his friend. Duane
was beefy and smooth-skinned, thick with muscles, and open with his smiles
and friendship. The memory of Duane naked had never held a sexual charge -
- it was no different that seeing him in a suit at work - - but now,
Duane's cock held sway over Cameron. His mind kept moving to the dark patch
in Duane's crotch, drawn to the shadows created as Duane leaned over.

Cameron shook his head clear again. He still had these reveries, but they
weren't as consuming as when he'd been crouching in front of
Brandon. Cameron fumbled dressed, getting jeans, socks, boots, and a
sweatshirt on without much trouble. He had to hide his face from the public
. . . he was obviously deformed and couldn't deal with explaining it to
anyone. He got a knit cap and pulled it on, flattening his triangular ears
against his skull. The cap held them down and it was uncomfortable, but
unless someone really looked, it was okay. He didn't know what to do about
his half-muzzle and he grunted in front of the mirror for a while,
mesmerized at it again - - was this REALLY his face??

He donned his ski jacket, a huge, light-weight coat with a thick lining and
a large turned up collar. With his head down, he figured he could walk
through a crowd without drawing too much attention, and he could use the
pockets to hid his two-fingered hands. He got his keys, wallet, and
cellphone, and headed out.

He dismissed getting a cab; he just couldn't deal with interacting with the
driver. On the street, his cock-frenzy magnified. There were men everywhere
on the streets, walking here and there. It was still early night, time for
dinners, errands, and clubbing. They were from all walks of life and all
races, and all of them had cocks. Cameron's imagination worked overtime in
the background of his thoughts.

He imagined them nestled the pants of each guy, fleshy knobs of warmth and
pleasure just waiting to be coaxed into hardness by his breath and lips. He
imagined them slowly filling out to their full length while his tongue
worked up and down their length, around their base, across their balls. He
imagined the smell of their pubes, mentally assigning different flavors to
different races in some nonsensical pattern of race and social class. He
was salivating and shivering with these thoughts, each time being rejected
when a guy passed out of his immediate view, each time resetting when
another came into it.

Brandon had done this to him with that slime. He couldn't understand how it
had worked, be it some strange chemistry or sorcery itself, but it was real
and overwhelming. Cameron was a battlefield of emotions, but the generals
were rage and lust. He couldn't tell who was winning, but he knew the
battle wasn't lost to either of them yet.

Cameron turned the corner to the entrance to Duane's building, stopped
short, and hid back behind the corner. He peeked out and saw Brandon and
some Latino guy coming out of the entrance and - - thankfully - - going the
other way. They were talking and laughing, their hands thrust into the
pockets of their coats to keep them from the cold.

When they were far enough away, Cameron went to the door and buzzed for
Duane on the security panel. There was no answer. He buzzed again and
waited. Still no answer. Luckily, a guy was leaving the building . . . one
of Duane's neighbors that Cameron had seen in the building before.

The guy wore close cropped hair that seemed to creep down into a full bear
without boundary, framing a tense line of a mouth and sharp green eyes that
surveyed the street. He was compact of frame and clothed in denim, stained
work boots, and a gray hoodie pulled up around his baseball cap to ward the
cold off his ears.

Cameron immediately launched into a sexual fantasy upon seeing him, casting
him in a scene from his small hometown, putting him in overalls at the
local mechanics. Cameron shook his head to clear it, moving to grab the
slowly closing door before it shut and locked him out completely. He turned
his face away from the guy, hiding his snout and covering his soft
grunting.

Inside, Cameron made it to the elevator, punching Duane's floor, before he
let out with a deep sigh that came as a staccato of grunts. He reached down
and adjusted his cock in his underwear, feeling it start to corkscrew as he
chubbed with the accumulated fantasies of the walk over. He forced his hand
off of it and stood stock against the back wall of the elevator, putting
the palms of his deformed hands against the smooth metal to draw his
attention away from his body.

The elevator "dinged" softly and the doors opened. Cameron moved out of it
and down the hall to Duane's door. He knocked softly, but there was no
answer. He tried again a little harder and thought he heard some movement
inside, but no answer came. He reached down and tried the knob - - and
stopped himself just before he made contact with it. Cameron knelt down and
observed the knob carefully; there didn't seem to be any slime on it, but
just in case, he tried the knob with his hand covered in the tail of his
shirt. The door was open, so he slipped inside.

"Duane," he called, then let off a series of grunts uncontrollably from his
nervousness.

"Cam?" came a soft, voice. It sounded like Duane, but then it also
didn't. It was deeper, stranger.

"Yeah," Cameron called, "I'm alone." He knew that Duane was down the hall
toward the bedrooms and watched as a bulk lumbered in the shadows out of a
bedroom and plodded toward the entrance.

Cameron pressed himself against the door, his breathing coming in quick
grunts and heart pounding in his chest. He knew what had happened to
him. He suspected what had happened to Duane. But none of that made it
easier to see. None of it made it easier to accept what he was seeing. He
felt himself go light headed with the weirdness of it all .

Duane lumbered into the room on all fours. Each of his legs and arms ended
not in feet and hands, but in huge black hooves. Something had changed in
the configuration of his legs, but his arms were still human arms. He was
covered from head to . . . hoof in a light coating of iron gray hair and
his face, while completely human, had two huge oval ears, nearly a foot
long each, that rotated forward at seeing Cameron. From the crack of his
otherwise human-shaped bubble butt, sprang a rope-like tail with a tassel
at the end. It whipped two and fro as he lumbered inexpertly on four legs.

Duane's expression was unreadable. He seemed to be cycling through the same
disbelief that Cameron was having. He could only say, "Look what that fag
did to meeeeeee. . ." and then be broke into a fit of braying, taking in
huge gouts of air and expelling them in horse like screaming at the top of
his lungs.