Stink Bomb - Part 3 (Patreon)

Tanner checked his phone one last time as he walked up to the house. No more texts from Rafa. He was almost hoping for another. His metalhead roommate was normally unfazed by pretty much everything. Today, however, he had made a huge screw-up and had to dig out of it. The texts he had sent Tanner had escalated from panicked to unhinged. It was fucking hilarious.

A nasty smell greeted him on the porch. The last traces of their ex-roommate Lee’s nerd stank, maybe. Rafa had bitched about it that morning, but Tanner hadn’t detected it then. Another deep clean of the attic would probably take care of the problem for good.

A stronger odor filled the house. Multiple types of food competed for olfactory supremacy in the hot, steamy air. It seemed that Rafa was trying to cook his way through his stress. Like usual. And he was overdoing it, also like usual. It was no wonder he was turning into a tub of lard.

Mixed in with the food smells were tangier, less pleasant scents like perspiration and a spicy staleness suggesting cigar smoke. That last scent caught Tanner off guard. Because Rafa didn’t smoke. Some of his friends vaped but that was about it.

He took note of the crooked banner wishing some unknown party a Happy Retirement and the haphazardly placed bowls of snacks. In one corner, a chair had been shoved aside to make room for a video game cabinet. He had to admit, renting an arcade game was a boss move. But then he saw the game was “Marble Madness.” That clinched it: Rafa’s party was going to be a disaster. He couldn’t wait to rub his smug face in it.

He didn’t have to wait long. The Man Himself barreled through the wall of steam in the kitchen and wrapped Tanner in a sweaty bear hug. Rafa and he weren’t physical with each other, not like that. But as Tanner recoiled in surprise, Rafa just squeezed him harder. He was drenched in sweat. Tanner shook him off and took a good long look at his friend.

Rafa was in sorry shape. His skin wasn’t just moist with perspiration; it was oily, too, like he hadn’t bathed in a while. Although it was dimly lit, his eyes were hidden behind yellow-tinted aviator shades, suggesting he was nursing a hangover. Again, strange, because he wasn’t much of a drinker. And instead of his usual t-shirt and tight jeans, he wore sweats and a hoodie. Clothes like Tanner himself owned. But he was sure he had never laid eyes on these before. His own athletic wear was immaculate; these had more holes than a hunk of Swiss cheese.

“Thank God you’re here,” Rafa panted. “I need help!”

“No shit,” Tanner laughed. “Why didn’t you just call it off?”

“Too late for that. Unfortunately—! I just had to be a big shot and volunteer to throw this party at the last minute. And all by myself! Damn it… why do I do this shit?”

“I never know, brother,” Tanner said, shaking his head. “Let me get changed and I’ll pitch in with whatever, okay?”

“Don’t worry about that. I just really need to talk to you about some things I’m going through. It’s like… I’m not myself right now. Grab us a couple of beers and meet me in the sunroom, okay?”

Tanner cocked an eyebrow at this. “I thought you were a seltzer guy. And I don’t fuck with beer, you know that. Too fattening.”

Rafa snorted. “Y’know what…? I’m right on the goddamned edge so I need you to stop acting like a pussy and have a fucking beer with me. Got it? Good.” Abruptly he turned and walked away.

Feeling a bit dazed by his pal’s attitude, Tanner followed his roommate into the kitchen. The room was filled with an absurd amount of steam, like the communal shower of a gym, and it smelled worse than that. The haze bore a slightly green tint. From simmering vegetables, he guessed. Dawn of Ashes thumped on the speaker system, the menacing growl of the vocals and the ominous industrial beat adding to the surreal atmosphere. Like walking through a music video with an overactive fog machine.

Tall stew pots occupied three of the four burners on the stove. One held a Hungarian vegetable stew, issuing the piquant aromas of tomato, lemon and paprika. The others contained chili and the other a cheddar-beer soup. Normally his appetite would have been roused by the delicious smells. But they were overwhelmed by the musty, smoky funk that seemed to have pervaded the house. Activated by the heat, his body spray stepped up its game and went to battle against the powerful stink. The unholy combination of good and evil smells only made him queasy.

By now Rafa had stormed through the kitchen and was stomping restlessly around the “sunroom,” which was just a back porch walled in by metal screens. The kitchen was a cluttered mess; Tanner could see it would take a minute to find the beer. There were groceries everywhere, on the counters and the little dinette table. Even on the chairs. Enough food to last them half a year, and all of it useless, over-processed garbage. He couldn’t imagine what had possessed Rafa to do something like this. It was nervous breakdown behavior.

Out of curiosity, he rummaged through the cabinets. As he suspected, it was more of the same. Boxes of cake mix, bags of chips, canned chili and worse. The trashcan overflowed with many of their old pantry items, including every healthy thing he had bought for himself. Oddly, his single tub of protein powder was still where he had left it, and it had been joined by a half-dozen more. He supposed Rafa had done this to make up for throwing all his chicken and vegetables into the garbage.

Two large coolers, both brand new, sat on the floor. They did contain beer, plus lots of sugary soda. He decided to snoop a little more before getting the beers.

The refrigerator was also filled to bursting. Half of it with alcohol and half with desserts. A pistachio cake and a key lime pie took the places of honor on the top shelf. Tanner considered the army of brews confronting him and imagined the wreck they’d make of his waistline. Grabbing exactly one beer, he marched back to the pantry cabinets and retrieved his favorite sports bottle. Before he could fish his electrolyte drink mix from the garbage, someone grabbed hold of his arm. Rafa. His hot breath tickled his nostrils. It was rancid.

The burly Hungarian snatched the sports bottle from Tanner’s hand. “I said TWO beers, asshole.” His expression was hard to decipher. Friendly but oddly stern. Almost like he was dealing with an employee and not a friend.

Feeling increasingly disoriented, Tanner didn’t even know how to object. He turned to fetch a beer for himself and heard Rafa unleash a powerful sneeze. When he looked back, he saw that his roommate had managed to spatter the sports bottle with bright green mucous. Rafa apologized, not very convincingly.

Tanner plucked another beer from the fridge and reached for the sports bottle. “It’s fine,” he muttered, more out of politeness than anything else. “I can wash it off.”

“You can do that later,” Rafa said. “It’s beer time.” He tucked the sports bottle into the pocket of his hoodie. Tanner knew he was only imagining it, but it almost looked like the stainless steel was melting.

On the back porch, Rafa paced around, chugging his beer messily. A good deal of it missed his mouth entirely and soaked into his whiskers. Tanner took a deck chair and sipped at his brew, watching his friend, waiting for him to finally start talking about whatever was bothering him. Instead, Rafa thrust the empty bottle at him and curtly said, “Another.”

Tanner was about to agreeably tell his friend to fuck off and get his own beer when Rafa yawned and stretched his arms over his head, unleashing a new wave of body odor to assault his senses. There was a citric undertone to it, something Tanner realized had been there in the house, too. It was hard to concentrate with the stench curling into his nose like that. He decided it was just easier to fetch the beer.

With the new beer in his hand, Rafa settled into the wicker loveseat and at last started to open up. “I’m really under pressure from my folks to maintain my grade point average,” he explained. “And you know I like to act like nothing gets to me, but I am fucking stressed the fuck OUT, bro. When you guys aren’t here, I’ve been getting into some bad shit, just trying to feel better about myself.”

Tanner had to admit he was intrigued. If Rafa was on drugs, it would explain his erratic behavior. Like throwing out all that food. He knew he had to put aside his annoyance and be big about the whole thing. He reached out to pat his friend’s knee but thought better of it at the last second. “Don’t beat yourself up, buddy,” he said, warmly. “Whatever it is, I’ll find you some help. So, what are we talking, exactly?”

Rafa hesitated to answer for a moment, then sheepishly replied, “To start with… damn it. I might as well just show you.”

Slowly, he pulled the hoodie off, over his head. Tanner figured out what Rafa meant the instant he saw his belly. It was a classic ‘roid gut, swollen but with defined abs under a surprisingly dense layer of hair. Black hair, somehow, even though the hair on his head was sandy blonde. Then there was the chest, even hairier, featuring plump but firm man-boobs adorned with swollen nipples. Tanner hadn’t seen anything like it. The nips were the size of the tips of his pinky fingers, the areolae like half-dollars. By now the stench rolling off his friend’s body was truly heinous, defeating Tanner’s body spray in a decisive rout. All he could smell now was the peculiar blend of musty organic odors. An insistent smell, coming in hot, soaking into his flesh, marking him like a junkyard dog peeing on a fence. And then he saw the armpits.

The noxious smell made his eyes water, but he could see well enough to be taken aback by the sheer enormity of the wet, matted bushes under Rafa’s arms. The hairs were long and straight and as lush as the pelt of a Persian cat. It was no wonder Rafa wanted to hide them under a hoodie. The pit hairs would be sticking out even with his arms clamped to his sides. He tried to recall the last time he had seen Rafa in one of his trademark sleeveless muscle shirts instead of a t-shirt. The weather had been unseasonably cool lately, so it had been a few weeks since his pits had been exposed. Still, it seemed impossible the hairs could grow that fast.

The garment continued to wriggle upward, uncovering brawny arms like a defensive lineman’s, all bulk and no definition. With a final shrug, Rafa peeled the damp hoodie off his head and let it fall to his feet. He looked pleadingly at Tanner and flashed the slightest hint of a smile. His teeth looked yellow in the twilight and just a bit longer and sharper than seemed normal. As if his gums were receding.

“You’ve been juicing,” Tanner sighed. “You know better than that, bro! No offense, but… they’re phony gains. You could have just lifted weights with me. I even offered!”

Tanner grimaced and looked down at the floor. “I know! I just admire your physique so much and I don’t have time… fuck! Do I look good at least?”

Tanner was at a loss for words. The truth is, Rafa did look good. His friend had always been attractive. Not that he wanted to think about him that way. Hell, he’d always made a point of NOT paying attention to Rafa’s body. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression. But he honestly had to admit his pal was handsome. Even if he was chunky, he had a nice face. And the dad bod seemed appropriate, given how fatherly he was. Even the hairiness suited him. Tanner personally preferred to shave his body in order to accentuate his muscles, but the natural look definitely worked for Rafa.

“Don’t leave me hanging,” Rafa said. “What’s the verdict? Hot or not?”

Tanner knew Rafa deserved the whole truth. “You look good, man, you always have. But this shit is horrible for you long-term. And I might add, it absolutely will shrink your balls down to the size of peas. And then there’s the acne…!”

“My boys have felt a little odd lately,” Rafa mused. “Maybe you’d better take a look at them.” Tanner had no time to object; Rafa was already pulling the sweatpants down to his ankles, revealing testes the size of oranges. The nuts were coated so thickly in long, straight hairs that he couldn’t even see the skin.

“Those… can’t be real.” Tanner didn’t even know what to think. But he couldn’t stop looking at them.

Rafa smiled drunkenly. A crooked, wobbly kind of a smile. “Go ahead and touch ‘em then. I don’t mind.”

“Um, yeah… that’s gonna be a hard pass.” The sour-sweet smell wafted off the titanic ball-sack. Tanner snorted, trying to get the pungent odor out of his sinuses. It was hopeless. He forced his gaze to move away from the furry balls. The best he could manage was to focus on Rafa’s thick, sweaty cock.

The air was still and stagnant. Sweat dripped down Tanner’s forehead and stung his eyes. He squinted at Rafa, confused by what he saw. Not just his strangely altered body. Something else: if he focused his vision just so, it looked like swirling, greenish gases were emanating from the Hungarian’s skin, particularly around his freakishly hairy armpits. And the gases were getting absorbed by his own flesh, like his body was sucking it in. It was the heat, he knew, making him see a mirage.

Many competing thoughts were swimming around in his skull, making it impossible for him to concentrate. Clumsily, he unbuttoned the shirt of his security guard uniform. He turned to Rafa. “I’m dying here, buddy. Why isn’t the AC on? Is it broken again?”

Rafa nodded his shaggy head. “That’s exactly what’s happening. All the windows are stuck in the closed position too. I think Old Man Dzuban has been fucking with them. No worries, bro. I left a message with him.” He didn’t sound especially upset about it.

“And you’re throwing a party…? Just reschedule it already, dumbass!”

Now Rafa became agitated. “Not an option. I just want to get it over with. We’ll eat in the backyard, I dunno.”

“Have fun with that,” Tanner scoffed. “I’ll go over to the bastard’s house right now and bang on his door and MAKE him do something. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll go hang out with Chalker tonight. Either way I’m not putting up with this.” He tried to stand up but felt his body sag a little deeper into his chair. The brief outburst had exhausted him. Something about the heat and the stink was sapping his strength.

“No,” Rafa said, sharply. “I told you I needed a friend to talk to and that’s what we’re doing. Your ass is staying here. Period.”

Through the screens, Tanner caught some motion beneath one of the shrubs along the fence. Not the cats, unfortunately. Just a skunk venturing out into the dusk. He eyed the screen door. If I prop it open, he thought, I could get a breeze through here and…

“Door stays shut,” Rafa snarled. “Can’t have the neighbors ogling my kickin’ bod, y’know.”

Tanner wasn’t sure he had said the thought out loud or if Rafa was just anticipating him. It was getting hard to be sure of a lot of things.

“If you’re hot,” Rafa added, “then peel off that stupid uniform. You’re done with work. I don’t know why you’re still wearing it. You should just wear a jock strap around me. Or hey, why not slip into that old high school wrestling singlet you keep in a box under your bed? Y’know, the one you like to try on when nobody is home.”

Tanner had to fight like hell to not throw up right there and then. He managed to say in a small dry voice, “You know about that…?”

With a look on his face usually reserved for a parent chiding a toddler, Rafa said, “I know everything about you. Now grab us a couple more beers already. I have a lot more to talk about.”

Tanner got up and plodded back into the kitchen, his hands trembling, his cheeks on fire. He couldn’t understand how Rafa found out about the singlet. But then, he didn’t really know why he had kept the stupid thing in the first place. Except it was fun to remember those days when he was a wrestling champ, dominating other boys with his superior strength. He’d loved the sensation of their sweaty bodies wriggling helplessly beneath his own…

He seemed to be moving on autopilot, mechanically stripping off his shirt, kicking off his shoes, removing everything he wore. His furry chest was damp with sweat.

Except he shouldn’t have a furry chest.

He had shaved it in the shower that morning. His arms and legs too. But no, the hair had grown back even thicker and longer than before. And it had spread. The entire front side of his torso was coated in curling brown hair. His leg hair had advanced up his thighs and his bush had positively exploded. Even his shoulders were hairy. Running his hands over his scalp, bewildered, he found that the hair on his head had grown out as well. Instead of the disciplined undercut he remembered getting at the barber’s the week before, it was a shaggy mop. Long bangs were plastered to his perspiring forehead. Combing through them with his fingers brought them hanging down over his eyes. Hastily slicking them back, he explored his beard. It should have been two inches long at the chin and tapering severely back at the temples. But now it was a wiry beast, a good four inches long all over somehow, including a drooping mustache. Barely believing what he was feeling, he stroked it from top to bottom and found that it ran from all the way down to his collarbone, where it joined up with his chest hair.

He slid a drawer open and stared at his clean jock straps. Inhaling sharply, he swayed on his hairy feet, drunk on his own musk. Crouching down, he glanced beneath the bed at the box containing the singlet. Moving it out of the way, he retrieved another, smaller box.

Beers in hand, clad only in a dingy, unwashed jock strap, he trudged like a zombie back to the porch. Rafa snapped his fingers at him the second he tried to sit in the deck chair. Like he was a misbehaving dog. Then the husky son-of-a-bitch patted the thin cushion of the loveseat and smirked, “No reason you shouldn’t sit here. It’s not like I’m contagious.”

Tanner silently joined his friend on the cramped loveseat. Dutifully sipping his beer, he wriggled as Rafa’s plump arms and thighs rubbed against his own. But there was no way to keep from touching him.

Then a sharp elbow jab from the Hungarian. “Knock off the fidgeting,” he growled. “And stop acting like a Baptist preacher’s wife. We both know you’re into me.”

Tanner shrank at the accusation. But he didn’t know where he could go. Rafa had trapped him there with the force of his personality. All he could do was protest that he wasn’t gay.

Rafa broke into a harsh, gravely laugh. “The hell you ain’t, boy—! I know what you and Chalker got up to back in high school after you dropped your prom dates back at their houses. What you guys still do when you tell him you’re ‘drunk,’ quote-unquote. I mean, that is his jock you’re wearing right now. Must be fun sniffing it while you rub one out.”

Noting Tanner’s stricken expression, Rafa’s own face softened a little.

“I’m not trying to be a dick, bro,” he explained. “I love you too! It’s just that I know what’s best for you and Quincy and I need you guys to go along with it. Trust me, you’ll both be much happier.”

Rafa launched into a monologue about some new system he was instituting in the house. He had appointed himself the “brains” and designated Tanner the “muscle.” Poor Quincy was to be given the role of “house pet.”

It was getting harder to concentrate. On anything. Rafa kept talking, slowly getting even smellier. And hairier. Tanner still couldn’t figure out how a blonde like Rafa could sprout jet black body hair. Nothing was making sense that night.

Rafa wouldn’t stop touching him as he babbled on. He slapped Tanner’s thigh, squeezed his arm, slung his arm around his shoulder. As the minutes passed, the strange black hairs swarmed the backs of Rafa’s hands and spread onto his digits. His nails grew thick and long and pointed, while his palms became leathery.

Tanner kept waiting for him to confess to doing other drugs besides steroids. That seemed to be where the conversation was heading. It never happened.

Everywhere Rafa touched him became greasy, as though his palms were secreting oil. In the tropical atmosphere of the sunroom, the reeking aroma of body odor doubled in strength. It was his own sweat adding to the problem, he knew, and it was making him miserable. And Rafa kept fondling him. The Hungarian played with Tanner’s whiskers, running his claws through the dense growth, curling his fingers around the hairs. And pulling. Tanner watched impotently as his beard was slowly stretched out, going from four inches to eight to twelve, getting even bulkier as the growth was forced onto it. Rafa did the same to the hair on his head, gifting him with a greasy, sweaty mane suitable for a Hell’s Angel.

“I feel like I’m tripping,” Tanner moaned. “That’s it, right? You took LSD and I got a contact high off your sweat.”

Rafa stroked Tanner’s championship level beard and made little shushing sounds. “Just relax,” he purred. “Everything is normal and we’re just having fun. You can trust me, brother… I would never hurt you. I love you too much. Listen to me: any worries you have, they’re gone now. Can you feel them disintegrate? They’re like rusty iron, crumbling away into dust.”

Calm flooded Tanner’s brain. He had to admit he was being silly. Rafa would never hurt him; he loved him. He could trust Rafa. They were having fun.

The setting sun shimmered atop the spire of a distant church. Then it was gone, the coral-hued sky instantly going to a dull gray perforated by a handful of weakly glittering stars. Something very large and very furry was guiding him back inside to the living room. The music had stopped. He was deposited on the couch and left alone in the quiet darkness.

No, the floor lamps were lit, and the flat screen was on. The speakers shook with the screams of the damned. Swedish death metal this time. Maybe Naglfar. Rafa’s favorite.

He had zoned out, clearly. But he was feeling so good that he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was in his happy place. Tipsy, hot, and sweaty with a nice manly stink going. A World’s Strongest Man competition was on TV. Ball-bellied tanks deadlifted logs and pulled monster trucks with ropes, showing off their furry bulk in skimpy outfits. He could imagine how they must have stank. The lucky bastards.

Some odd flavors coated his tongue, blending with his usual halitosis. A yellow blur was on the edge of his vision. His eyes tracked it downward, past the grimy beard with the white streak down the center and onto his firm, hairy abs. The cheese soup. Of course. He had always been a messy eater.

Rafa thumped him on the head with a hirsute thumb and forefinger. “You better get back at it or that thing’ll go out,” the Hungarian chided him. He pointed to a chunky glass ashtray Tanner had never seen before. A half-smoked cigar rested there, smoldering.

Tanner‘s eyes goggled. “There’s no way I was… wait, seriously?”

But Rafa was already placing the cigar in his mouth and relighting it. “It was your idea, remember? You’re the one who’s addicted to these things, not me. Jesus, how drunk are you…?”

Tanner wanted to concoct a devastating rejoinder, but he was already taking a deep draw on the hefty stogie and blasting the smoke from his nostrils. He was certain he had never smoked a cigar in his life. Yet somehow, he had the technique down pat. He could imagine how he looked. Pretty boss.

He cocked his head and regarded his friend. Rafa had removed his sunglasses, exposing eyes that should have been brown. Instead, they were a fluorescent chartreuse. His face was covered in short black fuzz and his limbs bristled with fur. His back was shaggier than one of Jon Snow’s cloaks. And still he had his sandy blonde hair and beard. Although both the hair and the beard had streaks of white going down the middle. As he watched, additional stripes of green materialized in his hair, bracketing the white. It was a hallucination, he knew that, but it felt so real. Part of him even wished it was.

Rafa returned his gaze, stroking his thigh while shooting jets of smoke from a nose looking strangely dark and bulbous, like an animal’s. Rafa’s ears, normally hidden by his hair, had moved to the top of his head, and looked small and furry, while the lower half of his face had pushed outward into a short muzzle. His nipples and the fur between his pecs had gone bright green. Something lifted upward and outward from his back. A tail. A huge, curling skunk tail hanging over his head, casting it in shadow. From the darkness, his acid-green eyes glittered.

Tanner leveled a limp finger at his roommate. “You look like a skunk,” he giggled, hoarsely.

“I do that sometimes,” Rafa said. “But you don’t mind. You never tell anybody either, do you?”

“If you say so.” The truth was, he couldn’t recall Rafa ever looking like this before. It was just less work to go along with it.

Rafa gave Tanner’s furry bull balls a playful tickle. “Damn, Sasquatch…! You got a real set on you!”

He did, suddenly. The size of oranges, just like Rafa’s. A matching set. But then he saw Rafa’s mighty skunk man dick rear up from a curtain of straight, silky pubes and he glimpsed testes even more swollen than his own. Grapefruit sized. Naturally the bastard couldn’t resist one-upping him once again. Tanner guffawed at the thought, his voice sounding deeper and huskier than it had before. “I like when you call me Sasquatch. Sounds hardcore.”

“I would hope so,” Rafa laughed. “You’re the one who came up with that nickname.”

Tanner couldn’t recall that at all, but he also couldn’t imagine why his best friend would lie to him.

“I mean, I get it,” Rafa grinned. “You sure as shit look like a Sasquatch. These crazy big feet of yours…!”

Tanner didn’t think his feet looked especially large. But Rafa grabbed Tanner’s ankles and started rubbing his huge skunk nipples with the soles of Tanner’s feet. Tanner could feel his friend’s freakish nips perk up and start leaking oily musk. Soon, his feet were covered in a sheen of green juice. They itched. Rafa massaged them with his fingers, working the musk deep into the skin. Despite the foul smell, the sensation was very relaxing. And erotic. His fat cock bucked and twitched against the filthy jockstrap. Rafa continued to manipulate the flesh and bone, pulling at it, kneading the feet like dough. Soon they had gained three inches in width and six inches in length. I guess we’re both freaks,” Rafa purred, bringing one of the giant toes to his furry mouth and sucking on it. “Imagine what kind of stink these monsters will generate!”

Noting Tanner’s erection, he said, “Stroke yourself off.” Then he went back to slurping on Tanner’s feet. Eagerly, Tanner set about playing with himself. His dick wasn’t as prodigious as Rafa’s, but it was still easily sixteen inches long with an ample foreskin. Oozing pre and drenched in Rafa’s filth, it was difficult to get a good grip on it, but he persevered.

“Anyway, I hope this makes up for your bad day,” Rafa said. “I always thought you would get a chance to quit that stuffy security gig before they fired your ass but oh well…!”

This roused Tanner out of his mindless stupor of self-gratification. Just barely. “Wait, I’m out of a job…?”

Rafa shot him a look like he was an idiot and snorted with laughter. “That’s the spirit, Sasquatch! Block that crap out of your mind. Tonight’s for fun, right?”

Tanner tried to forget what Rafa had said, but he just couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t remember being fired in the first place. “I don’t… why would they let me go?”

Rafa rolled his glowing eyes. “Too many warnings about your grooming habits and lack of hygiene…? And I think you failed a drug test. That’s what you told me earlier. Why do I even have to tell you that? Fucking booze hound…!”

Tanner’s mouth gaped open, unleashing more drool. He felt like he was floating off the couch, not reclining on it. “I guess I’m pretty wasted,” he admitted.

“I’m used to it,” Rafa shrugged. “But it’s all part of your dream, remember? You’re going to be one hell of a biker. No chopper yet but you’re smart to save up for one. And I can’t blame you for wanting to get a head start on the rest of it. Growing out your hair and your beard. Giving up bathing, starting to chain-smoke cigars. Always taking sips off what you like to call your ‘sports bottle.’ Which reminds me…!” He dug through the pocket of the hoodie where he had stashed the bottle earlier and handed the thing back to him. Except it wasn’t a bottle. It was a flask. A flask with a cartoon bigfoot printed on it.

Stunned, Tanner sat upright. He accepted the flask, feeling a bit guilty, and took a few swallows of what turned out to be bargain basement whiskey. He couldn’t wrap his head around what he had just heard.

The biker thing… Tanner could remember daydreaming about it. He’d never been serious, though. It was just a headspace to get into, to intimidate perps. Imagining he was an unpredictable outlaw, capable of untold violence. A method for getting a feral look in his eyes and making them retreat. He had to admit he used it for jerkoff material too. And for role play with Chalker. But… he had other dreams, more important dreams. Like running his own private security firm.

Rafa shot him a dubious look. “That dream is boring,” he said. Tanner, baffled by the remark, could only listen as his friend talked, the words seeping into his brain, soaking into it, hardening from opinion into command into fact.

“I’m smarter than you,” Rafa said, not unkindly. “That’s why I’m in charge. Listen to me, brother. I know what you’re good at. The only dream you are going to pursue is the biker dream. All that other shit…? Owning your own business, moving to Hawaii, getting your deadbeat dad to respect you…? All that is gone now. You are never going to think about it again. All you care about is pumping iron and partying and being a hardcore, ass-kicking biker. That’s your job. You’re the muscle. You’re Sasquatch. That’s all.”

Sasquatch could feel his wishes and desires collapse in on themselves, growing abstract, rotting away into mere whimsies and inarticulate notions. He had a clear purpose, finally, hallelujah. It was exhilarating.

“That’s my good boy,” Rafa breathed. He took Sasquatch in his arms and kissed him deeply. Stale smoke and rancid alcohol coated his tongue. Tanner reveled in it.

“I have good news for you,” Rafa said, beaming. “I can get you that Harley you want. And there’s a biker bar… there’s an opening for a bouncer. Or there will be. I can get you that job. Anything you want, I can get for you. You want me to fix you up like that?”

Sasquatch, overcome by gratitude, gasped, “Hell yeah! Only… I didn’t think there was a biker bar around here.”

Rafa grinned conspiratorially. “There will be,” he repeated. And punctuated this cryptic statement with another kiss.

Taking Sasquatch’s hand in his paw, Rafa pulled him into his bedroom. The caveman, his mind drifting in an ocean of toxic waste, watched his roommate stroke his mighty skunk cock, working it until it curved outward a good three feet in length. Licking his lips, Sasquatch swiped a bit of green cum from the tip and licked his fingers clean.

“Let’s see how tough you really are,” Rafa said, teasingly. “You think your ass can take all this?”

That was a puzzle, and Sasquatch knew he was lousy at those. He puffed on his cigar a moment and sized up the situation. “I love you, man,” he finally drawled. “But I ain’t a… a bottom, even if your tool was way smaller…!”

“You’re a bottom for me,” the skunk man said, firmly. “You dominate all the other guys you want but I’m the top bastard in charge, so your ass is MINE. That’s just how it is.”

Sasquatch reeled as his rotting brain cells rearranged themselves, making Rafa’s statement reality. His own cock sprang to full attention as he anticipated the epic pounding he was about to receive. “Fuck yeah, that’s the deal! Fuck me with that smelly skunk rod… Daddy!”

Rafa unleashed a savage yelp of delight. “That’s the goddamn spirit! Bend your nasty ass over that bed!”

Sasquatch wasted no time in presenting his hairy, unwashed rump to his master. Clamping his cigar in his jaws, he savored the opportunity to keep smoking as he gave himself fully to the man who was making his dream come true.

He felt Rafa’s claws pry his beefy glutes wide. Then the tip of the hot, slick member was worked inside him. Thrusting, gentle and shallow at first, gave way to a hard, painful ramming, shaking every object in the room. The soaring, trilling guitar riffs and bestial vocals of Mithras massaged his primitive mind. Music for a skunk’s bachelor pad, he mused.

A solar flare of bliss as the skunk cock hit his prostate. But then it kept sliding deeper, as the pleasure impossibly intensified. As though his prostrate was getting painlessly stretched out, with more and more of the skunk man’s grimy, gritty cock rubbing against it.

Sasquatch whooped and stamped his feet, bellowing like a wounded bison, stretching his limbs, flexing his intimidating musculature, his befogged brain glorying in the raw emotion of the moment.

Too soon, his skunk master erupted within him, injecting him with the purest essence of his being. The sour stench of his flesh tripled in strength, then tripled again.

Flashes of pain were followed by swooning waves of pleasure as his body improved itself once more. The tops of his feet, already hairy, acquired a luxurious brown pelt. The backs of his hands quickly followed suit. With a whooshing noise like a wheat field in a heavy wind, his hair and beard surged even further outward. Another hundred pounds of muscle piled onto his frame, which gained another several inches in height to accommodate it.

He was a beautiful brute, just intimidating as hell. But then his master’s seed pushed him even further, twisting his form into something resembling a monstrous gorilla. His brawny legs truncated, while his arms gained both mass and length. His furry knuckles brushed against the carpet, the flesh on his palms turning leathery and coarse. His brow beetled, shading his eyes beneath a bony ridge adorned with shaggy hair. His jaw mirrored the brow by bulking up, giving him a pronounced underbite crowned by an uneven assortment of outsized teeth including a set of tusks that would put an Orc to shame. His salivary glands kicked into high gear, sending never-ending rivulets of tobacco-stained saliva pouring into his gargantuan beard. Too soon, the skunk man withdrew. A ticklish feeling reverberated through Sasquatch’s body as his internal organs fell back into place.

Spent, he slumped to the floor. He was still puffing on the cigar, half laughing and half groaning from the aches in his powerful limbs. Stuttering apostrophes of smoke burst from his lips as his own shaft spurted its seed onto his distended gut. He could hear his own breathing. Loud, guttural, and deep. He tried to arrest his hyperventilation. It proved impossible. This was just how he breathed now. Like a furious beast.

The proud skunk daddy tugged his exhausted conquest to an upright position and brought him over to the dresser so he could look at his new body in the mirror.

Sasquatch set his cigar down in an ashtray on the dresser top and appraised himself. He loved what he saw. He was a monster, all muscle and fur, his mane and his beard marked by streaks of white down the center. Just like his daddy. He stank of sweat and cigars and cheap booze. His bloodshot eyes bulged menacingly beneath his brow ridge. It was what he had always wanted.

“Damn right, it’s what you always wanted,” Rafa chuckled. “We just need to get you the bike. And don’t worry about looking TOO scary for the normies. I arranged things so they’ll see you mostly the way you used to look… until they’re mine as well.”

Sasquatch’s brain was churning with desires, most of them violent or perverse. But he instinctively knew how to calm himself down. Raising one arm, he took a nice long whiff of his own stench, growling at the jolt of pleasure it shot into his Neanderthal skull. A thought was forming. He struggled to vocalize it. “If… if I’m Sasquatch, are you still Rafa?”

The skunk man smiled a yellow smile. “Yes and no. But that’s a story for another time. Let’s make it simple for you. Just call me ‘Daddy.’” His gaze darted to the ceiling, his glowing green eyes adopting a faraway look. He sighed. “Quincy is on his way home now. It’s going to take him a while to understand how much better I’m making things, so I need you to hang out in the basement for a bit. Pick a good spot for the Olympic grade weight bench I’m gonna get you. And while you’re down there you may as well check out the new toilet I installed. His name is Trench.”

The skunk man escorted him through the verdant haze to the basement door and opened it for him. A salty, acrid smell hit Sasquatch’s nostrils right away.

Sasquatch’s sweaty rod began leaking precum like a faucet just from the anticipation. It was dark down there, but he could track his quarry on scent alone. Clenching his hairy fists, he padded stealthily down the stairs, ready to lay down the law.