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in Chronivac Version 4.0 by anyone tagged as none

Chronivac Version 4.0

A Changing Company: the Minotaur Unit

added 18 years ago A BM S

Letting out a bellow filled with both pain and lust, John's desert fatigues split apart as his
body's changes accelerate. Course fur sprouts across his sculpted physique, growing from
skin that's rapidly transforming into an impressive, thick and impenetrable ebony hide.

Releasing his manhood, his gaze focuses on his aching hands, his fingers fusing, creating
two appendages and a wide thumb.

His helmet rips apart as his horns push through his skull, forcing their way into sunlight.
Massive chest broadening, his muscle mass quickly becomes freakishly huge, his biceps
swelling, his lats and traps pulsing and quivering across his back, his neck muscles
inflating as they engulf his head,

John staggers back and turns slowly around toward his friends and fellow soldiers, who
now watch in shock, mouths hanging agape, expressions stupefied and mesmerized. His
hung, hard cock throbs at them, obscene veins running across its sable length. His pants
erupt as his quads' growth explodes into action. Taking several steps forward, his feet
shed his boots, no longer fitting them as they re-arrange and shift, his toe-nails
blackening as they become hard, stable, bovine hoofs.

Arching his back, orgasmic pleasure racing through John's veins as his lips swell and his
jaw begins to distend, he releases a thunderous ferocious bellow, pain and pleasure
mingling together as his skull reshapes itself into a bull's.

Finally, when his facial bones offer up their last resistance to the changes sweeping across
his body, cracking as they push forward into their new mold, his huge, heavy, swollen
balls curl up within his hairy sack, and cum spews from his enormous cockhead, seeding
the ground in a milky-white torrent.

His comrades, who watch their friend, a few with newly discovered secret lusts for him,
transform into a Minotaur seem spell-struck, petrified. And, those who had either shared
his cigarette or the canteen already begin to feel their own changes progressing, their
packages obscenely growing in their confined fatigues, their helmets and uniforms
unbearably tight.

Soon, a Minotaur unit could be born, just as Trevor hoped.


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