Sebastian Cervantes had cemented his position as the new Top Dog of LA. He owned the cartel, anyone who didn’t like it had died. Chupacabras were now considered a very real threat by the Mexican government, though American authorities had scoffed, assuming it was just another cartel moving on on their turf sending them messages. It was both.
Better, he had been approached by the FBI, asked to turn informant, as long as he stayed under their protection. There was a threat there, unspoken, about what would happen if he fell out of line. Honestly, he didn’t care. If he needed to, he could just kill them too. Being able to summon a dragon, which no one believed in, to flamebroil your enemies turned out to be a very effective way of concealing your own involvement in a crime.
Aside from that, which he actually considered a mere side endeavor, was his political maneuvering. He was gunning for (sometimes literally) governorship. The whole state. Then he could stop worrying about things like indictments and finding new an innovative ways of removing threats to his power. From there? Presidency. First Mexican American President.
And he’d be a Republican candidate, too. Because he was going to stop illegal immigration. By literally declaring war on Mexico and officially annexing it. The cartels owned Mexico anyways, so he’d just take them out and bada-bing-bada-boom, it would be his. Then the rest of South America. And maybe Canada, because the current President seemed like a bit of a pussy.
You see, Sebastian didn’t want to just be President. He wanted to be an Emperor.
Now, he knew it sounded a bit ambitious, lots of moving parts, things could (and would) go wrong. If he were anyone else, they’d call him a fool. But see, he wasn’t anyone else. He had fucking magic. And when you had magic, anything was possible with a little foresight.
The only thing standing in his way? Public opinion. Bribing people worked short-term, but long-term? When it mattered at the voting booth? Intimidating people only went so far too. What he needed was charity, something substantial, something that said “This guy should run for President”.
But no one had donated. They saw it as a joke or a scam. He’d seen comments online, which had enraged him. Twatter had pulled up his dark past. Alluded to the mysterious deaths of all his former gang members. They were all true, of course, but who the fuck did these people think they were, sabotaging him like this?!
He could fund the project himself, but his political opponents would notice. Twatter would notice. But try as he might, his friends had only donated a few thousand measly dollars and attended a $100 dollar a plate charity dinner.
That was it.
He needed 10 million dollars. Like, right now. Before the campaign season started, and he could easily fund that with his own laundered money.
And then, like magic, like God himself had smiled at him, someone had donated fifteen million dollars. And all the guy wanted was to be a movie star! He’d followed up with an e-mail, asking this Troy for a photo so he could circulate it at the studios, line him up for a production, and the moron had sent him a full-body nude. Fully engorged.
Sebastian’s jaw had dropped. Not at the guy’s cock (though it was quite impressive), but that he was a fucking Rottweiler! No, not an actual dog, he’d stared at the picture a few moments, trying to work it out, but an honest to god dog-person, like that porn he’d caught his sister browsing once upon a time when they were teens. He’d handed her a jar of peanut butter and told her to buy a husky and laughed about it with his friends for days.
Was he the guy with the Book of Beasts? Surely he wasn’t that dumb. He couldn’t be. No one could possibly be this dumb.
No, of course he wasn’t!
Obviously, judging from the e-mails, this dog person was extraordinarily dumb. An easy mark.
If he were a mark, then…the true mastermind was in the shadows, likely donated it on Troy’s behalf. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. Troy was the canary in the coal mines, unwittingly sent to suss out Sebastian. That Book of Beasts was a wily motherfucker!
Sebastian decided not to kill him. Unless he offended him, of course. No, no, the danger was too great, perhaps turn him into a similar looking myth, send him back as a Trojan horse.
But how had the Book of Beasts suspected him? He'd covered his tracks! There was no evidence of any of his crimes! He-
With a cold trickle of dread, he realized it had been the Twatter posts exposing all the unsolved murders connected to him that had likely done it.
He. Was. Exposed.
Not to the FBI. To the other Book owners. No, that simply wouldn’t do. Now they could plan! With enough time, anything could be beaten. And they ALSO had magic, as if that needed to be said.
This couldn’t stand. Now he needed a frame. Someone who could be the Book of Myth in his place. He’d made too many moves, all of them benefiting him. Of course the Book of Beasts suspected him enough to donate 15 million to suss him out!
But who could he pin this on? Who else could reasonably have benefited from his associates demise?
Sebastian schemed.
He paced the length of his palatial estate. The sun was setting, shedding its last rays of light along the Malibu coast. Far way, he could see swimmers and sunbathers gathering their towels and going home.
His estate was well-guarded, aside from his gunmen. The Gardens with their Minotaur patrols, the Reflecting Pool with its portal to a cold lake in Scotland, his Coastline guarded by a Kraken. Even the Statuary was guarded by a Gorgon. Not even speaking of the things he installed in his mansion itself.
Labyrinthine, bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, his mansion was essentially a deathtrap for intruders. Doors opened to other dimensions where tentacled horrors lay claim to the land. Paintings were alive and drew viewers into them. Rugs and tapestries that devoured those who strayed too close.
Naturally, his Book had been the key to it. Summoning and bargaining got more and more powerful beings to enchant everything. It also meant that, on occasion, people disappeared. He decided, after opening a door while drunk and almost falling into an infinite abyss, that perhaps he’d been too zealous.
So he developed a plan and a secret to the estate. You see, there were TWO estates, overlapping each other. One was safe for those wearing bracelets he’d passed out to all his men. The other would likely leave the invader dead or-less likely -transformed in some horrible way. He really didn’t see any reason to leave an intruder alive.
Sebastian snarled in frustration. He just couldn’t wait. He needed to talk to this guy. He dug his phone out and dialed his phone number.
“Hello?” The voice on the line was deep, intimidating.
“Yes, this is Sebastian Cervantes. Is this Troy?”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“No. I’m Rusty, his fiance.”
“Is Troy available? I wanted to pick up where we left off yesterday, discussing some roles that are available.”
“He’s sick. With Ligma.”
“Ligma?”
“Yes. It’s very serious. He’ll recover in a few days.”
Sebastian paused. “Do you happen to have a photo of yourself you could send me? He’s described his boyfriend and I don’t want to be misled with a wrong number.”
“...Sure, I’ll send you my glamour shot.”
Sebastian waited. His phone beeped. He cringed.
Big Doberman, muscular, huge cock. Why did these people keep sending him full body nudes?
“Uh, yup, just like he described.” Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“Great. It’s been nice talking to you.”
“Wait-!”
The line went dead.
Sebastian stared at the phone in his hand.
“Don Cervantes!” a young man’s voice called behind him.
Sebastian pocketed his phone, fixing a smile on his face as he turned to greet his newest victim. Jorge, a young Mexican man, mid twenties, jogged up to him. Jorge was one of the good ones, always loyal. But he’d recently fallen into trouble.
“You asked me to meet you?” Jorge breathed hard.
“Yes. You’ve had an unfortunate run-in with law enforcement.”
“Ah, it’s nothing.” Jorge waved it off.
“True.” Sebastian examined his fingernails. “Except they lifted your DNA from a cigarette.”
“W-What do we do?” Jorge’s eyes were wide.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Can you stand on that plinth over there?” Sebastian pointed at an empty stone plinth, one of two which flanked the entrance of his hedge maze.
Jorge clambered onto it and stood facing away from Sebastian.
“Uh, like this?” Jorge called over his shoulder.
Sebastian considered correcting him, make him turn around, but this was more interesting.
“That will do. Remove your clothes.”
“Sir?”
“We’ll need to remove all evidence. I’ll buy you new threads, don’t worry.”
Hesitantly, Jorge’s clothes dropped, revealing a lightly muscled brown skinned young man. The air blowing from the cliffs was rather cold and he stood there facing the hedge, shivering.
He felt bad for the kid. Unfortunately, he needed to be removed from reality. Jorge hadn’t participated in the execution, he’d stood guard. However, he was part of Sebastian’s alibi, so…
Sebastian pointed and whispered. “Greater Shift.”
Jorge felt odd. It wasn’t just because he was standing on a stone plinth with his hands cupping his crotch for modesty. No, now it was like his body felt all wrong. His cock must have different ideas of what a good time constituted because he was becoming incredibly erect.
He felt the tip of his cock-head brush up against his hand, feeling oddly smooth…and pointed?
Still facing the hedge, not daring to move in front of his heffe, his hands explored his genitals and found them growing, shuddering at his touch, warping unrecognizably. A finger slipped into a hole along the side that was filling up with some jelly-like fluid.
His cock opened its beak and squawked in pain and indignation.
Jorge looked down.
A giant Golden Eagle’s head looked back, eyeball mending itself from the small puncture he’d made with his probing finger. Dusty brown feathers were prickling and bursting out of his skin, covering his former cock.
Jorge screamed and the cock squawked in terror.
He made to jump off the pedestal when the joints in his feet painlessly reversed and forced him onto reversing hands. Jorge’s screams continued as his hands shifted, fingers popping back into their joints, leaving him with backwards-facing lion paws which grew rapidly as though made for a bigger beast.
His…cock stopped squawking and bent on a spine that was rapidly popping and cracking longer and more flexible. It gently nuzzled him with its beak. Jorge’s screams ceased. The Gryphon’s rubs felt oddly pleasurable against his skin.
Lost in the hypnotic ministrations of his body’s co-owner, Jorge didn’t notice his back crack and two large feathery wings jut from them, or his legs (now his forelimbs) grow scaly and clawed. What he did notice was the swelling, muscular flanks that were rising on either side of his head.
Suddenly, something in his neck cracked and his head swung down bonelessly beneath and between his hind-legs. He felt the bones at the base of his neck crackle and extend into a tail, tawny fur sweeping over it before ending in a large flooffy tassel. Below his slowly twitching tail he felt a hole form, connecting to his former lungs. It puckered and blew a fart.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell, but at least he was facing forward now, where he can see the Gryphon preening itself and Sebastian down below on the grass, setting up a black screen in the yard. He tried to call for help but he no longer drew breath. He could feel it, then, the warmth and pulse. It was most noticeable on a vein in his forehead, but he felt it throughout his form.
Jorge tried to move, wondering why the thought hadn’t occurred to him all this time, but nothing would respond. He was no longer in control.
The Gryphon finished preening and bent down to nuzzle his face again. He felt the sensual brush of beak on skin and his tongue throbbed and swelled out of his mouth in excitment. The beak gently nibbled at his tongue as it engorged more, tapering farther and fatter, each gentle nibble sending sparks of pleasure jolting through his brain.
God, he wanted to…wanted to…Jorge’s thoughts skipped as his features began to disappear, tawny fur spreading to cover his eyes and ears and nose. The world went dark and silent save for the gentle throb of his heartbeat and the slick tickles of the Gryphon’s tongue as it licked and suckled at the tip of his cock.
Thinking became harder and harder to do as his head wobbled, skin loosening, and his brain started to sag and slide apart into two oblong orbs. His mind was on fire, each beat of his heart jostled and jumbled his thoughts whenever he tried to think of something, anything. The only thing Jorge could bring himself to think about were sensations and impressions. Tight moist tunnels that clenched and squeezed rhythmically. Tender licks and nuzzles.
The Gryphons’s tongue slid up and down the foot-long cock faster and faster. His orbs pulsed and swelled, filling with seed, Jorge’s brain awash in passion and need and lust and thoughts were so hard. He wanted it to stop, tried to hold back, but his brain throbbed and clenched and churned every thought into virile Grypon cum.
He couldn't think that…he couldn't think…he...he was gonna...the orbs shuddered, scattering his thoughts, churning his brains like batter, tensing, Jorge's name lost in the churn but it was alright, it felt so good. His thoughts were tiny and squirming and bumping into themselves in little bursts of pleasure, millions of tiny little thoughts and bursts that he couldn't hold on to anything and why would he? The orbs swelled taught, stretching the skin, and pulled up against the Gryphon’s flanks as orgasm hit and the world seemed to explode in agonizing pleasure.
The Gryphon’s cock jerked and spasmed, splattering Jorge’s thoughts across the plinth.
"Aye aye aye!” Sebastian chuckled from behind the screen. “Talk about cumming your brains out, amigo! Look at the screen and say cheese Big Bird!”
The Griffin squawked and posed regally.
“Greater summon.” Sebastian covered his eyes.
The Gryphon’s eyes shifted slightly, focusing on the strange, snake-like woman with writhing hair that appeared before it.
And then it didn’t think anything at all.