Back in the living room, Stan was wondering what the hell was taking Trey so long. Yelling at jocks didn’t take five minutes. The lights flickered again. He wondered what was with that. Electrical issues had been plaguing the party for almost two hours now.
As he waited for the lights to come back on, a thought occurred to him. What if the jocks had taken being told off poorly and beat Trey’s ass? While Stan and Kenny were sitting around on their keisters, what if Trey was bleeding on the floor somewhere?
The sound of a vase breaking caught his attention.
“Sonunva- !” Stan said.
The two jocks walked in, laughing and fucking around. Not frat bros, Stan realized. Just some dickheads.
“You guys are fucked when Steve gets back.” Kenny said, taking a picture of the two with his phone.
“Yo what the fuck?” One of the guys arrogantly said, walking towards the pledge angrily. “You can’t threaten us!”
“One of the jocks snatched the phone out of Kenny’s hand.
“Hey, this dude posted the picture!” The jock snarled, throwing the phone against the wall. “You little narc!”
One of the jocks grabbed Kenny and doused the young jock with an upturned bottle of beer. Kenny fought him off, until the other jock dumped beer on him from behind. Stan got up and heaved both of them off the young man.
“He’s Steve’s little brother, hands off!” Stan said sternly. “Get out of this house.”
“Fuck this!” The jocks flipped over the couch Kenny was sitting on. “We’re gonna come back every night.”
“Try it.” Stan said as he gestured threateningly.
One of the jocks looked Stan over, sizing him up before grabbing his friend’s shoulder and saying, “Come on, bro, he’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
The two left the house. Now Stan had to assess the damage they’d caused. And find out what trash can they’d stuck Trey in.
With an angry sigh, Stan got up and walked around the corner, stepping over the remains of two broken vases. Stan knew that he’d have to figure out a way to glue the pieces together tomorrow. One of the other frat brothers would make him do it.
Stan rolled his eyes and picked up the pieces of broken vase, placing them carefully into a corner.
Honestly, he wasn’t sure which piece belonged to which vase, so he did his best. Stan looked around the room, checking for any more damage. The two assholes had played football in the house after specifically being told not to. He’d make sure they were banned from attending another party.
His eyes roved across the room and saw a painting hanging on the wall had been torn to pieces.
He cursed when he realized it was one of Steve’s paintings. Not only was Steve the head of the Frat, he was also a famous painter. Those two dumb fucks had destroyed a priceless painting! Steve was gonna throw a fuckin’ fit when he saw all the damage. Maybe Stan didn’t need to ban the two jocks. Steve would kill them first.
“God, not the painting!” Stan moaned picking up the pieces. “What kind of painting were you? I think…some kind of big cat…a jungle… aw, fuck, there’s no way I can put this back together!”
A strange warmth suddenly engulfed him and the painting.
Stan groaned as the pieces of painting reassembled itself on the wall. Unfortunately, instead of assembling the picture itself, the canvas was covered with thick, wet paint. Stan leaned forward, wondering why the paint was so runny. He pressed a finger to the portrait and it stuck fast.
He tried to pull away, but the wet paint was gripping his finger, pulling his hand into the canvas.
Stan didn’t know what to expect, but to see his hand melt into it with a strange, gentle warmth was not it. He tugged, placing his feet against the wall as leverage, feeling the canvas swallow up his arm, first to the elbow, then to his shoulder. He took a few deep breaths just before his head pressed against the warm, rippling surface of the canvas. Then he was sucked in.
His shoe fell of his foot and plopped on the ground in front of the empty white canvas.
When Stan regained his bearings, he found himself on the other side of the painting.. Turning around, he saw a strange “window” made out of what seemed to be transparent cloth.Looking out, he saw the frat house beyond. It was so strange, like looking through a mirror. He could distantly hear the sound of music and see people moving, but it was muffled as though it were far away.
He could see a warm red light bathing the painting, coming from the ceiling. Some strange machine was up there, the barrel of it leveled directly at him. Stan began to panic as he realized what it was: a Molder!
The white expanse of the canvas was interrupted by a sudden bloom of color. Around him, swirling greens and blues solidified into a great jungle. More colors bled into the painting and flowers and birds began to appear, unmoving. Soon, the blank white space was entirely taken up by a background of a vibrant jungle.
Stan felt warm and tingly and realized the machine was targeting him now.
He glance down at himself, noticing orange and black-striped fur growing on his skin. Panicked, he started running towards the ‘window’ back into reality. Up ahead, he could see the window growing larger and larger.
The ground beneath him began to rise into a rocky outcropping and Stan began to bend forward to compensate, the trail growing steeper and steeper. His clothes began to disintegrate as he ran, threads unraveling and flowing away behind him. The base of his spine tingled moments before a long, striped tail spooled out above his ass, trailing behind him as he ran.
His spine popped and soon Stan found himself climbing up the mountain on all fours, his hands and feet shifting into feral paws. The claw gave him a better grip on the rock and he started leaping forward in long, loping movements.
Stan felt the waves of warmth on his face, tugging it into shape. His neck grew a ruff of fur and his head enlarged, streamlining into a blunt feline shape. Soon, Stan was a tiger, muscles warm and swelling powerfully, almost unrealistically as he leaped to freedom.
As his form fully cemented into that of a massive feral tiger, he saw the window ahead of him loom ever larger. He was close! But with each movement he made, Stan could feel himself grow stiffer, movement harder.
With such a powerful body, Stan was confused by the difference, before he realized what was actually happening. He wasn’t actually a tiger. Stan was just a painting of a tiger, on a canvas. And he and the paint on that canvas was… drying.
He tried to panic, but warmth tingled through his head. It wasn’t so bad. He was a strong, handsome tiger. Everyone would admire him and his massively muscled form. Stan wanted to deny it, but he felt so big, so powerful…so horny. His cock slipped out of its sheathe. It slapped against his underbelly fur with every leap and jostle, interrupting his thoughts. Stan gave a warbly moan as he leapt and landed, his dick bouncing pleasurably against his belly.
Stan continued leaping, movements almost robotic now. His cock was all he could think about now. Anything more complicated was either soothed away by gentle waves of warmth or jostled out of his mind by his cock slapping his soft underfur.
He landed at the top of the mountain, the ‘window’ right in front of him now.
His emerald green eyes locked on his goal and he coiled his powerful hindquarters to pounce. Stan’s stiff cock bounced as he did and Stan opened his massive fanged maw in a yowl of pleasure as he felt himself unload onto the rock below him, splattering it with his seed. It was too much, mind utterly overwhelmed by the pleasure, and he paused to revel in the sensations.
And froze in place on the rock, the massive orgasm pounding through him relentlessly.
Waves of pleasure rushed through his mind even as his body became inert, dry paint. The tiger realized the red light was still focused on him, but it didn’t matter. He was the king of the jungle. Powerful, unstoppable, a force of nature.
The magnificent tiger never once considered that it couldn’t move, or that it no longer drew breath. That it was just a painting on a canvas. More waves of warmth washed through it and it grew more difficult for it to think.
One quick power surge later, and it was nothing more than an ordinary painting.