“The winner of the masquerade is… Chesh!” Mister E announced.
People clapped politely, many with a look of disappointment in their eyes. Cool Dog whooped.
“For those who did not win: don’t worry, you’ll all have your chances next quarter.” Mister E assured them. “Prince Chesh will not be allowed to participate for the next three quarters.”
Cool Dog glanced at Prince Chesh, and was surprised to see him in high spirits.
“Why are you happy? You can’t come back in a year.” Cool Dog commented.
“Because I won, man! I’m gonna be freakin’ rich!” Chesh grinned.
Cool Dog nodded, but thought the wealth was worth less than the sheer magic involved in the event.
Being rich was sure nice, but having magic was much nicer. And, honestly, even if his costume hadn’t worked the way he thought it would (and the fact he couldn’t smoke or drink or swear), it was still pretty cool. Next time, he’d have to choose a proper costume. Ooo, maybe one with a huge dick and big muscles!
If he got re-invited. Still wasn’t too sure about that.
“Quiet down, quiet down!” Mister E said.
The room fell silent.
“And now I must announce the loser.” Mister E said solemnly. “This year, the vote was nearly unanimous, save for 7 dissenting votes.”
“What vote?” Cool Dog called.
“That vote.” Mister E pointed to a colorful box near the stage with a big sign saying ‘Vote Here!’. “You were all supposed to submit your votes. Not that yours would have swayed the vote, Cool Dog.”
“Oh,” Cool Dog said sheepishly.
“Now, the loser of the Masquerade’s Character of the Quarter is… Cool Dog!” Mister E announced.
Cool Dog went rigid in shock and embarrassment as everyone turned to stare at him.
Chesh was looking at him in horror. Probably because he was embarrassed to bring the ball’s biggest loser as his plus one. But, in Cool Dog’s defense, Clark had NOT prepared him for this masquerade AT ALL. He’d literally just winged it.
Cool Dog tried to say something, his mouth dry. But what?
“Why are y’all hatin’ on Cool Dog, yo?” Cool Dog found himself saying.
“The biggest reason cited was,” Mister E unfolded a slip of paper. “You were the most obnoxious character they’d ever met.”
Cool Dog’s shoulder slumped.
He’d thought he was being witty! It was a really cool concept! He couldn’t recall being obnoxious, though in all fairness, he himself had found the character rather grating to play as.
But seriously, there had to be worse characters out there, like the dude that had fallen into the pool. What kinda character was that? Or the stoner bear?! How interesting could his character have been.
“Alright, with the voting done, later in the night we’ll have other rewards coming. We’ll collect the loser’s assets after the Talent Show.” Mister E finished.
The spotlight shut off and the lights came back up and the ball resumed, everyone coming to life, talking and laughing, some very assuredly laughing about *him*, Cool Dog.
Barking arf-holes.
Cool Dog found his legs carrying him outside to the patio where few people had gone. Chesh hurried after him, calling his name, but Cool Dog didn’t want to talk right now. He wasn’t a sore loser, but even he had his limits, you know?
“Cool Dog, wait!” Chesh grabbed Cool Dog’s shoulder and spun him around.
“What?” Cool Dog snapped, crossing his arms. “You won! I lost! Congratualations on not telling me all about how barking magical this place was!”
Chesh looked away, appearing chastened. Cool Dog had expected an argument, but the princely cat’s tail flicked anxiously behind him.
“I.. I know, I did you pretty dirty.” Chesh admitted. “But in my defense, I didn’t think you’d blow off all the rules. Apparently you wouldn’t even wear a mask and Mister E had to force you into character!”
“... Was that what happened?” Cool Dog asked. “I have literally no memory after entering the costume closet.”
Chesh nodded.
“It doesn’t matter. You were probably going to win anyways. It was a good costume.” Cool Dog smiled, patting Chesh on the back.
“You.. aren’t angry?” Chesh stared at Cool Dog in disbelief.
“Man, I can’t stay angry at you.” Cool Dog grinned. “You’re my best friend, even if you are an arf-hole sometimes.”
“Yeah, but you lost!” Chesh said worriedly. “They’re gonna take your assets!”
Cool Dog raised a brow.
“So? I don’t *have* any assets, Chesh.” Cool Dog shrugged. “I’m unemployed! But hey, you’re rich now, so you can just throw some of that prize money my way or heck, hook me up with a cool job now.”
“Simon, that’s not how it works!” Chesh hissed. “You don’t understand! It’s worse tha-”
The sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind them.
They turned to see Mister E standing there, featureless mask gleaming in the moonlight, his arms clasped behind his back.
“So, gentlemen, have you come to an agreement on the assets?” Mister E asked.
Chesh began to open his mouth, but Cool Dog cut in.
“Yes, he’ll take care of me.” Cool Dog said.
“Simon!” Chesh hissed.
“Excellent!” Mister E said, ignoring Chesh’s outburst. He bowed. “I’m glad this was solved amicably.”
“Oh! And can I please drink champagne now?” Cool Dog asked eagerly.
Mister E chuckled. “Don’t worry. Those effects will cease as the asset acquisition is being processed.”
“Thank god.” Simon sighed.
He blinked.
Simon! He wasn’t Cool Dog anymore! Fuck! Shit! Ass! Woohoo!
“As for the winner…” Mister E turned to Chesh. “Your restrictions are also lifted. Congratulations on your win. Enjoy the rest of the evening, Clark.”
Clark waited until Mister E had walked away before whirling on Simon.
“Simon! Do you know what you’ve done?” Clark whispered angrily.
“Relax, man.” Simon said, rubbing his droopy eyes. He was exhausted. “I’m gonna go get drunk, now that I don’t have to worry about it turning into soda. Forget all about this shit show.”
“But-!”
“But nothing. I haven’t even gotten laid tonight.” Simon shook his friend’s hand off him and shouldered his way back inside. “See ya.”
“But you-!” Chesh tried to say as he followed Simon inside, but a mob of people surrounded him.
Simon could hear them congratulating him.
He didn’t want to be jealous… but yeah, he was fucking jealous. And he wasn’t Cool Dog, who was incredibly forgiving and a cool friend. No, right now he was just himself, and he was more than a little angry at how Chesh had played him. Now way would he have won if Simon hadn’t pissed so many people off.
A big part of him wanted to be the center of attention.
Instead, he went to the punchbowl and sniffed it. He could smell the alcohol. This baby was spiked!
He got a glass and a straw and settled into a night of drinking. The first cup quickly disappeared up the straw. He ladled himself another. Nicely lubricated, he started wandering the party.
Maybe his notoriety would get him laid. Who knows. Maybe this was the silver lining under the storm cloud.
Instead, he found himself being avoided.
Simon drank the cup of punch. Well, sipped. It was good stuff, tangy and sweet and it had that dangerous whiff of alcohol that hinted that, perhaps, it was much, much higher proof than one could taste.
Belching, he wandered back to the punchbowl.
Suddenly, he was struck with a wave of heat. Simon fanned himself, trying to cool down. Man, had the alcohol hit him that quick? Talk about strong stuff.
Tugging on the neck of his shirt, he panted as he approached the bowl.
“Man, I am so freakin’ hot!” He exclaimed to no one in particular.
Hot puffs of air were shooting from his mouth, and his tongue fall out as he panted hard.
He didn’t notice as people quietly vacated the area around him while he ladled more punch into his cup. Simon paused to scratched his muzzle Man, these prosthetics or whatever were making his face itchy! Maybe it was the sweat?
Simon scratched his nose, wondering when he’d applied faux fur. He thought he’d used face paint. Well, nothing that happened here made sense. Anyways, he was super thirsty from being overheated and the punch sounded like just the thing to quench it.
He brought the cup up to his mouth and turned his head, the straw poking him painfully in the nose. Simon drooled as he attempted to take another drink. He was so thirsty! But try as he might, he couldn’t get the straw into his muzzle. A snarl built in his chest.
Simon picked up the straw and threw it on the floor angrily.
He turned back to the drink and brought it to his mouth. Liquid spilled over his chin and over his tongue before splattering on his costume, staining it. He licked at it and found to his surprise that he could kind of curl his tongue, lap it up.
Simon giggled drunkenly as he lowered his tongue *schlopped* the punch into his mouth. Man, he was so drunk, he was drinking like a dog!
*Schlop* Schlop* Schlop*-
As he drank, he surveyed the party. No one was around him, avoiding him like the plague. It was so weird. Did he smell or something? As he looked around, the colors seemed to drain.
His vision blurred. Simon blinked.
Everything now seemed oddly washed out. It was like looking at one of those old-timey photographs, what was that color called.. sepia toned. Not all the colors were gone. He could still see yellow and blue just fine.
S-something was wrong. He wobbled dizzily and patted his pockets for his phone. Then he remembered he’d dropped it off with Mister E back at the foyer.
As he fumbled for his errant phone, his drink suddenly slipped out of his hands.
He managed to catch it before it hit the floor. For some reason his fingers weren’t wrapping around the cup like they used to. Simon raised the glass back to his muzzle to lap more of it up and it slipped again, this time hitting the floor.
Simon growled in frustration. Why the hell had he lost his grip? Was it slippery? It was like his hands…
His hands…
Simon raised them to his face, his eyes widening as the fingers shrank down before his very eyes. He stared drunkenly as his fingers shrank to nubs, the fake nails attached to them looking more and more real by the second, sharper and duller, less plastic-looking.
He stared, the slow realization that he was turning into a dog hitting him.
Was this... part of the party? Simon certainly didn’t want to freak out about it, he didn’t want to add to his embarrassing loss. But when he looked around, he didn’t see anyone else turning into animals.
The heat was growing more and more unbearable by the second.
Simon could feel sweat soaking into his costume. He need…he need air! Stumbling, Simon made his way to the backyard. His legs wobbled oddly and he almost lost his balance, but he shot out a paw and used the wall to keep himself from falling over.
He got outside, almost hyperventilating, his breathing sounding more like canine whines than labored breath.
The cool air was a shocking relief, though the warmth did not go away entirely. Worse, his clothes felt wrong. They were tight in some places like across his chest and ass, while loose in others. He found himself stumbling out of his shoes, leaving one in the ballroom and one on the patio.
His back ached something terrible all of a sudden and there was pain in his tailbone.
Taking cover behind a bush, he struggled to strip himself.
His hands weren’t working right. Each of his knuckle-like nubs were growing closer together and his palms were puffing with black pads. Somehow, he manged to wriggle out of his pants and kick his socks off. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing any underwear, having decided to go commando.
He went to pull his shirt off and found it impossible, his arms had shortened. While he was wrestling with the garment, his spine popped.
“Aroo!” Simon howled, his legs and hips wobbling a moment as he teetered on upraised paws before his back gave out and he fell forward.
He landed on his handpaws just in time to watch his thumbs pull up his wrists, becoming useless dewclaws.
The world spun, and as he craned his neck to inspect his form, he realized the rising heat must have been from the coat of sleek fur that now covered him. He couldn’t really tell what color he was, thanks to his canine colorblindness, but he looked to be a black and tan.
He glanced at a puddle nearby and saw the jowly, wrinkly face of a hound staring back at him, his brows sagging over his eyes, making him look morose. Simon could feel the breeze on his naked body and shivered now, the heat slowly dissipating without all the clothes.
Simon tried to raise him back up on two legs, but his spine would no longer allow it, and he fell back on his butt.
He looked around and saw that he was all alone behind the bush in the back garden. Simon tried to call for help, but only managed to make a few barks. Even when he slowed down and tried to enunciate, the words came out as slurred growls, his mouth and voicebox no longer capable of human speech.
Being so short felt strange. Everything was more intense when his face was inches from the ground. When he tried walking, the grass seemed to zoom under him. He face planted after a few steps, tangled in his own limbs.
Simon’s tail wagged nervously.
He sniffed and his brain was suddenly assaulted by all manner of scents. There were just so many things, he could barely make sense of them! Simon could smell the grass and squirrels and the party and sweat and his own human musk on his clothes and…
And…
Simon glanced down between his legs as the aroma of a needy dog wafted into his flaring nostrils.
The red, lipstick-like tip of a canine penis poked out from a white-furred sheath. Beneath it dangled two swollen balls covered in short fur. His tail wagged, this time from excitement. God, Simon could almost… almost feel his balls churning.
As he stared, his testicles bulged and grew to the size of lemons. They pulsed fitfully, aching nicely as the skin grew taut with virile seed.
Suddenly all Simon could think about was draining them. It was like his mind had been engulfed by a nice, warm haze of lust. A slow whine exited his muzzle.
His cock was fully out of his sheathe, now. It was so smooth, veiny and red. And it was big. As I watched, it shivered and grew an inch longer. A bulb had formed at the base, the cool night air blowing across it sent shivers of pleasure up Simon’s spine.
He stared, his mouthwatering, as a bead of pre trickled down his sizeable length, glittering in the moonlight.
Maybe he could help himself? He knew it was weird, sucking himself off, but he was a dog right now. It was normal for dogs to lick himself.
He found himself leaning forward. Simon really wanted to taste himself. He could smell his masculine, heady musk. One lick wouldn’t hurt, right? Just one lick, and he’d put his leg down and find help. It couldn’t hurt to try. Just a lick.
His tongue snaked out and lapped his cock smoothly. He could taste the salt from the sweat and his natural doggy funk and his sweet precum. More importantly was the pleasure, which was enough to make his cock twitch and begin to drool more of that lovely sticky sweetness.
He stared at his cock as it wobbled tantalizingly in front of his nose. He huffed its sent, drooling. It… it couldn’t hurt to lick it again, right?
Simon leaned forward and lapped at his genitals, wagging his tail.
He washed his overly-tight balls, rolling his tongue around them in his maw, enjoying the pulse of his veins and feeling the churning of his seed. The attention caused his cock to swell even larger, and he turned his attentions to it.
Simon nursed his cock, licking the savory flesh and lapping up the salty-sweet pre lovingly.
As he did, he heard the sound of footsteps, but was too aroused and needy to do anything but whimper a little. Mister E stood nearby, watching his expressionlessly.
“It’s quite large. I wished for you to at least enjoy yourself.” Mister E spoke. “You’ll be well-trained once you cum, and ready for breeding.”
Simon ignored him, curling himself to better hump his own muzzle.
He lifted his leg up and over his head, pressing his muzzle deeper and deeper. Each loving suck sent jolts of bliss straight to his brain. Soon, he was snuffling his balls, enjoying his own scent.
Simon swallowed his spit and precum, his groin wet and slick with saliva. His cock was growing harder and harder. He bobbed his muzzle, gurgling as his knot stuck in his mouth and inflated.
His climax was rising now, faster and faster. His nose was planted deep in the flesh of his groin, his redolent bouquet of scents that made up his musk screaming out his masculinity and virility to whomever sniffed him. He huffed, mind filled with the image of himself. A big dog, no-a stud! The thought made him lap and lick faster.
He was so close now, almost to the edge. All he needed was a little push-
“Good boy.” Mister E said tonelessly.
G-good boy?
He was a-
Something in Simon’s mind broke and he climaxed. His heavy balls pulled up and clenched and a hot stream of cum struck the back of his throat.
Simon’s eyes widened as he felt his mind shifting, fading. Surprise and panic made him whine plaintively, then as his human mind dwindled, the sound slowly faded to contented slurps. His muzzle clamped over his dick as he swallowed his creamy load.
It was salty and sweet and thick.
With every spurt of cum, he swallowed his memories. His adulthood draining down his gullet with every pulse of his balls. They shrank even more as his gulped his teenage years, his mind growing more and more simple. Then his childhood disappeared down his throat, replaced with being whelped by a sire and a dam of the highest pedigree.
Finally even his name faded, the word meaning nothing but the sound humans made when they wanted something from him.
All thoughts were focused on the pure pleasure he was feeling. The air was filled with the sounds of Simon’s gulping and licking. He let out little groans of pleasure as more cum than was humanly possible filled his muzzle.
And then it was over.
Simon licked his chops, wagging his tail happily and panted, cum dripping from his tongue in sticky strands. In that strand of cum were memories of his first gay kiss, though he no longer cared. A dog didn’t need to remember that anyways. The memory dripped to the grass and was forgotten.
Since he was down there anyways, he resumed licking himself, tongue lapping across his anus. It spasmed pleasantly as he worked his tongue in deep, tasting himself. He was a big dog. Stud dog!
His cock twitched mutely, drooling a little.
He didn’t even notice when Mister E slipped the collar around his neck as he eagerly cleaned himself. His nametag, if he could read it, said: ‘Simon’.
Mister E knelt down and lifted Simon’s head up and inspected his liquid brown eyes. He nodded to himself, as if confirming something, then stood and attached a leash to the collar.
“Come, Simon.” Mister E tugged at his leash and patted his leg.
Simon did not understand the strange-smelling thing’s words anymore, but he understood the command. He barked happily and followed after the man, never trailing too far or too close, as he was taught in what passed for his memories.
His cock dripped pre and wobbled below him as he trotted. It would be a few minutes before his erection died down. As Simon went, he snuffled the ground, smelling the squirrels and rabbit and birds and grass and people. His tail wagged.
Mister E brought him back into the party, and he found hands descending, petting him and voices cooing at him. He did not understand anything except that he was liked and wagged his tail, licking a hand or finger when he could.
Being petted felt *good*.
Finally, Mister E came to a stop in the foyer.
A familiar human was here. Simon recognized his scent he was… Clark. Clark was… friend? No, Clark was Master!
Simon barked happily and barely contained himself, wanting to leap onto his Master, but his training kept him *down*.
“Here you go.” Mister E handed Master the leash. “Your money will be transferred to your account. This is the loser’s… assets.”
Clark looked down at Simon and Simon could smell… sadness. It made him whine and wag his tail. Master shouldn't be sad!
“This is… Simon?” Clark asked despairingly.
“Yes.” Mister E’s blank porcelain mask gave away no emotion, though it was clear his words were heavy. “Perhaps reconsider bringing a plus one who doesn’t understand the rules if you care for them.”
“But couldn’t you…”
“No. He is a valuable stud dog and will make you the requisite $100,000 in assets in around five years.” Mister E gestured to Simon’s hindquarters. “He’s guaranteed to breed true on the first mount, and he can stud multiple times a day on command.”
Simon woofed happily. Breeding! He knew that word!
“... I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.” Clark replied, shifting on his feet.
“He would not have made enough money to pay his debt as a human. The House always ensures payment.” Mister E explained. “And no, we could not have made him a surgeon or something. That would be a reward and the magic doesn’t work that way.”
“I see.” Clark said slowly and sighed. He reached down and patted Simon on his head. “I’m sorry, Simon. This wasn’t what I intended. Good boy.”
Simon yipped happily at the attention and the petting. He was a good boy!
“An invitation will be mailed to you in one year.” Mister E paused. “And once his debt is paid off, perhaps you can bring Simon back. I think it would be… *cute* if you dressed him as a human.”
Clark nodded, understanding the implications. “Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Good night, Prince Chesh.” Mister E bowed.
“Good night, Mister E.” Clark said, tugging on Simon’s collar. “Come on Simon, let’s go home.”
Simon barked happily. Home!
The two friends settled into the car and sped off into the night.