The world blurred as heat rolled through your body, a fire that licked at your muscles and bones with unnatural hunger. Greff’s hands—large, rough, undeniable—steadied you as you convulsed.
"You fight it now," he murmured, his voice barely above a growl. "But soon, you will beg for it."
With a thrust he sent you tumbling forwards into the arms of lust, the exhilaration enough to sent upon your senses and strangle any protests. You secured a grip around your cock and began to feel its surface, every little drum wonderful and connected to a deep and older rhythm. You let out a moan, proudly enjoying the pleasure despite present company. You had no choice on whether or not Greff would leave you be, but the eroticism of your flesh and his alien eyes was too tantalising to waste. Nor could you, you realised, as your pulse quickened with every thrust.
Heat pulsed beneath your skin, spreading slowly, methodically, as if the mountain itself was reshaping you from the inside out. At first, it was subtle—just a lingering warmth in your limbs, a slight tightness in your muscles. Like dipping into hot, sticky liquid. But then, the pressure intensified.
Your breath hitched as your body swelled, sinew stretching, muscles thickening with each deep pulse. Your musculature had already begun to develop due to Greff's influence, but clear and perceptible markings creased into your form. Your arms, once lean, hardened into something stronger, broader. Your chest rose, expanding with newfound weight, veins surging beneath the skin like rivers carrying ancient power.
You squirted a little seem of pre-cum, the delight sending you crashing onto your knees. You spread your legs wide, your masturbation starting to become rough and near-violent. Greff watched on with a smile and a gleam in his eyes.
You fell forward with your fingers curled instinctively, testing the new strength coursing through them. The sensation was intoxicating—your own grip felt heavier, more certain, as though you had never truly known what it was to hold something before.
And then, the first prickling sensation spread along your forearms, your shoulders, even your back—body hair darkening, thickening with unnatural speed. It wasn’t grotesque. No, it felt right. Necessary. As if you had always been meant to wear this coat of rough, masculine power.
Greff watched, arms crossed, a satisfied gleam in his golden eyes. "The first changes are always the easiest to accept," he mused, stepping closer. "Strength, dominance—those are welcome gifts. It’s when the mountain asks for more that men begin to resist."
You grit your teeth, muscles twitching under the relentless pressure, as if your own body was struggling against itself. The transformation wasn’t a sudden, violent rupture—it was slow, methodical, like the mountain had all the time in the world to shape you into its vision.
Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the width of your frame feeling heavier, more substantial than before. The hair on your arms and chest had thickened, coarse and rough against your sweat-slicked skin. Your limbs—stronger now, undeniably powerful—responded to your movements with an unsettling ease, as if they'd already adapted to a new purpose.
And yet, something inside you rebelled. With a cry you released your vice-like grip over your cock and cried out, as if begging nature to spare you. Yet it didn't for your self-pleasure had gone on for too long and you came. Your cry of anguish became mixed with delight as ropes splattered across the earth and rendered you exhausted. You collapsed on all sticky fours. Clenching your fists, you began to stare at at your own forearm, at the shifting contours of muscle beneath the skin.
You rose onto your feet, stumbling slightly with your new bulk. It was no where near the scale of the minotaur looming, who was a wall of fur and muscle. Still, it was more than you had before, fitting an athlete. An image came to mind as you dared to flex a newly developed bicep, the Doryphoros statue. You had not even grown in hight, perhaps in an or two at most, but you were changing none-the less.
Your chest was thick with hair now, and your pubic hair was a forest that spread wide and trailed up your navel. Even your legs and arse itched with new hair. Yet there was home, as you itched the messy scruff along your jaw - not quite a thick beard but there all the same.
You still seemed human. No hooves, no horns. You could pass for something recognizable as yourself when you got home. If you got home.
But the mountain wasn’t done with you. You knew this. Greff needed a protégé, and you knew full well what that meant.
Already you felt a gathering need for sex, for the pleasure that stimulates your flesh to change into another creature like Greff.
And that was the worst part—knowing it hadn’t ended. Only paused. Like the urge was patient, biding its time.
Would you seek answers from Greff? Or would you fight to reclaim something of yourself before the next shift arrived?
Your throat tightened, the panic rising as you looked to Greff, desperate for answers, desperate for anything that might make sense of this.
He simply grinned. "Welcome home, Calf..."