You have enough of your human sense to try and save face…while your face still has a semblance of YOUR face. You knock a file to the floor casually. You grunt “exuuue me.” What you wanted to grunt was “excuse me,” but your dog tongue fails to form the consonant required. With rapid, rabid reflexes you dive under the table to hide your swiftly shape-shifting body. The moment you are (for the moment) safe from view a huge wave of transformation flows over the remainder of you that was human…you let a sigh of relief escape from your lips (as they turn black), you had exerted so much energy trying to use mind over matter-the matter of the fact that you are turning into a dog- to stave off the transformation. A split second becomes like a minute frozen in time as you catch sight of yourself in the shiny, mirror-like cabinet front of a piece of office furniture.
A whimper escapes from your now-elongating snout. What you see fascinates, terrifies and startles you. There is some sort of were-creature in the reflection…some sick synthesis of man and dog…not enough specific features of one or the other to be identified. And this beast…no, it couldn’t possibly be you in the reflection… is staring back at you, wearing your suit. Your mind flies to the night before, how you picked out your most expensive, sharp suit…you had never spent so much money on clothing before, and you had it tailored perfectly to what used to be a man’s body. You had showered, shaved and primped yourself that morning…adding a brand new, crisp shirt and your best tie to complete the ensemble. Hell, just moments before the meeting you had admired yourself in the mirror…only about a half hour ago, but it seemed like years…and dog years at that.
Still working through your mind rapidly in that split-second you feel your stomach tighten as you come to a realization: The timing of this transformation was too perfect. HER! She must have known! She must have known that this would be the worst possible time for this to happen-all dapper in your suit, in front of people in power looking at you. You hope that if her magic is strong enough to know just when to zap you, then it might help you to escape…give you a shot at running out undetected.
You hear a knocking on the top of the table…so damn loud with your doggy hearing! You move a foot deeper under the table. Your lower body has shrunk. The suit pants, shoes and socks stay behind as your tail comes popping out to meet the world. Your shirt, tie and suit coat are still trapped on your body…fingers that could remove the garments have fused into clumsy paws…Your neck has thickened, making the top button of your shirt pop off and loosening the tie…the jacket is caught up in what now is becoming your front paws.
A quick shudder and the transformation is complete. You are a dog…a dog wearing $3,000 worth of business wear, but a dog…if the salesman who sold the suit to you could see you now, he would positively weep. It seems like someone is getting up to check under the table. To your left you see the door-thank god it’s open! You are about to make a dash for it…hoping, praying that some sort of sorcery will mask you as you escape…preserving the secrets of Pleasure Island.
You are about to make you’re your way to the door…when your eye spies something: It is a leg. The leg of your immediate boss…covered with the pants of a suit even more expensive than the one slipping from your body. The wool looks so fine and soft…you’ve always admired your boss so much…he’s almost like a master to you…the dog instincts that are now mingling with yours have transmuted the idea that he’s your boss into the idea that he’s your master. His leg looks so inviting…how you’d love to relieve your horny dog dick on that fine fabric by showing your master how you feel about him…
The human in you says to flee through the door.
The dog in you says to go hump your master’s leg.