“Think we’ll get a rhoom,” you slur, thumping the bar with your heavy paw.
“And a couple more ‘a those Black Wolves,” Vanessa interjects, as she polishes off her second glass. She licks her full fangs and budding facial fur with a thickening tongue.
“Gotcha,” the tender says, leaving to prepare two more glasses and fetch a room key. You and Vanessa continue to grope and kiss in the meantime, as you now have a hard time finding a patch of human skin anywhere on her body. Her moans turn slowly to growls as she begins tearing away her skirt and panties while you feel up all six of her full breasts and thick nipples.
The barkeep slides a key and two glasses down to you both. Two pairs of ears twitch at the sounds, as you both effortlessly stop their momentum. You each react more quickly drunk than any human could hope to sober.
“Can’t have those upstairs,” the tender says with a wink at you. “You’ll have to finish them here.”
“Not a probem,” Vanessa manages to almost say, as she eagerly tips back her third drink. You watch her black lips purse and expand around the glass, see her flaring nose twitch as her face is beginning to form a muzzle. She thumps the half-full glass down, and laughs as she looks back at you, and her bestial reflection in the shiny counter.
“I’m turnin’ into a fuckin’ werewolf,” she laughs, “and I don’t care!” She throws back her head and punctuates the sentence with a wild howl, prompting you and several other lupines and canines in the bar to join in the symphony. Every second she holds the note, her jaws push further forward, her ears crest a bit more along her skull. You have to hold her furry back to keep her from falling off the stool.
By the time her song is done, her face is completely remade in a lupine visage, save for the long mane of coarser human hair cascading to her billowing tail.
“Finish’er drink, pretty bitch,” you stammer, drinking the last of your transforming alcohol. “Unlesh you don’t want me mountin’ you.”
The she-wolf laughs, and pours the final dose down her muzzle. She thumps it down on the bar with her full paw, eager to get upstairs and start making cubs.
Vanessa kicks away her human shoes (no longer fitting her swelling feet and rising ankles), and blows the bartender a drunken lupine kiss. “Thank shallot,” she works out and snickers as you lead her away with a paw on her furry rump. Her tail completes its growth and her gait steadies upon her digitigrade legs as you head upstairs to your room, and its panorama-window view of the full moon, for a night of wild mating.
“Don’t mention it,” the bartender grins, pleased with himself for creating two new satisfied customers.