He heard the door swing shut, and whoever it was that had come in started walking -- no, _stalking_ -- towards his stall. The footsteps had an odd clacking sound, as though their maker was wearing heels. Maybe they were gay, then; maybe he was going to have sex after all. The thought made him nervous but excited.
The footsteps stopped outside his stall and a shadow fell across the hole. John tried not to make a sound, tried to keep his breaths as shallow as possible. He couldn't see much of the other man beyond a patch of dark brown at thigh level, but he could hear breathing -- deep and slow -- and he could smell him, wild and intoxicating. John became aware that he was getting erect, his penis pushing insistently against the material of his pants.
The door shook: pound, tap, pound. While John's conscious mind was scrambling over the instructions, his hands acted of their own volition, undoing his belt and fly and then pulling his cock out of his boxers. It throbbed. He shuffled closer to the hole, guiding it. As an afterthought, he cupped his scrotum in his other hand and lifted that out of his boxer shorts too. Gingerly, he slipped both through the hole.
He couldn't see what happened next, but he could sure as hell feel it. A pair of lips slipped over his cock and moved down it, pulling it into a warm mouth and over a rough, wet tongue. It was almost too much. He had to brace himself and grabbed onto the top of the stall door, clamping his fingers over it. Just as sensuously, the mouth slid back up and off his cock, leaving it cool and twitching in the air, sensitive to every air current. A few seconds later, he felt a tongue brush along the underside -- and then a few seconds later, on the tip -- and then next, across one of his balls. It continued like this, maddeningly unpredictable.
John was already aroused, but he felt it rising to another level, as though he were losing control not just of his cock but his whole body. He was hot, flushed, and tingling all over. His muscles twitched and shuddered. It was uncomfortable -- and yet underneath it all, there was a building euphoria. It was like a whole-body erection, every part of him swelling as the tongue danced over his dick. He spread his legs further apart, threw back his head, closed his eyes, and let the intense sensations overwhelm him. For three or four dozen heartbeats, he was oblivious to everything else.
Then he heard fabric tearing.
He'd picked out a tight-fitting T-shirt for the evening, trying to show off his modest chest as best he could. But now, somehow, his biceps had swollen to an enormous size and the seams had simply burst. He stared at himself in shock. How was this even possible? Even as he watched, his chest and abs inflated, pushing up the shirt and stretching it until it looked more like a halter-top. Even more bizarrely, the exposed skin underneath was darkening to an unhealthy-looking grey-green colour, and thick black hair was sprouting. It itched. Without thinking, he lowered a hand to scratch at it, only to find that that too had changed beyond recognition. It was huge, grey, thick-skinned, hairy, and had thick black fingernails that ended in points, almost claws. He was suddenly conscious that his other hand was in plain view on top of the door and pulled it back too. It was no different from the first.
His waist began to feel very uncomfortable, the elastic pinching into him tightly. Keeping his groin pressed firmly against the hole as the other man nuzzled the undersides of his balls and the base of his cock, John twisted around to try and see what was happening. The movement was enough to break the last seam in his overstretched shirt and it slipped to the floor. His hips, butt, and thighs looked just as tight with muscle as his chest. He hooked his thumb into the waistband, trying to ease the pressure, but his claw snagged the elastic and it snapped. The boxers slid down his legs to rest on top of his pants around his ankles.
At this point, the man on the other side of the door switched techniques and John felt his cock sliding into the mouth again. This time, though, the man began to bob back and forth, slowly at first and then faster and faster -- the same pattern as from his dream, John suddenly realized. Impossibly, his dick seemed to swell more and more.
John lost all self-control. Grabbing the top of the door again, he began to rock back and forth, slamming into the door as he thrust harder and harder. He could feel his face changing, his feet aching, his skin itching as yet more hair grew, and yet he couldn't stop. Shouting incoherently, he gave one, two, three great shoves and then came. It went on for a long time, yet the man took it all. Eventually he slackened and began to withdraw. The man gave him one last twist of the tongue -- John spasmed and somehow squirted out yet more cum -- and then the lips were gone.
John stared at his cock as it slipped back through the slick glory hole. It was enormous -- the best part of a foot long, and not fully hard. It was also deep green, with a furry, grey-green sheath covering the lower part. His balls, too, were huge and hung low in a furry sack. There was no way the other man could have failed to notice his inhuman equipment. Hell, there was no way he could have got it half-way into his mouth without choking. What had happened? Was he imagining all these changes?
He looked up and shook his head. A thick, splintering crack ran all the way up the stall door. He'd managed to break it and hadn't even noticed. That wasn't imaginary. He'd have to be careful when he opened it, or it was going to fall to pieces.
When he opened it...
He looked down at himself. How the hell was he going to get out, looking like this? He tried half-heartedly to pull up his pants, but his legs were just too big. He could barely get them up past the calves. He shook them off, stepped to one side, and bent down to pick them up. He was barefoot now, he noticed -- he must have busted open his shoes without even realizing it. Like the rest of him, his feet were huge, discoloured, and hairy. The soles were thick and leathery, almost padded, and his toes had big, wicked-looking claws.
He grabbed his pants but left the rest of his clothing; it was no good now anyway. He looked down at his cock, snorted, and tossed out the condoms too. Then, unable to put it off any longer, he opened the door, stepped up to the washbasins, and stared at himself in the mirror.
His face was unrecognizable -- even more monstrous than the rest of him. His nose was upturned and snout-like and huge tusks jutted up from his lower jaw. His ears were pointed. His eyes were actually red, like something out of a B-movie. He was, by any regular standard, ugly as sin. And yet, taken together, his features were... strong. Fierce. Brutal, yes, but powerfully masculine and proud. He turned his head, muscles rippling. Hell, he was hot. His cock, which had retreated back to its sheath, began to poke out again. Yeah, he thought, I'd hit that.
Belatedly, he realized that the other man was nowhere to be seen. He checked the other stalls quickly, but no -- he must have slipped out while John was still disoriented. Time for me to get out of here too, he thought. He tied the pants around his waist like a loincloth to give himself at least the illusion of decency, then pulled open the bathroom door and headed out.