--===Justice Seven: episode 3: Loki's Many Lives===-- Justice Seven Episode 3: Loki's Many Lives _Author's Note:_ Paul Bell, also known as Loki, is a shapeshifter. I'm telling you this now because certain of the sex scenes in this chapter are... "unique". There is one scene in particular where Paul is in "non-human" form during sex. Some of my readers may find this scene utterly distasteful, and so I have delineated it. The scene starts where you find the symbol "!##!". If you do not wish to read this scene, you may search on the symbol "#!!#", which appears at the close of the scene. I've done this in the hopes that you will still read the chapter, even given its possible squickiness in that one area. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... "Paul, time for school! You can't be late again this morning!" "Shit," Paul said to himself, "Why not? Isn't anything fun going on there, anyway." The person to whom he was responding was his mother, Sharon. She was not in the room, which is why he could say that out loud. Still, he had to at least leave the house on time, or he'd get *another* lecture from his stepdad. As if he didn't get enough of those in the first fucking place. Paul placed his front teeth against his lower lip and inhaled sharply. What came out was a somewhat mouse-like squeak. He repeated the sound twice. The first thing he saw was a dark gray face, with big, black eyes. The nose twitched at him. The face didn't move, but stared intently at him. "C'mon, Giz. Time to go home." Paul held out his hand, and the chinchilla scrambled out from behind the book where it was sitting, and leapt out onto Paul's hand. The squirrel-like creature sat comfortably as Paul carried it back to its cage, petting it as he walked. Paul had named the animal Gizmo, after the Mogwai in *Gremlins*. Mainly, this was because most people didn't know what a chinchilla was, and it amused Paul to remind himself how ignorant some people were. Closing the cage carefully, he walked out of the room. As he made his way downstairs, he realized his stepfather, Frank, fell into this category. Frank was an ex-military man, retired due to a knee injury. Yet he was still in the reserves, and he still acted like Sergeant Fucking Slaughter most of the goddamn time. "I'm off, Mom!" Paul called from the front door. "C'mon, Odin," he said to the large Rottweiler lying on the floor. He didn't wait for his mother's good-bye, since he knew it would be filled with some instructions about not getting into trouble. He left for the walk to school, unconcerned with his arrival time, really, but he figured he'd probably get there in time for the last bell. The walk to school was uneventful, and he was there in plenty of time to make class. He knew he couldn't let Odin onto school property. That would get him in trouble, about which he didn't give a shit, but it might also get Odin in trouble, about which he cared greatly. "Go home, Odin. Thanks for the company." The dog nuzzled his hand, got a scratch between the ears, and then turned to run home. The dog had accompanied him to school every morning for the last three years, and the people in the neighborhood knew him on sight, which was why Animal Control had never been called. Paul turned and trudged his way into his building just as the first bell rang. He now had five minutes to get to class. If he hurried, he could make it there in three. Paul did not hurry. ----- He was standing at his locker when the last bell rang. He waited two minutes, by his watch, for everything to get dead quiet. His books were in his satchel, and he could have gone to class long ago, but where was the fun in that? Turning to his locker, he stuck a bent paper-clip into the latch. This would keep it from closing. Then, he slammed it with all his might. The door rebounded, of course. He did it again, and again. It took eight tries in all before a teacher came out to see what was going on. "Stop that! We're trying to have class in here! Why aren't you at your classroom!" The teacher was obviously a bitchy woman, and he was hoping it would be one like her that came out. "Sorry," he said with faked, but honest-sounding, regret. "I can't get my locker to lock. I tried the gentle way, I was hoping that slamming it would get it to catch." The teacher had walked over to him, and she pushed the locker door shut quietly, but firmly. "You have to be more scientific with these things," she said. "Using swift force rarely works, but a slow, pressurized force-" The locker swung back open as soon as she removed her hand. Paul looked up at her in expectation of the curse she was so obviously swallowing. He took the moment to remove the paper clip. "You mean like this?" Paul kept his hand firmly on the locker door, and slammed it with all his might. The noise was loud enough to ring his ears, but he watched the teacher wince, and that's what he wanted. The locker, of course, stayed shut just fine, now. "A little more quietly would have been better. Now, get to class!" "Ma'am? Can you write me a note? I don't want to get in trouble..." Paul used his puppy-dog look on her, and she relented. He walked to class whistling at having wasted -- he checked his watch -- fully ten minutes of class time by the time he got into his British Literature class. He wasn't going to Britain, and he didn't give much of a flip about their literature. Another day was underway for Paul Bell. ----- Mrs. Armijo was a bitch. This was, of course, merely Paul's opinion, but since he was the one stuck putting up with her at the moment, he figured his opinion counted most. His current problem with the woman was the evaluation test they'd taken last Friday. She had stated that, in order to determine each student's retention of the Spanish language, she would give the test, and use it to decide where to start the class off for the year. What Mrs. Armijo had not told them was that the test was graded like any other. Paul had, of course, blown off the test as insignificant, and he was now faced with an F on his first test of the year. Several others had complained as well, to no avail. The grade, she had said, would stand. Paul did not like teachers who flaunted their authority over their students. Mrs. Armijo was not the kind of individual that Paul wanted to have running any portion of his life, even if it was so small a part as his Spanish grade. He'd already tried to transfer out of her class, but Mr. Decker's Spanish II classes were all full. *No wonder. All the other kids probably knew about this bitch from siblings.* Paul did not have any siblings, which was okay with him, except it meant he'd not had any warning about Mrs. Armijo. *Well, there are ways of putting people in their place.* ----- "Paul, what the hell are you doing in the yearbook stuff?" Greg wanted to know. "You're going to get your ass in trouble!" "Nah," Paul whispered back. "This is last year's material. It's in a public access area. They use it to teach the new yearbook staff." "What're you doing, anyway?" "Getting even." ----- Paul had emailed the picture he needed from the school's computers to his own computer at home. He couldn't do what he was doing at school: first off, he didn't have access to the tools, and second, if anyone saw what he was doing, he could get in serious trouble. Paul stayed in trouble a lot anyway, but this level of trouble, he didn't want. Using school property for this could get him expelled. Doing it at home... well, he'd likely only get a stern talking to. Paul pulled up the photo of Mrs. Armijo. She was an attractive enough woman, for a bitch. He studied as much of her body as he could see from her yearbook photo, and thought back to what she looked like in class. *Rachel Jean. Definitely.* Paul pulled up his picture collection, and went to his directory for Rachel Jean Marteen. Her body type was very close to Mrs. Armijo's. This explained why Mr. Armijo put up with her, Paul figured. He flipped through the photos until he found one that matched closely enough to the posture of Mrs. Armijo's head in the school photo. Then he set to work cutting and pasting Mrs. Armijo's visage onto Rachel Jean's body. This was time consuming, but Paul had already finished his homework, and he didn't have anything better to do, anyway. Three hours later, he was happy with the result. It would have taken careful scrutiny to see the break lines between real and overlaid, and that was what he wanted. He turned on his color laser printer, and put in a transparency. He had these from a project he'd done for school the previous year. This was certainly *not* what his mother had in mind when she'd purchased them, and she'd have a coronary if she knew what he was about to do. Paul printed out the picture onto the transparency, and held it against his computer monitor, which he'd blanked to a white screen. The result was pleasing to him. Satisfied, he tucked the transparency carefully into his folder, and put it in his book bag. *You should have dropped the test grade, bitch.* With that thought, Paul got ready for bed. The next day was sure to be interesting. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Paul's plan for the day had evolved from Mrs. Armijo's teaching style. She used a scrolling overhead projector to teach from, and her notes were carefully written out ahead of time. Paul wondered if she had a roll stashed for each day, and just reused them each year, but he didn't really care. He walked into class as quickly as he could. He knew that the teacher tended to be late to class, showing up slightly after the bell rang. This was because she was the hall monitor for this building. That was just fine with Paul; it made his plan easier to carry out. Looking at the couple of students already in the room, he turned back to the projector. None of them were paying him any attention, and the overhead was close enough to the pencil sharpener that no one gave serious thought to why he was over there. Paul rolled the overhead four screens in, so that it would be about fifteen minutes before she got to the picture. Paul wanted to savor the anticipation. Taking the picture out of his folder, he scotch-taped the transparency in place, after wiping the section clean with a rag he'd brought with him. He made sure that the edges of the transparency were completely sealed with tape, so that she could not just rip the picture off the roll. He didn't want her getting out of it that easily. Finished, Paul quickly rolled the scroll of plastic back to its beginning, sharpened his pencil, which he wouldn't need until math class the next day, and went to his seat. He grinned evilly, knowing what was coming, and enjoying every second of the wait. *You should have dropped the test grade, bitch.* ----- "*Buenos Tardes*, class. Let's get right to the lesson. Today's chapter might be difficult for some of you to grasp, so I want to have plenty of time to go over it." *You won't*, Paul thought from where he was sitting. The nice part about this particular overhead projector was that it was motorized, and it could be advanced a single page by clicking the remote. This was nice because it meant that Mrs. Armijo rarely looked at what was on the overhead; she used her own notes. This was something Paul had observed carefully, and it, too, was one of the main reasons he'd chosen this tactic for getting back at her. *Some things are just too easy.* Mrs. Armijo blathered on for nearly twenty minutes, and everyone immediately around Paul could tell that he was getting antsy. Finally, he knew it was the *next frame*, and he could barely sit still. Mrs. Armijo clicked the advance button, and Paul held his breath. She continued to speak for a few seconds, but the wolf whistles from the guys, and gasps from some of the girls got her attention, and she looked up at the screen. Paul loved the way her face flushed red as she sprinted to the projector. Now, Paul could have kept his mouth shut and gotten away with it. No one who had seen him would have admitted it. However, Paul didn't feel it was a good prank unless he got credit for it. So, as Mrs. Armijo was trying to tear her nude image off the overhead, he said, "Nice hooters, Mrs. A!" The boys in the class all laughed. Even a good portion of the girls chuckled. One of the guys near Paul high-fived him. Paul took bows from his seat, acknowledging openly his guilt in the crime. "Mr. Bell, to the office! You will wait for me there! Go, NOW!" Mrs. Armijo finally had the good sense to turn the projector off as Paul gathered up his books and sidled out the door. He was unconcerned about his punishment; he'd gotten even, and that was worth it. Or so he thought. ----- "Hello, Paul," Mrs. Tamber said as he walked into the office. He'd already been here twice since the school year had started. Mrs. Tamber was the office secretary and was familiar with the troublemakers in the school. She knew Paul would not be here to pick up a teacher's mail. "What did you do this time?" "Oh, nothing really *major*... Just embarrassed the hell out of Mrs. Armijo. She wants me to wait here for her to show up before they tag-team ream me." Mrs. Tamber chuckled, and directed him to a seat. She knew he wasn't a dangerous-problem child, just one who liked to get attention. She ignored him as she went back to her typing. Paul sat quietly, waiting for Mrs. Armijo to show up so they could get this over with. He didn't want to miss his computer class; Mr. Rutledge was cool. He amused himself by counting floor tiles until the teacher showed up, a folder in her hands. This obviously contained the offending transparency. "You just stay put," she said to him with loathing in her voice. "I'm going to talk to Mr. Garrett alone first." That was unusual, but not enough so to bother Paul. Mrs. Tamber told the teacher she could go right in, and then Mrs. Armijo disappeared into the principal's office. Paul twiddled his thumbs until he heard raised voices. That was unusual. Teachers and principals didn't often go at it in front of students, but those two were obviously worked up about something. That's when Paul started to worry. Had he gone too far this time? Surely this wasn't *that* bad... For the next twenty minutes, Paul waited. The bell was about to ring for the next class. What were they waiting for? Paul's heart sank when he found out. He slumped in his seat when his mother and father walked into the school office. His father glared at him, and his mother avoided looking at him. Instead, she said to Mrs. Tamber, 'We're here to see the principal. Mr. and Mrs. Bell." Mrs. Tamber looked over at Paul, and she could see him trying to shrink from his father's gaze. She picked up the phone to tell Mr. Garrett that Paul's parents had arrived. The door to the office opened before she got the phone back in its cradle. "Would all three of you please come in?" Mr. Garrett was obviously controlling his anger at this breach of decorum. Paul was more comfortable walking into the principal's office than his parents were, and he tried to suppress the grin that brought to his face. He settled down into his usual chair, across the desk from the principal. Mrs. Armijo was standing behind the desk. Paul's mother took the seat next to him, and his stepfather stood directly behind him. Paul hated when Frank did that; it was done so that Paul could not see what he was doing. "Mr. and Mrs. Bell, we called you in because your son has done something that grossly violates the rules of discipline and shows a terrible disrespect for a teacher. I'm sure you're aware that Paul is not what we consider an exemplary model of behavior, anyway, but this situation goes well beyond the other minor infractions he's had in the last week. I can only say that, with this coming so soon in the year, I have grave concerns for what he's likely to do in the future." "What did he do?" Frank Bell asked, his voice low and grumbling. Paul could tell his stepfather was already pissed at him. The message also got through to Mr. Garrett, who nodded. He picked up the folder and handed it, closed, to Mr. Bell. "He taped this transparency onto on overhead projector that was displayed during class. Needless to say, Mrs. Armijo was greatly embarrassed by this. That doesn't even mention the loss of class time this cost. I find it hard to believe that a student could sink to this level." "Frank?" Sharon was looking at her husband, for she had not seen the image yet. "You don't want to see this." Frank closed it and handed it back to Mr. Garrett. His hand then fell strongly onto Paul's shoulder and squeezed. *Hard*. "What really disturbs me," Mr. Garrett went on, "is that this work must have taken hours. The work itself is actually quite good. It is troubling that anyone would put so much effort into something so crass and scandalous as this." "What does the school plan on doing for punishment?" Frank asked. His voice made it plain that, whatever the school did, more would be done at home. "Suspension, obviously," Mr. Garrett said. "Tomorrow, and all of next week. No make-ups will be possible for missed tests." The principal then looked at Paul. "You need to learn some discipline, young man, and some manners. This was, to say the very least, in poor taste. It was disrespectful, and it was crude. We'll see you the week after next, and your attitude had better straighten up, or you are going to have a very unpleasant year." Paul remained silent. He had not expected things to go this way, but he wasn't about to say anything to the principal in front of his stepfather. Whatever came out of his mouth would be the wrong thing. "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Garrett. Trust me, there *will be* a conversation about this tonight." "I hope so, Mr. Bell. We can't afford these kinds of disruptions in our school." "I understand that. C'mon, Paul." Paul rose quickly to avoid the pain of being lifted by his shoulder. He followed silently out to the car. Nothing was said on the ride home. ----- "What in the *fuck* were you thinking?" Frank had been ranting now for a solid ten minutes. This conversation had been delayed so that Frank could go back to work, but Sharon had called in to the office and taken the rest of the day off, to make sure that Paul went nowhere. Paul had known that this would not be pleasant, but he was used to it; Frank yelled at him constantly. "I can't believe that you would embarrass someone like that! And a teacher! Don't you have any respect for *anyone*? What did you hope to accomplish?" Paul remained silent. "*Answer me!*" Frank bellowed. Paul stared at him, trying to decide if he should tell him the truth or not. He decided that it wouldn't help his case any, so he continued to remain silent. He knew this would infuriate Frank even further, but he no longer cared. Frank was an asshole, and he didn't know what his mother saw in him. He'd liked his first father, Jay, but Sharon had divorced him six years ago to go with this Neanderthal. Frank stood, waiting, for a full minute, before his eyes hardened even further. "All right. If that's the way this is going to be, you have two choices. You can lose *all* privileges for the next two months, and that includes your precious computer, or you can do the run." *How did I know it would come to that?* "The run" was Frank's idea of manhood. It was a five mile run done in under thirty minutes. Paul couldn't do it; his doctor told him never to try to do it. His physical condition was not good, and such a thing could put him in the hospital. Frank didn't believe the doctor, of course, and felt that it would make Paul "a man." *However the hell running makes you manly...* The problem was that Paul was not about to spend the next two months without a TV or computer. As much as he hated the idea of attempting the run, he'd do it before he'd lose those privileges. Even if it killed him. "Well? What's it going to be?" "The run." Sharon paled, but Frank looked at him in triumph. "Fine. Saturday. I'd advise you to get a lot of rest between now and then. Until then, you are not to leave the house. Next week, you'll spend time working for Miss Taylor next door. She's got a lot of yard work and house repairs that need doing, and you're going to do them for her. Now, go to your room, and I don't want to see you for the rest of the night." Paul quickly left for his bedroom. Apparently, he was supposed to go without dinner. He was glad his stepfather did not know about the stash of food he always kept in his room for just such eventualities. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... "All right. You stay on *this trail.* Don't take any of the side trails, make no turns, and make sure you go over the bridge. This trail is 5.1 miles long. I'll give you a full extra minute for the extra distance. If you're not back here in 31 minutes, you fail, and you'll have to do it again tomorrow. Now, *go*!" Frank clicked his stopwatch as he finished. Paul took off down the trail. He was going to try to make it, only to shut his fucking stepfather up. This was ridiculous; he wasn't an athlete, and had no desire to be one. His doctor had told him the hazards of doing this kind of thing, not that it mattered at all to Frank. *Asshole.* Although Paul was not an athlete, he wasn't completely out of shape, and the first two miles weren't all that bad. He was completely out of breath, probably couldn't have said hello to a passing jogger, but he was still on his feet, though weaving badly. His trouble came when he looked at his own watch; He'd already spent fifteen minutes, and he had three miles to go. Three miles, in sixteen minutes. Yes, it could be done, by an athlete, but Paul was not one of those, and he had no hope of making it. Still, he had to try. He increased his speed as much as he could, which wasn't a lot, but there was some. Paul ran on for yet another mile, but by the time he had reached the three mile point, it was already twenty-two minutes. That left him nine minutes to go over two miles. He didn't have a prayer. He poured on the last erg of energy he had, and weaved onward. It was less than a quarter mile later that Paul stumbled over the slightest of bumps. He tripped and bobbled, trying to stay on his feet. In his utter lack of coordination, he stumbled off the path, fell, and rolled until he landed against a tree. He could barely breathe, and what little breath he was getting was coming in wheezes. He felt a strange tingle on his face and on his hands. Though it was hard for him to care, he had to find out what was wrong. Looking at his hands, at first, he didn't see anything the matter with them. However, looking more closely, he noticed that his fingers had deformed ever so slightly. They were smooth, completely featureless. He noted with dismay that his fingerprints were gone. He thought at first that his hands had swollen, but he had no trouble bending his fingers at all, so that was not the answer. He reached up to touch his face, and he could immediately tell that his facial features were different. His nose was flatter and smoother than it should have been. His lips were nearly nonexistent, and he had no eyebrows. *What the hell is happening to me?* Paul would have panicked, but he had no energy left to panic. He felt like crying, but he didn't have the strength to even make tears come. All he could do was sit there and wheeze, hoping that his breath would eventually come back to him, before he died on the spot. "Hey, are you okay?" a voice asked, startling him half to death. It was a girl, and he felt her touch his shoulder. Strangely, he also immediately felt better, as if her presence was giving him renewed strength. He looked up at her, and as he did, he could feel his features returning to normal. He saw a strange look on her face, and that's when he realized that he wasn't imagining things, that his face also *looked* different. He saw her blink a few times, but by the time she looked back, he felt as if his face had returned to normal, and she didn't comment on it. He was still not out of the woods; though his face may have been back to normal, he was still having trouble breathing. He did feel, however, that he'd be all right now. "Yeah... I'll be... okay," he wheezed. "Just... gotta... catch my... breath." Taking several big gulps of air, he said, "Thanks... for asking... though." "You in trouble? You need help?" Paul's face darkened for a moment, considering the fact that his stepfather was going to be pissed, but there was no point in telling her about that. He was slowly but surely regaining his breath, and so he tried to smile at her. "Only from my own stupidity," he answered in gasps. The girl smiled at him, and he felt something lessening between them, until it was finally gone. Her smile remained, though. "Well, okay. I just wanted to make sure you were gonna make it. You sounded pretty bad." "Yeah, I know. Not an athlete, as much as my dad wants me to be." Paul saw a frown of understanding pass over her face, but he didn't make any further comments. She stared at him for just a few moments before she said, "Look, I gotta get going. If you don't need any help..." He shook his head. "Nope. Thanks." He stuck out his hand. "Paul." She took his hand and shook it, helping him to his feet. "Claire. You should take it a little easier." He gave her a baleful look. "That would defeat the purpose," he said sourly. "Thanks for your help. You go to Highlands?" She shook her head positively. "Maybe I'll see you 'round." "Okay. I'll see ya." She walked off, leaving him resting against the tree. Paul watched her go, until she rounded the corner. Looking at his watch, he realized that his time was up. What should he do? *I can barely breathe. I'm not going to walk my way out to that fucker like this. Hell, I'm closer to home than I am to him!* Paul decided that made far more sense, and so he turned and walked through the trees, walking very slowly and making a beeline for his house, which was less than a mile from where he had fallen. ----- Paul was still struggling when he got home. In fact, if anything, he felt worse. He didn't seem to be able to catch his breath beyond a certain point. He unlocked the house and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He collapsed onto his bed, and tried to let his thoughts come together, but they just weren't doing it. His mind seemed very muddled, and he couldn't think straight. *What the fuck is going on? Am I...dying? Shit, what the hell... I know there's something I'm supposed to... but what is it?* For ten minutes, Paul lay there, his thoughts not focusing on what he was supposed to do. Finally, it dawned on him. He was sick. This was -- probably -- an emergency situation. He should call 911. "Hello, 911 operator, what is the nature of your emergency?" "Can't...seem to... catch my breath. Can't...think...clearly." "Very well, sir. An ambulance will be on the way right away. Now, have you taken any medications or drugs?" "...No." "Have you been drinking?" "No. Just... running. Really hard." "Sir, were you being chased? Have you been beaten?" "No... just yelled at." "Okay, sir. Stay on the line with me until the paramedics get to you." "Okay... can't... stand up. Door is unlocked." "I understand, you can't go to the door to let them in. I'll let them know." The young woman on the other end of the phone talked to him, keeping him occupied, and conscious, for the next five minutes. Paul heard the front door open, followed by "Paramedics!" Paul had already told her what room he was in, and she had relayed that information to them. He heard them coming up the stairs. "They're... here now," he told her. "Okay. Good luck, Paul." "Thanks," he said as the two EMTs entered the room. He didn't have the strength left to hang up the phone. ----- The ride to the hospital was exciting and agonizing. It was exciting, because he'd never been awake for one of these rides before. It was agonizing, because he didn't seem to be getting any better, like he usually did when these spells hit. He was still gasping for air when they reached the hospital, even with the mask over his nose and mouth. The nurses and doctors rushed out to meet the ambulance, having been alerted by the radio call. One doctor, a young one, asked Paul, "Do you have a history of heart problems or asthma?" "Not...really...sure what... it is. Dr. Lassiter... knows." "Sherman Lassiter?" the young doctor asked. Paul nodded. "Okay. He's in the hospital right now. I'll give him a call as soon as we get your vitals taken. Where are your parents?" "Waiting... for me... to finish a run." The nurse and the doctor looked at each other. "Where?" the nurse asked. "Carter Park....west...trail." "JoAnne, get the police on the phone. Tell them to find his parents." Turning back to Paul, he said, "What are their names?" "Sharon...my mom. Frank...is...asshole." Paul couldn't talk beyond that, but it was enough. ----- Frank and Sharon stormed the hospital like an armed invasion. They both descended on the receptionist and demanded to know the location of their son. "Name?" "Paul Bell," Frank huffed. "Your son is currently still in the emergency room, undergoing tests. If you sit over there, Dr. Lassiter will be up as soon as he can to explain things to you." "Listen, Miss," Frank started, but the look she shot him at being spoken to in such a tone quieted him. Even he could be cowed. The receptionist had had a bad day. ----- It wasn't long before Dr. Lassiter came out of the elevator. The receptionist had called down to let the ER know that Paul's parents were here. He walked to the receptionist, who pointed to the waiting room. Dr. Lassiter walked in as both parents got to their feet. "Doctor, is Paul going to be all right?" Sharon needed to know. "I don't know that yet. Which one of you decided he needed to go for a little run?" "He was being punished, doctor. That isn't your concern." Frank Bell was not going to be lectured. Or so he thought. "If it isn't my concern, mister, it will be Child Protective Services' concern! I have told you for the last five years that Paul is not well enough to be athletic, that attempting to make him participate in sports of *any* kind could endanger his health. How far did you ask him to run?" "Five miles," Frank said, still defensive. "And how much time did he have?" Paul had already relayed these details to Dr. Lassiter, after he'd woken up. "A half hour. Look it's no big deal-" "No big deal! Are you out of your ever-loving mind? I doubt if Paul could *safely* run a *nine*-minute mile, and you wanted him to run a *six-minute mile*? You're lucky I don't call the state on you right now! "Paul has an abnormal metabolism. Kept at a low intensity, Paul can do more work than all three of us combined. His body could literally walk you into the ground. However, when pushed to its upper limits, his body begins to shut down. He cannot handle extreme physical activity. Even what most people consider normal exercise is risky for him. I'm not talking about a kid who's going to be sore in the morning. Another stunt like this, and he's going to be *dead* in the morning." "Doctor," Sharon said, a quiver in her voice, "is Paul... is he..." "I don't *think* he's going to die, no. I *think* he'll pull through. However, Paul is such an odd case that I can't really be sure of anything just yet. He's got several more tests to go through, and he's going into ICU shortly. I'd suggest that both of you go get something to eat. Right now, Paul is sedated and resting. You can see him when he wakes back up, and that will be for a short visit only. I have to go check his blood results now. We'll page you when we have more information." Dr. Lassiter walked away, not wanting to hear any more of Frank Bell's self-righteous defense of his actions. *Do people think they can will these things away?* ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... When Paul woke up, he was groggy and still tired. His body felt as if it had been in a car accident, but at least he could breathe now. He felt the canula under his nose without opening his eyes. He knew where he was, and he also knew he'd rather be dead than to go through all this shit all over again. Finally, having no choice, he opened his eyes. The lights were turned off, which led him to believe it was late at night. The window shade was pulled, and he couldn't tell if it was light or dark out. The hospital seemed to be quiet, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Paul noted that he was not strapped down or tied to any machinery. He found this strange: normally they gave him an IV when he had these episodes. Paul got up and headed for the bathroom, noting that his clothes were sitting on the chair. When he finished up with what he had to do, he sat on the bed, trying to figure out what to do now. He could ring the nurse, but he didn't want to bother her for nothing. It turned out he didn't have to worry. A few seconds later, the nurse poked her head in through the open doorway. Paul couldn't see her all that well, but he noticed her long, flowing blonde hair, and her ready smile. He also noticed how well she was built, and that was pretty damned well. "Oh! You're awake. The doctor said not to disturb you, I just wanted to check your vitals." "Go ahead," he said, trying to make a joke of it. She laughed dutifully. "If you're awake, I don't need to. Besides, I wouldn't want to be accused of accosting cute young boys in hospital gowns." Paul blushed as she came fully into the room. He looked away in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to embarrass you," she said sincerely. "But you are cute." She walked over to the window, and pulled up the shade. It was still light outside. "You think so?" "Well, I normally like guys with dark hair, but you're pretty good-looking, for a blonde." She winked at him and gave him a smile. "Do you think you're up to some breakfast?" "Uh... huh?" He didn't quite grasp the nature of her question. "Well, it's morning. We usually feed you breakfast in the morning." "I've been asleep all night?" "I guess. I just got here." "Oh. Well, uh... yeah, I guess I am pretty hungry." "Well, it says here you can have pretty much whatever you want. Of course, it's still hospital food," she said with a smile. "Right now I'd eat the bed mattress." "I think the food's a *little* better than that," she said with a laugh. "Okay, I'll get you something to eat. The doctor said you'll be going home today, so you can put your clothes on, if you really *must*..." the nurse said with a playful pout. He knew she was only trying to make him feel better, but it was working. There was one part of him that felt much, much better already. ----- "Just holler if you need anything, Sweetheart," Sharon said to Paul. They had brought him home from the hospital, and he was now resting on his bed. "Don't think this gets you completely out of your punishment," Frank said sternly. "You can have today and tomorrow off, but starting Tuesday, you work for Miss Taylor next door." Paul didn't say anything. There wasn't a point to it. Soon enough, the two left him alone with his thoughts. He lay there, trying to decide what was happening to him. Dr. Lassiter had said that he was going through some kind of change. Paul snorted at the thought. None of his doctors had ever understood what was wrong with him, and Dr. Lassiter was no more enlightened or enlightening than the rest of them. He had said, however, that Paul might experience some odd feelings over the next few weeks, and that they could be mild or severe. Paul also remembered the look on the nurse's face when Dr. Lassiter told him to come back in two weeks. She'd had a coy smile on her face. Was she just flirting to help him feel better? Or was she actually interested in him? *C'mon, Paul. You're fifteen. She's got to be at least twenty.* Still, his mind kept going over it. She was a damned fine-looking woman. *But she likes guys with dark hair. Probably longer than mine, too.* Paul kept his dirty-blonde hair cut fairly short. As Paul thought it over, wondering what he would look like with longer black hair, he formed the image in his mind. When he was happy with the look, and considered what he might look like standing next to the nurse, he felt a sudden wave of what he took to be nausea. It took quite a while for him to realize that he'd felt a similar feeling when he was in the park. *Oh, fuck. Is it coming back already?* Paul got up, and staggered to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. The disorientation was bad enough that he kept his eyes shut, feeling his way to the bathroom sink. As he splashed some cold water onto his face, the ill feeling began to ease. His head didn't seem to hurt so much, and he opened his eyes, staring at the porcelain of the sink. Once he'd caught his breath, Paul stood up straight, facing himself in the mirror. Once the image there registered, he nearly passed out. He brought his head back down to stare at the sink again, splashing himself with a little more cold water. *Okay. I'm hallucinating. That's the only explanation. Whatever's the matter with me, it's causing my mind to play tricks on me. What I saw can't possibly be the truth. Get a grip.* Slowly, very slowly, Paul straightened again, focusing on the image in the mirror. He still couldn't believe it was the truth. Staring back from the mirror at him was his own face, but it was surrounded by a head of jet black hair that hung down to his shoulders. He tentatively reached up with his hand and took hold of it. It felt real enough. He yanked at it, and winced. Well, it was certainly attached firmly to his head. *What the fuck is *this*? And how the hell do I get my regular hair back?* As soon as the question formed in his mind, Paul felt the nauseous feeling again. It wasn't quite so bad this time, but he still splashed more water on his face, hoping to ease the yucky feeling in his stomach. When he looked back up, sure enough, his normal hair color and length had returned. *Holy shit! What kind of weirdness is this?* Paul stumbled back to his room, to try to think about things. Once he was there, however, he fell fast asleep, without any thoughts of what had just gone on. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Once again, Paul slept all the way through the night. When he awoke in the morning, it was nine o'clock. He'd slept for nearly seventeen hours. *That would explain my headache.* It also explained his urgent need to piss. After stumbling into the bathroom and taking care of business, he looked himself in the mirror. As foggy as his brain felt, he wondered if he'd only dreamed yesterday's little transformation. *More important, if it was real, how do I do it again?* Paul thought he might as well try it, and so formed the image in his mind of himself with long black hair. He felt the queasy feeling, but it was much less uncomfortable than it had been the day before. He opened his eyes, and he found his raven-haired self staring back at him. He looked at his appearance, and wondered if there was anything else he could change. *What about that damned eye?* Paul had a green left eye, and a blue right eye. He much preferred the green. He closed his eyes again, forming a picture in his mind. He'd always been good at visualizing things in his head; he was grateful for the skill now. Opening his eyes, he saw that he now had a matching pair. He had ended up actually changing both of their colors, as he liked the more vivid green of his new eyes. Paul thought he looked pretty cool the way he was, though the hair on his neck bugged him just a little. He decided to leave himself this way; he was alone, with both of his parents at work, and who would notice if he walked around the house with long black hair and vivid green eyes? He stepped out of the bathroom, and went to get dressed. He thought for quite a while as he went through dressing, and then further as he ate breakfast, about what it meant if he could change his appearance like this. Still, it seemed as if it took an enormous amount of energy, because he felt tired again already. Finished with breakfast, he put his dishes in the sink, went and lay on the couch, and, before falling asleep, readjusted his appearance back to normal. The last thing he wanted was for his stepfather to see him like that. ----- When Paul did awaken, he found he'd only been asleep three hours this time, and it was a good moment to eat lunch. He made himself a sandwich and walked into the living room to watch a little television. He flipped through channel after channel until he saw something blow up. That caught his attention, and he decided to stop there. *Ahh. 'The Jackal.' Good flick.* Paul settled in to eat his lunch and watch the movie. It was an excellent film, and the obvious parallel to his life didn't strike him until it was nearly over. *That guy... I'd be unstoppable as an assassin! I could change my hair color, my eye color... hell, maybe I can change my whole damned appearance!* That thought stopped him cold. *Could* he change his appearance entirely? He thought of what that would mean. Hair color and length. Eye color. Shape of the nose, lips, chin. Height, weight. That was an awful lot. He didn't know if he could do it. All he knew was that he could make his hair and eyes change. *Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do...* Paul went into his room and stripped. He didn't really have a good reason for this, other than it seemed wrong to change into someone else while still wearing his own clothes. Besides, depending on how he changed, his clothes might not fit. Paul faced himself in the full-length mirror on his closet door. He was scrawny, to say the least. The only exercise he ever got was the occasional bike ride, which meant he had good strong legs, but the rest of him just wasn't up to par. His eyes roamed his body, thinking of things that could be changed to disguise his identity. He looked down at his dick, and began to wonder. *Can I make it bigger?* Paul was not small, for his age, but no guy would object to having a bigger dick. He concentrated his thoughts, and imagined in his mind an eight-inch monster of a cock. He felt the sudden wave of nausea, even less this time than the last but still unpleasant anyway. When he looked down, his cock was hard, and it was huge. He got out his tape measure and, sure enough, he was just over eight inches. Paul didn't see a reason to change that back to what it was. It wasn't as if any girl had ever seen it before. Still, this didn't disguise who he was, which was the point of the whole thing, and so he went back to thinking up a new disguise. *Well, more muscular would be nice. Dark brown hair instead of blonde... green eyes, both of them... slightly wider nose, mouth is more or less okay... stronger jaw...* Paul cataloged his entire body, imagining how it would look as someone else. Then, having reached his feet, and considering adding an extra three inches to his 5' 7" height, he closed his eyes. Paul imagined the new him, standing even taller, a full six feet. He imagined a broader chest, and muscular arms. His head swam, and the nausea was back almost as bad as the first time, but he held on through it. Soon enough, the feeling passed. Or had it? Paul didn't feel quite right. It was as if things had changed subtly, but he couldn't put a finger on it. When he opened his eyes, the change was anything but subtle. The added five inches to his height changed his perspective on the world more than he would have imagined. His arms were bulky, but they didn't feel heavy; it was as if he had the strength that went with their bulk. Did he? Paul went over to his bed. It was an old affair, made of heavy wood. Moving it was a bitch. Paul squatted and grabbed the footboard. Lifting with his legs, he was amazed at just exactly how easy it was to lift the bed. Apparently, his strength had grown proportionate to his muscle mass. *Fucking cool!* He thought he could have just about any girl he wanted, looking like this. Well, maybe a less chiseled face, more of a Tom Cruise look... but no, some girls dug the construction-worker look, and he figured this body could get him laid in a heartbeat. Not that it mattered. He couldn't go anywhere until he went back to school, and he'd have to work for Miss Taylor for the next five days. He thought about Miss Taylor, his neighbor, and his dick roared back to life. She was a beautiful woman, about 5'3" tall, with flowing light brown hair and a gorgeous body. Her gray eyes were always alert, always looking things over, but she had a wonderful smile, and she had been kind to Paul in the past. *I bet she'd love to fuck someone who looked like this.* Not that he could go over and say, "Hi, Miss Taylor. It's Paul. Can we have sex now?" That would not work. It was a nice fantasy, though, and he lay down to consider it. He didn't really notice when he drifted off to sleep again. ----- Paul was awakened next by the slamming of the front door. He knew that was his stepfather, who liked to make sure the hinges were secure, or something, because he always shut the door in that manner. It didn't take Paul long to realize two things. The first was that Frank would check to see that he was home. The other was that he was lying naked on his bed... and he wasn't himself. Paul didn't panic; he'd gotten himself into this shape, he could get himself back to normal. *I hope.* Paul closed his eyes and formed a vision of himself. He made sure to keep the couple of changes that he wanted, but imagined himself back to his normal body type and height. The nauseous feeling came, but it was almost as if he'd gotten used to it, because it really didn't bother him that much. Once he'd completed the change, he quickly crawled under the covers, as he heard Frank coming up the stairs. In seconds, the door opened, without warning -- Frank had no concept of privacy -- and Frank stuck his head in the room. Paul pretended to be asleep, because he didn't feel like dealing with the dickhead. In short order, Frank closed the door and left. Shortly after that, Paul *was* asleep again. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Paul woke up the next morning feeling pretty good. His mother had brought him supper, and then his parents had left him alone. He liked that part best. After he came back to his room from his shower, he realized that he hadn't fed anyone yesterday. *It's a good thing I give them more than a day's worth of food at a time.* Gizmo was still nibbling on something when Paul reached in for his food dish. The chinchilla watched carefully as Paul went about the usual tasks of renewing food and water for the little animal. Once done, Paul closed the cage door, and moved on. He had to feed Sherman, the guinea pig, and both Aaron and Chuck, the hamsters. This was a silly thing to name them, as Aaron was actually a girl hamster, but that was too bad. Chuck Norris didn't have a sister, so far as Paul knew. Paul moved over to the corner and set down a small dish of food for Dante. Paul whistled, and Dante, who slept in Paul's bottom drawer, popped his head up to get breakfast. Paul petted the ferret while it ate, and Dante ignored him, more interested in the food. After a while, Paul left his bedroom. He was greeted by Alexander, the Siamese cat, and of course, Odin. Paul fed them, as well, before he got around to his own breakfast. He found the note on the table reminding him -- as if that were necessary -- that he was expected to go to Miss Taylor's today. Having finished up his breakfast, Paul dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The shirt had a picture of a tiger on it; that was Paul's favorite of the large cats. Having prepared himself for yard work, Paul headed out the door for his neighbor's house. Paul rang the bell, and waited only a moment before the door opened. There stood Miss Taylor, her long brown hair almost floating around her oval face, her expressive gray eyes locking onto his own. He noted that beneath her Mornington Wolves jersey, her breasts swelled amply, and her wonderful ass was encased in tight jean shorts. "Hey, Paul," she said, her voice purring out of her throat. "Come on in. I was just about to get started." Portions of Paul were already started doing what they did best, and he realized that he could feel the size difference in his dick. He hoped it didn't show at all; he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of her. "So, how are you feeling? Your mom told me about your little trip to the hospital. If you're not up to this..." "No, I'll be okay, Miss Taylor. Just need not to be running, is all." "Uh-huh." Her eyes said more than that, but Paul couldn't really interpret her expression. "And you can call me Allison, by the way. 'Miss Taylor' sounds so formal." "Okay, thanks. How come you're off work this week, anyway?" "I'm a writer, so I work here at home. When your father said he was offering your services, well, I figured it was time to get some stuff done around here." Allison blushed for a moment. "Sorry, I know you have to hate this." "It's okay. I don't really mind helping you, anyway. What do you want me to do first?" Allison eyed him for the way he'd said that, but led him into the house to begin his work. ----- Paul worked through to lunch, when Allison fed him a hefty sandwich and some cookies. Then he headed back out into the yard to finish pruning the bushes. He knew how, and it wasn't hard work, so he didn't really mind. Besides, Allison was a very nice lady, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. He spent most of the afternoon hard, thinking about her wonderful body and what he'd like to see it doing. Finally, the majority of the yard work was finished. The grass still needed mowing, but that was a later project. Paul walked back into the house, wiping sweat off his forehead with the towel she had loaned him. "Okay, Miss...er, I mean, Allison. All done with the bushes and the trees." "Good grief, Paul. Don't work yourself too hard. It's hotter than hell out there." "It's okay. I just kept up a steady pace. If I don't work too hard, I can go all day long." "Hmmm," Allison said, a hint of a smile on her face, but she didn't say anything else. "So, anything else you want me to do today?" "Um, no. No, I think that's enough for one day. We can do more work tomorrow. I think you need to go home and shower." She smiled at him, and he melted. Well, one part of him refused to melt, but that was okay. "Okay, thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, then." "Great. See ya." She walked him to the door, and he walked across the yard to his own home. He didn't know what she was thinking, but his mind couldn't get itself off her huge mounds and her great ass. Watching her walk around in those shorts all day had been a killer for him. He knew he had to jerk off. When Paul got into his bedroom, he closed the door, and stripped. He was going to take a shower after relieving a little tension, and so he wouldn't need clothes. He flopped down onto the bed, and closed his eyes. As his hand went to his dick, he formed an image of Allison in his mind, only this time she was completely naked. He walked around her in his mind, looking at her tits, her ass, her pubic hair. Some of the details he had to make up, of course, but the image before him was tantalizing. Suddenly, his mind reeled. The nausea swept over him suddenly. His hand left his cock to hold onto his head, joined quickly by the other one. *Uh-oh...* When the nausea passed, he knew it had happened without even looking. He just felt *different*. When he opened his eyes and looked down, he couldn't breathe. On his chest sat the biggest damn pair of tits he had ever seen. Then he realized they weren't as huge as he'd first thought, but that he was smaller than before. He got up carefully off the bed, and looked at himself in the mirror. He figured himself to be about 5' 3" tall now. His tits were large, but firm, and between his legs... well. Paul had, of course, seen naked girls, in pictures. He knew what they looked like, but he'd never touched one, never even seen one in real life. He laid back down on the bed. His long brown hair flopped. He realized that he was the spitting image of Allison Taylor right now. And, he figured, it may not actually *be* her, but why not take advantage of the opportunity? Paul's hands slipped over his tits. One finger tweaked a nipple, and tingles shot through his body. He groaned in that soft, feminine voice of Allison's. He tweaked the other nipple, and it felt just as good. He kneaded his tit flesh softly, marveling at the feel of his newly sensitive chest. Soon, his curiosity overcame his hesitation, and his fingers -- now even daintier than normal -- strayed across his abdomen toward his crotch. He spread his legs apart as his hand slid between his thighs. He could feel wetness, and heat. Softly, he stroked his pussy lips, and his back arched in a small climax. The sensations were wonderful. Better yet, he knew he could continue, that he didn't have to stop. His fingers danced over his own cunt lips, until he brushed against his clit. The jolt of pleasure that shot through him caused him to squeal. Again, he slipped his fingers against his clit, and felt another jolt of exquisite pleasure. He rubbed gently on it, until he couldn't stand it any more. Paul moved his hand further down and, while his other hand continued to pull and twist on his nipples, he inserted a finger deep into his cunt. The walls of his pussy tingled with the invasion. He pulled the finger out, and slid it back in, and felt the tingle some more. A second finger soon joined the first, and he started ramming them into himself rapidly. His hand brushed against his clit each time, and the pleasure that caused was intense. Paul felt his heat build as he continued to finger-fuck himself, and finally he couldn't take any more. A wave of pleasure broke over him, and he let loose with a mind-numbing orgasm. His body quaked and rocked with the climax, and he let out several cries of joy. His mind reeled from the overload of sensations, and Paul blacked out from the excitement. ----- Paul was once again awakened by the slamming front door. He quickly hopped out of bed. He was sorely tempted to stand there, naked and female, until Frank opened the door, just to see what he'd do. He rejected that plan quickly, on the grounds that if there was one person in the world he did *not* want to know what he was capable of, it was Frank Bell. Paul closed his eyes and imagined himself as 'himself' again. The nausea this time was almost unnoticeable. Whether it was really fading, or if Paul had just grown used to it, he didn't know. Quickly, he grabbed his shorts and yanked them on. Then he grabbed a towel, just as his father stuck his head in. "What did you do at Miss Taylor's today?" he asked gruffly. "Mainly pruned bushes and trees. Some other stuff, too, but that took up most of the day. I was just gonna shower." "Do it fast, before your mother gets home." With that, Frank closed the door. Frank was a top-level executive at a law firm, but Sharon was manager for a major warehousing company. She usually needed a shower as soon as she got home, from all the time spent running around in the warehouses. Paul made his way to the bathroom, and quickly got his shower started. He let the hot water wash over him as he thought about what he'd done. *That was pretty intense. I could have a lot of fun, just being a girl for a while.* Paul let his mind drift over that thought for a few minutes, until he started lathering up. *I wonder... I've turned myself into a different guy, and into a girl. What else can I turn myself into? Could I become a... oh, a chair? A couch? A car?* The idea of him speeding down the road, with no visible driver, amused him quite a bit. *I need to experiment.* Paul had noticed that he wasn't nearly as tired this time as he'd been over the last couple of days. *Maybe my body just needed to adjust to this thing. I wonder what brought it out.* He knew that whatever it was he had, it had started in the park. *Could it be that I've got to thank Frank for this? Christ, I hope not. I'd hate to think I owe that motherfucker anything.* Paul finished up washing quickly, and got out of the shower. His thoughts mulled over how to proceed with his experiments as he dried himself off. Once he was dressed, he headed back to his room to think about it some more. He yawned a couple of times, but he didn't really feel the need to sleep, as he had the previous times he'd morphed. He did not think that he was ready to do it again, though. *It can wait until later.* ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... When Paul woke up the next morning, it was still dark out. He'd gone to bed a little before eleven, and he didn't figure he should be awake yet. Still, he'd slept a lot in the last few days, and perhaps his body was tired of resting. He smiled at his pun in the darkness, as he looked at his alarm clock. Five o'clock. Paul rolled onto his back, and lay there, looking up at the dark ceiling, the light from the street lamp outside playing through the cracks in his curtains. He wasn't sure whether to get up, or to try to go back to sleep. After a half-hour of that, he gave up. He wasn't going to go back to sleep, obviously. Silently, Paul slipped from the bed and padded his way to the bathroom. His parents' room was well down the hallway from him. Why they lived in this massive house, he had never bothered to find out, but this is where Frank had moved them. Finished in the bathroom, Paul returned to his own bedroom, and turned on the light to get dressed. As massively built as the house was, he could probably throw a party in here without them hearing a thing, and he'd never heard 'noises' coming from his parents' room, though he'd tried on occasion. *Well, I have plenty of time to kill. What should I do with it?* He noticed Gizmo was chewing on a lettuce leaf he'd given him last night. "Mornin' Giz," he said quietly. The animal stared at him, as if it understood. When he didn't continue to speak, it returned to chewing on its leaf. Paul sat down at his desk, noting the annoying squeak his desk chair had been making for weeks. He thought to try to fix the squeak, when a thought occurred to him that he'd set aside last night. *What are my limits? What can I turn myself into? Could I become a chair?* Paul set his desk chair back upright, and sat over on his bed. He thought it over for a while. *Chairs don't breathe. They don't have lungs. But then, maybe while I'm a chair, I don't need to do those things, either.* For a moment, Paul considered the idea of being the chair for some really cute secretary, secretly massaging her ass as she wiggled in the chair. With a smile, he decided to give it a try. The first thing Paul did was strip. He didn't think his clothes would fit a chair very well. Then, standing in the middle of the floor, Paul closed his eyes. He imagined a very comfortable office chair, made of leather, with lots of padding. His mind conjured up all of the necessary details, down to the types of castors on the legs. He felt the image in his mind, it was complete, he saw it, and... And... And nothing. For ten minutes, Paul concentrated on the image, but nothing happened. He didn't even begin to feel the nausea, though he did give himself a mild headache from concentrating too hard. *Have I lost it, or can I just not turn myself into a chair?* Paul walked over to his mirror, and imagined his hair changing color again. Once again, he was endowed with shoulder-length jet-black hair. *Okay, so it's still there, I just can't make myself into a chair. Am I limited to people, then? Perhaps it has to be something close to my weight range.* Paul spent a half hour working through a dozen inanimate objects, with no result whatsoever. He went to get himself a drink of juice, after throwing on a robe. He'd hate to scare his poor mother to death, seeing him walking around naked. When he was finally back in his room, he sat down to think. *Okay, so, apparently non-living stuff, I just can't do at all. I know I can do people. What about other living stuff, then? Can I become an animal?* The idea intrigued Paul. He had a fascination for animals, as his large collection of pets displayed. He thought for some time about what animal he'd like to become. Perhaps a dog, or cat? Those were kind of dull, and they might be too far away from his own weight. Something that weighed a hundred to two hundred pounds would be best for a first try. *What about a cougar?* Paul knew that cougars, or mountain lions, to some, ran as high as one-hundred sixty pounds. He figured that would be a good option to start with. He lay down on the bed on his stomach, just because it was the kind of posture a cat would lie in. He closed his eyes, and imagined. He formed the image in his mind of a large, powerful, male puma with pale green eyes. Again, Paul walked around the image time and again, making sure it was perfect. And... And... Nothing. Paul had not felt a thing. The nausea didn't come. About to resign himself to only being able to do people, he opened his eyes... and quickly shut them again. The world was amazingly different, seeing it through cat's eyes. His ears twitched at some noise from over by Dante's bed. Perhaps the other animals weren't thrilled to suddenly be confronted with a predator in their midst. Slowly, Paul opened his eyes again. Things just seemed so much crisper with these eyes. It was unbelievable. He couldn't imagine why his mind would be able to conjure up better eyes for him; he didn't *really* know how cats saw things... *Ah, well... ours is not to wonder why...* Paul stretched on the bed, very careful not to let out a yawn that might result in a growl or, worse yet, a snarl. He hopped down off the bed, feeling the spring in his muscles, feeling the soft carpet beneath his feet. He was amazed at how *alive* he felt in this form, how amazingly content he was to be two feet tall and eight feet long, including his -- rather nice, thank you -- tail. Paul moved about the room for a little bit in this form, but there wasn't much he could *do*. He had no room, and he felt pent up, as if he were trapped in a cage. *So this is what it's like to be in a zoo.* Paul had never cared for zoos; he loved animals, but he wanted to see them in their natural place in the world. He wanted to see a lion *in Africa*. He wanted to see his favorite cat, the tiger, in India or in Siberia. He wanted to see the panda in China, not in San Diego. *Okay, so I can do animals... at least ones that are my size. How drastic can it get?* Over the next hour, Paul made himself smaller and smaller. When he reached the size of Gizmo, he stopped. Dante was around, and he really didn't want to become lunch. He did have some fun moving around the room as a chinchilla, though. It was interesting to feel the power of the legs, the balance created by the tail, and the *speed*! Paul actually manipulated the latch on Gizmo's cage, and joined him for a while. Although chinchillas don't normally like company, Giz spent some time romping with Paul, who had a blast playing with his friend in a way he'd never been able to before. Soon, it was light out, and Paul knew that both his parents had left. He hopped out of Gizmo's cage, and shut the door. Hopping down to the floor, he wondered how hard it was going to be to become a person again, after experiencing the thrills of being different animals. Closing his chinchilla-eyes, Paul imagined himself as a boy again. The image settled quickly, and was followed by a blinding wave of nausea. It was at least as crippling as the first time it had happened. Opening his eyes after his head settled, he could tell that he was himself again. *What the hell was that? None of my other changes today caused anything that bad!* A little thought brought up the difference; all of Paul's earlier changes had not made big jumps in size, but had been progressively smaller. *So... it hurts to do it in one big jump. I wonder if it would have bothered me to simply reverse the order?* He wasn't going to try it just now. He wasn't tired from his change, but he was pained. He went to the bathroom to grab some Tylenol with which to start his day. ----- Paul spent all of his morning checking the gutters on Allison's house, and cleaning them out where necessary. It wasn't really hard work, but he wasn't too fond of heights, so it was a little nerve-wracking. As he worked, he thought, *This would be much easier as a monkey, so I could use the tail to hold on.* Of course, he didn't dare consider changing in front of Allison. He didn't want her to freak. By the time lunch rolled around, they'd cleaned the gutters, and had done some minor touch-up painting indoors. She fed him a nice lunch again, which she sat down with him to enjoy. About halfway through lunch, Paul felt something brush against his leg. He looked down, and nearly dropped his sandwich. "Alexander! How the hell did you get here?" He blushed immediately at his profanity. "Sorry, Allison." "Screw that," she said in reply. Gesturing to Alexander, she said, "He comes here a lot when you're at school. I don't mind him, he's good company. He seems to like the empty space to explore." "Oh." There was little further conversation about the cat, and Alexander went into the living room to curl up on the couch. "So, what do we have to do this afternoon?" Paul asked. "Storm windows. Ugh, I hate ladders." "No problem." He wasn't real fond of them, either, but he was fairly well taken with Allison by now, and he'd have danced on the roof if she'd asked him to. "Thanks." ----- When Paul got home, he realized that he was pretty worn out. He didn't know if it was his transformations in the morning, or the work he'd done all day, but he needed a rest. He flopped down onto his bed, and quickly dozed off. Paul's dreams were unusual and twisted, but that wasn't upsetting to him; his life had become pretty twisted in the last few days. He hadn't yet stopped to deal with what his change meant for him. He was still too wrapped up in finding out what his limits were. When he awoke, Paul found himself staring at a pair of deep blue eyes. The eyes were attached to his cat, Alexander, who had come home and decided to curl up on Paul's chest as he slept. "Do you do that to Allison, too? You lucky cat..." Paul's mind trailed off as he thought of something, and then had to decide whether or not he would risk it. He didn't know if Alexander got along with Allison's dog, Oscar, or not. It was, however, a risk he thought worth taking. Surely, if the cat spent a lot of time there, he'd either developed a friendly relationship with the dog, or had learned to avoid him. "Hmmm. I think you're going to have to stay home tomorrow, sport." Paul petted Alexander as he considered how to do what he was thinking. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... The next morning, Allison asked Paul if he was feeling all right. "You look a little pale. Are you sure you can work today?" "You said we were just painting and cleaning, right?" "That's right, but..." "Then I'll be okay. I'm just a little tired, I think." The real problem was that Paul had learned another one of his limitations. He'd tried to turn himself into a bird; flying would be a useful skill, after all, and eagles were very majestic animals. However, though he'd been able to replicate the shape of a bird momentarily, he had immediately grown sick, and his body had instantly reverted to the bland-faced, no-featured person he figured he'd been last Saturday when that girl had helped him. What was her name? Oh, yeah, Claire. Paul refocused his attention on the pretty girl in front of him. "It's been a long week, but I'll be all right. Honest." "Okay. But I think we'll cut things a little short today, just to be safe." She looked at him with concern, and he smiled as best he could. The event had drained him, and it had taken him two hours just to recover enough to come over here. He wasn't surprised that he looked a little sickly. ----- For the next several hours, they painted a couple of rooms. Paul didn't mind painting, and the smell didn't seem to get to him. They had to shoo Oscar out twice, before Allison finally put him outside. "He likes to be around me. He gets lonely," she explained. "How does Alexander get along with him?" Paul asked, trying to keep his question to pet-owner curiosity. "They more or less ignore each other. They've never so much as glared at each other that I know about." "That's good." *For more than one reason*, he added to himself. ----- After lunch, they spent some time cleaning out the garage. As the day had worn on, Paul had felt better, so that Allison forgot about his sickly look in the morning. That was okay with him; spending time with her was enjoyable not just because she was a looker, but because she was also a very nice person. Around three o'clock, she decided they needed to call it a day. When Paul realized the time, he noted how little time he'd have to pull off his plan. He chatted with her for a few moments about what they'd do the next day, but then he headed home, trotting across both lawns. Once inside the house, Paul headed up to his room. He saw that Alexander was not happy to be penned in, inside the bedroom, but that was something he'd have to live with for a couple more hours, at most. Paul stripped, and then settled down. He knew he could do this transformation, but he had to make it look perfect. He stared at Alexander, stroking the cat for a few moments. As he petted the cat, he found the image in his mind changed slightly, and it looked exactly like Alexander now. He felt a slightly nauseous feeling as he took on the cat's form. When he opened his eyes, Alexander was looking decidedly unfriendly. The hair on the back of his neck was raised, and it was clear he didn't trust this new... *thing* that had just been his master. Paul mewled, and Alexander calmed. It was apparent that there was a level of communication between them. It was then that Paul realized, however, that, as a cat, he couldn't get out of the room. He kicked himself mentally, and morphed back into human form. That made him feel rather ill, but he lived with it. He stepped into the hallway, and then closed the door, locking Alexander into the room. Paul transformed back into his Alexander-guise, and headed downstairs and out the pet door. The trip across the yard was eye-opening; things were just so different from eight inches off the ground. Reaching the fence between the two yards, Paul thought it was a daunting leap. He mustered his courage, and leapt for all he was worth for the top of the fence. He made the top of the fence... and another foot beyond it. He let out a bit of a yelp as he sailed cleanly over the fence, and landed -- on his feet, of course -- in Allison's back yard. Paul was astonished with himself, but tried not to let it show. Cats were cooler than that. He passed into the shade of Allison's patio, and then slipped through the dog door into the kitchen. He looked through his cat-eyes at her house, and it looked so much bigger now. *Well, it would be. I'm not even two feet long now.* Paul searched out his target, and found her lying on the sofa in the living room. Paul would have smiled at his good fortune, but cats don't really have much of a way to smile. He purred, instead, which was an interesting sensation all its own. Hopping up onto the couch, Paul stepped onto Allison's thigh. She looked up from the paper she'd been reading, and then smiled at him. Paul slowly padded his way up her leg, enjoying the feel of her skin, until he made it to her shorts, and then onto her abdomen. He hesitated at the last step, wondering just what she would do if he tried it. Taking a deep breath, which interfered not at all with the purring he was doing, he placed his front paws onto Allison's left tit. Although she fidgeted a bit, she didn't seem to complain. Seeing this, he moved his entire weight onto her chest, walking in a circle on top of her breasts. He was enjoying feeling her up like this. "Okay, Alexander. Settle down, or you'll have to get down." Her voice sounded as if this was a routine thing to happen. Paul immediately settled into a curled up position on top of Allison's tits. He could feel her nipple under his left forepaw, and he made small motions to manipulate it. He could see that Allison was squirming a bit under his touch. Through his little exercise the other day -- which he'd not had the courage to repeat, yet -- he knew what felt good, and he knew what he was doing would feel really good. His hind leg twitched ever so gently against her other nipple, and Allison jolted slightly. She sat up rather suddenly, and Paul was dumped, unceremoniously, into her lap. Not that he minded this, but he was enjoying where he'd been. Allison had a strange look on her face, and she gently shuffled him off her lap onto the floor. She whistled and called out, "Oscar! Come to Mama!" Paul watched as she led Oscar into the downstairs bedroom and closed the door. *Closed the door? Alone? That's kind of odd. What does she need the dog for in there?* Just then, Paul noted the time, and realized he didn't have the time to find out. He had to get home, and fast. He hustled out the door, and made for the fence. This time, he judged his leap correctly and landed right on top of the fence, hopping down into his own yard and dashing for the pet door. Paul transformed just as he heard Frank's car pull into the driveway. He opened the door to his room and let the real Alexander out. Quickly, he got dressed, and sat down at his desk. By the time Frank stuck his head in, Paul was working on his computer. "What did you do for Miss Taylor today?" *Why does he keep asking me that? Why doesn't he just ask *her* whether I was there?* To Frank, he said, "Painting and cleaning, mostly." "Okay." He walked away from the bedroom, and that was the last they spoke before dinner. *I wonder what she was doing with Oscar. How can I find out?* ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... The next day was more of the same; they cleaned, they painted, they did some minor repairs. Around two o'clock, Allison sent him home. It was Friday, and the last day of his suspension, but his father had offered him to Allison for *five days*, and that meant that Frank would make him work the next day. Not that Paul really minded working around Allison, and it wasn't as if he had anything better to do at home. Once he walked back home, he changed out of his clothes and into something less conspicuous. There was a raccoon that lived in the neighborhood, and he knew that neither Odin nor Oscar bothered the animal. He didn't think Allison would mind its presence; she didn't have a garden. He made his way into her back yard, and crept up to the sliding glass door. He couldn't see her. He looked carefully for her before moving through the pet door. Once inside, he made himself even smaller, turning into a mouse. He hoped like hell that Alexander didn't show up just now; he was a good mouser. Scurrying along the baseboards, Paul found Allison in the living room again, this time reading a book. He scurried under a recliner, making sure that no part of his body would get squished if someone sat in it, but also making sure he could see out. For about a half hour, nothing happened, and Paul was getting bored. He wasn't very patient, and if it hadn't been Allison he was staring at, he would have left long ago. His semi-patience paid off, however. Allison had been reading a romance, and her hand was straying over her breasts. Suddenly, as she did the day before, Allison sat up. She set her book down on the couch, and whistled to Oscar. Oscar came running into the room, and stood up on his hind legs, his face nearly equal to her own. "C'mon boy," she said, leading Oscar into the bedroom again. Again, she closed the door. Paul scampered over to the door, but he couldn't fit beneath it. He thought about trying to become a smaller mouse, but if he got too small, returning to full size was a real pain. He scrunched down, trying to see under the door. He was frustrated at his lack of a view. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Paul had to leave shortly after Allison had gone into the bedroom. He still couldn't be sure what had happened. He thought he knew, but he had trouble believing that. Still, he now knew that it was a regular occurrence, and there was an easy way to find out exactly what happened in that room. Timing would be tricky, but that was okay. The fact that it was Saturday actually worked to his benefit. His father would not 'check' to see if he went to Miss Taylor's today; he would watch him go. Allison opened the door wearing her usual T-shirt and shorts. She motioned Paul in, and closed the door. Instead of walking to the stairs, or to the back yard, she walked him into the living room. "What're we up to today?" he asked. "Moving furniture. This damn stuff is too heavy for me to move alone." "Works for me." They spent the morning moving furniture in different rooms in the house. By lunch time, they'd both built up a sweat, and Paul loved the way Allison's T-shirt was clinging to her tits. He was sure she'd noticed his stares, but she never said anything. After lunch, they did some piddling work outside and in. By two o'clock, they were finished. Standing in the kitchen drinking some lemonade, they chatted for just a couple minutes. Finally, Allison grabbed her purse and took out her wallet. She handed Paul a $50 bill. "My stepdad won't allow me to take money for working this week," Paul said. Allison looked theatrically back and forth. "I don't see him here. No need to tell him you got it, now is there?" She winked at him, and he smiled, while taking the money. It was nice of her. "Now, one last thing. If you could take the garbage out for me, I'd really appreciate it. Then you can go right home. We're done, thanks to all your help." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and shooed him out the door. *This works out better than I'd hoped.* Oscar was in the back yard, and he walked with Paul to take the trash to the alley. Paul led Oscar over to his own yard, and then into the tool shed. The shed was out of sight of the house due to some trees, and it hadn't held tools in ages. Paul kept a lot of his own supplies for his animals in here, away from the house, so that it wouldn't attract bugs. Oscar was calm about being put in the tool shed, and he watched Paul undress with little dismay. Paul carefully set his clothes on a high shelf, just in case Oscar wanted to have something to chew on. Then Paul stepped out of the shed and shut the door, latching it so that Oscar could not get out. Again, Paul morphed. This time he took Oscar's shape. The image of Oscar had come very easily into his mind, and that was good, because Paul hadn't really studied the animal closely. Now, prepared for his mission, Paul headed back to Allison's house; this time, he went on four legs. ----- Paul made a beeline for the dog door, but slowed down right before entering the house. Oscar wasn't known to run unless called, and Paul didn't want to blow his cover. He walked into the kitchen, and his nose twitched. The scent of Allison's perfume was much stronger to Paul's canine nose than it had been to his human one. Paul wandered around. He spotted Allison in the living room again, and he saw she was reading the same book from the day before. That was good; her actions seemed connected to reading, so he would probably find out what was going on. He didn't stay in the living room; Oscar didn't stay by Allison's side, and so that would have been odd for him to do. Instead, he wandered the downstairs, checking out each room. He even wandered into the downstairs bedroom, but there was no sign of what went on in there. Paul was in the niche under the stairs when Allison called him. He bolted for the living room, not having to feign his good mood. When he reached Allison, he leapt up on her, his front paws resting on her shoulders. He licked her face, which was as close as he could come to a kiss in his current form. Allison seemed to love his attention, and he was gratified for that. "C'mon, boy," she said, and led him to the bedroom. After he had bounded in, she closed the door. "You're frisky today," she said with a smile on her face. It was annoyingly in shades of gray, for dogs are color-blind, but that was okay. His memory could fill in the colors for him. !##! Allison turned on a light, and he wondered why she needed to do that. Then she walked over and pulled down the shade, which was extremely thick. It blocked out all light from outside, and then he understood. He was very curious as to what she needed this level of privacy for. His mind couldn't really contemplate what was coming next. When Allison turned back to him, her hands were at her hips. She grasped the bottom of her T-shirt, and pulled it off. Her unfettered tits bounced free, and Paul stared. His dick was already out of its sheath, straining in a state of arousal. When Allison bent over, her tits swung, and Paul's tongue lolled out of his mouth in a pant. He was definitely overheating. Allison slipped her pants and panties off at the same time. Her shoes were long gone; apparently she'd removed them before he got back. Now, standing before her 'pet' completely nude, she ran her hand between her legs. Even with his dog-vision, he could see the moisture there. When Allison climbed onto the bed, on all fours, Paul knew exactly what was going on. He had certainly expected as much when she'd undressed, but he wasn't willing to take anything for granted in this extremely unusual situation. "C'mon, Oscar. Time to fuck Mama." She looked back at him with a strange expression on her face; it was a mix of lust and something Paul couldn't quite grasp. Right now, the only thing he really wanted to grasp, however, were her hips, to help with thrusting. He got up and jumped onto the bed. He sniffed at her crotch for a couple of seconds, as he figured a dog might, and then he ran his tongue along her slit. Allison groaned and gripped the bed sheets more tightly. Paul kept up his tongue-lashing for a minute before Allison tried to encourage the dog to go further. Figuring Oscar was probably used to this and knew what to do, Paul changed his position. He placed his front paws on her lower back, moving his Labrador body up against her. Paul had no experience with girls as a *boy*, much less as a dog, and trying to insert himself into her was going to be a problem. The problem was solved by Allison, who reached back and took Paul's dick in her hand. He groaned slightly, and he realized that she was positioning him for entry. He wondered if Oscar had trouble at times, too. Feeling the flange of his dog-cock pressing against her hole, Paul lunged his hips. His dick slipped deep into her twat. "Oh, God!" Allison screamed, her hands returning to the bed covers to hold herself up. Paul began to rut into her, as he figured a dog might. He'd seen dogs fucking a couple of times, and they weren't exactly gentle or slow. His movements seemed to be okay with Allison, who was screaming and groaning beneath him, her cunt gripping his dick exquisitely. It wasn't long before Paul felt the cum boiling inside him. He couldn't hold back the urge as it burst from his prick, filling Allison's pussy to overflowing. Allison, feeling the spunk splashing into her, came in a tremendous orgasm, thrashing around beneath him. Paul held on until she was done, and then he slipped down off her, allowing her to collapse onto her side. #!!# Looking up, Allison motioned Paul/Oscar to her, and he walked to her spot and lay down next to her, his head conveniently resting against her tits. Allison gently scratched behind his ears, as the remorse that had been hiding on her face came out full force. "Oh, Oscar," she said, her voice filled with infinite sadness. "How did I ever start doing this to you? What would people think if they knew I fucked my own *dog*!" She lay there for a little while longer, petting the animal. Paul worried about whether he was doing what Oscar would normally do, but she didn't seem to notice anything unusual, so he continued to lay there. "Still, fucking you is safer than fucking Paul. If his parents ever found out that I even *thought* that way, they'd have me arrested. Frank is an asshole, and Sharon lets him get away with treating Paul like shit. If only he were a few years older..." Paul had to work very hard at not moving just then. He knew that Oscar wouldn't react to these words any more than any other words, but Paul sure as hell was reacting. *She wants to fuck me? Why?* The question formed in his mind unbidden, but Paul felt little guilt for putting himself down. He knew he was scrawny and not much to look at. He knew he was sickly. Allison was a full-blown woman who neared goddess status in Paul's mind, but here she was, confessing to her dog that she would rather be fucking Paul than what she had just done... which was to fuck... Paul. The thought amused him. Still, the more important issue now was how to get her to fuck him as a person rather than as a canine. As much fun as he'd just had, it being the loss of his virginity, after all, he wanted to do it as a human now. *Well, a problem for later. I'm sure I can get laid again as Oscar any time I like...* He spent about another half-hour with her before they left the bedroom, and Paul went home to free the real Oscar. It had been a great week: he'd developed a nifty new power, he'd spent a lot of time with a gorgeous lady, he'd gotten $50, and he'd gotten laid. Oh, yes, he also hadn't had to go to school. Weeks just didn't get much better than that. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Paul's first day back at school was a dull one. Of course he couldn't play around at school; he'd get caught, and he didn't want that to happen. Getting into trouble was one thing; being dissected by the government was another. He coasted through his day as usual, not much caring about his classes. During lunch, he walked out onto the edge of the workout field. You could eat your lunch anywhere on campus that you liked, so long as you didn't make a mess. Paul watched as another class went through warm-ups. He wondered if his eating lunch in front of them made any of them hungry. The thought amused him as he munched his sandwich from home. Another thought that ran through his mind did more than amuse him, and he sat down on the bleachers to consider it while he finished his lunch. In order to pull it off, he'd have to skip his own gym class today, and tomorrow. *Oh, well, isn't that just too bad?* he thought to himself sarcastically. He'd do it because it was fun, and because it was every boy's fantasy. ----- "Can I help you, young man?" the clerk asked him. She was a nice-looking black woman in her early thirties, he figured. Paul had taken the opportunity to change his face before coming here. He couldn't change his body too much, because he didn't have the clothes for it, but he didn't want to be recognized. His long black hair was back. "Yes, ma'am," he said with some embarrassment, and as much politeness as he could muster. "My sister sent me to get some things for her, and, uh... well, they're on this list." Paul handed over a scrap of paper, and the clerk smiled. "I can see why you'd be a little uncomfortable looking for these things. Why didn't she come herself?" the clerk asked with more than mere politeness. "Too busy. She's got to work after school, and she needs this stuff for tomorrow." "I see. Well, let's gather these things up." The department store Paul had gone to had an agreement with Highlands High School, and they carried the gym clothes necessary for both boys and girls. The helpful clerk quickly gathered up T-shirt, shorts, panties, sports bra, socks and sneakers in the sizes that Paul had marked down on the paper. Paul also grabbed a couple of "scrunchies" for holding back his hair. He'd need them in class, he was sure. "Well, that's everything on the list," the clerk said. Playfully, she added, "Would you like to try them on here, or wait till you get home?" She smiled broadly. Paul did likewise, and added a chuckle. "I think I'll wait until I get home," he added with complete honesty. The clerk didn't have a clue. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... "Who are you?" the coach asked, as Paul walked across the girls' locker room. He was already dressed out in his black T-shirt and orange shorts, the name "Highlands Tigers" emblazoned across his rather well-endowed chest. His long blonde hair was held back in a ponytail, and his blue eyes flashed with intelligence. "Mandy Hawke," he said in a light, female voice. "They said my transfer paperwork was all fouled up, but that I should just come to class. Sorry, I don't know what else to tell you..." The coach was not one of those bitter women who ran girls into the ground to make up for her failed life. Actually, she was married to the head football coach, and had taken this job to be near him. She was a friendly and kind woman. "No problem, Mandy. I see you're already dressed out, so just head on out to the gym with the other girls. Welcome to Highlands High School." "Thank you, ma'am!" Paul said, bubbly as he could be. He was about to make himself puke, but it was convincing. He bounded out the door, into the gym, where thirty other girls were standing, their T-shirts tucked in, and tight across their chests. It was a wonderful sight, and Paul had to keep himself from staring. ----- During class, they had played basketball, and Paul had taken every opportunity he could to 'accidentally' bump into other girls, especially their chests. None of the others seemed to notice, but he had a blast. After class, however, was what he was looking forward to. The girls were all sweaty, and while the boys in his own gym class tended to wait until they got home to shower -- it was the last class of the day, after all -- the girls insisted on showering before they were seen 'in public'. Paul undressed slowly, eyeing the other girls in his peripheral vision. He could barely breathe at the sight of all that naked girl-flesh around him. His hands were awkward on his garments, though he'd practiced with them the previous night. By the time he walked into the shower, several of the girls had already left. Seeing the remaining girls slick with water, Paul had to catch his breath, and he felt his tits and pussy tingling with arousal. He slipped under the shower, allowing the hot water to wash off the sweat and hide his excitement from the other girls. Paul had to wait until all the other girls left; he only had his gym clothes to dress in as a girl, and so he couldn't be seen leaving. He turned his back on the room, facing the wall to let the hot water run over his chest. One by one the students left, and Paul couldn't hear anything. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped Paul's left arm, and spun him around. Standing there, now eyeing him rather predatorily, was Mrs. McMahon, the gym coach. His first thought was that she'd found out about him somehow. That thought didn't last beyond his initial glance at her. He soon realized she wasn't wearing any clothing. "Mrs. McMahon?" he asked, a tremble in his voice that was not entirely feigned. He knew that, if he were in life-or-death trouble, he could overpower this woman easily, but he wouldn't do that unless he had no other options. "What's the matter?" he asked. In response, Mrs. McMahon grabbed the back of Paul's head, and pulled his mouth onto hers. Paul struggled, but soon her tongue was probing the inside of his mouth, molesting his tongue. He could feel her strong hand groping his tit, twisting his nipple. He couldn't believe how good that felt, but he was being *raped*, dammit! Mrs. McMahon finally broke their kiss, and her hands each groped a tit. Paul backed up to the wall, but couldn't go any further. The cold tile mixed with the steam sent chills through his body. "Suck on my tits," she ordered. Paul would normally have loved to suck on those heavenly orbs, but he didn't like being forced any more than the next person. Mrs. McMahon was insistent, however, and soon one of her nipples was past Paul's lips and his tongue was slipping against it. He considered biting her, but he didn't really want to draw that kind of attention to himself. He wasn't happy, but he'd deal with this cunt later. Paul licked and nibbled on Mrs. McMahon's tits, switching from one to the other as her hands dictated his actions. Finally, she grabbed him, and pulled him down onto the tile floor. Before he could react, she'd straddled his face, her pussy mere inches from his mouth. She was facing his feet, and thrust her cunt down at him. "Eat me, twat!" she growled. Paul used his lips and tongue to part her folds, drawing a moan from her as he licked her pussy. Soon, she bent over, and spread his legs. When her tongue slid along his cunt lips, he couldn't resist a deep moan. She ground her hips at him, and he returned to sucking her clit into his mouth. He hoped this would be the quickest way to get her off. After a few more moments, he felt a finger pressing against his pussy. It slipped in rapidly, and started pumping in and out of him. It was soon joined by a second finger, and then a third. His mind was reeling as Mrs. McMahon's fingers rammed into him. He started to moan against her twat, and that made her more excited, which caused her fingers to move even faster. They were now building to a crescendo that he didn't think could be stopped. His tongue worked feverishly against her clit, and her hand slammed hard into his cunt. Finally, with a massive cry, he came, his pussy clamping down on her fingers. Meanwhile, the vibration of his cries and moans against her clit sent Mrs. McMahon over the edge, and she flooded Paul's face with her juices. The two writhed against each other for some moments before settling down. Mrs. McMahon climbed off of Paul, and helped him to his feet. She held him under the water, to wash off the evidence of their joining. While she washed him, her hands continued to play with his tits. "You understand, of course," she said in a quiet, but menacing, voice, "That this never happened." "Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice shaky from something other than fear, but the coach didn't know that. "Good. Clean yourself up, and go home. I'll see you tomorrow." She ran her hand along Paul's ass as she left, giving him a little slap. *You fucking bitch. You will pay for this. And how many other girls have you done it to? You will pay big time.* Paul had ideas already, and he had only to wait for the right time. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Paul decided to keep out of trouble for the rest of the week. It wasn't that he feared anyone's anger, but after his little encounter in the locker room, he wanted to think up something good for his next stunt. Nothing had come to him by Friday, which gave his teachers a nice respite from his misbehavior. He had Friday afternoon off, because he had to go back to see Dr. Lassiter at Mornington General. Before going up to the fifth floor, where Dr. Lassiter's office was, he stepped into a bathroom. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, and when he walked out of the bathroom, his hair was jet black. It was only slightly longer than it had been before; he didn't want her to think it was a wig. He rode up in the elevator, and stepped into the office. The receptionist looked at him and smiled. "Can I help you?" "I have an appointment to see Dr. Lassiter." "Okay, just sign in and take a seat, and the doctor will be with you shortly." Paul went through the usual routine, but decided to do some homework rather than read a magazine. If he was stuck sitting here, he might as well do something else he didn't like. At least he'd only be miserable once. It was less than fifteen minutes when a familiar voice called out, "Paul Bell?" He looked up to see his nurse from his last visit. He'd wondered if she'd be here; the last time he saw her was in the hospital, but she wasn't dressed like a normal hospital nurse. This time he got to see her name tag, which proclaimed that she was Wanda Macklin, LPN. She smiled at him as he got up, putting his books back into his bag. Once they were entering the exam room, she leaned a little closer. "Did you do that for me?" she whispered. Paul just smiled and nodded. Looking left and right, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "You're sweet," she said. Finally, raising her voice back to normal, and placing his chart in the usual wall-holder, she said, "Dr. Lassiter will be right with you, Paul. Just have a seat." She winked at him before she spun on her heel, which gave him a nice view of her long blonde hair swishing through space, and walked away, swinging her hips for him. *Damn! All that just for changing my hair color?* Paul sat on the exam table and waited. She hadn't told him to disrobe or anything, which he found a little odd, but each visit seemed to be a little different. He wasted time counting floor tiles, as he had done in the principal's office. Finally, the door opened, and Dr. Lassiter came in, with Wanda right behind him. Seeing Paul, Dr. Lassiter smiled. "Wanda," he said, turning to her, "could you go get me a blood test kit, as well as the Semorinski kit, for Paul?" "Yes, sir," she said enthusiastically, but with a slight pout that only Paul saw. Once the door shut, Dr. Lassiter pointed to Paul's hair and, sitting down on his stool, said, "What's with the hair?" "Wanda likes it better this way," Paul said simply. Dr. Lassiter laughed. "She's nineteen, Paul... a little old for you, don't you think?" Paul kept his mouth shut. After the week he'd had so far, no, nineteen would have been a little young. "So," Dr. Lassiter said, returning to his professional voice, "how are you feeling?" Paul knew this wasn't the typical "how are you" most people asked. "Okay, I guess. A little tired. Some minor bouts of nausea, nothing really nasty, though." *Unless you count the time I turned from a chinchilla into a human. That was...ugh.* "Hmm," Dr. Lassiter said, making some marks on his chart. "Okay. Now, your last set of tests suggested that things might be changing in your metabolism. Have you had any bouts of sleeplessness, or long periods of tiredness?" "Right after I went home from the hospital, for almost three days. It seemed like I was asleep constantly. I was only awake long enough to... uh, go to the bathroom and stuff." *Yeah, 'stuff' like turning into Arnold Schwarze-kitty...* "All right, I thought there might be some effects. Have you felt any better, generally? Still get worn out easily?" *Only when I'm actually me*, Paul thought. He nodded at the doctor. "Well, that's..." he was interrupted by the knock at the door, and then Wanda stuck her head in. "C'mon in, Wanda." "Anyway," he said, distracting Paul from looking at Wanda, who was smiling at him, "I thought there might be some more drastic effects. There might still be, but unless you feel some, I don't think we'll need to make any more special visits. Your next checkup is in... what is it, four months, now?" "Yeah." "Okay. Wanda, if you could take both of those test samples for me, and then you can go home, Paul. Take it easy, and no more running, okay?" "Don't tell me, tell Frank." "I *did* tell Frank," Dr. Lassiter said, rather pointedly. "Take care." With that, Dr. Lassiter left the room, and it was just Paul and Wanda. "Okay, I've got to draw blood. Oh, fun, huh?" She smiled at him. Paul just kind of shrugged. "I've been through it so many times, they ought to just put a valve in me." Wanda giggled. "Don't make me laugh while I'm trying to do this!" She settled herself down, and made the stick. Four tubes later, and that was done. "Still breathing?" she asked playfully. The way she was bent over, Paul could see down her blouse. He had the feeling this was entirely intentional. He answered, "Just barely." Looking up at him, she said quietly, "Well, if you have too much trouble, I'll have to give you mouth-to-mouth..." Paul immediately faked choking. She giggled, but then she laid him down on the exam table and kissed him, hard. Paul responded, and soon he felt her tongue probing his mouth. He liked that. He wasn't in a good position to stroke or fondle her, so he just lay back and enjoy the kiss. Soon enough, she stopped, and straightened. "There, is your breathing better?" she asked in a very professional voice. "Um... I think so, but you'd better watch out for me, I could have an attack like that at any time." She giggled again. "Well, I'll keep a close eye on you. Can't have the patient going into pulmonary arrest on me." *You damn near *sent* me there!* Paul thought to himself. "Okay, this next test is really unpleasant. I'm sorry, but Doc Lassiter wants a Semorinski test. It's a new DNA sampling test, and it's very, very icky." Paul looked at her, and he could see she actually felt for him. "It's okay. I've been through a lot of 'icky' crap in my life. Usually in doctor's offices, but the nurses aren't usually this pretty." He smiled at her, and wondered where that came from. Perhaps it was just because she so obviously liked him, but he wasn't usually this open with girls. She smiled at the compliment. "Thank you! Well, I'll try to make it as painless as possible." She opened the kit, and took out a flexible probe. Seeing his look of dismay, she shook her head. "No, this goes someplace even worse than you're thinking." She pulled out the rest of the equipment, part of which looked like a computerized control box. She hooked up all the equipment, and then gently took Paul's hand and strapped it down to the bed. "Kinky," he said, and she blushed crimson. "This is so you can't move and disrupt the machine. This *is* going to hurt." "Wonderful." She placed the probe against the back of his hand, and then entered the start code into the machine. The probe jabbed into his hand, and Paul's body convulsed in pain. "AGH!" he cried. Wanda moved around the bed and took his other hand. "I know. It's a nasty procedure." She leaned down and kissed his forehead, then his cheek. Her lips soon met his, and he could almost forget about the pain radiating along his left arm. Almost, but not quite. When Wanda broke their kiss, she could tell how bad it hurt him. She'd only done this test on one other person, and she didn't think that she'd reacted this badly to it. Well, there was one way to take his mind off it... "While the machine is doing its thing," she asked him, her voice a soft purr, 'would you mind if I took my own DNA sample?" Paul's inquisitive look changed to a smile when her hand rested against his crotch. "No, not at all," he said, his teeth still gritted from the pain. Wanda unzipped Paul's jeans and reached into his briefs. Carefully, she withdrew his semi-hard cock. "Oh, my God, you're big!" she cried. Paul's eyes rolled back in his head as her lips surrounded the head of his cock, her tongue lashing across the tip. Her hand very softly jacked him as her tongue did its magic. Soon, Paul was as hard as he could remember being. Slowly, Wanda worked her way onto his dick. Her tongue and lips were driving the pain completely out of his mind. Her hand now reached down to fondle his balls, sending chills throughout his body. She couldn't take his entire eight inches, but she took a lot of it, and then began to bob her head on his shaft. She made soft sucking noises as her mouth moved, and Paul loved every second of it. Wanda kept her pace slow enough to control his orgasm. Other than blowing him because she liked him, she wanted to keep his mind off the pain, and it wouldn't do to finish up before the machine did. His monster of a cock might give her a sore jaw, but she was okay with that. Up and down she moved, and Paul resisted the urge to grab her head and ram it down onto his rod. She was being very nice to him, and he certainly didn't want to spoil it. He grunted, trying to keep his voice down, but it was getting more difficult to do that with every second. Finally, he heard the machine buzz. At that very moment, Wanda sped up her movements on his cock, and her hand softly tickled his balls. He couldn't stand it any more, and he blasted a load of cum down her throat. He could hear her swallowing as his body jerked. He'd cried out rather louder than he'd intended, and he was embarrassed with himself as Wanda's mouth cleaned off his shrinking prick. When she was done, she gave his dick one last kiss, and then gently slipped it back in his pants, zipping them up so that he was decent again. Looking up at his face, she said, "Don't worry about your shout. Everyone will assume it was the test. This is a lousy way to do that to people." "But you have a really nice way of taking their minds off it," he said, a lazy smile on his face. "I don't do that for everyone," she said, a coquettish look in her eyes. "Only for really cute guys that dye their hair just to impress me." He was going to come back with something witty, but he forgot what it was entirely when her mouth engaged his again. For several minutes, they kissed, but finally, she had to let him go. She walked over and released him from the strap, and then she pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Paul. "What's this?" he asked, before he opened it. "My phone number and address. Call me sometime. I'd like another DNA sample...somewhere else." Paul gaped at her as she winked, and then turned, opened the door, and left. He knew he was free to go, but he wasn't sure he could walk just yet. For several minutes he sat there, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his hand. Eventually, he got up and staggered out of the room. He got twenty feet before he remembered to go back and get his book bag. *Damn.* ----- Back in the doctor's office, Wanda handed the results to Dr. Lassiter back in his private lab. "Here are the results of the test, Dr. Lassiter." Her voice told him she was upset. "You have something to say, Wanda?" "I don't like running that test, sir. He reacted worse than the girl." "Wanda, I've told you..." "Yes, sir, I know. That doesn't mean I have to like hurting him like that." "Wanda?" "Yes sir?" "I'm sure you made him feel better about it." Wanda's crimson flush told him the answer to that. "It's okay. I want you to be his friend. Get close to him. With what's going on, he may need someone to talk to." "Sir, are you asking me to violate a statute?" "I would never do such a thing, Wanda. I'm only saying it might be good for your patient." "Yes sir," she said with a twinkle in her eye. She turned and left the office. "Perfect," he said with satisfaction. Picking up his phone, he punched in a number. "Captain Anders, please." ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Over the weekend, along with debating how he would go about seeing Wanda, Paul finally came up with a way to start getting back at Mrs. McMahon. Of course, as usual, Paul wanted to make sure that his target was horribly embarrassed. This time, however, he'd try not to get caught. If his plot was revealed before he was ready, it would be very hard to explain. Class on Monday was dull, but Paul withstood it. He had to make sure to stay out of trouble, because he wanted to be there when the first part of his plan went into effect. Sitting at lunch, his mouth kept twitching into a smile, and he had to try to get it under control, because the teachers knew he hated it here, and they knew what a smile would mean. Finally, it was time for gym class. Of course, he didn't see Mrs. McMahon, for she taught the girls, and the two classes very rarely mingled. He did, however, see Mr. McMahon, who took control of a small group of this last gym class to add time for their extracurricular practice. Paul's teacher, Mr. Gazorta, was a nice enough fellow who didn't push Paul. Paul thought this was a good thing; he got to do his homework in school instead of at home, while he was sitting in the bleachers during the class. It was about halfway through class when the gentleman in uniform came into the gym. Paul saw him out of the corner of his eye, and looked up in what he hoped was a credible version of curiosity. The uniform was that of a delivery person, and he was carrying a large bouquet of flowers. "I'm looking for Gary McMahon," the delivery person said. It was a guy, which was even more perfect than Paul could have planned. "I'm Coach McMahon," he said, walking to the man. He had a puzzled look on his face, because his wife would know better than to send him flowers, and certainly not during the school day. "Sir, these are for you, and I'm instructed to read the card out loud." Before the coach could object, the man began reading, "I can no longer hide my affections for you. This is a small token of my esteem. Yours sincerely," the delivery guy stumbled on the name, but straightened his expression, and continued, "Martin Garrett." The class immediately broke out in chuckles, and a few cat calls. Paul sat with what he tried to pass off as an unbelieving stare. Several of the kids looked over at him, and they were puzzled by his lack of a pleased reaction. Surely this was his doing? But this was not his typical plan, and he had to play this cool. He was out to ruin a teacher, not just embarrass one. That meant getting to her husband, too, and it meant many levels before he was finished. He couldn't afford to be happy with himself yet. "Get back to your drills!" the coach boomed. Quietly, he took the delivery guy aside and questioned him, but the man had no more answers than what was on the card. Coach McMahon took the flowers, dumped them in a trash bin, and stormed out of the gym, headed, Paul was sure, for the office. *Phase One begins.* ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... By the time lunch rolled around the next day, the school was buzzing with the news of the flowers. Several people had asked Paul about it, but he had credibly feigned ignorance of it beforehand, and other kids in his gym class made it clear that Paul had been as puzzled as everyone else. This was perfect, and he still had to keep his mouth from twitching. He was sitting alone, considering his options for his next move in Phase One, when someone sat down beside him. Now, *no one* sat down beside Paul; he was a leper in the colony, so to speak. He turned his head to find a pretty raven-haired girl sitting beside him, with a pleasant smile. He noticed, but ignored, some other kids sitting down at the table next to them. "Hi," she said. "It's Claire. From the park, a couple weeks ago. You remember?" *Oh, shit! Yeah!* He smiled in recognition. "Yeah, now I do. Sorry, my mind was on other things. What's up?" "I was just wondering if you were okay. You know, I spotted your parents as I was leaving the park, but... I didn't tell them about you. That worried me a little bit. Did you make out okay?" "Actually, I ended up in the hospital, but that was after I managed to get home. Don't worry about it. I've been having problems all my life. This was just another one." "You sure? I felt bad leaving you there like that..." Actually, Claire hadn't worried too much about him at the time, and she was surprised to find that he'd gotten even more ill after she'd left him. This was merely a good cover story. "It's okay. Thanks for caring, though." He softly patted her shoulder as a thank you, and noted an odd reaction that he couldn't quite classify. Her eyes defocused for a moment, and she shivered, but her eyes returned to him quickly. "Okay," she said, after glancing around. "Well, I'm gonna go eat with my friends. I just wanted to make sure that things were okay with you. Um, see you around, if you need anything." "Thanks," he said, as she got up. As she turned away from him, he managed to 'accidentally' brush his hand against her ass. It was a very nice ass, and this was just part of his usual trickster nature. He loved to push people just as far as they would go. He was puzzled again by a slight shiver, and a pause in her movements. Finally, though, she continued on her way, joining the people over at the next table. He took little note of their hushed conversation, as he studied her face. *That was really odd. First, that she'd give a damn. Second, that she would feel so awkward about it, and third and most important, what the hell was that shiver? It was almost... no, it couldn't be that. It was almost like she was getting excited. Over my touch? C'mon. There can only be one weird one in each guy's life, and Wanda is obviously mine, so... what the hell is going on?* ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Paul puzzled over his life for the next few days, while he kept practicing his morphing. He'd gone as small as a mouse, and he'd gone as large as his favorite animal, the Siberian Tiger. The problem with being a tiger was that his room wasn't all that big, and it was horribly confining to a 600 lb. animal that was nearly eight feet long from tip to tail. He hadn't stayed like that for very long, but he had loved the feeling of sheer power that the form contained. Alexander hadn't come anywhere near him for an entire day, however. *Oh, well*. Today was Friday, and Paul was looking forward to the weekend. He had called Wanda twice during the week, but it was hard for him to match up with her schedule. It seemed that he'd gotten lucky that day, because Wanda rotated through different duties in Dr. Lassiter's office, and in the hospital proper. They were shooting for some time together on the weekend, but neither was sure if it would work out. More than anything, Wanda explained his docile behavior at school. He didn't want to do anything that would screw up his chances with her. That meant behaving himself, and so he did. All week, he'd been quiet and had appeared attentive in class, which was as much as any of the teachers was going to ask of him. Now, sitting at lunch, he considered how long he'd hold off before continuing with the destruction of Donna McMahon. His thoughts were entirely interrupted when a tray plunked down on the table next to him. Before he could react to that, Claire once again sat down beside him. She smiled. "Sorry, the tray's wet." Paul nodded, but wondered what this was about. He'd never been approached by a girl in this manner, and he was curious as to just what game she was playing. She seemed a bit nervous or tense today, and that was weird, as well. "Still feeling okay, I trust?" she asked. "Yeah, fine." He set his arm on the table, very close to her elbow. She looked at his arm, but didn't make any moves. She tried to take a bite of food, but that would mean touching him, and she seemed reluctant to do that. Finally, she set her fork down, and turned her body to face him. This took her arm away from his very nicely, and he frowned slightly at her ploy. "Okay, look, there's no easy way for me to do this. Geez, I understand what Luke and Lori were going through now." Paul's eyes narrowed. Obviously, this wasn't a personal game for her. "Okay, look," she repeated, "I'm not your typical high school kid, and... uh... neither are you." Paul almost bolted, but he held himself rigidly in check. What did she think she knew? "Of course I'm not. I'm the school's biggest pain in the ass, thank you very much." He smiled, letting his bluff run to its conclusion. Its conclusion was rapid. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. You're unique. You have... skills... that no one else has. So do I. So do some others. We'd like you to meet us, so that we can become friends, protect each other, help each other." Paul's eyes were darting rapidly back and forth, but he found no one watching their conversation. If she had conspirators, they were good ones. He returned his gaze to the girl in front of him. "So, where are they?" "Not here. Not in school, no way. Tomorrow, at this address." She handed him a slip of paper. "Two o'clock." "Can't be there at two. I have an... appointment." That took Claire a little by surprise. She considered. "Okay, what about noon? We'll bring lunch." "Okay, fine." Now, seeing that the 'business' portion of this discussion was over, he leaned in a little. "Now, can I ask you a question?" She leaned just slightly away from him, her eyes guarded. "Go ahead." "The last time I talked to you, you seemed a little... distracted... when I touched you." Paul's hand slipped under the table, and landed lightly on her leg. It was much closer to her knee than her crotch, but he could see her body flush. "Please...don't." "Don't what?" he asked with confusion, but he didn't remove his hand. "Don't... do that." He could see her begin to shiver, and then she went on. "For as long as I can remember, whenever someone... touches me... like that... I need to..." "*Need* to?" Paul asked, his interest, and other things, aroused. She nodded. "And I can't... take care of things... in the bathrooms here, so, please..." Paul's hand actually moved up her thigh. Claire was unable to resist his advances, just as she had been unable to resist those of her family. Paul leaned in, to speak to her more quietly. "See that door over there?" He gestured with his head to a door that no one ever went through. Claire licked her lips, and nodded. "Behind that door is a hallway. At the end of the hallway is an old, unused storage room. The kids used to go in there to smoke, until they put in smoke detectors and sprinklers. Now, it's full of old gym mats." Paul knew this because, as one of the places he shouldn't go, he had, of course, gone there. "Just perfect to 'take care of things.'" "Oh, God, not in school, I couldn't..." Claire's words trailed off as Paul's hand slipped onto her inner thigh. She shuddered. It felt so damn good when he touched her, and neither Mark or Rob had touched her in over a day. She needed relief now. "What if we get caught?" Paul looked around. None of the teachers was looking in their direction. He moved his hand and caught hers. "C'mon." He pulled her up and darted for the door as quickly as he could without running. Running would draw a teacher's attention. Soon enough, they were at the door and no one had seen them. Seconds later, they were through the door, and running down the hallway. Paul pulled Claire into the storage room, closed the door, and turned on the light. He was happy that no rats or large bugs had scampered out of sight. That might have turned her off. He didn't know that a large monster couldn't have turned off Claire's sex drive at this point. Her therapist had told her she was a nymphomaniac, and that she would either have to be very careful about touching people, or be very careful about sex. Claire couldn't seem to accomplish either of those things. Paul looked at her, and saw the readiness in her eyes. He took her into his arms, and her face tilted up to meet his kiss. Their lips were pressed together hotly, and her tongue snaked out to slither its way into his mouth. His hands roamed down her back, caressing the skin beneath her blouse. Finally, his hands came to rest on her jean-clad ass, firmly squeezing her ass cheeks. Claire moaned into his mouth. Her hands were grasping at his back, her body was already steaming with desire. Finally, she broke their kiss and pushed him away. Before he could even ask the question, she began undoing her blouse. When she got halfway down, he pulled off his own T-shirt, fully aware that his current body was scrawny and pale. She didn't seem to notice as she pulled off her blouse and tossed it onto the gym mats. Her bra was quickly undone, and as she shucked it off her arms, Paul moved in and took her tits into his hands. He lavished kisses on both of them, slipping his tongue back and forth across her chest. When he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, she groaned in pleasure. When his tongue locked on her other nipple, his hands slipped downward. It didn't take him long to unfasten her jeans and push them down off her hips. He took her panties with them, and soon the musk of her arousal filled the room. With her jeans past her hips, Claire hopped up onto the gym mats, so that Paul could remove her pants completely. He yanked her shoes off, and then her pants and underwear were piled atop her blouse and bra. Paul was about to lean down to lick her cunt, but she stopped him. When he looked at her inquisitively, she said, "That would be fun, but I need you to fuck me, *now*." Paul nodded, and readily unzipped his pants, pushing them down his hips. His briefs followed suit, and he heard her gasp as his briefs puddle around his ankles. "My God, you're huge!" she muttered. Paul smiled at her words, thanking his power for his nice new prick. He pulled her to the edge of the gym mats, her cunt already grasping for what was soon to be inside of it. Paul placed the head of his dick at her opening, and started to press in. Claire moaned in bliss at being filled with his cock. It took him several strokes to get his monster prick inside her, but finally he managed it. "You're the first girl I've ever fucked, you know that?" *At least, the first one I've fucked as a guy...* Her eyes filled with lust at his words. "Less talk, more fuck," she said huskily. Paul began to move inside her, sliding his hard cock in and out. Claire began to groan with each thrust, and, as Paul's movements grew faster, her groans turned to cries of passion, and then to low screams of joy. Paul was soon slamming hard into her, and she was biting down on her finger to keep from screaming so the school could hear. As he felt his climax drawing near, he reached down and, pulling her finger from her mouth, he kissed her, hard. Once their lips locked and their tongues began to duel, he was rutting into her with all he had. Her fingernails dug into his back, and she was screaming into his mouth. Finally, Paul could take no more, and he blasted his cum deep inside of her cunt. Feeling his hot spunk splashing inside her twat sent Claire over the border, and she thrashed around beneath Paul as he continued to grunt and thrust into her throughout his orgasm. ----- As they were getting dressed, Claire turned to him with fire in her eyes. "I can't believe you did that to me." "Hey, you enjoyed it as much as I did," he said defensively. "Yes, goddammit, I did. But I don't have a choice. My body reacts without my help. I *told* you to stop. This was the next thing to rape!" "Hey, look, it's over. You're okay, I'm okay... the gym mats need a good washing, but otherwise..." She couldn't remain stern with him, because her body was still reeling with the after-effects of sex. "You shouldn't have done it," she said weakly. "Oh, well," he answered. "We've got to hurry, lunch is about to end." This was verified when the bell rang. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the lay." He kissed her on the cheek and breezed out the door. *My God, what an asshole,* Claire thought to herself as she finished buttoning her blouse. *But what a fucking dick.* The thought still made her smile. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... Paul walked into the junkyard at five minutes to noon, Odin by his side. Just in case there was trouble, he didn't want to be without his companion. The dog seemed warily eager, happy to be with his master, but a little anxious at being in this strange place. "C'mon Odin." Paul walked to the not-so-small building that was indicated by the sign. On the door to the building was a cardboard sign that said, "Paul: Come on in." That was ominous to him, but he wasn't going to back out now. He was curious as to what was going on, and so he opened the door. He let Odin lead, though. Odin walked instinctively to an open doorway, and peered in. His growl drew Paul's attention, and he stepped into the doorway behind the Rottweiler. In front of him were four people. Claire was one of them, but he didn't recognize the other three. "Well, looks like you found the Mouseketeers, Odin. Good boy." Paul patted the dog's head, and then stepped into the room. Odin stayed at his side. Paul kept his distance from the group, and kept a clear path between himself and the door. "So, someone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Luke stepped forward, about halfway to where Paul was standing. "My name is Luke Anderton. My secret name is Mimir. My special skill is the ability to read and change people's memories at will. I know you won't believe me without proof, and so, I read your mind earlier, to help us find you. Nice trick with Allison, by the way." As Luke stepped back, Paul's eyes darkened to anger. He reached to the shelf attached to the wall near where he was standing, and grabbed a trailer hitch ball. He hurled it at Luke. "Stay out of my fucking head!" he growled. Odin's ears laid back, and the dog snarled. The hitch ball was plucked from the air by Lori, who lobbed it lightly from hand to hand as she walked to the same spot on the floor that Luke had occupied. "My name is Lori Darlington. First off, I wouldn't be throwing things at my boyfriend again, if I were you. My secret name is Atlanta. My special skill is more of a trait. I am extremely strong, fast, and agile. Among... other things." Luke grinned as Lori tried to keep a straight face. To prove this, I'd like to point out that the wall behind you is steel-reinforced concrete. "So?" Paul said. His mouth dropped open as the trailer hitch ball whistled through the air, and embedded itself deep into the concrete wall. Paul was pelted with concrete chips, and got a few cuts from it. He would never have been able to avoid the shot if she'd been aiming for him. "SHIT!" he screamed at her. Claire walked over to him, and touched his face. "My name is Claire Bullok. My secret name is Nightingale. My special skill is healing. I think you'll find that your face has stopped bleeding now." Paul reached up to touch his face, and Claire quickly pulled her hand away. He could see how guarded her expression was. He smiled at her anyway. "Thanks." "*You*," Luke said finally, "Are Paul Bell. Your special skill is morphing. I didn't look for a secret name." Paul chuckled. "I'm sure all of my teachers would agree that my persona is most like Loki, the trickster." Claire nodded imperceptibly, but he caught it. "Besides," he added, "Loki was also a shape-shifter." Turning to the remaining member of the group, he asked, "Who's she, and what's she do?" Claire said, "That's Andie. She's not like us, but she knows about us, because she knew about me, and I wouldn't meet these two without her." "Oh." Paul accepted that at face value. "So, what's the deal here?" "*The deal*," Luke replied, "is simple. We are all unique, but we seem to be gathered in a group, all in this one city. None of us knows why, but it makes sense for us to stick together, to protect each other, and to help each other." "Maybe I don't want your help, and I don't need protection." "You heard of a guy named Matthew Purvis?" Lori asked. "Doesn't, uh... ring a bell," Paul responded with a smirk. Lori giggled. "Cute. He's a reporter. He knows about me. We've been dealing with him, but eventually, he'll probably find out about you, too. Unless *we* can find a way to get him off our backs for good." "There may be others looking for us, too," Luke continued. "You have to assume, if there's one, there's more." "Maybe so," Paul allowed. "Will you be part of the group?" Claire asked. "Aw, hell, Princess, I'd leap tall buildings in a single bound for you," he said with a fake southern drawl. Claire blushed deep red. "Seriously, now," Luke said, his voice very businesslike. "I don't really need this little group," Paul said. "And I assume you're the 'leader', and I hate taking orders. But I tell you what. I've got a little task I'm trying to do at school. You guys help me pull that off, and sure, I'll be part of your little band." "Okay, what's the task?" "You're gonna love it." He was wrong; they didn't. But they agreed. ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---... ...---=== http://netwolf.wolfpub.org ===---...