 
         --===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 ===---...
 
 
 
    

