The heavy bathroom door was half open, With thick stream coiling into the room. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sweat, musk, and something darker—metallic, primal. The whimpering had escalated into ragged, wet gasps, punctuated by the sickening pop of bones shifting beneath skin.
I smiled.
Pushing the door open fully, I was greeted by the sight of her—twisted, writhing, breaking.
She was sprawled across the marble tiles, her spine arched at an obscene angle, vertebrae pressing against flesh like knuckles beneath a glove. Her once-sleek dark curls had thickened into a wild mane, spilling over her shoulders in tangled ropes, the roots darkening as if soaked in ink. The red mark on her forehead—once a faint blemish—had spread downward in jagged streaks, like veins of molten rock beneath her skin.
Most fascinating of all was the tail.
It slithered from the base of her spine, sinuous and dark, twitching with involuntary spasms as it curled upward, the tip flicking like a serpent testing the air. Her fingers—now elongated, nails blackened into claws—scrabbled against the floor, leaving deep, frantic gouges in the tile.
Then she looked at me.
Her eyes were nearly swallowed by the sickly yellow of her irises, the pupils dilating into predatory slits. A guttural snarl ripped from her throat—half-human, half-beast—before she lunged.
I sidestepped with ease.
Her body crashed into the wall behind me with a wet thud, her limbs flailing in uncoordinated desperation. Moonlight spilled through the open curtains, painting her distorted form in silver. The full moon hung heavy in the sky, its glow making the sweat on her heaving body glisten like oil.
I tilted my head, studying her.
"Didn't know you were this wild," I mused, my voice a velvet taunt.
She scrambled onto all fours, her movements jerky, wrong—her joints bending in ways they shouldn't, her muscles knotting and spasming as the transformation warred within her. She wasn't fully wolf. Not yet. But she wasn't human anymore either.
Just broken.
A low growl rumbled in her chest as she bared her teeth—sharpening, lengthening—dribbles of saliva and blood dripping from her gums.
The smile slid from my face.
I stared into those feral, yellow eyes—dominating them—until the growl choked into a whimper. Her tail tucked between her legs.
"See?" I murmured, stepping closer. "How obedient."
She flinched as I reached out, my fingers threading through the coarse fur now sprouting along her neck. I tugged. Hard.
She yelped.
"Now," I said, my voice a blade wrapped in silk, "tell me what's happening to you."
Her words came out in fractured gasps. "F-Food… Hungry."
I let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Oh? That's what this is about?" My grip tightened in her hair, forcing her head back. "You're starving?"
She nodded frantically, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged pants.
I released her with a shove, watching as she collapsed onto her elbows. "Come," I commanded, turning toward the door.
She crawled after me like a beaten dog, her limbs trembling, her tail low. A slick trail of sweat, saliva, and something thicker—something musky—dripped from between her thighs, smearing across the tiles.
The trolley of food sat untouched, the scent of seared meat and rich sauces thick in the air. Her nostrils flared, her entire body tensing—
I seized her tail and yanked.
She shrieked as she was dragged backward, her claws scraping uselessly against the floor before she collapsed in a heap at my feet.
I pressed my shoe down on her thigh, relishing the way the fur there was still patchy—soft skin giving way to coarse hair. My sole ground into her flesh, making her whine.
"What," I said slowly, "do good dogs do?"
Her chest heaved, her breasts—still heavy, but now framed by dark, curling fur—rising and falling with each panicked breath. The transformation had warped her in grotesque, fascinating ways: her nipples had darkened into stiff, pointed peaks, her areolas puffing out like swollen bruises. The fur crept up from her collarbone, swallowing her neck, her armpits thick with it.
She was beautiful like this.
Pathetic.
Desperate.
Mine.
"P-Please," she begged, her voice breaking around the word.
I stepped back, strolling to the dining table with deliberate slowness. The chair groaned as I settled into it, my gaze never leaving her.
She crawled to me, her movements clumsy, her breath hot against my knee.
I picked up a slice of medium-rare steak—juice dripping between my fingers—and dangled it just out of reach.
Her tongue, now too long, too thick, lashed out, her saliva spilling onto the floor.
I smirked.
Then I dropped the meat.
She lunged, her teeth—sharp, wrong—sinking into the flesh with a wet crunch. She didn't chew. She devoured, gulping it down in seconds before panting up at me, her eyes wide, pleading.
I threw another piece.
This time, she turned away to eat, her ass rising slightly as she bent over, her tail twitching in pleasure. Beneath it, her asshole—pink, tight—clenched with each swallow.
I watched, amused, as I fed her like an animal, each morsel making her more pliant, more needy.
Then I slid my foot forward, my big toe brushing against her exposed hole.
She stiffened—but didn't stop eating.
I traced slow circles around her rim, feeling it flutter under my touch. The scent of her arousal was thick now, her pussy dripping, her folds glistening.
I dragged my foot lower, gathering the slick on my skin before pushing back up, coating her asshole in it.
She shuddered, a broken whine escaping her—but she didn't pull away as I threw a big piece of T-bone steak on the ground.
Good girl.
I stood, letting my robe fall open.
My cock throbbed, heavy with anticipation.
Her asshole—relaxed, glistening—twitched as I knelt behind her, my hands gripping her furred hips.
"Now," I whispered, pulling her back harshly as she hurried to bite the food to keep it in reach, "let's see how deep a dog can take it."