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With a story by another member, the Sharkbro Gleam!\n\n\n[i]Xenon Streak: Verze\nby: Gleam\n\n[/i]\n[i]Identity is a funny thing. It’s malleable sometimes, firm others, and almost never[/i]\n[i]predictable in how. It can be a shield, or a foundation. But just as often, identity can be a[/i]\n[i]cage. The character you portray can control you more than you control yourself. There[/i]\n[i]are plenty of stories of actors losing themselves in scene, reacting off-set as their[/i]\n[i]assumed personalities.[/i]\n[i]Verze was showboating again. People knew that the day ended in ‘y’ because the[/i]\n[i]orca was showing off. The contours of his black shoulders and pink chest hugged and[/i]\n[i]highlighted muscle that was made to FUCK. Verze casually circled the stage, flexing[/i]\n[i]both arms to give the entire audience a show. With his elbow hooked around the pole,[/i]\n[i]he slid weightlessly on his heel.[/i]\n[i]People were drooling. Verze’s rounded bulge throbbed to the beat, beckoning[/i]\n[i]more eyes. Underneath his thick, swaying tail was his equally choreographed rear end.[/i]\n[i]Verze smirked. The interplay of his two colors emphasized all the right places. But the[/i]\n[i]best part was when he had his tail in the air. When he wagged his shapely ass in one of[/i]\n[i]the clubgoers’ faces, their jaw dropped. It was always the same thing. They realized that[/i]\n[i]Verze was stark naked, shaking it for the audience. Then they realized how despite his[/i]\n[i]wild, crass presentation, he was always on fleek. How many times did Verze leave a[/i]\n[i]room impeccably groomed, followed by a completely disheveled partner. How did he[/i]\n[i]never seem to break a sweat regardless of the size or girth of his fuck buddies? Was he[/i]\n[i]an incubus, or something considerably more insatiable?[/i]\n[i]It was a lot, Verze chuckled to himself. The endless parade of sex was one of his[/i]\n[i]favorite perks of owning club EntICE. In fact, he was confident he was the star[/i]\n[i]attraction. That was what plenty of customers came and told him. With a daring wink,[/i]\n[i]an obsequious caress of his pink mohawk, and a run of his slick black-pink tongue[/i]\n[i]across his lips, few words were needed to convey that Verze knew exactly why.[/i]\n[i]So Verze preened under the collective gaze of his fawning guests. He danced for[/i]\n[i]the crowd, bent over and leaned in close to cup a pierced hyena’s cheek, whispering to[/i]\n[i]acknowledge he saw him staring all night. Then he snapped back up, turning around to[/i]\n[i]catch half of the crowd with their eyes glued to his ass. That was fine. He didn’t mind[/i]\n[i]them looking. They, however, were transfixed, like deer in headlights. Caught in the act[/i]\n[i]of ogling a prize, their cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Some averted their eyes. Others[/i]\n[i]covered their faces and tried to play it off. And a select few were too far gone to care.[/i]\n[i]Verze found it all precious. Merely a snap of his hip, a flick of his finger, and they[/i]\n[i]were helpless to his charms. Perhaps they hadn’t even noticed the sweet scent of his[/i]\n[i]pheromones wafting through the air, wordlessly molding their inhibitions. Those that[/i]\n[i]did assumed the club always carried that aroma; merely a product of daily[/i]\n[i]maintenance. Verze did have the place cleaned every night, but the cleaning wasn’t just[/i]\n[i]meant to sanitize the constant sex.[/i]\n[i] [/i]\n[i]It was meant to mask him.\n\n[/i]\n[i]A lion in the front row of the crowd caught his eye. heat emanated off his face[/i]\n[i]with eyes wide like dinner plates. His mouth was tucked in an inscrutable line of shock.[/i]\n[i]Verze licked his lips. The lion had been turning down offers all night. His eyes fixated[/i]\n[i]on his drink or his shoes instead of the other patrons, the body language was clear. [/i]\n[i]He [/i][i]was in desperate need of either a good cuddle or a hard fuck.[/i]\n[i]Luckily, Verze thought as [/i][i]his gooey body undulated in anticipation, he was a natural at both.[/i]\n[i]A motion of a pink-and-black finger made a few club grunts shove a stool under[/i]\n[i]the lion’s butt. The poor thing looked around in endearing confusion. Verze’s lip curled[/i]\n[i]with coy intentions. Would it be too arrogant to say that the lion had no idea what was [/i][i]coming next?[/i]\n[i] The lights went low with a snap, two spotlights flickering to life on the [/i][i]lion and on Verze. [/i]\n[i]The orca’s new maned friend squirmed, scrambling to his feet with [/i][i]the intention of escaping. [/i]\n[i]But he barely uttered a yelp before Verze closed the gap, [/i]\n[i]swaggering over to hold him down with a hand indenting in his shoulder.[/i]\n[i]“Hey there, lucky boy,” Verze purred, straddling the lion to sit on his thighs.[/i]\n[i]“Let Daddy give you a nice hug.” Verze curled the fingers of his free hand around the[/i]\n[i]back of the lion’s head and tugged him closer. , shoving a golden muzzle between[/i]\n[i]rounded pecs. Now that the lion was in breath’s range, Verze could see he was rather[/i]\n[i]attractive. Nice features, a fluffy black mane akin to silk, and powerful muscles that[/i]\n[i]yielded to the confident boldness that called itself Verze. The lion was taller than Verze [/i][i]by a head or so,[/i]\n[i] he might have even dwarfed Verze if not for the tall, wild mohawk that [/i][i]almost glowed neon atop Verze’s head.[/i]\n[i]Something twitched underneath Verze, and that only encouraged him further.[/i]\n[i]He could see how the poor lion’s horny panic was subsiding into a placid daze as direct[/i]\n[i]contact with Verze’s intoxicating pheromones gradually drugged him into a stupor.[/i]\n[i]“That’s it,” Verze whispered. He stroked along the lion’s mane. “Don’t think, it makes it[/i]\n[i]harder to feel everything.”[/i]\n[i]The lion’s face looked half-awake as Verze pulled him back, jaw open, confused[/i]\n[i]eyes consumed by The orca’s vibrant chest. Verze couldn’t help but flex and kiss a[/i]\n[i]bicep. With a bounce, his rubbery body hopped up onto the lion’s lap. A few people[/i]\n[i]began to cheer encouragement, clapping to the rhythm of the thumping bass. Verze[/i]\n[i]shoved his bulge into the lion’s face and humped to the beat.[/i]\n[i]This was the life. A handsome kitty underneath him, a cheering crowd horny out[/i]\n[i]of their minds for him, and a sweet, stylish club all his own. Hearts intertwined by the[/i]\n[i]metronome of the bass that shook their brains free of inhibitions. They were animals.[/i]\n[i]They were music. They were raw, unfiltered sex. Verze cupped the lion’s chin with his[/i]\n[i]fingers and thrust his tongue into his slack jaw. It slithered easily within, and as the[/i]\n[i]lion’s throat began to fill with thick orca-tongue, his expression strained from the[/i]\n[i]ecstasy. Verze savored the moment, like he did each time before it. The lion was so full[/i]\n[i]that he was practically stretching. His throat distended from the writhing, muscular[/i]\n[i]tongue and it just kept coming. Whenever he felt like he couldn’t do any more, Verze[/i]\n[i]rumbled and slithered a little bit deeper.[/i]\n[i]Then came the swallowing. Rhythmic, wet gulps of a mind too foggy to think of[/i]\n[i]anything else. They squeezed and tugged on Verze’s long, thick tongue, massaging it.[/i]\n[i]He closed his eyes to enjoy the sound and sensation. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. Lewd and[/i]\n[i]smooth swallows, loud enough that Verze knew that the nearest clientele were[/i]\n[i]uncomfortably aroused. It was music to Verze’s ears.[/i]\n[i]Verze opened his eyes. It was time to start feeding the lion. It didn’t take much to[/i]\n[i]muster the hot-pink fluid that made up Verze’s drugs. It filled the lion’s throat, flowing[/i]\n[i]along the orca’s tongue, and the lion instinctively swallowed it down. He suckled at[/i]\n[i]Verze’s tongue, making wet ‘schlrrrp’ and ‘sssk’ noises. Pink started to fill him like[/i]\n[i]paint staining glass, his eyes rolling back in mind-breaking arousal. Glazed. Glassy.[/i]\n[i]Gone. Irrevocably redefined.[/i]\n[i]A ‘POP’ rang through the club, and Verze snapped his fingers closed to catch[/i]\n[i]the button from the lion’s pants before it ricocheted too far, as a gold erection poked[/i]\n[i]above the waistband. Verze chuckled. “Let’s get you somewhere private.”[/i]\n[i]He hopped off his midnight ride and tugged the dopey lion through the crowd.[/i]\n[i]The boy shambled, tongue lolling out, dick waving in the air with every stumbling step.[/i]\n[i]People whistled and grabbed on, stripping him for Verze. A small group gathered[/i]\n[i]around the lion’s discarded clothing, huffing it for musk, while others ran their hands[/i]\n[i]over his muscles and cock, caressing him with lewd intent. A loud ‘SMACK’ resounded[/i]\n[i]as someone’s thick hand clapped the lion’s now-pink rump.[/i]\n[i]Verze narrowed his cyan eyes. That would be enough interference. The lion was[/i]\n[i]his conquest, thank you very much. People backed away enough that Verze saw they[/i]\n[i]got the message. He held the lion in his arms possessively, guiding him off to a small[/i]\n[i]back room.[/i]\n[i]With the turn of a door and a push, Verze got to watch the lion stumble across[/i]\n[i]the room and flop down on the pink foam bed. Verze chuckled. Verze-drunk people[/i]\n[i]were always so funny to watch. His new toy collapsed on the bed like a rag doll, one[/i]\n[i]knee bent, arms splayed wide, one leg hanging off the side of the mattress. The lion’s[/i]\n[i]ass was hiked up in the air as if in invitation. With a click, Verze locked the room. Don’t[/i]\n[i]mind if he does.[/i]\n[i]Fur always seemed softer once it turned pink. Inviting to touches and caresses,[/i]\n[i]slightly sweet-smelling. Verze could feel plush rubbing against his hip as he mounted[/i]\n[i]the lion. The newly-pink ass was shapely in a way he hadn’t gotten to appreciate when[/i]\n[i]the lion was sitting. Round, thick, and shapely, yet it still had a sort of softness to it, the[/i]\n[i]kind that one can really fuck into. Verze couldn’t resist giving it a spank of his own,[/i]\n[i]watching it bounce in response. The lion grunted blankly, not stirring, just drooling[/i]\n[i]onto the bed.[/i]\n[i]After a few adjustments, Verze let his bulge unlock and pressed the tip of his[/i]\n[i]manhood to the lion’s entrance. Slipping in was easy, the lion too relaxed and aroused[/i]\n[i]to resist. The lion’s rear sheathed his cock comfortably, all soft and warm. Verze began[/i]\n[i]to thrust, pulling back and jabbing in enough to feel a rush of pleasure each time his[/i]\n[i]balls slapped against the lion’s rear end. That jiggle-bounce of the lions rump back[/i]\n[i]against his rhythmic thrusting doubled Verze’s pleasure.[/i]\n[i]Fucking such a fine specimen was a rush. Verze could see attractive power in his[/i]\n[i]broad, muscled back and shoulder. Even flopped on the mattress, his arms looked[/i]\n[i]chiseled. The lion moaned, gentle grunts spurred on by Verze’s impacts.[/i]\n[i]Verze used him like a sextoy, wrapping his arms around the lion’s chest and[/i]\n[i]squeezing tight. Each pounding thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through both of[/i]\n[i]their bodies. Verze’s muscles began to tense, looming over his prize before increasing[/i]\n[i]the tempo of his thrust. He could feel his body beginning to warm and melt, droplets of[/i]\n[i]black and magenta trickling down the lion’s mane and sides.[/i]\n[i]The bed rocked below them, creaking as it struggled to cope with Verze’s unrelenting[/i]\n[i]force. Verze relished the feeling. He broke beds often. Every iota of his body, from[/i]\n[i]mohawk to tail, was made to FUCK. Pleasure rose to its tumultuous crescendo, and he[/i]\n[i]bit down onto the lion’s neck, cumming black and magenta in a flood.[/i]\n[i]The orca known as Verze began to melt, dissolving into goo. His mouth smirked[/i]\n[i]as he flowed over the lion, coating him in rubbery liquid. Beneath, the lion’s orgasm[/i]\n[i]rocked his limp body. Goo filled his rear and mouth as it slowly encased him in a[/i]\n[i]second skin.[/i]\n[i]When Verze stood back up, he was quite a bit taller. He patted his chest. “Good[/i]\n[i]kitty.” He could feel the warmth of the lion inside him, kept mindless and aroused by[/i]\n[i]his goo. With a few stretches, Verze tested his new body, impressed with the lion’s[/i]\n[i]dexterity and sharp reflexes.[/i]\n[i]He was interrupted by a knock at the door. When he opened it, the only thing he[/i]\n[i]could see was a black-and-white fluke disappearing into the crowd. Verze was about to[/i]\n[i]give chase, but became distracted when his foot hit something on the floor. \n\nAn [/i][i]envelope.\n\n[/i]\n[i]It was black, with a cyan triangle on it. The cyan was so bright it seemed to glow[/i]\n[i]in the dark. Verze retreated back inside the room, locking the door once more.[/i]\n[i]Something about that mark was deeply familiar to him. It was nearly identical to the[/i]\n[i]triangle on his chest in shape. He pursed his lips.[/i]\n[i]Verze used the lion’s claw to slice a line through the top of the envelope, and[/i]\n[i]pulled out a thin, hard, black piece of plastic about the size of a postcard. It was cool to[/i]\n[i]the touch, and bent easily, but always returned to its original shape.[/i]\n[i]It reflected Verze’s face as he put it up close to his eye, trying to discern whatever[/i]\n[i]lied in its depths. Something had flickered or glimmered or twinkled deep inside it. He[/i]\n[i]was certain. The deeper he looked, the more certain he was that he had something more[/i]\n[i]than just a piece of plastic in his hands.[/i]\n[i]Then it came to life. Cyan triangles radiated outward from its center, and as[/i]\n[i]Verze felt his mind assaulted by familiar blankness, he muttered a dazed “oh.” His[/i]\n[i]mind began a well-practiced trip down into trance, walking itself into total emptiness[/i]\n[i]with regular ease. His free arm hung limply at his side while his jaw fell open.[/i]\n[i]“Good evening, Verze,” Darkwitt’s voice said from the card. “I trust that this[/i]\n[i]message finds you well. I am contacting you,” the message said, pausing to take a sip of[/i]\n[i]something, “about a project of mine I’ve been working on. Xenon Streak, a group of[/i]\n[i]brainwashed gamers.” Darkwitt’s voice began to detail a pickup location. Verze just[/i]\n[i]nodded obediently.[/i]\n[i]In the studio, three hunky gamers and a more slender example of the species[/i]\n[i]posed together. The lights came on to show Verze, wearing a vest, his trademark[/i]\n[i]mohawk swept to the side and streaked with cyan.\n\n[/i]\n[i]“Smooth,” “Sexy,” the two hunks behind him, a pinkish bat and shark, purred.[/i]\n[i]“It’s got that kick you need,” intoned the more slender, pink cat.[/i]\n[i]“Drink Verze,” Verze purred. The four turned their bottles up and drank, each[/i]\n[i]one casting a half-lidded bedroom eye to the camera.[/i]\n[i]It was easy to train Verze into the role. He was defined by so many manipulable[/i]\n[i]things. He was lewd and sexy, so he took like a duck to water to the idea of being the[/i]\n[i]group’s manwhore. Marked by Darkwitt, he fell easily under Darkwitt’s control. There[/i]\n[i]was no need for a dramatic breaking of his mind. The backdoor was hard-coded into his[/i]\n[i]very sense of self.\n\n[/i]\n[i]Identity is a funny thing. The group dispersed, and Verze sat down at his gaming[/i]\n[i]chair. A few seconds, and then his setup was all up and running. He winked, threw out[/i]\n[i]an intro, and began to stream, making lewd comments to his fans that only barely[/i]\n[i]skirted lines of content safety.\n\n[/i]\n[i]When he was too caught up in concentration for conversation, he began to chirp.[/i]\n[i] he intoned. Soothing little noises. One by one, the chat started to echo[/i]\n[i]him. Their username and profiles were his catchphrases. A number of them took to[/i]\n[i]calling themselves Verze with a serial number afterwards in emulation.[/i]\n[i]Miles away, a lion named Verze began to wake up at Club Entice. He looked at[/i]\n[i]his black and pink arms. He didn’t remember much other than that he worked here. It[/i]\n[i]was Verze’s club, after all.\n\n[/i]\n[i]Identity is a funny thing.\n[/i]\n[i]\n\n\n[/i]Character is VerzeOrca", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Meet the next member of Xenon Streak: Verze. With a story by another member, the Sharkbro Gleam!


Xenon Streak: Verze
by: Gleam


Identity is a funny thing. It’s malleable sometimes, firm others, and almost never
predictable in how. It can be a shield, or a foundation. But just as often, identity can be a
cage. The character you portray can control you more than you control yourself. There
are plenty of stories of actors losing themselves in scene, reacting off-set as their
assumed personalities.
Verze was showboating again. People knew that the day ended in ‘y’ because the
orca was showing off. The contours of his black shoulders and pink chest hugged and
highlighted muscle that was made to FUCK. Verze casually circled the stage, flexing
both arms to give the entire audience a show. With his elbow hooked around the pole,
he slid weightlessly on his heel.
People were drooling. Verze’s rounded bulge throbbed to the beat, beckoning
more eyes. Underneath his thick, swaying tail was his equally choreographed rear end.
Verze smirked. The interplay of his two colors emphasized all the right places. But the
best part was when he had his tail in the air. When he wagged his shapely ass in one of
the clubgoers’ faces, their jaw dropped. It was always the same thing. They realized that
Verze was stark naked, shaking it for the audience. Then they realized how despite his
wild, crass presentation, he was always on fleek. How many times did Verze leave a
room impeccably groomed, followed by a completely disheveled partner. How did he
never seem to break a sweat regardless of the size or girth of his fuck buddies? Was he
an incubus, or something considerably more insatiable?
It was a lot, Verze chuckled to himself. The endless parade of sex was one of his
favorite perks of owning club EntICE. In fact, he was confident he was the star
attraction. That was what plenty of customers came and told him. With a daring wink,
an obsequious caress of his pink mohawk, and a run of his slick black-pink tongue
across his lips, few words were needed to convey that Verze knew exactly why.
So Verze preened under the collective gaze of his fawning guests. He danced for
the crowd, bent over and leaned in close to cup a pierced hyena’s cheek, whispering to
acknowledge he saw him staring all night. Then he snapped back up, turning around to
catch half of the crowd with their eyes glued to his ass. That was fine. He didn’t mind
them looking. They, however, were transfixed, like deer in headlights. Caught in the act
of ogling a prize, their cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Some averted their eyes. Others
covered their faces and tried to play it off. And a select few were too far gone to care.
Verze found it all precious. Merely a snap of his hip, a flick of his finger, and they
were helpless to his charms. Perhaps they hadn’t even noticed the sweet scent of his
pheromones wafting through the air, wordlessly molding their inhibitions. Those that
did assumed the club always carried that aroma; merely a product of daily
maintenance. Verze did have the place cleaned every night, but the cleaning wasn’t just
meant to sanitize the constant sex.

It was meant to mask him.


A lion in the front row of the crowd caught his eye. heat emanated off his face
with eyes wide like dinner plates. His mouth was tucked in an inscrutable line of shock.
Verze licked his lips. The lion had been turning down offers all night. His eyes fixated
on his drink or his shoes instead of the other patrons, the body language was clear.
He was in desperate need of either a good cuddle or a hard fuck.
Luckily, Verze thought as his gooey body undulated in anticipation, he was a natural at both.
A motion of a pink-and-black finger made a few club grunts shove a stool under
the lion’s butt. The poor thing looked around in endearing confusion. Verze’s lip curled
with coy intentions. Would it be too arrogant to say that the lion had no idea what was coming next?
The lights went low with a snap, two spotlights flickering to life on the lion and on Verze.
The orca’s new maned friend squirmed, scrambling to his feet with the intention of escaping.
But he barely uttered a yelp before Verze closed the gap,
swaggering over to hold him down with a hand indenting in his shoulder.
“Hey there, lucky boy,” Verze purred, straddling the lion to sit on his thighs.
“Let Daddy give you a nice hug.” Verze curled the fingers of his free hand around the
back of the lion’s head and tugged him closer. , shoving a golden muzzle between
rounded pecs. Now that the lion was in breath’s range, Verze could see he was rather
attractive. Nice features, a fluffy black mane akin to silk, and powerful muscles that
yielded to the confident boldness that called itself Verze. The lion was taller than Verze by a head or so,
he might have even dwarfed Verze if not for the tall, wild mohawk that almost glowed neon atop Verze’s head.
Something twitched underneath Verze, and that only encouraged him further.
He could see how the poor lion’s horny panic was subsiding into a placid daze as direct
contact with Verze’s intoxicating pheromones gradually drugged him into a stupor.
“That’s it,” Verze whispered. He stroked along the lion’s mane. “Don’t think, it makes it
harder to feel everything.”
The lion’s face looked half-awake as Verze pulled him back, jaw open, confused
eyes consumed by The orca’s vibrant chest. Verze couldn’t help but flex and kiss a
bicep. With a bounce, his rubbery body hopped up onto the lion’s lap. A few people
began to cheer encouragement, clapping to the rhythm of the thumping bass. Verze
shoved his bulge into the lion’s face and humped to the beat.
This was the life. A handsome kitty underneath him, a cheering crowd horny out
of their minds for him, and a sweet, stylish club all his own. Hearts intertwined by the
metronome of the bass that shook their brains free of inhibitions. They were animals.
They were music. They were raw, unfiltered sex. Verze cupped the lion’s chin with his
fingers and thrust his tongue into his slack jaw. It slithered easily within, and as the
lion’s throat began to fill with thick orca-tongue, his expression strained from the
ecstasy. Verze savored the moment, like he did each time before it. The lion was so full
that he was practically stretching. His throat distended from the writhing, muscular
tongue and it just kept coming. Whenever he felt like he couldn’t do any more, Verze
rumbled and slithered a little bit deeper.
Then came the swallowing. Rhythmic, wet gulps of a mind too foggy to think of
anything else. They squeezed and tugged on Verze’s long, thick tongue, massaging it.
He closed his eyes to enjoy the sound and sensation. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. Lewd and
smooth swallows, loud enough that Verze knew that the nearest clientele were
uncomfortably aroused. It was music to Verze’s ears.
Verze opened his eyes. It was time to start feeding the lion. It didn’t take much to
muster the hot-pink fluid that made up Verze’s drugs. It filled the lion’s throat, flowing
along the orca’s tongue, and the lion instinctively swallowed it down. He suckled at
Verze’s tongue, making wet ‘schlrrrp’ and ‘sssk’ noises. Pink started to fill him like
paint staining glass, his eyes rolling back in mind-breaking arousal. Glazed. Glassy.
Gone. Irrevocably redefined.
A ‘POP’ rang through the club, and Verze snapped his fingers closed to catch
the button from the lion’s pants before it ricocheted too far, as a gold erection poked
above the waistband. Verze chuckled. “Let’s get you somewhere private.”
He hopped off his midnight ride and tugged the dopey lion through the crowd.
The boy shambled, tongue lolling out, dick waving in the air with every stumbling step.
People whistled and grabbed on, stripping him for Verze. A small group gathered
around the lion’s discarded clothing, huffing it for musk, while others ran their hands
over his muscles and cock, caressing him with lewd intent. A loud ‘SMACK’ resounded
as someone’s thick hand clapped the lion’s now-pink rump.
Verze narrowed his cyan eyes. That would be enough interference. The lion was
his conquest, thank you very much. People backed away enough that Verze saw they
got the message. He held the lion in his arms possessively, guiding him off to a small
back room.
With the turn of a door and a push, Verze got to watch the lion stumble across
the room and flop down on the pink foam bed. Verze chuckled. Verze-drunk people
were always so funny to watch. His new toy collapsed on the bed like a rag doll, one
knee bent, arms splayed wide, one leg hanging off the side of the mattress. The lion’s
ass was hiked up in the air as if in invitation. With a click, Verze locked the room. Don’t
mind if he does.
Fur always seemed softer once it turned pink. Inviting to touches and caresses,
slightly sweet-smelling. Verze could feel plush rubbing against his hip as he mounted
the lion. The newly-pink ass was shapely in a way he hadn’t gotten to appreciate when
the lion was sitting. Round, thick, and shapely, yet it still had a sort of softness to it, the
kind that one can really fuck into. Verze couldn’t resist giving it a spank of his own,
watching it bounce in response. The lion grunted blankly, not stirring, just drooling
onto the bed.
After a few adjustments, Verze let his bulge unlock and pressed the tip of his
manhood to the lion’s entrance. Slipping in was easy, the lion too relaxed and aroused
to resist. The lion’s rear sheathed his cock comfortably, all soft and warm. Verze began
to thrust, pulling back and jabbing in enough to feel a rush of pleasure each time his
balls slapped against the lion’s rear end. That jiggle-bounce of the lions rump back
against his rhythmic thrusting doubled Verze’s pleasure.
Fucking such a fine specimen was a rush. Verze could see attractive power in his
broad, muscled back and shoulder. Even flopped on the mattress, his arms looked
chiseled. The lion moaned, gentle grunts spurred on by Verze’s impacts.
Verze used him like a sextoy, wrapping his arms around the lion’s chest and
squeezing tight. Each pounding thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through both of
their bodies. Verze’s muscles began to tense, looming over his prize before increasing
the tempo of his thrust. He could feel his body beginning to warm and melt, droplets of
black and magenta trickling down the lion’s mane and sides.
The bed rocked below them, creaking as it struggled to cope with Verze’s unrelenting
force. Verze relished the feeling. He broke beds often. Every iota of his body, from
mohawk to tail, was made to FUCK. Pleasure rose to its tumultuous crescendo, and he
bit down onto the lion’s neck, cumming black and magenta in a flood.
The orca known as Verze began to melt, dissolving into goo. His mouth smirked
as he flowed over the lion, coating him in rubbery liquid. Beneath, the lion’s orgasm
rocked his limp body. Goo filled his rear and mouth as it slowly encased him in a
second skin.
When Verze stood back up, he was quite a bit taller. He patted his chest. “Good
kitty.” He could feel the warmth of the lion inside him, kept mindless and aroused by
his goo. With a few stretches, Verze tested his new body, impressed with the lion’s
dexterity and sharp reflexes.
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. When he opened it, the only thing he
could see was a black-and-white fluke disappearing into the crowd. Verze was about to
give chase, but became distracted when his foot hit something on the floor.

An envelope.


It was black, with a cyan triangle on it. The cyan was so bright it seemed to glow
in the dark. Verze retreated back inside the room, locking the door once more.
Something about that mark was deeply familiar to him. It was nearly identical to the
triangle on his chest in shape. He pursed his lips.
Verze used the lion’s claw to slice a line through the top of the envelope, and
pulled out a thin, hard, black piece of plastic about the size of a postcard. It was cool to
the touch, and bent easily, but always returned to its original shape.
It reflected Verze’s face as he put it up close to his eye, trying to discern whatever
lied in its depths. Something had flickered or glimmered or twinkled deep inside it. He
was certain. The deeper he looked, the more certain he was that he had something more
than just a piece of plastic in his hands.
Then it came to life. Cyan triangles radiated outward from its center, and as
Verze felt his mind assaulted by familiar blankness, he muttered a dazed “oh.” His
mind began a well-practiced trip down into trance, walking itself into total emptiness
with regular ease. His free arm hung limply at his side while his jaw fell open.
“Good evening, Verze,” Darkwitt’s voice said from the card. “I trust that this
message finds you well. I am contacting you,” the message said, pausing to take a sip of
something, “about a project of mine I’ve been working on. Xenon Streak, a group of
brainwashed gamers.” Darkwitt’s voice began to detail a pickup location. Verze just
nodded obediently.
In the studio, three hunky gamers and a more slender example of the species
posed together. The lights came on to show Verze, wearing a vest, his trademark
mohawk swept to the side and streaked with cyan.


“Smooth,” “Sexy,” the two hunks behind him, a pinkish bat and shark, purred.
“It’s got that kick you need,” intoned the more slender, pink cat.
“Drink Verze,” Verze purred. The four turned their bottles up and drank, each
one casting a half-lidded bedroom eye to the camera.
It was easy to train Verze into the role. He was defined by so many manipulable
things. He was lewd and sexy, so he took like a duck to water to the idea of being the
group’s manwhore. Marked by Darkwitt, he fell easily under Darkwitt’s control. There
was no need for a dramatic breaking of his mind. The backdoor was hard-coded into his
very sense of self.


Identity is a funny thing. The group dispersed, and Verze sat down at his gaming
chair. A few seconds, and then his setup was all up and running. He winked, threw out
an intro, and began to stream, making lewd comments to his fans that only barely
skirted lines of content safety.


When he was too caught up in concentration for conversation, he began to chirp.
<chirp. chirp.> he intoned. Soothing little noises. One by one, the chat started to echo
him. Their username and profiles were his catchphrases. A number of them took to
calling themselves Verze with a serial number afterwards in emulation.
Miles away, a lion named Verze began to wake up at Club Entice. He looked at
his black and pink arms. He didn’t remember much other than that he worked here. It
was Verze’s club, after all.


Identity is a funny thing.




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