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The Halloween party was in full swing, the lights dim and flickering to the beat of the bass-heavy music pulsing through the old house. Costumed partygoers mingled, danced, and laughed, but Pattarchus wasn’t here for that. His three heads scanned the room with a practiced ease, each one in tune with the other. The hound’s dark fur shimmered under the lights, his tall, muscular frame giving him a commanding presence. Normally, he enjoyed these gatherings, but tonight felt different. There was a tension in the air that he couldn't quite put his paw on.
“Hi there~”
The voice was smooth, deep, with just a hint of something wild beneath it. Pattarchus’ heads turned in unison to find a large, buff horse standing nearby. Johnny Rock, he remembered — an anthropomorphic horse who had a reputation for being strong, fast, and lately… something more. The rumors about lycanthropy had been swirling for weeks now, but Johnny didn’t seem concerned. Tonight, he was dressed like the typical buff horse: jeans stretched tight over powerful legs, a muscle shirt barely containing his chest, and an easy grin that tugged at the corners of his muzzle.
Johnny leaned against the wall next to Pattarchus, his arms crossed, casual but deliberate. “You look like you could use a little company, demon doggy,” he murmured.
Pattarchus raised one brow, the middle head tilting slightly as the other two narrowed their eyes. “I’m good on my own,” he replied with a smirk, but there was no real edge to his words. His tails flicked behind him as Johnny’s presence pressed against his usual defenses.
Johnny let out a soft laugh, a rumble that Pattarchus felt more than heard. “Yeah, I bet you are. Strong, independent… but sometimes, a night like this, it’s better to not be alone.”
Pattarchus couldn’t help but feel the subtle challenge in Johnny’s tone. He had no intention of backing down, but Johnny’s easy confidence — his casual dominance — had a way of sinking in, slipping beneath the hound’s usual armor.
Before he knew it, Johnny had pushed off the wall and was leading Pattarchus toward the living room. The music softened as they moved away from the crowded hallway, the air quieter, more intimate.
“Come on, sit,” Johnny said, gesturing to a large armchair. Pattarchus hesitated for a moment before Johnny stepped behind him, gently but firmly guiding the three-headed hound down onto the chair — onto his lap.
Pattarchus' muscles tensed as he sat on Johnny's lap, the horse’s arms resting loosely around his waist. The power Johnny radiated was palpable, making Pattarchus’ usually dominant nature falter for just a moment. He felt trapped, and not in the way he expected.
Johnny leaned closer, his muzzle brushing near one of Pattarchus’ ears. “You know,” he whispered, his voice a soft growl, “lycanthropy can be spread in many ways.”
Pattarchus' middle head snapped to attention, and his other two followed shortly after. The words hung in the air like an unspoken threat, seeping into Pattarchus’ mind. He felt his breath hitch, tension building in his chest. The hairs on the back of his necks stood on end, and his tail stiffened.
Johnny’s grip on him tightened slightly, enough to make his intentions clear. “It’s not just the bite,” Johnny murmured. “It’s... so much more intimate.”
Before Pattarchus could respond, there was a sudden, *poof*—a sharp sound, as if the very air around them had been displaced.
In an instant, Johnny’s body swelled, his muscles growing larger, his form shifting beneath Pattarchus. His clothes shredded with a tearing sound as his arms and chest thickened, fur bristling, fangs lengthening in his mouth. The transformation happened so fast, so violently, that Pattarchus barely had time to process it.
Johnny Rock the horse was gone, replaced by a towering, Johnny the werewolf. His fur, thick and in color not so much different than before, rippled with the strength that now surged beneath it. His hands, large and clawed, rested against Pattarchus’ sides, holding him firmly in place. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light, wild and untamed.
Pattarchus' middle head glanced down, trying to regain control of his breathing, while his two side heads watched in stunned silence. Johnny’s breath was still hot against his ear, but now it carried the raw scent of something primal.
“You feel that?” Johnny whispered, his voice deeper, rougher. Something wagged beneath Pattarchus, a slow, steady movement under his butt. Johnny’s new tail.
“Oh ... and I'm sure you felt that too,” the wolf said as his grin widened and he let Pattarchus realize what he also was sitting on.
The hound stiffened, all three heads swiveling toward Johnny, who held him with effortless strength. The tension between them was suffocating, heavy, and charged with a kind of intensity Pattarchus wasn’t used to. For once, he was on the other end of that power dynamic—and he didn’t like it.
“Lycanthropy is a gift,” Johnny continued, his claws gently brushing over Pattarchus' sides, sending a shiver down his spine. “One that can be shared... in so many ways.” The bulge Pattarchus was sitting on grew larger.
Pattarchus’ mind raced. He could feel Johnny’s strength beneath him, the raw, unrestrained power that had taken over. A flicker of panic shot through him, but there was something else too — an allure, a curiosity, a dangerous pull toward whatever Johnny was offering.
But Pattarchus was not ready to give in. Not yet.
He inhaled sharply and his three heads turned to meet Johnny's eyes. “I'm not...” But the Hellhound didn't get a chance to finish, as the werewolf suddenly locked the Hellhound's talking maw in a deep, canid kiss. Drool ran down from the werewolf's jaws, while their sharp fangs clacked against each other.
Shoving the Hellhound's tail aside with his clawed hand, the werewolf pushed his aroused sheath against the Hellhound.
The Hellhound gave a sharp breath as he felt a warm, moist tip pressed against his exposed tailhole. He tried to struggle against the werewolf, to get out of his grip and utter something, but Johnny pressed the hellhound firmly into his lap and with it his canine member into the hellhound.
“Welcome to there Werebeasts Club, doggy.”
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Drawn by
\n\t\t\t\t\tshawdJohnny Rock (Werewolf) by
\n\t\t\t\t\tshawdPattarchus (Three-headed Doberhellhound) (c) by
\n\t\t\t\t\tPattarchus)If this commission has captured your attention or sparked any thoughts, I warmly encourage you to leave a comment, share your views, or simply leave a favourite or a watch. Your thoughts and reactions are very appreciated!
Creepy comments are welcome!
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