[b][u][center]Perks of Desperation Part 3 for a-lycotonum by Draconicon[/center][/u][/b] Vitus took to the 'lessons' with a will, though not always a happy will. There was much to be learned, and for all that there was bad blood between him and the former Professor Orlov, there was no denying that the older woman knew what she was doing when she started talking about magic. There was knowledge that seemed all but impossible for someone to have picked up in their life, spells that began with a history lesson about a djinn or some infernal spirit, but always circled back to a way that he could use the magic himself. He didn't know how that worked, but she had a way of making it clear to him how he could accomplish things that the Arcanamirium would have deemed heretical at best. That, of course, didn't mean that she wasn't always pushing for her own agenda. While the teachings of Melchiresa took a backseat to everything else, he could tell that they were still informing the different lessons she offered. There was always some background perspective about using this power to take things that he wanted, to put them to use gaining what he desired, hunting for the power to do this or that. There was always the pursuit of safety, and most importantly - "You'll need this to protect your pack," Katya Orlov said. "..." "I know you don't like hearing that, but you have to." "I don't want to have a pack," Vitus muttered. "Well, you have one, so you'll have to deal with it. There's no running from reality here, no matter how good you get with that illusion of yours. Which, by the way, you need to work on if you want to use it in public. There's still some fur showing on your neck." He rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance. He'd thought that he fixed that, but apparently not. The ship was quiet as they rounded the coastline. Imperial Cheliax loomed large in the distance, the desert that formed most of the wilderness near the coastline shimmering and making it look ever-more like the doorway to the great netherworld. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew that there were mortals there, that it was just an imitation of the pits rather than the real thing, he'd have begged for the ship to turn around right then and there. As it stood, he was still tempted. "Vitus. Are you done with this lesson, then?" He was tempted to say yes. The fact that she gave him that sort of power over the context of their lessons, as well as the duration, was something that he appreciated. She seemed to understand that he had a different approach than most students, that he needed the time to completely assimilate a concept on his own rather than demonstrating it before her. That said... That said, he knew what the cost would be if they stopped. He looked over his shoulder and down; Orlov's robe still covered her, but he could see the edge of her hooves poking out from under her clothes, and more importantly, he could smell her need. That was the part that was hardest to get used to. Being a hellhound meant that he could smell [i]everything[/i] around him, whether that was the fish being pulled in by the crew to serve as the dinner for himself and the passengers that traveled with them, the rats, wererat, and Piers down in the bottom holds, or the need that came from his teacher. He groaned, rubbing his nose as the burning scent of her head grew stronger and stronger as the seconds ticked by, not blown away in the slightest by the sea wind. "If I say I am..." "You know what I'll say." "Mmph..." "The stud must breed." "Heh...are you saying that I could get you pregnant?" "If Melchiresa wished it." He didn't know why he'd hoped for a different answer. Vitus shook his head, leaning against the ship railing as he tried to keep the thought of Orlov with a swelling belly out of his head. The thought of spreading his pack further - [i]I don't want a pack...[/i] The word 'pack' was a loaded enough word, and a constant reminder of what he had become. He was a Hellhound, no matter how much his illusions tried to hide that fact from the world. There was no getting away from it, no pretending that he was anything other than a dog. Melchiresa had taken his humanity as a cost for saving him from Brundir, and as a result... He could have lost more, he reminded himself. He could have lost everything, from his mind to his morals, but he hadn't. He had made a deal. [i]Was it a good deal, though?[/i] Better a bad deal than no deal, in this case. They were at least half-protected by the name of the Demon Lord looking after them, and that, at least, meant that they weren't going to be ambushed by the lesser demons that would want their power, or the slight demons that Brundir would have sent after them. Even lesser devils would have had second thoughts about interfering with someone under the protection of a Demon Lord, so they had that much going for them. For now. Until they entered Cheliax. "Well?" Orlov asked. "...I'm done." "Good. Stud." He growled deep in his throat as he felt his cock leap up from between his legs. The illusion of a human shaft in his pants was impossible to keep with how much bigger it was; there was no hiding that in the illusion of human size, and the bestial shaft showed itself through the leathers that he wore. He curled his toes in the illusions of boots, his claws scraping on the boards of the deck as he imagined what he might have done if she'd used that word in a more human-dominated setting. "Stud...stud...stud..." Every repetition of the word made his cock throb that much harder, driving the more sentient thoughts from his mind. The older woman pressed herself to him from behind, and he could smell her arousal getting stronger, thicker in the air. Her hands reached around his waist, pulling him close to her, and she pressed her fingers through the illusion of his clothes, pressing against his cock and balls, pulling his sheath down and ensuring that his knot wouldn't get trapped inside the fleshy tube and cause him pain. He hated that he needed it. He appreciated the care. "Stud..." Vitus whimpered as he lost control of the illusion. Every time that she said that word, the pride of his Hellhound side came forward, enjoying the virility coursing through his veins, pulsing through his crotch and making him feel the sheer power that came from being this stud of a male. The head of the pack. The head of this pack, at least. The one that looked after it. The one that bred it. The one that protected it. "Mmmph..." "You want it." "I hate...I..." She held her fingers to his nose, and he smelled her scent anew. Hot, thick, heavy with the pheromones of a female that needed to be rutted and broken in. He gasped for breath, turning around to face her, looking her in the eyes. She smiled, lifted her robe, and he saw her furry thighs leading to a slit that was as infernal as a portal to the hell-planes themselves. It was enough for the hound. He leaped on her, driving her to the deck. The crew members didn't watch. They didn't care. They had been bought off or ensorcelled by the woman who wanted this, and she'd made it clear that she was going to get it, one way or another. He took her down, slammed her to the deck. She didn't care about the roughness, didn't seem hurt by it. She didn't bat an eyelash as he growled in her face, as he pinned her shoulders to the ground with clawed hands. The illusion completely faded, revealing the red-black fur that crisscrossed his body and covered him, marked him as a beast. His cock spat bestial pre-cum across her thighs, bumping her sex for a moment before sliding up and past it, laying against her crotch and showing just how deep the fat Hellhound cock would go. No human woman could have taken it without being damaged and broken in to some extent, and any other race would take it worse, broken and corrupted and changed by it even without the sort of power it carried. And yet, Orlov grabbed it just behind the knot and dragged it down, pressing the head against her pussy lips, and spread her legs further. Her eyes said what her mouth didn't. [i]Fuck me.[/i] The Hellhound obliged. Squelch. The first thrust buried him knot-deep inside of her, and her severe features parted into one of utter satisfaction. She rubbed her clit, the older woman panting softly as he started thrusting away like a golem, hard, fast, deep, mechanical and yet at the same time rough as a wild beast. In, out, in, out, grinding the smooth shaft against her inner walls, his sheer size doing what the position didn't quite allow. Orlov moaned under him, and he growled over her, demanding more. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her hooves dragging against his hips, pressing under his tail to push him in deeper. The hound in him still didn't know what to make of a female that was so forward, that took what it wanted and pushed for him to breed her. In the long term, did it matter? It was getting him what he wanted, what he needed, and that was good. In, out, in, out, each time slapping his knot against her pussy, each time feeling her inner walls clenching down against him. Was it her wanting it? Was it her showing him appreciation? Or was that the pleasure of being dog-fucked that she actually liked? He opened his mouth - "Stud." And the word ripped his vocabulary from him, and, indeed, the ability to think at all. # Robin stood at the top of the stairs, watching her 'master' rut the woman that had brought them on this trip. Her cheeks burned even as she fought the urge to jam her fingers between her legs, the want to touch herself warring with the knowledge that this was going to cause so many more problems if she gave in to her desire. [i]Just watching isn't bad...just watching isn't bad...[/i] She kept telling herself that, but she could already feel the were-rat part of her trying to seep through. The transformation should have been limited to the full moon, but the longer she dealt with it, the more that she realized that the power of her emotions drove the transformation as much as any weather-based or calendar-tracked event. She could feel her tail trying to slide out of her spine again, wiggling right there at the base, and she fought back against it, keeping it from going out, keeping it inside of her. Her feet, bare in case of the very transformation that now struck them, began to expand, spreading out against the wooden boards, reminding her of how big and long they could get when she was in rat form. Fur sprouted along her thighs, bristly enough for the moment, but she knew if she allowed it to reach its peak, it would soften and be less painful to the touch. She ground her thighs together, taking in the pain of that, letting it keep her from giving in and touching herself. The little grinding of the bristle-fur against her pussy helped her keep her head on straight. "Breathe...breathe..." Robin growled through her own words, just trying to focus on something other than the rut going on out on the main deck. It had pulled her out of bed as she felt something from Vitus, something that demanded her attention. Piers hadn't heard or felt anything, but considering how things were going between the pair of them of late, he might have just said that to spite her. Or maybe he really didn't feel anything; he wasn't as corrupted as she had become. Wasn't as marked, or as changed, or - [i]Or as rotten and demon-corrupted?[/i] Much as she hated the thought, it was no less true in its own way. She had been corrupted and warped by the hound just around the corner, and much as she had been a faithful wife for some time... She had to admit, she missed the feeling of being valued and wanted. Piers had seen her like that, but after they'd both become part of the Watch, he'd stopped seeing her the same way. He saw her as someone that needed to be protected, someone that couldn't take the hard stuff. No matter how much she proved herself, he always looked down at her, always worried about her, always saw her as the little woman that should be back at home and doing what she could there, rather than being where the world could hurt her, ravage her, break her. And yet, despite Vitus doing just that...he didn't see her that way. The Hellhound, for all his monstrous nature, had trusted her to do the right thing. To fight. [i]Mmmph...[/i] She was falling, falling for someone that was most definitely not her husband, but someone that did give her what she needed. And what she needed then - [i]Breeding. Fucking. Rutting.[/i] Robin gritted her teeth, feeling the pops of the first few inches of her tail coming in. She looked down the deck again, around the corner from the raised back of the ship where the ladder came out at. The Hellhound and his teacher were still fucking, the older woman on her side now with one leg in the air. A gush of cum oozed from her cunt when Vitus pulled all the way out, showing that he had already bred her once, but that didn't mean that they were done. She remembered that he could go half a dozen times before he was completely satisfied, and he would probably be pushed to that. That damn woman was - [i]Stop![/i] Banging her head on the wooden panels behind her, she forced herself to look away. If she was going to indulge, she was going to do it with her husband. If he'd let her. The half-human woman made her way back down the ladder, going to the depths of the ship once more. The crew had stopped following them everywhere - probably on orders from Orlov - but she almost wished that they were still around. They made finding her way through the ship much easier, and she somehow got lost twice before she found the cabin again. Piers was asleep, or at least, pretending to be. He'd been 'napping' most of the journey, keeping his eyes closed and his arm against his chest. Every time that she tried to engage him, to get him to come on deck to get some sun and fresh air, he asked her what the point of it all was. If he ended up dying from depression, she wouldn't be surprised. She sat on their bed, resting a hand on his shoulder. He'd always been bad at pretending to sleep, and this was no exception. He didn't have that deep breathing that someone actually asleep would have, and he tensed up as soon as her hand rested on his shoulder. She saw that her claws had come out, that the transformation had gone that far. Once, she would have pulled her hand back in shame. This time, she let it stay there, squeezing him, pulling him back to her. He couldn't keep pretending that he was asleep, then. He glared up at her. "What?" "I want..." "..." "Please?" "Get rid of those." Those. Those, being the bestial parts that had come out. He refused to look at her, and she knew that would only get worse the longer that she stayed even partially transformed. Robin forced herself past the surge of anger that came up, anger for something that wasn't even her fault, and tried to focus on being her. The transformation was never easy to manage, let alone when she was in the grip of her lust, but she managed to push it down. The fur on her thighs slowly disappeared, and she could feel her tail dragging itself back into her spine. The little twitches in her ears told her that they had started rolling along the side of her face, too, and her fingers slowly pulled back in, no longer so rough or clawed, though still more pink than they should have been. He couldn't see her feet, but she could feel the toes pulling back in, the soft crick-cracks as they no longer pushed out quite so far. The rat soles slowly became human again. "S-satisfied?" she hissed. "...I don't...I want my wife back, Robin...that's all." "I am your wife." "Are you?" "..." "I married you when you were...when you were you. When we were both human, whole." "You're still human, and the arm -" "Don't...don't..." Even as he grabbed for the missing limb, she regretted bringing it up. She knew how much that hurt him, and how hard he had fought to keep them safe during the retreat. She still held tight to that memory, and tried to use it to remind herself that he still cared for her. After all, it wasn't just duty that drove him. He wouldn't have lost a limb for the sake of duty, would he? Then again, he was Piers Adair, a commander of the Watch, and he had fought for the city of Absalom for years. He might have. Robin leaned down, fighting to keep herself as human as possible for as long as possible. If her hair got a little darker, if she browned up in places that he wouldn't touch, if her curves got a little thicker, then that wouldn't be a bad thing. He wouldn't notice those. If she started getting a muzzle again, if she started to crack and show claws or fangs, or gods forbid, her tail, then he would want her to stop. He would pull away again. He wouldn't fuck an animal, he said. It didn't matter that it was still her, he would not fuck an animal. And she needed him. [i]I need someone...[/i] No, no, it should be Piers. Not someone else. Not all the others. Even if they would be better. She pushed that thought out of her head, slowly undoing his trousers. He still had a decent shaft, she told herself, though her body still remembered the blinding bliss that was the knotted cock that Vitus had hilted her with time and time again. The feeling of taking him, of having his knot open her up, leaving her gaping, stretched, oozing with his seed in a way that no lesser human male might have done. The memory was so vivid that she started drooling from between her legs at the thought of it, and the human shaft in front of her seemed so meager in comparison. Her husband was quiet. He had always been quiet, but at least his hands had been active. Now, he just laid there, looking down at her, waiting. Not even enjoying her fascination, but almost like some sort of indulgence for some addict. She gripped his shaft, looking up at him. He met her eyes for no more than a second before looking away. "What?" she whispered. "I...just do it." "Do - you can't look at me?" "You're not looking at me, are you?" "..." "Just do it." She wanted to. She wanted to make love with her husband and forget about the goings-on on the main deck, but she could still feel him thrusting away, taking the demonic woman up there. She could feel that bond as deeply as ever...and despite everything, she could tell that Piers felt the same. His cock was hard, despite the fact that her fingers were starting to go pink and rat-like again, and she knew that his arousal wasn't because of her. They both felt the link. They both felt Vitus's need. Robin shook her head, letting go. Rolling out of bed, she walked to the door. "Where are you going?" "Somewhere to use my hand." "What - you - fine. Fine. Go. Hell. Go to him!" "Don't tempt me!" "You -" She slammed the door on him before he could say something that they'd both regret. She already regretted what she was doing, but she didn't want to have sex with him if he didn't want to do it with her. There was corruption in her, but not enough to make her a rapist. The were-rat began her transformation again, and this time, she didn't fight it. At least the tail would be worth it for something. # They were on the sea for another three days before they reached the port of Westcrown, a large coastal city that, according to Orlov, was the main trading port for this part of Cheliax. The curved reaches of the jetties that came out around either side of the harbor encircled the still waters of the port town like closing fangs, and as they passed through the opening of the rocks, Vitus shivered. A great magic seemed to enclose the place like a bubble. "What was that?" he muttered as he leaned against the ship railing. "The power of Cheliax, and the various bargains with the devils below," Orlov said, returning from her walkabout with the various members of the crew. "Everyone who's anyone in Cheliax has at least one devil-contract in the works. Some particularly daring souls have more than one." "How does anyone function?" "Better than you'd think. At least, if you're one of those that manages to make a deal and keep it." She smiled ruefully. "Keeping it is always the hard part." "..." "Devils love long-term bargains, Vitus. They're different from demons that way. Demons will give you power for a one-and-done deal, most of the time. Devils, on the other hand...they appreciate the long game, and they want to keep people indebted for as long as possible. They'll give you terms that seem particularly generous, but over time, add up to far more than anything that a demon might have asked of you." "Do you think that happened with Brundir?" he asked. "I don't." "Why?" "Because he knows what he's doing..." She shook her head. "If anything, I think the devils are getting played by him." "That's a terrifying thought." "It should be. And it should keep you very open to what Melchiresa has to say." "Don't remind me." Vitus looked at the docks as the ship turned to approach them properly, sweeping out its oars as the sails came in. As the ropes went out to the dockworkers, he saw that most of them wore loincloths and metal collars, and more than half of them were branded in places. Some on the chest, some on the back, some on the face. Not tattooed, either, but branded, the skin peeled back and marked from the heat of the branding iron. He bit off a gag. "I'd adjust your illusion, Vitus. Cheliax is more welcoming to some than Absalom, but until we know what we're dealing with..." "Yes, yes, I understand." The illusion came easier than before, settling around his shoulders and becoming a proper spell of disguise. It was not merely his old human self, but a human with different hair - long and red, almost like a fire sorcerer's - running down his neck, ending in a shaggy ponytail. His face no longer seemed so sharp and angular, but a bit chubby. It wasn't ideal, nor that attractive, but it was, at least, something different to his old appearance. It also drained him like nothing else to keep it active, so he hoped he didn't have to hold it for more than a few hours. Robin and Piers joined them as the gangplank lowered, and the four of them left the ship together. They joined a few other passengers making their way to the far end of the docks, falling behind them and letting the others take the lead. Vitus looked back at the ship. "Should we be worried about..." "No," Orlov said, shaking her head. "I made sure that the crew got doses of an amnesia potion. They'll forget all about us within a few minutes." "...You're...scary." "I know." # They passed through Customs without too much difficulty, though more than once the armored Hellknights looked him over as if they were sure that he was hiding something from them. He kept the illusion strong, and by the time that they were allowed through - though with a warning to find lodging as fast as possible, and to file any plans to stay in Westcrown longer than a week with the local constabulary - he felt rather proud of himself. The illusion hadn't slipped once, and he was sure that they were convinced that it was merely four humans that had entered the town rather than a Hellhound, a corrupted former professor, and a were-rat. The story was simple: they were here to make a few purchases and learn about the Infernal teachings of the country in a way that they never could in their own countries. The Diabolists that ran Cheliax were always looking for converts, particularly if they were able to spread that throughout the other countries, so that was seen as allowed. Still, there was one thing that stuck in his craw, and he wasn't shy about mentioning it as they walked down the sandy streets outside the Customs house. "Slavery. They thought -" "Keep your voice down," Orlov muttered. "They thought that the other two were...slaves?" he whispered. "Slavery is completely legal here," she said. "And that would be the thing that they'd see the Adairs as. They are underlings of yours, subordinates. There's no reason to believe that they're free. Not here." They'd offered him the chance to brand the two Adairs as his slaves, asking what his sigil would be, where he wanted the brand, and - It had nearly left him exploding with rage. For all that he had been changed, for all that the Hellhound wanted to grow the pack, there was a shared feeling of anger from it. The females and the males in the pack might be under him, under Melchiresa, but they were still [i]pack,[/i], not this pathetic mewling thing that they called slaves. They were better than that, better than the things that this place wanted to turn them into. Law, he was reminded, was not always the rule of the good. Orlov patted his arm, and the older woman's presence helped drag him down from the high fury that was ruling him. The Adairs were right behind him, and they were waiting for him to say what they were going to do. Sure, Piers was looking at him with the casual anger of someone that didn't expect much, and Robin had that look that he recognized from their past ruts, but they were waiting for him nonetheless. He put his head in his hands, breathing slowly, forcing himself to take a few deep, focused breaths before he nodded. "Alright. Lodging. Any ideas?" he asked. "There are knights, are there not?" Piers asked. "We could ask them. See if they can direct us to the proper channels." "I'm not asking the Hellknights for anything that I don't have to," Vitus said, shaking his head. "And besides, better that they don't know everything that we're doing, even if they have to know where we stay, eventually." "There shouldn't be any problem going through proper channels -" "Brundir went through proper channels," Vitus said. "He cheated." "He wouldn't still be there if he hadn't done everything by the book." "You -" "This isn't getting us anywhere," Robin said. "There's got to be someplace where people put up openings, for jobs and for rooms. Let's find that. At the very least, an inn for the night." They agreed to that, and kept walking. # They found an inn for the night. It was a simple place, only known as the [i]Hound’s Hearth,[/i] and while Vitus had been reluctant to stop there for the sake of the name, it turned out to be the best choice that they could have made. Expensive, to the point where Orlov actually winced as she pulled out the coins to pay for their rooms for the night, but the best choice, nonetheless. The common room was warm and stuffy, but in a good way, one that allowed even Piers to calm down and see things more reasonably, and while they had all worked up a sweat, they were feeling better, more focused, and more relaxed than they had for weeks. Best of all, the [i]Hound’s Hearth[/i] had a job board that was right beside a lodging board. He was amazed that the latter was allowed in an inn, but he supposed that legally, they were required to show where those that couldn’t afford their services should go. It made sense, even in this twisted place. Unfortunately, most of those offering lodging required their payment to come in the form of labor, at best, and slavery, at worst. Every time Vitus saw that there was payment to be made in the form of becoming the slaves of the one hosting them, he flinched, but the very fact that they were posted made it clear that this was not only allowed in Westcrown, but profitable. These were just the most recent postings, with others long since taken and torn off the board. “Do any of these people accept normal payment?” Piers muttered. “Not many,” Robin said, shaking her head and tossing another sheet to the side. “It looks like labor’s more important.” “Less labor, and more the body,” Orlov explained. “When you own someone’s body and labor, you can use them for more than just the favors that you might expect.” The table didn’t ask what that meant. They all had different ideas, and Vitus was all but sure that they were all close to the mark. He took another page, and finally found one that looked promising. Skimming down to payment, he arched an eyebrow. “Hiring up to three rooms in exchange for magical advice and casting expertise,” he read out loud. “Rooms available for up to three months.” “...That’s suspiciously easy. What kind of expertise?” Robin asked. “Doesn’t say.” “Between us, I imagine that we cover most types,” Orlov said. “Maybe…” “It sounds…suspicious,” Piers said. “If this was in Absalom, I would expect the poster to want to have an expert of demonic magic for this.” “Well, this is Cheliax. If it’s something forbidden here, then it can’t be that bad,” Vitus said. “And besides…we can’t be picky.” He nodded toward the wall near the front door. They’d all seen it when they came in: bounty posters, one for each of them and promising the reward of fifty platinum per body returned to Absalom. However Brundir had gotten the word out, he clearly wanted them back, and they couldn’t afford to be out on the streets or common inns for long. If they had an option, they had to take it. [b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b] Summary: A little more sex on the ship, as well as the arrival to Westcrown. Tags: M/F, F/solo, Transformation, Cock Growth, Trigger Word, Magic, Fantasy, Hellhound, Were-Rat, Series, Wet, Horny, Human, Amputee, Almost Sex, Vaginal, Handjob, Groping, Angry,