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TRICK OR TREAT

The cold night of Halloween was being felt by the numerous children walking outside in their quest to gather candies. The old saying of Trick or Treat was now way more focused on the Treats as if people had forgotten half of the thing. While George's parents were still giving the treats to the more-cute-than-scary-cosplayers in the streets, he opted to leave the house to join a small party at his friend's. Mitch had his parents away for the week and thus had the house by himself and his younger brother. Along with them, Chad, another friend of theirs, planned on joining the evening, bringing another board game he's just bought. Simply wearing a flannel shirt and a pair of old fading blue jeans, George pulled up the bigger boots filled with tissues at the tips on his average sized feet. Finally, he attached the mighty faux-beard on his shaggy chin, hiding the neckbeard he was ashamed of in the meantime. It wasn't supposed to be a costume party, but George wanted to put on something to fit with the event. Quite short at 5'5, although being in his early 20s, the lumberjack costume he wore hung loosely around him, but he figured it'd give a laugh at his friend's. He grabbed the axe laying by the fireplace and walked out of the basement.

His light brown hair was messy, but he didn't care and left the house farther than he could answer his parents' "good evening". On the streets, he saw the young kids dressing up as captain America or Elza, he couldn't help but grimace a bit. The Halloween today was more of just a big excuse for free candies and cosplaying all day rather than being about tricking others for a scare anymore. At least, he looked like some maniac lumberjack from a horror movie, did he?

Despite the chilly yet fiery wind outside, the sidewalks were filled with children in their wheelbarrow, being pulled off like princes and princesses, sometimes literally, by their enslaved parents. George however walked proudly in the streets, his homemade costume built with old clothes and such was probably twice less expansive than what it might have cost a parent for a single child costume. Actually, some people gave him scared looks on the streets, probably because he actually looked like a psychopath walking in the streets with a real axe. His friend's house was at least a half an hour walk into on an old trail he used to bike on a dozen years back. Local news spread the rumour this forest area was about to be wiped off to build new condos.

"Might as well enjoy it while it lasts." He gloomily said.

On the trail, he saw a small group of kids walking by, in the opposite direction, then after a good 15 minutes of walk, no sound came to his ears. And suddenly, a nagging sensation hit the back of his head and he crumbled down to unconsciousness.

"For the last time, Chad, don't put your fucking boots on the table!" Mitch annoyingly told the guy disguised as a farmer.

"Gee, calm down, Mitch, I swear I'm hearing my mother." The nonchalant guy replied before dropping the brown but clean mud booted feet on the wooden floor.

An aroma of spice pumpkin cake and beer wafted around in the basement common room. Large bowls of candies were displayed on the short transparent table along side with cake and empty chocolate wrappings. On the couch, the two young men in their twenties were playing some futuristic team up game with guns on the television. While Chad wore a set of denim overalls, boots and a white t-shirt, alongside with a hat made out of straw, Mitch didn't put on anything but a Darth Vader mask and a black cape. Under the two articles, the man only had home-casual clothes, an old sweatshirt with the Pink Floyd logo and a pair of light grey sweatpants. No socks.

Both the guys had met in middle school, playing soccer after school. While Chad kept his lean looks even after dropping out of high school to pursue mechanics, Mitch piled on a bit of weight from sitting all day in college and playing WoW.

"Hey, did George text you? He was supposed to get here, like, 30 minutes ago." Mitch asked, dropping the remote on the floor and stretching.

"Huh? No he didn't. Wanna throw another game?"

"Nah. Maybe we should set up the table for when he gets here."

"Huh. Maybe."

Turning off the console, Mitch stood up and stretched again, the old sweatshirt from high school definitely not his size anymore, some chub showing off under his navel. Chad slapped him were the flesh peeked and chuckled.

"You gotta slack off the chocolate bars, you got fat!" Chad teased as Mitch pulled down his sweatshirt to cover the small belly.

"Yeah yeah, I know." Mitch shrugged off. At least, on his 6' frame, the pounds he's piled on didn't show as much as much as it would have happened on someone the size of George, who used to be his English tutor in high school and a longtime classmate. He used to be Chad's tutor as well, in maths, until he dropped out. School was not the place for him. Heck, he had the brawn and the bod. He already had whatever girl he wanted so he did not care about the brains. Sure, at his 5'9" height, he was not particularly tall, but his piercing eyes and chiseled short-bearded jaw was the lady-catcher many men envied, Mitch included.

The two friends climbed up the stairs, entering the kitchen, where Mitch's younger brother Lars was drinking down a tall glass of milk.

"Yo, bro, gonna play a game with us?" Mitch asked him, already cleaning the table from the dirty dished of late dinner.

"Can't. Got an exam tomorrow." He huffed, breathing air after gulping almost a litre of liquid straight.

"You're such a bore!" Chad called him teasingly.

"At least I'm going to have a decent job someday!" Lars replied.

The contrast between the two was striking. While Chad stood average height and had a lean muscled body, Lars towered over him at a distinct six feet four height with a bigger share of pudge than his big brother. He had tried on football before because, obviously, tall guys with wide shoulder were supposed to love sports. At least that was what his parents, the athletes and teachers at school told him. But he's never been that fond of sports. Despite the appearance, he was the total nerd and excelled at school. Perhaps, he preferred to put his wits to test rather than brawn for a University scholarship.

"Heh. Still toying with ya! The important is to love what you do." Chad added with a smirk.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Ah. Must be George." Chad said, beer in hand before drinking some more.

Mitch went to greet his middle school friend at the door.

"Hey there, how goes?" Mitch asked.

George stood there, shivering and trembling. He walked inside slowly, whispering a weak good evening.

"What happened to your costume?" He added. "It didn't look like that when you sent me a pic earlier."

Once George passed the door and light shone on him, the three men inside saw diagonal but parallel tears over the jeans and plaid shirt. The fake beard was slightly off, and his hair was messier than usual. In fact, his whole clothes seemed to be covered in dried leaf crumbles and mud, maybe even blood near the tears. While George's skin complexion was usually a healthy beige, it was more livid than it should be.

"Wicked costume!" Chad complimented him, although the situation did not seem appropriate for that.

An awkward silence took place.

"Although you could have dressed casually and it would have worked even better. You know? Like scarier?"

The silence was dismissed as George smiled and chuckled at the horrible joke Chad had said.

"But seriously, you seem... like... well, you sure you're alright? We'll call the cops if we must." Mitch added.

"It's... just some... trick... I got pranked into the wood coming here." George finally said.

"Doesn't look like some prank but more of a beating to me." Chad said, taking a closer look.

"I'll be ok... Have you started the game?" George asked to change subject, looking towards the table where the new board game box was opened.

"No, we were waiting for you, but we can do it another day if you prefer."

"I'm fine, I'm okay." He assured, already feeling warmer inside the house until an odd grumble from his stomach echoed. "Let me just... go to the bathroom first."

"Oh. Alright."

Once in the small but luxurious bathroom, George took a look at himself in the mirror. His clothes were torn but still wearable. What he was afraid of was the pain in his stomach. His hands clenched tightly against the sink, the bloating sensation growing unbearable. He dropped his pants in a loud splat as sticky white fluids smeared against his underwear. What had happened in the woods. Everything seemed like a blur. He's lost consciousness until an intense pain in ass and guts forced him out of the dark. Clothes had been torn and what had felt like the weight of the world had kept him heavily on the ground like a stone. Only after a few moments, he could get back up again to find his clothes damaged and his pants down with a pain in the guts.

Now sitting on the toilet, more of the sticky white fluid seeped out of his ass, almost like he had flu. Fortunately, the pain in the guts was ebbing away. The thought of having been raped by a man in the woods was questionable, but no man could have bloated him up with that much of sperm. Feeling better, George stood up and flushed. Although he thought it'd cure him of the bloating, he still looked and felt bloated, but felt liberated of pain as well. He glanced down at his fluid-soaked boxers and removed them, throwing them in the trash under the sink. He'd go freeballing. Dressed up again, George looked at himself in the mirror yet again. He more-or-less placed his hair in a better way.

"They're getting a bit long for my taste though."

He'd arrange a rendez-vous sometime later. For now, he didn't want to scare his friends off.

"I'll run an STD test later this week just to make sure I didn't catch anything."

He looked attentively at himself in the mirror, then straightened his back. He had to look tough in front of his friends. Otherwise, what would they say. He sneered. His yellowed but clean teeth on display. He puffed his chest and could have sworn he felt pumped. Perhaps the adrenaline rush was coming back. But no, he felt something else. The fire he felt in his guts a few moments ago returned, but not in pain. Instead, a stream of warmth coursed his body. He closed eyes, turned his neck slightly, his hands gripped on the counter. Bones cracked. Energy filled him. He opened his eyes again, a golden tinge illuminating in the iris of his dilated brown eyes. An itch tickled on his neck, where was his adam apple. The tips of his fingers slid an inch farther on the counter while his palm stayed on place. George wetted his lips, his teeth feeling... straighter as he did so.

Everything was going to be alright.

The evening itself was going well. While Lars was back to studying, the other three where seated around the round table in the dining room, playing the new board game. The once weak and shivering George, sat confidently, almost laying on the wooden chair, a wicked smirk drawn on his face. The game have been going for almost an hour by now and there were no sign of stopping soon. In need of a break, George stood up and stretched, bones popping as he did so.

"Ouch! Man! That must've hurt!" Mitch commented.

"Nah, actually, it felt good." George said, scratching an itch on his face, where stubble poked out high on his cheeks, higher than the fake beard.

Although, he's only always had a neckbeard.

"You guys in for a snack? I'm so hungry I could eat a cow!" George added.

"I second that!" Mitch added, looking at Chad.

"Yeah, I could eat something too I guess."

Mitch opened the freezer and pulled out a large pizza.

"Let's start with that, I'm getting sick of candies and chocolate." The host said. "Would one of you go check on my bro if he wants some?"

"I'll do." George said, walking upstairs for Lars' room.

The door was closed, but George could hear the faint sounds of mouse clicks and of paper sheets being displaced. The guest knocked on the door and clearly heard a chair on wheels move in the closed room.

"Hey Lars, you're in there?" George said, surprised how deep his voice sounded when he spoke.

"Huh? Yeah, what is it?" He asked, clearly annoyed.

"Just..." George was about to ask him to come downstairs, but something... wicked crossed his mind as he sniffed an odd smell coming from the room, even with the door closed. "I'm coming in."

He opened the door without hesitation, only to see Lars close a browser window where George inevitably saw porn. The odd smell he's caught a whiff of in the corridor exploded in intensity. The smell of precum. Rapidly, George's eyes scanned the room. Trash basket overfilled with tissues and condoms full of dried cum. Cum stains definitely shown on the bed sheets. Countless cum-drying tissues on the desk and the ground. The room of a sex-addict guy. George's grin only grew sinister, his teeth elongating slight, sharpening. His crotch tightened, his body flushed with heat. The five foot six man shut his eyes closed as a chill ran on his skin, hair straightening on their end, growing just a tad longer and denser on the process. The stubble on his face darkening, growing denser as well. He grew taller. Five foot seven.

"Seems like you got caught in the act." George spoke, opening his eyes, their brown colour having faded a bit more to give place to gold.

"Get out of my room!" Lars shouted with anger, face.

"I really thought you were studying for a second." George added, his smirk showing how oddly sharper were his teeth. Five foot eight.

"Fuck you! Man! Fuck you!"

George walked out of the room and shivered as the door slammed shut behind him. His spine tingled and stretched a bit longer, raising his head higher. Five foot nine. George licked his lips, a growl echoing inside his guts. He was not hungry for food. He craved something else. He entered the next room, vacant. It was Mitch's and he could definitely smell the same amplified funk in the room. After all, it was the smell of a horny young man.

Groping himself, the lustful guest walked closer to his once-pupil's bed and pulled out a fleshier penis than he was used to. The thing had to be seven inches long and almost 2 inches girth-wise... which would be normal if he were hard. Though, it was mostly soft.

"Gee... what's happening with me..." George moaned softly, barely audible, as his voice dropped almost an octave in pitch, leaving tenor range to settle as a deep baritone.

George gripped firmly his stubborn manhood and the head flared out thick and red. The whole thing expanded even thicker and a whole inch pushed farther away, topping at eight inches hard, almost three inches wide. The horny lad automatically started the up-and-down movement, pleasuring the thing between his legs, until pre started to gush out like a broken hose.

"Shit." George mumbled, the reaction timing slowed as he saw what was happening but did not stop despite watching the thick white drops painting the wooden floor.

"Gotta stop." He added, closing eyes and lifting his head.

The shaft swelled in his hand once more, making itself dominant and forcing his wrapped fingers to pull apart. The length maxed out at nine inches and a half and it was probably as long around as it was long. All too soon, a gush of cum flew out of the manhood and sprayed on the pillow on the bed. Five feet ten.

"Fuck." George could only mutter, sense of reality coming back to him.

"Fuck! What did I do?!! I must get out of here!" He thought, filled with panic.

The dread filled man caught a glimpse of a rag on the desk and used it to wipe his dick clean and the few many drops on the ground next to the bed. Looking at the mess on the pillow, he wiped out most of it, then just turned the pillow upside down, hoping it dries up by the time they head to bed later. He threw the rag in the pile of what seemed dirty clothes on the ground, no hamper in sight. He was about to leave the room when he noticed his improved cock was flopping free out of his pants. He struggled to put it back in, hoping the new bulge and stains would not draw too much attention.

"Yo! It was time you came back! Mitch called to George as he entered the dining room.

"Yeah, I've put on a little scare on your brother upstairs." George blurted out, a warmth feeling rushing back at him, filling him with confidence once again.

"Ha! How so?" Chad asked with a playful smirk.

"Caught him up there whacking off instead of studying."

"Ha! Nice one!" Chad complimented. "I would have paid to see the look on his face!"

"Guys, can we talk about something else than my brother jacking off, please?" Mitch asked with a look of disgust on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Is the pizza ready?" George asked.

"About 10 minutes left." Mitch checked.

To pass the time, Chad started to talk about a lady hit on him at his job the other day. Apparently, she was desperate and couldn't find a garage that wouldn't charge her under 300 bucks on a 'little' repair until Chad offered half the price. George couldn't concentrate much on the story due a stinging pain at his feet. He thought of taking off the boots, but he's been wearing and sweating in them for a while now and didn't want to stink the room if he did.

"Excuse me guys, I gotta go to the bathroom again." He said.

"Don't get lost." Mitch told him.

Inside the room again, George sat on the thin ceramic edge of the bath and pulled out his feet of the size 16 stuffed boots. An odd tightening around his feet was felt, the wool socks definitely stretched tight around his meaty feet. George glanced in the boot and reached for the insides, only to get his hand stuck.

"Huh. What? C'mon..."

Struggling, he succeeded to reach the bottom at the heel emplacement, but somehow couldn't go in any farther.

"Those boots couldn't have shrunk did they?" He mumbled, oblivious that his hands were in fact way thicker than they were at the time he stuffed the boots.

Desperate, he used his trapped hand as a lever to hit the ground, hoping the stuffing slid out.

"Are you okay in there?" Mitch asked on the other side of the door.

"Huh. Yeah, yeah." Unaware he was grunting under the echoes of the boot tapping.

Unaware as well that each hit thickened the muscles on his arms and the width of his feet, stitches starting to give on his socks and the sleeves of his flannel shirt soon filled to the brim with gorged biceps and boulder-sized shoulders.

Finally, he could get a grip of the stuffing and pulled it out of the right boot. Only the left boot remained to unstuff. He did the same procedure, all the while his overall frame thickened, folds on his flannel shirt undoing and the clothing looking more and more made for a guy of his size. The shoes finally free of stuffing, George slid back in feet and pushed, - five feet eleven - and pushed, - six feet tall - and pushed his feet in the boots, slight relief felt lengthwise but a new stinging felt sideways, like the arc of his feet made them protrude on the sides more than usual.

"Stupid fuckin' boots..." He swore under his ragged breath. "I won't have mercy and split you wide open if you don't fit." His chest pumped and swelled, as if the steam of frustration expanded with him.

Raising up in a single motion, George was taken aback with an odd feeling of vertigo, but shook his head and walked out of the room, leaving the sweaty clothes -socks were the stuffing material- on the bath edge.

Back at the kitchen, George looked at his friends with that confident smirk, the pizza hot and served on the counter. An awkward silence followed his entrance, as both guys, now standing, were not looking down anymore at George. Though no one questioned it firsthand, it was clear that something was not right about it.

"Sorry guys, call of nature." George excused himself with that shit-eating grin. He felt an awkwardness as soon as he entered the room and that new confident part of him sure made him want to nag about it.

"So we're gonna eat some pizza or what?" He asked.

"Huh. Yeah." Mitch said lowering eyes and walking toward the drawers for cutlery.

Since the kitchen was opened on the dining room, George pulled a chair and sat on it with legs wide opened. The now thicker legs sure did nothing stretch wider the already obvious tears and their newfound hairiness. Also, the bulge at his crotch was not something to be amiss under the worried looks his friends.

"Hum... George, are you alright?" Mitch asked out of concern.

"Yeah, why you asking?"

"You... seem different."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Mitch looked at Chad for reinforcement. He was not crazy wasn't he, both of them noticed how different he looked from the weak and bruised lad that entered a few hours ago.

"Did you... change your costume?" Mitch asked.

"No. Well... not really. I modified it though if that's what you mean." George replied, not wanting to go in further details.

An itch spread on his cheeks, the fake beard getting pushed further away from his face as a real and thick beard was growing under it.

"I guess that makes sense..."

"Fuckin' beard..." George growled, taking grip of the fake one with a hand and pulling it off, breaking the elastic strap around his head while doing so. Only then, it was clear to his friends that a thick bushy beard had grown on George's face the moment the fake beard was removed. But before any of them could say something, George added: "What are you gawking at?"

"Dude... did you just grow a beard? Is that a trick?" Chad asked.

George stayed silent, still scratching at the itch occasioned by the growing beard, unaware that a few hair was starting to sprout out of his shirt collar in their ascension to join the even thicker beard down his neck.

"I... I'm hungry..." It was all that would come past his lips.

"Give him pizza before he eats us!" Chad told Mitch, semi-laughing semi-serious.

As soon as a large piece was put on front of George, he devoured it ravenously. The other two just kept looking at him, a golden spark reflecting in his eyes, the beard thickening more, growing even higher on his cheeks. One piece left to a second. George seemed to change a bit more. His back filled in more, the shirt growing taut, tight. His teeth looking sharper. His biceps growing to stress the sleeves, threatening them to split. Six-one. Another pizza piece. The boots where feeling even tighter, the toes hitting the tips in a single surge, the sides feeling more compact, straining. Six-two.

"Another one -UURP- please!" George begged at Mitch, who hadn't even eaten one completely.

"Dude, leave some for us too, you've eaten almost half the pizza by yourself!" Chad reasoned.

"Just one more, c'mon!" He pleaded.

The previous brow eyes had turned completely golden. A scary aura emanated from George who was seeming to hulk more and more as he ate. Plus, bits of cheese and bread had fallen on his beard and flannel shirt. His hands looked as big as the dinner plate in front of him and his long fingers seemed to be covered in hair, his nails turning a darker shade as if he's stuck them in dirt all day. Without much discussion, Mitch put on George's plate another slice, which the guest proceeded to eat immediately. Chad pushed his plate away in slight disgust, looking at George pigging down on pizza like he's never eaten anything before.

"I'm not feeling well." He muttered, sick at the noise and sight of George. "I'm... going to the bathroom."

Chad slipped out of the room almost too discreetly. Mitch, on the other hand, watched helplessly the transformation of his friend. While George kept on eating, his middle section bloated out inevitably, making the shirt look even tighter. The first button of the black and red shirt was pulled apart due to a chest that didn't fit on the once small frail guy. Even Chad didn't have a chest so dense and thick jutting out of his torso. The hit of the button on the table brought Mitch out of his thoughts and watched in fascinated horror that his friend's chest had busted the first button of the flannel shirt. The revealing chest was dark with hair, a thick forest that would make a pubic hair bush envious.

"Huh. George...? You there?" Mitch asked, a bit scared of what the answer would be.

"Huh. Yeah, why askin' when you're in front of me?" The jacked-George mumbled with his mouth full.

"Just... nothing... can you stay here for a minute, I'm... huh... just go check something on my computer..."

"Suit yourself, it's your place." George shrugged, shamelessly stretching a hand for another slice of pizza.

"Yeah... hum... just... let me know if you need anything." Mitch blurted out before leaving the room, a bit in a hurry but George was oblivious.

Unbeknownst to his friends, George had been rock hard for the entire time he's eaten at the table, his hard shaft just pressing harder and harder against the denim pants as its size increased with his body. Having eaten more than half of the pizza, George stuffed himself fuller until every remaining piece, including the slices in his friends' plates, was gone. Stretching his back and sliding slight off the chair, a series of POPs echoed in the room. Six foot three. Six foot four. Wherever his clothes have been sliced earlier tonight, an unusual amount of hair stuck out. The flannel shirt was unstuck from his pants as it failed to cover his bloated and furry stomach by an inch. The buttons were crying out for release and the ripped slices have ripped opened more to expose more hairy flesh. George put both of his disproportionately large hands on the small tummy, patting it as he sighed in relief of the pressure built inside his guts, though unaware that his nails had darkened even more and started to dig in his flesh while growing pointier at the tips. One of the hands slid down the full belly to his crotch, rubbing down the fat snake that surged even longer in the jeans, the meaty head starting to slip out of a hole that's been made earlier this evening.

"Fuck. I'm horny." The changing lad grumbled.

With a lurch, he stood up in one motion and a sudden tearing then snapping sound echoed twice. George moaned as a strange relief welcomed him, his feet having finally outgrown the massive size 16 boots. At the tip, dark claw-like nails have punctured through the leather and long hairy toes has slid out by almost two whole inches. The rest of the feet, way too large to fit in the boots have simply split the sides wide opened with the openings made at the tips.

"Fuckin' -UUURP- fuckin' boots." He growled, his tone dropping half an octave in a deep russian bass timber.

George walked away from the table, kicking off the boots remnants under the table. Right now, George was horny and the only thing he wished was to fuck, no matter if it was one of his friends. He walked toward the bathroom door where Chad was supposed to be. Without knocking, he went for the door handle. Unfortunately, the door was locked up.

"Chad. Can you open." George grumbled between his sharper teeth. "Ugh." He groped himself, the hard fuckstick in his pants growing firmer and fuller, growing past the ten inches mark, and rubbing it through his pants as tearing sounds grew in noise, the thing definitely wanting to get out.

"Go the fuck away! Leave me alone!" He heard back.

George hit in frustration the door, which audibly cracked. His large hands clenched into fists that grew like a pulse in size and in hairiness, the nails definitely growing into claws. The size of his fists comparable to bowling balls. His face clenched in a grimace and his head raised taller by an inch. Six foot five. The door knob felt smaller and lower than a few minutes ago, George not completely oblivious but confused to what was happening. He tried to force the handle once more only to distort than break it off the door. George stayed there in disbelief. He couldn't have broken the knob off the door. He glanced down at his oversized hand only to find the broken knob in it. George dropped it in horror.

"What... am I doing?!" He worried. But far too fast that warmth of confidence, like a buried Mr Hyde in his mind, told him that he didn't care, that all he needed right now was to fuck.

"That's... that's not me!" George cried out, plunging his face in his massive hands in fear.

Like an unstoppable torrent, the conflicted thoughts in his mind were at war, and he knew way too well which one was going to win. Head in his hands, his wide back flared even wider, the shirt ripping right over his left deltoid. The nails on his hands stretched further into claws and his pupils grew in size, dark as night, contrasting with the golden yellow his irises almost glowed. He stepped back, his feet stretching even longer, the large fat toes, big as golf balls, growing dangerous claws. Walking in reverse, he hit his back against a cabinet in the corridor. He growled and freed his face from his hands to hold himself against the furniture. His legs tensed and blocked.

"No...! Not again!" He clenched his sharpening teeth and eyes closed. He felt the tendons and muscles down his legs being stretched by the growing bones, pushing him even taller, topping now at six foot six.

His jaw crackled loudly and, for a moment, George thought it had broken off its hinge. But then, a new pain grew stinging and he thought he'd throw up. Something was forcing itself out of his face. Slowly, his jaw pushed out of his face by a whole inch, making his teeth and chin stick wider and further out. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead.

"I... can't... take it... anymore..." He growled numbly.

His giant body moved awkwardly, his large clawed hand scratching the wood on the cabinet and the paint on the walls doing so. He moved in a drunken haze. If Chad was not going to help him. He had to count on Mitch upstairs. The stairs were a completely different matter though. His shoulders were now so large he was almost eclipsing the whole way. Since his feet were now too long to fit on the steps, he had to stand only on the front of his feet and his toes, doing so raising him even taller than he was, by a foot almost.

Finally upstairs, George hit his head on the short seven-six ceiling. He tried landing back on his heels, but somehow his feet adapted this odd digitigrade stance. He barely fit in the hallway and prayed for these no-more-oblivious-changes to have stopped. The door to Mitch's room was closed and he believed it to be locked as well. George hit Mitch's door so hard his fist made way through, breaking the wood audibly.

"Mitch! I... I need... ugh..." George groped his crotch again as the previous lust he's experienced was surfacing yet again. The Mr Hyde wanted to get out again.

This confused state was the time Mitch needed to move some furniture piece in his room to block the door.

"Leave immediately!" Mitch shouted.

"I... I need help..."

"Damn right you do, you just busted through my door!"

"Dude..."

"I always thought you were a decent person, but you've just been acting like a freak all evening! I'm sick of your tricks!"

George eyes snapped opened and a flush of anger filled him. One button of the flannel shirt popped off and hit the door as his chest grew more and more. Another button flew off, right through the hole on the door to land in Mitch's room.

"It's... it's not a trick!" George shouted, more buttons popping off. He grabbed hold of the door by the knob and tried to force it opened, pushing his weight against it, wood cracking and breaking.

"Dude! Stop!"

"No!" George growled, his biceps bursting through the sleeves of his shirt, his shoulders hitting the ceiling as his height increased once more. A red fury gleamed with the gold hue of his eyes. But the beast was pushed away as Mitch only put more furniture in front of the door.

"Leave right now or I'm calling the cops!"

"P- please... Mitch..." The last remaining part of George begged, collapsing, defeated.

"Leave! Now!"

George's eyes closed shut and tears slid down his furry cheeks as hair crept up and spread all over his face. The jaw pushed outward more, the teeth finally reaching the dangerous sizes of canines. The pointed ears crept upward and grew furry as well. George's shoulders pressed harder against the ceiling, plaster dust falling on his fur and what remained of his clothes. His body grew past eight feet tall. The spine was not done stretching as a tail grew out in the confines of his bursting pants. Quads grew to the sizes of average torsos then beyond before they burst right through the ruined denim. With his claws, he tore what tightened his growing tail.

"Mitch..." The creature whimpered one last time before losing grip to that Mr Hyde.

Small good George died. Opening his eyes, George noticed the partially opened door in the corridor, which soon closed as George's eyes saw it.

"Lars." The thought hit him. With his longer legs, he crossed the corridor in no time and burst through the door, taking some chunks of wood and plaster along the way as his monstrous frame could never squeeze through the small opening. In the room, a scared Lars had fallen down on his ass. Not used to see someone -or something for that matter- taller than him, he definitely felt small and vulnerable to a towering werewolf.

"Don't... come any closer, you monster!" Lars threatened with a broom, only to be laughed at.

"I'm... horny... You... shut up..."

Before Lars could do anything, the werewolf pushed the broom away and crouched down over him. Inhaling the musk of this potent young man, George turned him around on his soft tummy and pulled down the waistband of his boxers to reveal a nice hairy crack.

"S-... stop it right-... mffff!"

"I said... shut up!" The creature growled, muffling the words with a hairy paw-hand covering Lars' mouth. Perhaps his head for that matter.

The werewolf's fat but hard salami-sized dick slid by itself between the hairy cheeks of the trapped human, its size out of human norms. The slight reddish hue and narrowing but fat head on this foot-long appendage was not human nor wolf but an alien hybrid between the two. It didn't need much effort for the werewolf to find the tight hole between Lars' fleshy asscheeks, the slightly pointed tip of the head spotting it and spurting a wad of pre to lubricate the entrance.

"Trick or treat?" The looming creature growled before guffawing in a maniacal laughter and forcefully pushing the thick fuckstick in the virgin hole.