Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 25

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 25

You yawn as you rouse yourself from sleep. Your alarm clock has gathered a thick layer of dust. You haven’t had to use its snooze button for weeks now. You know your routine and you follow it to the letter. You turn to the side and flick on your lamp to bathe your room in its golden glow. Your eyes sting at the sudden influx, but once they’ve adjusted, you smile as you look down at the fine dusting of hairs that have grown in on your forearm. They accent the curvature of the muscle that you’ve been growing, making them appear larger. And bigger muscle is always better. After you take your time to admire this newest addition to your rapidly developing ruggedness, you throw back your covers and swing your legs around to touch the carpet. You wiggle your toes, working through the material, then rise and reach down to scratch at your jock strap through the compression shorts. A dark blue swath over the crotch highlights the heft you’ve developed from all that hard work you’ve put in at the gym. You approach your mirror and scrape at the stubble on your chin. “Lookin’ good,” you rumble, then smirk cockily as you bounce one pec, then the other, back and forth. A somewhat denser dusting of hairs has begun to sprout between the densely packed muscle, like weeds in the sidewalk. You stroke them briefly, and the smirk turns into a cocky sneer. “I think I like you.” You tense your pectorals as the hairs brush against one another, and you let out a grunt. “Mmm ... definitely going to like you.” You reach down casually to adjust the crotch in your underwear, then smirk as you eye the large PUMP circling your waistband over and over. Already, your fingers are twitching. Your heart is pounding. You turn to the weights and jump rope, flicking over your old progress photos taped to the mirror’s surface. The gradual shift from slim and toned to thick and muscular gives you a minor surge of pleasure, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself as that fog descends once more over your mind. “Time to work out, like a beast!” you growl as you pick up the dumbbells and start to lift. With each pump, you psyche yourself up with another phrase, repeating slogans over and over. “You are massive.” Pump. “You are big.” Pump. “You are powerful.” Lift. “You are growing.” Lift. “Growing bigger.” Grunt. “Growing stronger.” Growl. “Stronger muscle.” Pump. “Musclehead.” Good. “Big and buff.” Pump. “Coarse and gruff.” Grunt. “Just a bulky,” You grit your teeth. “Brawny,” Your chest heaves as sweat starts to bead on your skin. “Brute!” The roar tore through your throat, and it felt amazing. “Huhuhuh,” you rumble. “Fuck yeah.” Your phone buzzes on the stand, and you look down at the notification. Time to jump rope, DUMBASS. :p You chuckle again at the sight. Duff must’ve messed with your notifications, when you weren’t looking. You shake your head as you put the weights down and pick up the jump rope, glancing at your face briefly. “Dumbass.” You roll your eyes as you smile and then turn away to start your cardio. “I’ll show you who’s a dumbass.” You chuckle as the familiar clack of the rope snaps in your ears and the fog seeps in again.”Yeah, ... a real dumbass....”

You let out a titanic belch, after you finish another chug session on your protein shake, then place the container on the ground next to your feet. “So, yeah. Things are going great.” You flex a bicep and smirk. “As you can clearly see.” You lean back casually on the couch and spread your arms behind your head to form a makeshift headrest, while exposing your laterals under the Underarmor shirt that’s clinging to your torso. “Truth be told, I’m not so sure there’s much more you can teach me.” Doctor Schroder raised a brow archly. “Is that so?” “We’ve been reiterating and practicing for the last three months, Doc.” You reach up to scratch an itch on your pec and heave a sigh of relief and pleasure as it passes. “It’s literally just one line that we’ve been reciting over and over again, almost mindlessly, with a few splits to other pieces of dialogue to avoid boredom. Well, news flash, I’m bored.” “I suppose that means you’re bored of your contract, too?” “No, I’m bored of having to come here. Like I said, Doc, you don’t really offer me anything anymore. I’ve had my vocal training, and you already said I can’t do hypnosis with you anymore. What’s left to do? You’re not my therapist, and even if you were, I wouldn’t want to talk about anything.” You stretch and let out a long groan. “So, the way I see it, logically speaking, that means we’re done.” You rise up from the couch and reach down to grab your bottle. “I’ll see myself out.” Then you pause a moment, turn, and encompass the doctor’s hand with both of yours. “And thank you for all your help.” Then you turn and walk out the door, leaving behind a speechless voice coach. You walk into the waiting room, where a startled Polynesian girl gapes up at you in some surprise. You just look at her, jerk your thumb behind you, and say, “She’s ready for you now.” Then you swagger out the door with that confident stride, shoulders back, chest jutting out. After all, it’s nice showing off all that muscle, now that the weather’s warming up a little bit. You flip open your cell phone and select the speed dial for Harry. “Yo, Harry, it’s me.” You could practically hear the grin in his voice as he calls your name. “How are you?” he asks. “I wasn’t expecting a call from you for another week or so.” You shrug as you clop down the stairwell. Might as well get some more cardio in. Besides, the elevators take forever. “Nothing much. I was just wondering if you could have a talk with that gym for me. I’ve pretty much finished with Schroder. She’s taught me all I need to know, and things are getting kinda boring and repetitive with her. I’m fine doing that with weights, but people and conversations? I can only do that so many times, if you catch my drift.” “Completely,” Harry agreed. “I’ll see what I can do. But I’ve gotta warn you, kid. They may not like what they hear.” Your mouth pulls up into a smirk. “That’s what I have you for.” Barry sighed, then chuckled helplessly. You could just picture the light shining off his head as he shakes it back and forth in his office. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises, kid.” You shrug. “I’m good with that.” A piece of static suddenly goes off in your ear and you wince briefly, before your face goes suddenly slack. You grip the rail loosely as you stand there, taking up the majority of the staircase. “Kid. Kid, can you hear me?” “I hear you,” you say in a low monotone. The world is spinning as a dizzying pleasure fills you up. Your voice echoes in your head as your mouth opens and your lips move, and even though you don’t think you wanted to say anything else, you ... somehow do. And then, suddenly, it makes sense why, even as you hear yourself saying it.“Tell them I’m willing to take those recordings, if they’ll drop Schroder.” Brilliant idea. Brilliant! “Now that’s something I may be able to work with! I’ll get right on it.” “Yeah. You do that,” you say dreamily. “Leave everything to me, kid. I’ll call you back as soon as I get the details. You just focus on your role.” Focus on the role. “Yeah. I’ll ... do that.” “See ya, kid.” “See ya....” The phone clicked with the end of the call, and the fog lifted immediately. You shake your head, confused as you sway on your feet, grasping the railing with one free hand. “That was ... odd,” you mutter to yourself. You shake your head one more time, return your phone to your pocket, retrieve your bottle from your gym bag to guzzle a few gulps of your protein shake, then resume your descent. A smile pulls at your lips as you begin to bring your legs higher and higher. “Let’s make this interesting,” you mutter. Then you’re high-kneeing your way down the stairs, puffing rhythmically out your chest as you feel the vibration of each impact racing up your legs. The smile soon widens into a grin. “Much better.”

Back in his small corner office, Harry smirked as he laid the receiver down. He leaned back in his swivel chair and let out a contented sigh as he looked over to the tape recorder he’d played into his phone’s mic. He reached into the drawers and pulled out the CD you’d shoved back at him just a few weeks prior. Then he pulled up his contacts and scrolled briefly, until he found the right number. The receiver rung once, twice, and then someone picked up. “Hey, Harry here again. I played the trigger. Kid responded just like you’d hoped. He wants to quit working with the Schroder dame, in exchange for taking the recordings, though. Says he’s learned all he can from her.” He paused to listen for a time, then nodded. “Good. I’m glad that doesn’t complicate things. I assume I can expect the next milestone payment in my account in the next twenty-four hours?” His smile widened into a sneer. “Of course. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Harrison.”

Working Like a Thrall Chapter 1

This is best shown as a PDF, so if you’d all just follow this link here, you should hopefully be able to read it as intended. I’ll be including a brief introductory portion below that pertains to the story from the librarian’s perspective, so please read it, before you go to the document. Thanks. :D P.S. This does get a bit on the mature side in some places. You have been warned.

Azeroth had been safe for the last six years, after the first great war ended. The dreaded Horde was defeated, its armies pushed back, and its gateway destroyed. Unfortunately, that was not to last. The Horde returned, and it was out for revenge. Many men, women, and children fell victim to this great and terrible foe in their second and most ruthless campaign to date. This is but the narrative of one such victim, whose word was sadly unheeded. The fate he has faced may be deemed too terrible for words. Peruse this narrative with caution, reader, for it is not for the faint of heart, and some small piece of the Horde's foul essence still remains bound within these pages. You are still determined to read it? ... Very well, then. You have been warned.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 21

You stare at the poster on the wall, uncertain as to which may prove the best style for you. There were so many to choose from! You knew you wanted short. That much was certain. But just what kind of short would really suit you? Did you want the high and tight, the flat top, a simple buzz cut, maybe some kind of crew cut? Whatever it was, you knew you wanted short. It was just so hard to choose with all the possibilities! The comforting buzz of electric razors at work hummed cheerfully in the background as they sawed through hair follicles to the tune of soft jazz. You could already feel a sympathetic tingling in your scalp as the sound permeated through your ears. Then came the sound of smart shoes clattering against the laminate tiles as Harry approached from behind. “So, you decide yet, kid?” he asked. You shake your head mutely. He whistled. “Sure is a lot to choose from, isn’t there?” “Don’t remind me,” you reply glumly. Your long-sleeved Underarmor shirt hugs tightly to your frame and you take a certain amount of comfort in that constant embrace. Every time you moved, it was like someone was giving you a massage, rubbing over each muscle, and it felt so very good. You couldn’t understand why you’d never had more of these shirts in your wardrobe to begin with. Harry chuckled, and the crown on his head shone as he wagged it back and forth. “You know, kid, you could always ask the barber what he thinks would look best. He is a professional, after all. The company recommended him specifically for you.” You furrow your brow a moment. “Why ... would they do that?” “Do what?” “Why would they recommend a specific barber? There are plenty of others out there. Why this one, in particular?” Harry shrugged. “He may not look it, but the guy’s trained in more than barber school. He’s a former stylist for all sorts of events. Fashion week, Couture, movies. You name it, he’s done it. The man’s a genius. He always seems to know just the right look for his clients to get into character. You sway on your feet as a bout of dizziness overwhelms you. Were it not for Harry’s swift reflexes, you probably would’ve faceplanted. You’re dimly aware of the steadying arm wrapped around your own as you’re led, stumbling, to a padded leather chair. You feel a gentle breeze on your face, and something is shoved into your moth. You clamp onto it and suck, filling your mouth with the familiar taste of vanilla and cinnamon. “Easy, kid. Easy,” Harry soothes. The dizziness subsides. “That’s it. Relax. Just relax.” You gulp heavily, until the familiar rapid staccato of air rushing with the last dregs of liquid pounds through the room. You sigh as you fall back into the chair, and are pleasantly surprised to feel a head rest cradling your neck as your shoulders slump. “What just...?” you ask slowly. “Dizzy spell. You’re all right now,” Harry promised. “Barry here’s gonna take care of you. You can’t help but chuckle. “Harry and Barry, huh?” Harry smiled. “He’s gonna be okay.” “Good. I’d hate for my client to have to run, before I even get the chance to handle him.” You feel your chair swivel, and suddenly you’re facing a veritable Adonis. His golden hair was perfectly coiffed with a natural wave that formed on his right side to jut up into the air. His skin was a healthy tan and his face was rounded, almost heart-shaped. His white teeth practically radiated confidence as he bore them in a smile. His long white sleeves are rolled up around his biceps to highlight the light dusting of golden hairs along his arms that accentuated each curve of well-toned muscle perfectly. His deep blue eyes were an incredible sight, the kind you might have killed for, back when you were more focused on your modeling career. Well, it’s not like you aren’t still focused. It’s just ... not on those aspects anymore. You’ve been too busy focusing on your body. And ... well, the results speak for themselves. You can bench a good 140 pounds now. The repetitive clank of the weights, the burn as you feel the muscles working to tear and repair over and over again. That same process over and over.... “Hello? Earth to,” Harry calls your name. You blink blearily as you turn to face him. “Huh? Oh, sorry, Harry. Was kinda lost in thought.” Well, not so much lost as visiting a happy place. You never thought you’d consider all that effort as enjoyable, but now you find yourself almost longing for those exercises. A body is a machine, and your machine was designed to LIFT. “One of those, is it?” Barry asked in a bored tone. “It is what it is,” Harry said with a shrug. “Bosses want him to look the part.” “Well, he’s certainly well on his way to acting it,” Harry mused as he stroked his smooth chin. “How long?” “He’s been training for about the last two months.” “And how much has he gained?” “See for yourself.” You watch in that twilit sort of daze as Harry passes a phone to the man. He passes his finger along the screen a few times, and Barry lets out a whistle. “He has potential.” “That’s what I told them. Kid’s a hard worker.” “What can I say? I love to work out.” You shrug your shoulders casually. Barry pursed his lips as he considered you. “I see.” He walked over and stared at you closely, occasionally cocking his head to the side. “I’m going to touch you for a moment. Please don’t get upset. I just need to check your facial structure to be sure.” “Sure?” “Of what types of styles would work best for you,” he clarified as he reached forward and started probing at your cheeks, your neck, your jaw. “Hmm ... yes, yes. I think I have it now.” He withdrew and started stroking his chin again as he paced. “You, my friend, are most definitely a square type.” “Hey!” He rolled his eyes. “Square in facial structure, not in the insulting kind of way.” “Oh.” You chuckle nervously. “Sorry.” You’re such a dumbass. That dreamy smile returns again as you think that word, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Hmm. Yes, I think I know just the kind of cut you need,” Barry mused. “Something ... simple, low maintenance.” “I like simple.” “Of course you do,” he says offhandedly. “Um, excuse me, Barry. Can I pay up now?” A smaller, more reserved young man with black hair and a smooth part that shone with pomade looked timidly up at the man. A simple sweater vest hugged over a creamy white long-sleeved shirt. “Oh, but of course, Alexander. Forgive me. I completely forgot.” “N-no problem, really. I don’t mind waiting, if you need me to,” the boy said hastily. Barry’s smile widened. “Nonsense. A good young man like you deserves to be treated fairly, after that terrible ordeal in juvie. You’re a proper reformed citizen now, aren’t you?” “Yes,” Alexander said dreamily. “A proper reformed citizen.” He held out a twenty dollar bill, which Barry was only too happy to pocket.  “And do try to remember to stay with the right sort of people this time, won’t you?” Barry asked. “Of course, Sir.” Alexander’s smile widened into a dopey grin as he clicked his polished leather boots together and gave a smart salute. Barry chuckled. “Off you go now, my boy. I’m certain your parents must be anxious to see you again.” “Oh, right. Thanks again, Barry!” Alexander waved happily as he snatched his jacket off the coat rack and made his way out the door into the snowdrifts to a waiting sheriff's car. Barry sighed happily. “Ah, youth. I love seeing them make the right sort of choices again.” Then he turned back to you. “Now, then, let’s get started on your haircut, shall we?” He clicked a button on a remote and the lights dimmed as a familiar whirring began to play over the speakers. The buzzing of the razor left you feeling loopy as the vibrations carried from the first contact, seeping deep into the nerves along your scalp and neck. You roll your eyes back in delight as the room starts to spin. “In the professional circuit, we like to call this style the induction cut. Why don’t you just lean back, relax, and I’ll tell you all about it....”

Jungle Games

This is a story I wrote, inspired by a pair of pictures by an artist named Sarvak on Furaffintiy.net. I’ll include the links below for you to view the art and descriptions that go along with it, if you wish. I hope you all enjoy. :D

https://www.furaffinity.net/view/19036299/

https://www.furaffinity.net/view/19117182/

“Hello, and welcome to the jungle.”

You cry out in surprise as you stare at the hunched figure standing in front of you. A ragged blue hoodie clings to his wiry frame, while the tattered remains of a pair of shorts brush against a pair of toned, hairy legs. A thick, brushy unibrow juts up at you from heavily tanned skin. His blue eyes seemed almost to sparkle beneath the filtered light of the canopy above.

“My, my. No need for such a startled reaction. I mean, I know I was ugly when I was born, but I never made people scream before.”

You gulp, and take a step back from the stranger as you note the swishing mass that shouldn’t exist wagging behind him.

Oh, would you relax? It was a joke. I take it you’re here to visit Lord Sarvak, yes?”

You nod your head dumbly, unable to really say much other than that, considering the oddness of the … creature that stands before you.

“I thought so,” he says, smiling smugly as he casually scratches an itch at his side. Right this way.”

“I, um … didn’t think he’d be expecting me,” you mutter.

Oh, a lot of people come to see him, actually. He’s a rather popular monkey,” the … man … monkey … thing responds.

“So you’re his doormonkey?” you ask.

“Well … yes, I suppose you could say I’m the footman for now.”

“For now?” you ask as you raise a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yes, for now,” he glowers back at you. “Lord Sarvak likes to play games, you see. I was once a visitor, like yourself. I wanted to get rich, to feel fulfilled, have fun, not have to work all day at a job that numbs my brain, the usual sorts of desires that draw people to him. Well, that, and I have a few debts I’d like to pay off.” He chuckles as he begins to guide you through the damp rainforest. There isn’t that much of a path, per se, but it seems the area had been walked enough to make a sort of a trail. “I assume you came to him for similar reasons. He’s willing to grant those wishes, and more besides, but he wants to have his fun with the process. So, rather than give a free ticket, he plays games with his petitioners. In my case, we made a bet. I get to be his servant for half a year, and if I’m still my same old self by the end of it, he’ll make me a very wealthy man, and even provide me the means to return home whole and hearty.” He hunches forward, and tenses his muscles, then jumps upwards to snatch a fruit off a low-lying branch, before taking a big juicy bite out of it, exposing his sharper canines as he eats greedily.

“Um … no offense, but you don’t exactly look too human,” you say pointedly.

Well, of course I’m not looking very human. What did you expect in the simian court? Master Sarvak had to make some … adjustments, so I could fit in my role better. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed up here or in here,” he said, pointing to his head and heart with a free hand.

You’d rather not risk upsetting your only guide in a potentially dangerous jungle further, so you decide to change the subject. “So what’s it like? Meeting Sarvak, I mean.”

Your guide furrows his brow as you walk, pondering the question. “It is … ook ook … difficult to describe. The first time I stood in his presence, I knew immediately how wonderful and merciful a simian he was.”

“How so?”

He breaks into a high-pitched sort of laugh that scratches through his vocals, until it becomes more like a screech. “Oh, you’re funny. Master Sarvak has taken very good care of me in his employ. All the bananas I could ask for, a tree to swing around in, the distinct pleasure of being his servant….”

“And what about your home?”

He taps his lightly bearded chin with a leathery finger. “My home? Well, it’s not much to look at by your standards. I get a lovely tree house, a never-ending stalk of bananas, fresh juice every morning and night, a hammock and bed to swing around or sleep in as I choose, and all the vines I could ever want to swing around on. It’s especially fun when you’re harvesting fruits from the trees. They’re so tender, so juicy and sweet. It makes my tail wag just thinking about them!”

You do your best to dodge the appendage, while still remaining courteous. “That’s … not exactly what I meant,” you explain.

“Hmm? Oh, you meant my human home. Well … I don’t know if there’s much to say about it, really. It was just a studio apartment. I remember … four walls, and a magic screen to look out into the world. Master Sarvak has something similar, only he calls it a scrying glass. I remember a fire stick I used to start a woodless fire, and it would keep burning, until I was finished. Now that really was something.” He paused a moment as a dazed expression passed over his face. “Funny … I can’t quite … recall the name for it. It’s been so long since I thought about that place. So … very long. Actually … what did my home … look like? How … how long has it actually been?” He lets out an animalistic grunt, and scratches at his side as he struggles to break through the haze. “I … I, uh … suppose it doesn’t matter.” The scratching becomes more rhythmic, relaxed, and a smile pulls at his face, expanding into a grin that exposes sharper canines and thicker incisors. “Yes … doesn’t … doesn’t matter at all.” He lets out few more simian hoots. “Must attend my duties.”

He clearly seems lost in his own world, and you’d rather not get lost with him, so you do the only think you can think to do. You tap him on the shoulder to gain his attention. “Um, are you okay?” you ask.

“Hm?” He looks at you, and the fog in his eyes clears a little. He shakes his head. “Sorry. That happens sometimes when I think of the master. It’s good to think about the master.” The scratching has risen somewhat on his hairy body, and suddenly he stops, and plucks something off his skin. “Yes … good.” You watch as he sticks it in his mouth, and starts to chew. You can’t believe what you’ve just witnessed as the crunching of an exoskeleton echoes in the quiet jungle air.

You gape silently at his actions, and he looks back at your face, and rolls his eyes.

“Well excuse me. I’m hungry. The bugs make for a tasty snack. Puts hair on your chest, sharpens your teeth for the ladies.” His eyes burn suddenly with an unreasoning anger, and he beats his chest with curled fists as he unleashes a series of territorial screeches. “AH HAH AH HAH AHHH!” He coughed afterwards, and cleared his throat as he regained control of himself. “Forgive me. That behavior was … uncalled for.”

“Do you need me to–?” you start.

He raises a halting hand. “No, no. Don’t worry. It comes with the territory. The form comes with the instincts, including the need to display dominance.

You watch with some surprise as his ears twitch, and then start to stretch, becoming larger and rounder. “Um….”

“Yes?” he asks as he turns to face you.

“Your ears.”

“Yes? What about my ears?”

“They just grew. Isn’t that bad for your bet?”

He looks at you like you’ve just grown a second head. “What are you talking about? They’ve always been this big.”

“Always been….” Your heartrate is starting to rise.

“Yes, always.”

Sweat begins to bead at your forehead, and you feel the hairs rising on the back of your neck. Perhaps coming here wasn’t the best idea, after all. “Um … how long have you been working here now, then?”

“Oh, I’d say about a month or so,” he answers.

“And … what happens to you, if you lose this bet of yours?”

“If I lose? Why … Master would … he would…. Something about a … runner-up prize…. Why can’t I…?” He claps both hands over his head for a moment, and scrunches his eyes shut in intense concentration. Or was it pain? You couldn’t quite tell. Then a cool breeze shakes the branches, and the soft tone of bells rings in the air. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, and then sighs. He stops, and you watch as his tail seems to wrap around his ankle, and rub it. His foot changes before your eyes, the skin taking on a glossy sheen as it thickens to a leathery consistency, and the big toe lengthens to become a thumb-like appendage, while the toes shift to become just like fingers. The second foot joins in a matter of seconds, and soon he turns to face you again. “Come,” he almost seems to drone, “Master is waiting. Mustn’t keep Master waiting.” He lets out a few gentle simian ooks as his sideburns thicken, and lengthen down the sides of his face and jaw to form a sort of furry mane.

“Um, you seem to be … well, that is to say….” You find yourself at a loss for words for a moment, then finally out and say it. “Something’s wrong with your face.”

He reaches up with his hands, and starts feeling over his cheeks, his nose, his brow, even the inside of his mouth. As he does so, you watch as his nostrils become more pronounced, and his mouth seems to pull out with his hand, forming a sort of semi-muzzle. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with my muzzle?”

“For one, you didn’t have it a few seconds ago.”

Your guide furrows his brow, and you watch as it thickens. The ridge stretches out like a clay pulled by a sculptor’s hand, before it compacts and swells, spreading like roots down the sides of his face to form a sort of natural hollow for the eyes to sink within.

“And now your brow is changing!”

He folds his arms, and rolls his eyes. “Well, a thick brow is part of the package. I’m a monkey servant, remember? … Monkey … just … monkey. Yes.” His gaze became distant again as the whites of his eyes began to disappear. “Hmm?” He sees your expression, and shakes his head to try to clear it. “Sorry. I’ve been feeling … scattered lately.”

You definitely don’t like where this is going. “Why don’t you tell me your name? You never did introduce yourself.”

“My name?” He shakes his head. “Master made me promise not to speak it, while I serve him. A proper challenge for a proper servant, he said. You may call me Domaap. It is the name Master told me to use.” He smiles dazedly at you.

“Um … why are you grinning like that?” you ask. “It’s sort of creepy.”

“Because I’ve come to enjoy hearing the name,” he explains as you reach a hill of roots. He begins climbing, and you have no choice but to follow. Naturally, given his simian anatomy, it comes more easily to him than it does for you. “It fills me with pleasure. The other monkeys think it’s a joke of some sort. I don’t understand how it is, myself.”

“You’re telling me he made you his servant, and you still can’t understand monkey speak?” you ask, surprised. You’ve worked up a good sweat by now as you continue to climb.

“Well, of course I speak simian. When you live in a jungle where the main population is monkeys who are bound in service to an even larger, more powerful magical monkey, you kind of have to know how to speak the language. It’s just a proper name, from what I can tell. I understand the speech. That doesn’t mean I have the meaning of every name memorized,” he pointed out logically as he reached the top and extended a hand down. You take it, and he pulls you up the rest of the way. “I can teach you some of it later, if you’d like. It’s actually quite simple to learn, more a matter of simplifying thought patterns mixed with body language and the occasional exclamation.”

“Like cursing?”

“More like hoots and screeching. It’s actually rather fun, once you get past the initial embarrassment. It’s far more entertaining to listen to them, once you get the knack for it. They’re simple, but passionate, and all dedicated to the master.”

“Why do you keep referring to this monkey as Master?”

Domaap shrugs as you continue to walk along the top of the natural wall. “I call him Master, because he is the master here. Everyone knows it, and everyone lives according to that fact. He gives us our jungle, grants us a home, rules us fairly.”

“Us?”

“Well, yes, us. I am a simian right now, so that means I fall under his rule, too. Any time we obey him, pleasure is our reward. I still remember when I first grew my tail and hung from the trees with it. It was such a rush. Master gave it to me as a reward for such speedy and efficient service when dealing with petitioners. Sure, it took me a while to learn how to climb properly, but once I had that down, the sky was the limit, quite literally. I could go anywhere in the canopy, swing from limb to limb like it was nothing. Back and forth, and back and forth, and back … and back … and … back….” He slumps further forward as a crack sounds from his spine. You watch as he swings his arms freely, and they lengthen. Soon enough, the sound of his knuckles scraping the ground reach your ears, and you watch as the skin around them cracks and darkens, while they swell larger. His fingers stretch out, and curve naturally as he alters his stride completely to match his new form of locomotion.

“Domaap?”

He turns his head back to face you, and grunts questioningly.

“Um … was part of your deal becoming a complete monkey?”

He grins, exposing his sharper canines as his lips fold outwards. “Mon-key … Master,” he grates out slowly, then slams his hands on the ground a few times, jumping excitedly on the forest floor, while his fur, because that’s basically what it is now, thickens into a proper coat. “Good … ha–ppy.” He leaps into the air, grabbing one of the low-lying branches, and starts swinging as he hoots out what you think is a simian equivalent of a laugh. The trees shake and tremble around you as that laughter echoes, and returns. It redoubles as the boughs in the higher parts of the trees shake with movement. You swallow forcefully as you realize you’ve been shadowed the whole way. There had to be hundreds of them.

You feel a sharp pain, and smack the back of your neck, pulling back to reveal the bloated remains of one of the biggest insects you’ve ever laid eyes on. Domaap hoots excitedly, and leaps down from his branch to take what remains he can with his fingers, then shoves them in his mouth. When he looks up at you again, the whites in his eyes have all but been consumed, leaving a sort of golden hazel iris to stare back at you.

…

But they had been blue.

“Domaap, how many people have actually won Sarvak’s games?”

His shoulders shake as he hoots gently in what you assume to be the simian equivalent of a chuckle. “No … know,” he grated out. You watch with a rising sense of horror as a forest of hair sprouts and spreads up his shoulders and neck, thickening along the way. “Just … serve Master.” He thumped his chest with a fist, then motioned towards you. “Come.”

The humid jungle air soon leaves you covered in sweat, and a low-lying fog begins to stream around your ankles as you follow your guide. Your hidden followers peek curiously out from the tree boughs. Some are completely feral, including in size. Others still maintain some small semblance of their humanity, namely in the form of tattered clothes.

You stop at the foot of a massive tree, where a curious plant is growing with a single broad, sturdy green leaf the size of a platter. A pool of rainwater has collected inside, and your host reaches in with a cupped hand to sip. He smiles at you then, and leans forward on his knuckles, before motioning to the leaf. “Drink,” he grunts. “Help … talk to Master.” His brow furrowed further, as though he were struggling to recall the words. “Speak … sim … sim–ian.”

“And if I don’t?”

He shook his head. “No … see … Master. No … talk … Domaap. No talk. No … no ….” He groaned out the last word, then hooted as he slapped his leathery palms onto the forest floor. The trees came alive with screeches, hoots, and hollers that pealed like laughter as he pulled off his shirt to reveal a fur-covered chest. He beat against it a few times, then grinned, and hooted excitedly as he watched the fur spread down his arms to thicken into a proper coat.

“Domaap?” you ask hesitantly.

The new monkey rises up onto his two feet, and stares uncomprehendingly at you. His tail sways behind him as he points to the leaf, and mimes drinking one more time, then leaps up onto a tree trunk to climb onto a low-hanging branch and hang upside down with his tail. He folds his arms, and looks expectantly at you.

You look back the way you’ve come. The fog has all but eliminated any sign of the track you’ve taken. Even if you could manage to stumble back the way you came, it was highly likely a predator of some sort would find you, before you managed to escape the forest’s boundaries. Domaap continues to stare at you, cocking his head left and right as he scratches his scalp with a finger. The familiarity seems to have faded from his expression, and all you can see in those eyes now is a strange sort of curiosity, as if you were the first human he had ever laid eyes on.

At this point, it’s rather clear. You have no choice but to do as he suggested, or else risk being lost in this jungle for the rest of your days. You brace yourself, then walk resolutely to the leaf. The water is still, completely undisturbed as you peer over the leaf’s edge. You can just make out the shadow of your face, but nothing else. A single drop falls from the tree above to ripple the surface, and you cup your hands nervously, before reaching out to take the liquid.

The cold water raises goosebumps on your skin as the excess runs down your arms, while you tip your hands up to slurp at the water. Your throat tingles for a moment, and you clear it forcibly to relieve the sensation. Then you look up at the monkey again, take a deep breath, and sigh. ‘Here goes,’ you think to yourself. “Domaap?”

The monkey looks your way. “About time you took the hint,” he groused as he dropped to the jungle floor. He smoothed back his messy hair, then hunched forward to lean on his knuckles again. “If you’re that hesitant, there’s no way you’ll be able to face the master and win.”

“What … was that? I mean, I assume we’re talking monkey, but it all sounds like English to me.”

Domaap shrugged. “The water is mixed with nectar from blossoms on the tree. The nectar drops when the pool is ready, sort of like the tree already knows. You’re lucky. You got a fresh dose. That means you’ll be able to speak with and understand us a lot longer than most.”

“And what happens when there’s more nectar than water?”

Domaap grinned, baring his sharper incisors. “Then the forest really likes you,” he said mysteriously. Then he turned, and waved his hand behind him. “Come on. Master Sarvak won’t wait forever, and he’ll have my tail, if I don’t get you to him soon.”

You walk nervously behind him as the creaking of tree boughs and the occasional whisper rushes past your ears. The longer you travel, the more prominent the voices seem to become.

“Fifty bananas says the newbie doesn’t even make it to the game,” one says.

“Twenty on chickening out,” another clamors.

You blush as you hear another voice ask whether you’re single.

“Pay no attention to them,” Domaap suggested as he looked to the trees.

“So, bananas are currency here?” you ask, desperate to change the subject and follow his advice.

Domaap shrugged. “Bananas, other fruits, sometimes tools or services. It varies. After all, what’s a game without a little betting on the side, eh?”

“How many have you bet on?”

“Oh, a few,” he said modestly as he brushed his knuckles over his chest. “I understand you humans better than most. It gives me an advantage. Honestly, though, what I’d like to do is explore the forest more. Being Master’s servant is fulfilling, and I am happy to do it, but I can’t go very far, unless I’m bringing new guests to him. The others tell me about all these places in the forest, and I can’t go, because Master needs me. It’s how most of the others get back at me for winning.”

“And how long did you say you’d been serving him again?”

“As long as I’ve been in this forest, so pretty much all my life,” Domaap said. The air seemed to waver around him momentarily as the fog swept over his shorts. You blink in surprise to try to ease the strange sense of strain that’s suddenly assailed your eyes. A few moments and one eye rub later, you open your eyes to see an emerald-green loin cloth wrapped tightly around his waist and nether region. It pops brightly against his dark fur, leaving little to the imagination. “Master has been very kind.”

“I … see that,” you say as the pit in your stomach sinks even lower. Desperate to take your mind away from that foreboding sensation, you decide to change the course of the conversation. “The trees here are so large. The forest must be very old.”

Domaap chuckles as he leaps onto a low-lying branch, and swings lazily, before somersaulting in the air, and landing perfectly back on the forest floor again. “Master made it himself, long ago. No woodcutters here, no developers. The forest protects itself, protects us. Master called it … alchemy, I think.”

“He made all this with alchemy?” You look up at the thick trunks, the spidering boughs, the heavy green vegetation casting the forest in an unearthly light. You take another breath of the mist, and a hint of something floral catches your senses, almost like a pollen.

“Yup. He helped the forest grow, develop ways to protect itself, even communicate sometimes. You could say … she’s sort of like a mother to us.” Domaap pauses at that, and rubs a hand appreciatively against one of the massive trunks. The boughs rustle, and the perfume becomes stronger for a few moments. Then you look up to see a blossom floating gently down. Its petals are a fiery orange tinged with licks of yellow and red near the edges.

A mischievous breeze stirs the mist, directing the flower’s course, until it lands in the monkey’s cupped hands. Beads of moisture shone like jewels along the flower’s petals as the two of you stare. Then Domaap lifts the flower up to his nose, and takes a deep breath. You watch in utter disbelief as the dark fur around his face begins to shift. It’s subtle at first, but like a ripple in a pond, a wave of color suddenly rushes out, consuming his head fur, then rolling over the rest of him. Fiery red blazed down his back with golden streaks and the occasional cinder-like orange. The fur around his torso shone like sunlight as the gold became more pronounced. The gold, orange, and red coursed down his tail, merging into a brilliant band, before fading off to streaks of gray, black, and white at the very end. The very visage of the flower became etched on either bicep just below the shoulder in black, not unlike the core from whence the stamen in the flower rose.

Your body feels tense, after seeing this latest transformation. Domaap looks at you in turn with a bashful smile. “That was … I suppose what you would call a kiss,” he says as he takes the blossom and mounts it by his ear, then clears his throat. “I’ll place it next to my hammock later. For now, it’s time you met Master. It won’t be much farther now. Come, come,” he waves as the two of you press on together.

The path isn’t nearly so difficult now, but your anxiety has reached a new level. Every shake of a bough, every stray breeze, every twig snap makes your heart hammer faster against your chest. You start to feel lightheaded, and you wonder if it’s you or the forest. “Does … does the forest ever … do things to people?”

“It wouldn’t be able to defend itself, if it couldn’t, now would it?” Domaap asked with a mischievous wink. “Don’t worry. You’re a guest. She won’t do anything to you, if you behave.”

“… Behave. Right….”

“She had fun with the last developers that came through here. They made good additions to the forest. You know, saplings, fungus, maybe a couple of predators.” He shrugged. “They don’t hunt us, of course. She won’t let them.”

“Predators….” You can hardly believe it.

“Well, that is what alchemy is, after all, isn’t it, changing the nature of one thing to make it another? Does it really matter whether it’s lead or a creature?”

“I suppose not,” you finally say. “It’s … not painful, though, is it?”

Domaap shrugged. “It depends on the visitor. If they deserve the pain, they’ll have pain. If they don’t, they won’t.”

“And … how do they know, the forest and Sarvak, I mean?”

“A little magic, a little alchemy, and maybe a game.” He grins at you. “Everyone loves games here.”

“And … if I meet your master, he’ll make me play a game with him.”

“Yup!” Domaap’s grin widens. “Don’t worry, his games are fun. He won’t let anybody hurt you.”

“It’s not getting hurt that I’m worried about,” you mutter back.

Domaap suddenly stops, and shoves out an arm to hold you back. A thick layer of leaves and brush stands before you, and the mist writhes out from the barrier. “We’re here. Make sure to mind your manners. We don’t take kindly to people who disrespect Master,” he warns. Then he reaches out to the leaves, and brushes them gently.

The foliage moves aside, rustling almost warningly as it parts. The fog washes over you in a wave, causing you to shudder, despite the warmer climate. You feel the strong leathery grip of a hand clasping yours firmly, and suddenly you find yourself stumbling through the curtain of fog into a massive clearing. Sunlight sparkles through the mist, causing the moist earth beneath your feet to emerge from hiding. Tiny specks of light dot the trees above you in boughs, where a series of vines and boughs appear to have grown together to form a series of shelters. These doubtless were the treehouses Domaap had mentioned earlier. Bamboo shoots and other forms of grass stuck up at various locations near the bases of the trees, stretching like fences to guard against intruders. There, in the center of the clearing, a tall, well-toned monkey balances on a gnarled wooden staff with one foot mounted on the top, while a second supported further down where the wood of the staff spiraled outwards, before tightening back up again in its downward course. His eyes are closed, but his fiery orange fur blazes in the misty clearing. His tail swishes idly behind him, its end a bright golden tassel that seems to trail sparks in the strange half-light of the clearing. Or was that just fireflies?

You blink a few times just to be sure, before returning your attention to the monkey man. His dark-chocolate-brown skin only served to further emphasize the brightness of his fur. You note how his ear twitches, and his lips curl up into a smile. He opens his eyes to expose playful golden orbs hemmed by red along the edges. His pupils are dark and probing as he peers up and down.

“So, this is our new arrival, hmm?” he asks as he looks you over. “Interesting.” He leaps up, performs a triple front flip, and lands gracefully on his hands and feet, before rising back onto his legs again. You do your best to keep your gaze away from the rather prominent bulge pressing against a blue loin cloth as he approaches you. “I’m guessing Domaap here has already explained the rules of our little home to you, yes?”

You gulp, and nod gently.

“Good. That will make this much easier. Domaap?”

Domaap steps forward and bows to Sarvak. “Yes, Master?”

“I want you to go join the others and harvest a couple of bushels of golden bananas.”

“Wh-what?” Domaap balks.

“You heard me. I want to have the prize ready for our guest. After all, one must be able to show an offering of good faith to one so brave.”

“But Master….”

“Now, Domaap.”

Domaap’s eyes grow unfocused for a moment. “Yes, Master. I’ll leave at once,” he says dazedly.

Sarvak reaches out, and pats Domaap on the head. “Good monkey. Treat yourself to a banana on your way back.

Domaap looks up adoringly at Sarvak. “Oh yes, Master. Thank you, Master!” He grins, baring his teeth, and exposing his sharp canines.

“Off you go, now. I want to play this game alone.”

You watch as Domaap scurries off with a few excited hoots of joy. He leaps onto a nearby tree, and the boughs shake as he jumps with practiced ease from branch to branch. If you hadn’t met him earlier, you’d have sworn he was a native.

“And score another one for me,” Sarvak says with a smirk, then chuckles. “I do so enjoy watching humans. They’re such funny little creatures, so assured in their own sense of superiority as the ‘dominant species,’” he says as he performs a set of air quotes for your benefit. “Give them a few changes, though, a little push here, a tiny nudge there, and … well, they don’t seem to care about being human anymore. Most of them rewrite their memories of their own accord.” He chuckles again, sighs, then shakes his head. “Humanity is overrated, anyway. You people are so focused on things like industrialization, a concept of money as power, boxing every little part of the world into your own standards and definitions, dismissing things like magic and potions with a contemptuous wave of the hand. After all, mankind is too advanced to believe in such things anymore,” he scoffs. “And they call us the ignorant savages.”

You gulp as the crushing realization of just how far in over your head you’ve gone practically shatters your psyche. Your body begins to shake, and you struggle to keep yourself together.

Sarvak takes one look at you, then sighs, and shakes his head as he clicks his tongue chidingly. “One of those, are you?” He’s by you faster than you can blink, and you feel his strong arm around your shoulders. His fur tickles where it brushes your neck and cheeks, but it feels warm enough, and … surprisingly, he doesn’t stink. “Look, I’m not some power-hungry spirit determined to take over the world, okay? And I’m not here to destroy humanity. Everything has its place in the world, even humans.” He shrugs as he leads you to a high-backed swing made from interwoven vines you’re certain wasn’t there when you first walked in. “I guess you could say I’m just the bookkeeper. I watch over my forest, take care of my charges, make sure they’re well fed and sheltered, maybe play a few pranks on visitors, if I feel like it. If anything, I’m more like an overprotective father than I am a ‘master.’” He chuckles at the wavering warble he added at the end, and despite yourself, you find your heartrate starting to slow. The shaking eases. He turns to smile at you, and you don’t see a hint of malice. If anything, you see … pity?

“Where exactly is this place, anyways?” you finally manage to say as he guides you to the vines and presses you firmly into the swing. He’s surprisingly strong. Then again, he’s a monkey. They’re supposed to be strong.

“Somewhere in some jungle in the world.” He shrugs. “The forest likes to move around from time to time.” He leans back, and a surge of spongy flora suddenly rises from the ground to meet him as he seats in an organic equivalent of an easy chair.

“This … is weird,” you finally admit, “and freaky.”

Sarvak shrugs. “Things like this always are for you humans. It’s par for the course, really. Anything else you wanted to talk about?”

You swallow nervously, then look back over to him. “Domaap said … the forest protects itself. It’s sentient, then?”

“I’d say closer to sapient, but yes. As you can see, she’s most considerate.” He smiles and pats the chair appreciatively. “Though she hasn’t exactly spoken yet, so it’s not entirely certain where she stands on that scale we mentioned earlier.”

“And people have tried to hurt her before?” You wince as you feel the vines tighten somewhat beneath you.

“Yes, they have,” Sarvak says softly. “Humans are always creating new ways to develop, or harvesting new ingredients for their medicine. I can’t fault them on the harvesting, but the destruction they bring about to do it sometimes borders on the ludicrous.” He shakes his head, then sighs. “So yes, we’ve had to defend ourselves a few times before. You could say that’s where the memories go, in part, when humans lose my games. The forest needs to know what advances man has made, so she can counter them in the event of an attack.”

“And how do humans find their way here?”

“How did you?”

“I … read a book.”

“Correction. You read a portion of a book, one you found on … the internet, I believe it’s called, isn’t it? You’re not even sure how you found it, but you read it, and here you are, waiting to get some easy money.”

You squirm under his knowing gaze. “Life’s been a little rough to me,” you say weakly.

“Go on,” he urges. “Tell me about it.”

You try to avoid his gaze.

“Eyes on me, please. It’s rude not to hold contact with a host,” he points out.

You fiddle with your hands, squirm a bit, but ultimately, little by little, you raise your head to face him.

“That’s better. Now, come along. Tell me the truth.”

You’re suddenly struck by a strange sense of vertigo, and you lean back in your makeshift swing for support. “I … I, uh….” And then you start. It comes haltingly at first. You want to obscure the details, leave your life your own, but the more you talk, the harder it is to keep your lies straight. You furrow your brow in confusion as you talk about dropping out of high school to live on your own. How was he doing this?

“Easy now. I won’t judge,” Sarvak promised. “I just like to hear the stories. Come now; tell me more. No more guilt. No more worries. No more fears. Just relax.” You hear the gentle creek of the vines in your seat, and you wonder idly when you’d started swinging. “Just look at me and relax. Let it all out. You’ll feel so much better, if you do. It’s always better to tell the truth, you know, don’t you agree?”

“I, uh … suppose so.” A sweet scent fills your nostrils, and you feel the gentle tickle of blossoms against your skin. “Mmm … smells … nice.” A light tingling rushes over your body, and you shudder as you feel the tension start to leave your muscles.

“See? You’re feeling better already. Come. Tell me more.”

And you do tell him more. You’re not sure how long you’ve been talking, when you suddenly see a rough wrinkled hand shoving something long and yellow in your face.

“Banana?” a familiar voice asks.

You break your contact with Sarvak for just a moment to stare up into the simian face. You feel dazed, thirsty. Your stomach growls.

“Thank you, Domaap. You can leave the bananas there,” Sarvak says casually. “And could you fetch our guest something to drink?”

Domaap grunts his acknowledgement and walks off into the underbrush again. You’re surprised to find yourself holding the proffered banana in your hand, already peeled.

“Go on. Eat,” Sarvak prods as he takes one from his own stalk. “I guarantee this will taste better than anything you’ve ever tasted out there before.” He bites it, swallows, then smiles as he stares at you. “Well, go on,” he prompts.

You look down at the banana. It almost seems to glow, but you’re sure that’s just a trick of your eyes. You sniff it, and smell a strong, sweet scent. A moment later, you’re staring bemusedly at an empty peel. A strong, fruity taste hangs in your mouth, and you look confusedly at the monkey across the way.

“Well, go on, big nose. There’s plenty more where that came from,” Sarvak presses. “Eat.”

And eat you do. Your nostrils flare, and you chomp down on banana after banana.

“That’s it. I told you they were better than anything else, didn’t I?” he asks.

“Yesh,” you acknowledge through puffed lips. Your jaw is working like a pair of pistons, but you don’t care. You don’t stop. You have to eat.

“To use a phrase one of my brethren were so keen on using, before he joined us, ‘it’ll put hair on your chest.’” He chuckled. “Among other places.”

You hold back after a time, and slouch into your seat. The vines are creaking more heavily now, and you blink your eyes sleepily as you brush some of your hair out of your face. You scratch at your stomach, and grunt at the strange pulling sensation you’re getting from your clothes. It’s rather uncomfortable. But then you’ve got a coconut cup shoved in your face, and you’re drinking something thick, smooth, and creamy. You forget about the strange sensation.

“Drink it all up,” Sarvak says. You do, and the strange bloating sensation you felt before is relieved, though not the tug of the clothing on your skin. Your brow furrows again, and you look up at the strange protrusion over your eyes. It’s bushy and thick, like a bunch of stray eyebrow hairs, but you don’t understand how that could be. You knead and pull at it, but that doesn’t seem to help. If anything, it seems to make it worse.

“Leave it,” Sarvak instructs, and you do so without a second thought.

“Time to talk again?” you ask. Your vocal chords feel strained. The itching sensation has increased, and things feel … almost swollen as you swallow again. You reach up to scratch an itch at the top of your head, and a thrill of pleasure flows down your body as you continue the action. You’re hardly aware of the strange pushing sensation against your kneading fingers. Indeed, you’re too enthralled in pleasure to be much aware of anything.

“That’s right,” Sarvak says gently. “But first, you need to relax more. Kick off those shoes. Stay a while. I think we’re close enough now to be past formalities, wouldn’t you say?”

You nod and grunt, since your mouth is too full of banana right now to respond properly. In a matter of seconds, your shoes are flying through the air, and land on either side of Sarvak’s chair. You wriggle your toes in your socks, and sigh.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes….”

“So much better without those pesky shoes.”

Your brow furrows. “Stupid things,” you grumble. Then the pleasure washes over you again, and you sigh as you lean back in the vines and stretch your feet on the clearing’s floor.

“That’s right. Now, where were we?”

And so you resume, and you look gladly, almost eagerly into his eyes this time. You’re struck by the occasional lightheadedness, but when that happens, you just grunt, and scratch yourself a little to give you time. You think Sarvak knows, but he’s so nice, just lets you do what you want, and smiles. He doesn’t even blink an eyelash when your clothes start to rip. He’s such a great guy. You really do like him, and he’s giving you all the bananas you could ask for. What a gracious host. You smile as you chew, and your swollen jaw shifts in proportion with the muscle strain. You hardly even notice the twin pops as your socks burst open, like the seams in your pants, to reveal rough, leathery feet. In a matter of seconds, you find yourself peeling bananas with your toes, then passing them up to your hands to chew.

“So there it is. I was just … tired, I guess,” you finally say from your spot on the ground. You twirl your last banana idly between your fingers as you readjust the remains of the vines into a nest, shoving the fragments of cloth in with some spare leaves growing within reach to form the extra padding. “Tired, and,” you yawn, “waiting … for someone like you.”

“And I’ve been waiting for someone like you,” Sarvak said intently. His eyes were so pretty. They seemed almost to glow as you stared into them. You felt so safe. “Domaap is an excellent servant, and he loves his duty, but he gets tired of being by my side so often, and he wants to explore the forest. I can’t say I blame him. She has much to offer, and she does so love surprising her children.” He sips from his own cup as he eyes you. “I don’t need more servants pampering me hand and foot.” He rises from his chair suddenly, and walks over to you. It’s … funny. You don’t remember him being so short before. He barely comes to your chest. “I need someone strong to support me, to protect me when people come with ill intent. Some come to steal from me sometimes. Others … others try to kill me.”

A guttural snarl rises naturally from your throat. “Why?” you demand harshly. Your eyes narrow. Your free hand clenches into a meaty fist as you bear your teeth. A tingling sensation runs over your jaw, and you’re hardly aware of how your canines have lengthened somewhat and your mouth has shoved forward with your new snout to form a sort of proto-muzzle as you snort angrily.

“Money, power, land, ingredients, reagents, fear, take your pick,” he sighed with a shrug. “The point is that I need someone to guard me, to protect me in the event someone tries when they get close. My little monkeys would be lost without me. And well, if I die….” He left it hanging in the air.

You struggle for a few minutes as you try to catch the monkey’s meaning. You know Sarvak wants you to finish it, but you’re not sure how. Then, slowly, a tiny bubble of memory bursts its way to the surface of your thoughts. He was the bookkeeper. He’d said that. Keeps earth’s books balanced, or … something like that. “Earth dies, too,” you finish gruffly.

“Exactly. Very good.”

You grin at his praise and puff out your chest proudly as you strike it with your fist. “I’m smart,” you grunt.

“Yes, very smart for such a big ape,” he agreed.

That … didn’t sound right … did it? But … Sarvak said to tell the truth, and … he was telling the truth, too, right? So … that means … you had to be an ape. But … but….

“Shhh….” He hushes you gently as he pulls your head down to stare at him again. “Our game is nearly over, my massive friend.”

Those eyes….

“Very nearly over, over the edge, over your old life, over humanity.”

“O … ver….” You can’t look away. You hoot gently, meekly, to voice that small piece of concern, so very small compared to the bulk you now feel in your body, that raw brute strength.

“But here’s where the game gets interesting. See, I’m going to take a risk, my friend. I’m going to give you a choice. True, it’s only fifty-fifty, but it’s a gamble all the same, which makes it such a wonderful game. You can go back to that old life of yours with a dead-end job and nowhere to go. I’d even be willing to part with some of my valuables to send you on your way, let you live the life you always wanted over there: comfortable, peaceful, rich. Of course, you’d likely end up living in some city high rise with all those noisy cars and rowdy neighbors, and you’d be doing everything in your power to protect the valuables in the first place. Honestly, it’s far too stressful, in my opinion.”

His tail flicks over your vision, and the bright lights make your head feel all funny and fuzzy as he taps the edge on the banana in your hand. The peel starts to glow with a gentle golden light, just like the tail. It feels warm, and a light tingle passes from it into your much larger hand. “The other option, my friend, is quite simple, and you like simple, don’t you?”

You feel your head nodding. Simple was good. You liked simple.

“All you have to do is eat that banana. Do that, and you can stay here, where it’s simple, calm, peaceful. You’ll have all the fruits you could ever want, including our long yellow friends there,” he added with a wink. “You can be my guard, someone to watch my back, intimidate any people who get the wrong idea about their visits here. You know, the ones who want to hurt me.”

You growl again as the haze of anger descends.

“You can teach them a lesson, make them understand how wrong they are. I can show you how.” The tail caresses under your chin. “How to be dominant. How to lead them. How to reform them. Or, if you prefer, well, you can do it the other way, I suppose.”

“Other … way?” you hoot, confused.

“Oh, you know, like when you break a twig. I don’t like killing, but if it comes down to it, sometimes you have to.” He shrugged. “That would be completely up to you, of course. But there’s no need to think about that right now. No need to think at all.” He’s staring at you gain, and your eyes are locked with his. “Thinking is over now. You don’t think much now anyway, do you? You prefer to act.”

“A-a-aaahhhhct….” Eyes … so pretty … so … nice…. Thinking over. No think.

“So act. Eat or don’t eat. Choose now, you silly ape.”

For just a moment, images flash through your mind. You see the small apartment you rent, the abusive manager, the cursing roommates, the mocking “friends.” You look at the banana, and your mind clears as the full impact of what that choice would mean blazes through the fog like a comet. Then you look down at Sarvak, those glowing eyes, that sultry voice. He was kind, hospitable, friendly, and he was offering you a new life in a place where you would be well taken care of, where you could decide your fate without other people to boss you around, well, except for Sarvak. He would technically be your boss, since you’d be his guard, but that was beside the point. It was beautiful here, beautiful like those eyes. So … beautiful.

And just like that, the comet passes, and the darkness rushes in to fill its place. Funny words like choose, ape, and simple echo over and over in the caverns of your mind, and they keep getting louder the longer you stare at the banana. You scratch at the ridge on top of your head, and the pleasure calms you. The darkness thickens. The caverns expand. Somewhere, deep down, you feel something give. You grunt. You hoot. You peel the banana, and as you raise it to your dimming eyes, you fumble for the words that will seal your fate. “I’m just a big, dumb ape.”

You take the bite, and Master Sarvak smirks as you polish off the banana and toss the peel aside with the last vestiges of your humanity. You shudder in pleasure as Master Sarvak speaks, “Yes, you are, Pumbavu. Yes, you are.”

You are Pumbavu.

You are a dumb ape.

And you are happy to serve your new master until THE END.

Working Like a Thrall Chapter 2

Here’s the second chapter. By this point, I started incorporating our friend, the librarian into the story as a sort of pre-part, before going back into this “journal” of our protagonist. I hope you all enjoy it. P.S. What do you think of me linking PDF URL to my transformation stories, rather than putting the text directly in the post box? I can’t do it for all of them, but for those that I have posted elsewhere online in PDF files, I can. Please let me know what you think. Thanks! ~Omni

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 22

“When I said center yourself, I didn’t mean jump headlong into the persona,” Doctor Schroder chided as she shook her head. “Did you go looking for other recordings, after I took mine back?” “Nope.” You lean back with a confident smirk as you run your hand over your bristling scalp. “I’m just really enjoying the new lifestyle is all. Lifting weights is fun now, and I keep wanting to push myself to be bigger. It’s not just for the sake of the job, and it’s not for the sake of the recordings. I actually, legitimately, want this.” “And the cognitive side of things?” You shrug. “Haven’t noticed too many changes. Sure, I get distracted at home, sometimes, but I’m learning how to find a new balance with that.” “Oh, really?” “When you wake up one evening and realize your entire apartment’s a mess from neglect, you don’t exactly have much choice. I make sure to add cleaning the apartment as a part of my workout routine now. It’s ... a little hit-and-miss sometimes, but I’m working towards that change, and change is good, right?” “It can be, if it’s really you who wants it and not somebody else telling you that you do,” Schroder noted. “Are you certain you want this metamorphosis?” “Doc, it’s not like I’m forgetting who I am and where I came from. I’m legitimately enjoying this. I feel more confident, outgoing, strong.” “And your change in wardrobe?” “If I’m going to focus on a gym-based lifestyle, then I need to wear gym-based clothing. I have a few more casual things for off days, if I want to wear them, and I’m seeing about getting a fitting for some new formal wear. Nothing too fancy, mind you. If I were to get a suit, I’d probably grow out of it in a few weeks.” “You’re putting on weight that quickly?” You shrug. “What can I say? Working out like this has increased my metabolism. And I wasn’t exactly the biggest guy on the block, before I started. I’m just unlocking my potential.” “The natural way, I hope.” All sense of humor drains from you at that comment and you sit up in the couch as you level her with a flat stare. “Hank’s not that kind of trainer, and I’m not that kind of builder. Duff’s already explained what that shit can do to you. There’s no way in hell you’d catch me using.” “I just wanted to be sure. There are those patients I’ve had in my previous work that weren’t willing to work hard for their ‘change,’ as you put it. Needless to say, things ended poorly. Though this does bring us to a rather important segue. You appear to have modified your mode of speech. Why the change to language?” You shrug. “It just feels natural. It slipped out one day, and after that, it just wouldn’t go away. It’s not like I’m cursing at every sentence or anything like that. It just sort of slides out at the right moments.” “And you aren’t feeling any uncharacteristic urges?” You shrug. “Not really. I mean, sure, my testosterone’s gotten a lot higher, so I’m dealing with more aggression and things along those lines, but other than that, I’m doing fine.” “And you’ve been keeping that in check?” “Duff’s been helping a lot with that. He and I usually have some sort of contest or something along those lines, whenever I feel the urge. He’s a good friend and a great competitor. We usually vent those urges with contests at the gym. Who can break whose record, that sort of thing.” “And that’s all fine with you?” “Why wouldn’t it be? We both know it’s just for fun, and we never let it get in the way of our friendship.” “And the haircut?” “Sweat kept streaming down the hair into my eyes,” you shrug, “so I got it buzzed.” “I see. And that’s the only reason?” “Pretty much.” “Well, you do still appear to have retained the majority of your original personality, albeit with certain minor alterations. I’m still not giving you any more recordings, but I think it’s safe enough for us to resume our regular voice coaching sessions.” She laid her clip board aside and curved one leg over the other as she leaned forward. “Now, then, let’s start with Schwarzenegger and move on from there, hmm?” You grin impishly at her as you flex a bicep. “I lift things up and put them down....”

Duff wiped away the tears from the corner of his eye as the mirth-filled laughter finally settled down. “Dude, I can’t believe you can pull that off!” He laughed again. “Come on, try one of his other lines. Do it!” You chuckle, shake your head, and roll your eyes. “Fine.” You clear your throat and tense the muscles along either side, then take a deep breath. “You are terminated.” The laughter resumed again. “I’ll be back.” “Bro! Bro, stop it!” Duff clutched at his sides as the bout of giggles continued. “You asked for it,” you point out. “Any misery you’re suffering is your own fault.” “What a marvel: a voice that can kill with humor!” “Yeah, yeah. Ham it up, why don’t you?” You roll your eyes as you stab your fork into another bite of your rice bowl. “By the way, thanks for the tip on the secret menu. You’re right, the brown rice makes it a lot better.” “Healthier for you, too,” Duff noted. “So, how’re things going with that contract of yours?” “I’ve got my next report photo op coming up.” You shrug. “I think they’ll like the improvements I’ve made.” “Give yourself a few more months. They’ll hardly recognize you.” “I hardly recognize myself sometimes,” you chuckle. “But then again, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Your eyes drift idly over to where one of the waitresses is busy setting an order down. Her long blond hair cascades down her back in a loose ponytail tied by a hair tie, and her rich green eyes reflect the light like crystal, every time she turns her head. “Not bad at all....” The dull sound of snapping fingers finally brings you back around as you turn to face your friend. “What?” you ask. Your head is feeling that tingly sensation again as you take a sip from your ice water. “Dude, I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last minute.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “You’re crushing hard, aren’t you?” You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. “N-no,” you protest. Duff chuckled. “Bro, you’re worse than I was at the first lunch.” “Curse you and your perceptiveness,” you growl playfully. Duff shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve always been good at my rolls for initiative.” That raised an eyebrow. “You play D&D?” “I’m a DM.” He shrugged. “It helps to pass the time, after homework and workouts are done.” “I’m surprised you don’t have to deal with hostility.” “The guys know me. Just because I’m fit doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into some bully. They know that. And any who don’t know get just one pass. After that, it’s out of the group. We all agreed. We don’t have room for shallow idiots on either side of the spectrum. It’s one thing to role play such a character. It’s another to let that carry over into real life.” “Eegads,” you gasp. “Is that actual confidence I hear?” “Shut up,” Duff laughs as he punches you playfully. “You up for meeting at the gym tomorrow?” “Paired workout?” “Yup.” “Fine, but I call dibs on first run.” “Damn,” you swear, “you’re on a roll today.” Duff smirked. “It’s a gift.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah....”

“It’s a gift, kid. How are we supposed to say no?” The two of you are sitting at your small kitchen table as you look into each other’s faces. The warm air cycling through your ventilation system tickles across your bare chest as it swirls past. “Like this, harry. N-O. It spells no.” You slide the CD back over to him. “Unless it’s specifically stipulated in the contract that I have no choice but to play these tracks in my apartment, I don’t want them.” “But--.” “I’m doing fine on my own, Harry. Look at me!” You strike a double bicep pose and a shudder of pleasure passes over your body. “I already love this. I already want to keep building my muscles. I don’t need some recording telling me that every second of every day. I already know it to be true.” You shake your head. “And as for the acting part, you already know I’m keeping to the regimen. Like it or not, there’s no real need for this anymore.” “The company may not like it.” “The company can stuff it. Hank knows what he’s doing. I’ll be what they need me to be, by the time the filming comes around, but I’m not about to stop being myself either. I like blanking out as much as the next guy during my workouts, but I still need to function in the real world. I’m not about to let myself fall so deeply into the stereotype that I can’t live a normal life. I’m sorry, Harry, but that’s my final answer on the matter.” Harry sighed as he put the case back into an inner pocket on his suit coat. “All right. I’ll let them know. They may not like it, though.” “I think they’ll like what they see tomorrow. You’ll be there for the shoot again, right?” “Naturally. After all, you’re one of my best clients.” “Good. I’ll see you then.” You smile kindly. “Can I interest you in a smoothie, before you go? I found some great recipes online.” “I’ll pass, thanks. Got a date tonight, and I need to save room.” “Ooh, and who’s the lucky lady?” “That, my friend, would be my business.” You chuckle. “Harry’s got game.” You walk over and clap him on the back in congratulations. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” Harry rolled his eyes. “You had to use that one, didn’t you?” “An oldie, but a goodie,” you agree. Harry chuckled as he raised his hands in defeat. “See ya tomorrow, kid.”