Hell of a Party

A Halloween party gets more enjoyable for a young cat once a demonic force starts altering reality. Explicit.

Circ had grown out of parties. Well, he didn't want to say it like that and sound like an asshole, but that was pretty much the way he felt. Parties were great when you were a kid and got presents and everyone played games. And he bet that parties were pretty fun when you were an adult and could get drunk and do all sorts of crazy stuff. But when you were a teenager, what was there to do?

He couldn't dance, so trying to would be an embarrassment. It was way too loud to have a conversation with someone. But everyone was was where it was noisy; he couldn't slip off somewhere quiet and find someone to talk to.

The music was hurting the brown cat's ears. Damn it, was he getting a headache? He'd wanted to go trick or treating, but his friends had talked him into coming to the party instead. He was pretty sure he'd be having more fun trick or treating. Only maybe half the people had even showed up in any kind of costume.

Circ had been planning to shave his hair short for a few months now, to make his costume work. He hadn't shaved it all off just yet, though; he left the top short and the sides long in a tonsure, and with some sandals and a brown robe and some rosary beads—bam, monk. Great costume, and he'd just get the tonsure shaved off tomorrow.

He looked around him, and none of the friends he'd come with were there, they were all off with other people. That was it. He was getting out of here. He squeezed his way through arms and shoulders and backs, moving through the crowd. He wasn't giving up on the party, but he couldn't stay in that hot room any longer.

The kitchen was a relief. He was about as sweaty as the bottle of soda he poured into the red plastic cup. The pizza was cooling down, but there was a slice of sausage left over. He ate it, half-congealed grease and all. The cool breeze from outside coming through the screen door cooled him down and helped him feel less damp.

He wasn't hungry or thirsty, but it kept him busy for a few minutes. He had nothing else to do, really, so why not?

Crimson smoke billowed from the corner of the living room. With a sharp thunderclap, a dark figure appeared in the center of the smoke, with bare red skin and tight leather stretched over the shapely swells of her body.

"A thousand years of imprisonment, and I'm free! You little mortals are going to make a fine warm-up."

To her dismay, she wasn't commanding the attention of quite as many of them as she wanted.

A bolt of red lightning lit up the room, connecting her fingertip to the chest of a broad-shouldered rabbit. He stared straight ahead, his mouth open but making no noise. The color drained out of his fur and left him pale white. He was shrinking and swelling; lace and velvet were sliding over his body; he flinched as his canines throbbed in pain. He...no, she could feel the corset squeezing around her.

"O-ohh my," the Victorian Gothic vampire bat gasped.

The demoness now had everyone's attention. Someone in the back tried to run. They ran through the kitchen door, and came back out into the living room as if the doorway connected back to itself. The noise of panic was growing.

Circ wanted to give the party one more try. Maybe he'd gone about things wrong? He could try turning on 'the charm'. Did he have charm? He wasn't sure. He could give it a shot though. What did he have to lose? Come on, one last shot, try to be the party animal you know you can be, he told himself.

But standing in the door way, he could hear how the party had gotten louder, everyone was bumping into each other, and there was some woman he didn't even recognize saying...something. The din of voices was too great to make out anything apart from snippets of words. It looked significantly less fun than it had five minutes ago.

That's it, parties just fucked up their last chance. Unless there was 'birthday' in front of it he didn't care any more. Drink in hand, he turned away from the living room. He headed for the back porch, since he didn't want to go through the crowd between him and the front door.

The screen door clattered of aluminum when he opened it. Someone turned and looked back at him. The mohawk shaved into her mane gave her away. It wasn't part of a costume; she was the obligatory punk rock girl.

"Oh, hey Tara," Circ said.

He knew her pretty well. More from middle school than high school, when they had actually hung out together. As it was now she was in the difficult to pin down 'people I know and see a lot but aren't really my friends, but saying that they're not my friends seems a little too mean because we know each other pretty well' area.

"Hey. You want one?" the hyena asked.

The cigarette in her hand bobbed in his direction. Circ shook his head.

"No, I'm good. So, what are you doing here?" he asked lamely.

Tara's eyes rolled over to look at him blankly for a few moments.

"Same reason you're here. Gotta be socially active, right?"

She grinned, but he didn't look over at her. He took a seat on the steps next to her.

"What are you even supposed to do at a party? It's—" Circ began.

"You hang out and get wild, that's what you do."

"Yeah but I don't...I mean, do you dance? What if you're kinda alone? When's good to talk to people?" he asked.

"See, you don't get out enough. And so when you do it's a big fucking deal and everything's gotta go right, yeah? Well it's not gonna go right, you're gonna fuck up, but know what? Everyone else is gonna fuck up too. We're all one big pile of teenage fuck up and when you're old you'll think it was the best thing ever."

The tip of her cigarette glowed as she took a swaggering drag. Circ glanced back at the screen door. Yelling and wild noises were finding their way out to the porch where the two of them sat.

"No, you don't get it," the demoness hissed. "It's ironic punishment. You dressed up as shitty history. Now you're accurate history."

The collie pouted, bulging out of her petticoat, white wig bouncing.

"But I don't even remember who the Federalist Party was! Were they like the Republicans or the—"

Her eyes went blank as the demon drew her fingers across her face in a 'zip' motion.

"Oh! Um. I'm founding the Sperm Bank of the U.S.! Anyone who wants an account, you've got to make an initial deposit!" she called out.

The Federalist girl disappeared into the hectic, changing crowd.

"Shit, you think it's an orgy or something?" Tara asked.

Circ blushed lightly, and she just snickered.

A spray of sparkles hit the back of Circ's brain. His vision shimmered with the patterns he saw when his eyes were closed. His eyes trailed over to look at Tara, who gripped a long cigarette holder between her first two fingers.

He considered saying something, but what would he say? 'Hey, you didn't have that before'? Her mohawk was coming undone; her hair was coming out of the heavily gelled shape, and draping down toward her head. Circ's pecs tightened and rose against his robe when he cleared his throat. The sound was deeper than he'd expected.

Tara slid forward and rolled back against the steps. She leaned her elbow against one step and stretched out her legs by setting the soles of her combat boots a step lower. A trail of smoke curled from her lips. Circ could have sworn that the death metal band logo on her tanktop was rising, stretching. His underwear thankfully held down the erection that threatened to tent his robe. He ignored the dull aches on either side of his head.

"It's not a bad night," Tara said to break the silence.

Her voice had softened, no longer the gravelly groan. Circ's voice was broader, thicker.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said.

He gazed at her lips, curled around the cigarette holder, almost sucking on it, breathing in another slow drag. The toe of her boots peeled away, revealing her claws. The knobbly rubber soles smoothed, became plastic, started to reshape into a gently arched shape.

"The air's just the right kind of cool. Mmm, I love it," she said.

Circ's thicker claws accidentally scraped the paint as he shifted his weight onto one arm. The robe was constricting him. Tongues of flame flickered inside of his body. He could feel them in his chest and he flexed his pecs; in his legs and he pulled his thighs tight; in his arms and he tensed his biceps so that the gentle bulge was visible through his robe's sleeve.

He ignored the gentle cracks that came as his skull broadened, as his jaw thickened, as his teeth grew into longer, sharper fangs. He ignored them because his eyes were fixated on Tara. Her nipples had grown big enough to poke through her spaghetti strap top swollen out around her heavy breasts. The snug miniskirt showed off her shapely legs, accented by the glossy red heels wrapped around her feet.

Circ's mind was burning. In feverish thoughts, sexual images flashed before him, the products of a shy adolescent's mind. And he wanted to do them all to Tara. His sandals split open, too small for the big black paws. His head jerked back suddenly as black horns erupted from the sides of his head. The robe's stitching creaked against the swell of his chest and shoulders.

He knew that the urges were wrong and that it was all just fantasy. But that wall between fantasy and reality was coming down. Tara's hair now fell in lazy golden curls over her shoulders, tinged with only a bit of purple. He wanted to grab that hair and jam her head into his groin.

Tara's painted claws held her cigarette holder to the side. Her abs faded away and her waist shrunk to make room for her merging clothes. The skirt reached upward, and her top reached down.

A few black tears ran along Circ's equally black cheeks. His eyes ached badly and watered. After rubbing them, he opened his pupilless, yellow eyes. A second, shorter pair of horns rose from his forehead,

while the first pair curled like a ram's horns.

Tara made a soft noise of pleasure as she puffed on her cigarette. Her wide hips and expansive bosom both were wrapped up in a tight, glossy red dress. Silver earrings glittered in her ears. Her eyelids were vibrantly dashed with magenta, her lips with a brighter red.

"Are you feeling all right, dear?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Circ rumbled dismissively.

Ripping fabric revealed thick, burly shoulders, a rippling back, biceps bigger than Circ's own head. Wisps of sulfur left his mouth in frantic breaths. He was losing control. The panther demon wanted the hyena debutante, and no whiny little cat was getting in the way.

Circ grunted viciously; his muscles bristled and his hands clutched the porch. He could feel the heavy balls resting against his legs, the weight of the shaft on top of them.

He might have held out. But Tara rose to her feet, heels tapping, hips swaying, tossing her hair, ass swinging from side to side in that tiny dress.

She had just called a hotline straight to his overgrown masculine instincts. He tore the robe off, cock bobbing, the demon now in control. Rock-hard muscles, thick boulders of biceps and mountains of pecs and thick bedrock along his abs and his sides, were free to swell out into the cool night. He had an Olympian figure, but more astounding. And all of that awe-inspiring infernal muscle drove him toward Tara, her coy sexuality, her lust tied up in satin gloves and pearl necklaces.

The demoness had pumped enough corruptive energy into the house that it was literally overflowing.

"Come on, it's only been half an hour! Are you tired all ready?" she hissed.

She kicked a desperately gasping girl who'd been turned into a sexy Gilded Age steel tycoon.

"Why are you even doing this?" asked a wolf she'd turned into a sexy Socrates.

"Shut up, that's why! You mortals are worthless. Maybe I'll find a better party, and they'll appreciate my irony because they're not PHILISTINES like you."

In a frustrated puff of black smoke, the demoness was gone.

Circ could feel each of the glowing runes etched across the bulges of his muscles, like a dagger lifting out chunks of flesh, but in the process offering more space for his powerful body to swell out.

His forked tongue dangled from his lips as he advanced on Tara. Her gloved fingers grasped the bottom of her pearl necklace as she felt the big paws pushing against her shoulders.

"Oh my!" she gasped, a sophisticated trill in her voice.

"Ass up," Circ said, voice rumbling with hellfire.

Whether Tara wanted to or not, she was bent over by the demon's paws. She teetered on her heels, but balanced herself with her hands on the ground.

"Get off of me, you monster," Tara insisted coyly.

Circ snarled wordlessly. The word sounded good. And by good, he meant it got his shaft hard. The head of his cock parted her folds, spreading her open, stretching her through demonic magic. He could feel the warm body underneath her, the gentle shifts that would push her shoulders or her hips or her head back against his ripplingly thick chest.

The big, fine velvet of her chest heaved in heavy waves. Her hands balled into fists. Her gloves got dirt on them but she just leaned her head back and smiled.

Circ's legs were spread in a squat, too tall for the mortal when he stood straight. Bent over her, he felt like an animal and he was perfectly fine with that. Their was another dimension to his senses; corruption, manifesting as a sort of heat, which with every thrust he could feel building between her legs. It slowly radiated outward but he felt the clear center and it made him rumble like a pleased demon to feel it there.

"Oh my word," Tara sighed, eyelids fluttering, claws curling into the dirt. Her satin juices came flowing out, falling past her dress to land on the ground.

"Take my cock you piece of cunt," Circ said. His sulfur breath singed the fur on the back of her neck as it blew by.

The two clashed together like beasts, he over the top of her, she on all fours on the ground. He rose his hips and pushed down into her, and her body gave way. She rolled her eyes into her head, claws sunk in the ground as she pushed back, his cock hilted inside of her. Both of them basked in the depravity of the mindlessness of it all. There was no wild action. There were two bodies rammed into one in relentless pursuit of pleasure.

She screamed and he roared and the two sounds bounced against each other into the night. Tara was no longer on the ground, she was in the air, and hot cum was pouring into her, filling her, aching with its evil power.

Circ strained, keeping up the torrent until his balls were momentarily spent. Tara stumbled slightly as she was set back down on the ground, her swollen stomach wobbling back and forth as she moved.

"Heavens, that was exhilarating," she purred in her sophisticated drawl, smoothing out her dress and dusting off her gloves, before lighting up a new cigarette in her holder and settling back onto the steps.

"Your cunt is a fucking masterpiece," Circ rumbled. His tongue darted out and he licked his lips. "Ever want to be a succubus? You get great big tits and you can fuck all the time," he offered eagerly.

"Tempting, dear, but I'll keep my soul for now."

Circ shrugged his massive shoulders with a soft grunt.

"Your loss. I'm gonna get going. I heard the Wicca girls were doing some Samhain shit. Occult bitches are such fucking sluts," he said.

Tara blew a smoke ring his way. "Have fun dear," she told him as he headed for the front lawn.

The demon began to grin, looking forward to a long night, no longer so upset with parties. His brimstone-breath fogged up in yellowish clouds in the cool October air.