Note: Don’t worry! I haven’t gone all furry on you. This is the first chapter in a story that will have a lot of transformation in it. I know that you guys prefer human tfs and there will be lots of them…along with plenty of sex. As you can probably guess, though, there will also be one partial human-to-animal tf.

Also, I feel compelled to point out that the unprotected sex between Sloan and Hamid serves a purpose that will become clear later in the story. (Use condoms, guys!)

Enjoy!

***

Setting: Mosul, Iraq – several years in the hypothetical future

A furtive movement caught Sloan Harding’s eye at the same moment that the merchant’s shout rang out from a corner stall in the marketplace. The squad commander yelled at him to halt but Sloan was already in hot pursuit of the thief as he disappeared down the alley. Sloan’s body armor lightened considerably as he pressed the power assist button with his chin and the servo motors kicked in, augmenting his speed and agility. He might be encased in a hundred pounds of solid Kevlar but it felt like he was practically naked as he sped off.

The thief was quick and knew the twists and turns of the narrow, bombed-out streets in Mosul but Sloan was faster and, after six months in the city patrolling every sector by night and day, he was practically a local. Enabling stealth mode on his suit also helped; an eye-level map of the bombed-out city hovered on the side of his helmet visor and he could instantly adjust his bearings as he identified the likely direction of the target. Technology helped tip the balance in favor of the soldiers and Sloan took every advantage he could get.

He jumped over the blind man who always encamped in front of the neighborhood’s lone ATM machine and veered to the left. Just barely managing to avoid the overturned melon cart that the thief had kicked over, he bore down an alleyway that was so dark and well-hidden that only a handful of people knew of its existence; Sloan was one of them.

Even better, Sloan knew that the alley was a dead end and there were no balconies or windows to escape through. At the entrance, the building walls on either side rose blank and impenetrable, so close that he had to turn sideways to fit in. Further down, the alleyway widened as the buildings listed away from each other. After constant warfare for a decade, the city’s architecture was precarious at best. 

His eyes narrowed. His visor’s infrared detector lit up the thief’s hiding spot even though there was only a hint of sunlight snaking through the dense canopy of clotheslines on the rooftops far above. His heavy steel boots echoed against the walls as he savored the end of the hunt.

The thief was caught.

He slowed down, taking his time. He knew he had won. He knew that he had the kid so why not draw it out? He flicked on his signal scrambler, jamming the radar of any nearby drones, and gloated to himself. He loved winning! Now for the prize…

“Sloan, you goatfucker.”

The thief emerged from the shadows at the end of the alley. He crossed his arms, the stolen loaf of bread clutched protectively against his chest.

Sloan smirked.

“Goatfucker, huh? I guess that makes you the goat.”

The thief laughed. “Fuck you.”

“Isn’t that exactly why you led me down here?”

Hamid Abedin, the thief, placed the bread carefully on the ledge of a boarded-up window behind him and stepped up to Sloan. They stood facing each other for several taut seconds, chests heaving, before Hamid reached up and pulled off Sloan’s helmet, tossing it on the ground. The armpits of his green soccer jersey were soaked with sweat and Sloan noticed how hot it was now that his fluid-cooled helmet was off. He didn’t care, though. All he cared about was the man in front of him.

Hamid was a handsome guy, barely twenty years old and just beginning to fill out in the shoulders and arms. There was a dusting of black hair on his cheeks and he kept a closely-trimmed moustache over his lip. His eyes were deep, fathomless, black as he smiled up at Sloan in his usual mocking way.

“You cut your hair.”

Sloan’s face crinkled. “Had to.”

“It’s sexy.”

Hamid’s soft lips were on his then and Sloan took the young man in his arms, pulling him in tight against his body armor, feeling his cock plump up in his Kevlar jock. Hamid had the tastiest mouth! He savored the guy’s softness, he gentle receptivity, the way he coaxed and teased Sloan’s tongue into his mouth. Fuck, Hamid was hot!

They kissed for a long time before Sloan pulled back. “Hamid, you really can’t keep stealing like this. What if someone besides me catches you? Don’t they cut off the hands of thieves here?” Hamid rolled his eyes and tried to kiss him again but Sloan resisted, adding, “And the city’s not safe. Not with Al Hamra kidnapping people and ISIS resurgent.”

“It’s you Americans who need to worry about Al Hamra and Daesh, Sloan,” Hamid said, snorting. “They leave us Iraqis alone.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. Intel says that more than fifteen hundred Iraqis have been abducted in addition to the American…troops.” Sloan’s voice broke slightly at the end this sentence; one of the missing soldiers was his brother, Reeve. It was a tender subject.

“Fifteen hundred, huh?” Hamid echoed, unimpressed. “Where’d they come up with that number? I don’t know anyone who has disappeared.” He took Sloan’s face in his hand and pinched his cheeks until his lips flared out. Sloan shook his head angrily but Hamid merely dropped his hand to his crotch and squeezed his armored cock. “Besides, what about you? Won’t you get in trouble for running after me? Your commander’s gonna be pissed!”

He fondled Sloan’s cock for a moment before unbuckling the soldier’s belt and fumbling with the zipper on his fatigues. In no time, he’d yanked Sloan’s pants down, armor and all, and he was standing there bare-assed with his fat cock standing at attention.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be in so much trouble, Sloan,” he continued teasingly, stroking Sloan’s cock and making his eyes roll back in his head. “He’s probably going to make you lick his ass when you get back.”

“Unnnghhh, the commander…is..ahhhh…a…woman,” Sloan managed to gasp as Hamid worked his cock up and down. Hamid had magic hands!

“A woman, huh?” Hamid  said, loosening his grip on Sloan’s member. “Even worse for you!”

Sloan grunted and Hamid got busy pulling off his heavy gauntlets. When they tumbled to the ground next to Sloan’s discarded helmet, Hamid bent over and provocatively lowered his nylon shorts. The sight of Hamid’s big, hairy ass was almost enough to make Sloan shoot right there and he toppled forward, hands eagerly grabbing the young guy’s butt cheeks. When his fingertips tickled his asshole, it was Hamid’s turn to moan.

Their coming together was rough and animalistic, the way they liked it. Sloan threw Hamid against the wall and the boy collapsed onto a wooden bench, his slender, circumcised cock straining and hard. He shook his head, clearing it, and then leaped at Sloan, managing to land acrobatically, wrapping his legs around his waist. Sloan staggered under his weight, squatting down before thrusting up, entering Hamid’s asshole dry and unprotected. They never used lube. Never had condoms. Their butt sex was always brutal. Hamid’s teeth tore into Sloan’s lower lip as he savagely penetrated him, grinding and battering his cock into his hole until there was blood. There was almost always blood.

Sloan came first, like always, grunting and rooting like an angry boar as he shot his load, filling Hamid’s hole until his cum slopped out and coated his hairy crack. He reached down and grabbed the boy’s smaller, thinner cock in his calloused hand and jacked him roughly to a climax. Hamid shot all over his ammo belt and gun holster, adding a new layer to the residue of his many previous explosions. Sloan never cleaned off Hamid’s cum afterward; he wore the guy’s spent semen like a badge of honor.

When they were done, Sloan collapsed on the wooden bench with a groan, feeling the splinters in his buttocks and knowing he’d be uncomfortable later. He didn’t care, though. He didn’t care because this was his favorite part. This part was better than sex. It was his time to be with Hamid all alone. He was never alone these days.

He patted his lap as Hamid turned to give him a rueful look.

“Shit, man! Do you always have to be so rough?” Gingerly, he hobbled over to the bigger man and stood there forlornly.

Sloan laughed and reached out to pull Hamid on top of him. He loved the feeling of his lover’s big ass on his thighs, his butt hair tickling the head of his still-hard cock. “You know I have to punish you severely,” he breathed in his ear. “You are a thief after all.” He leaned up and planted a soft kiss on the back of Hamid’s neck and smiled as the boy shivered. He bounced his legs then, delighting when his cock pushed against Hamid’s slick asshole. Hamid giggled and spun around on his lap, opening his mouth and licking Sloan’s bleeding lower lip.

“I love the taste of your blood,” he murmured and Sloan grimaced.

“You gave me a fat lip,” he complained. “I’m gonna have to come up with a good story to explain this one.”

Hamid sobered then. “Can’t they tell where you’ve been from your armor? Are you linked to the base’s computer system?”

Sloan shook his head. “I disabled that. My sergeant, Hooker, is a good friend and he showed me how. I’ll just say that the heat made it malfunction or something.” He paused to wipe the sweat off his brow. With his armor in pieces, the cooling system had stopped working and he was sweating profusely.

Hamid smirked. “Not used to the heat, huh? You GIs have it easy in those fancy suits and air-conditioned barracks while the rest of us swelter. And, shit, you get to take a fucking shower whenever you want! You know when the last time I took a shower was?”

“A week ago from the smell of you,” Sloan commented wryly and Hamid hit him. He actually loved the way Hamid smelled. His body odor was a dense, musky perfume that got his blood pumping.

“I wish I could go back to New Jersey,” Hamid continued wistfully. “It wasn’t perfect but at least I had water, enough to eat, and electricity.” Even though Sloan was used to this refrain, it still made his heart clench every time he heard his lover talk this way.

He kissed the young guy tenderly before entreating, “Hamid, you know I want you to be with me. Now that gay marriage is legal in the US, I could marry you and you could come live on the base…”

Hamid pulled back, stung. “You fucking think that President Trump is gonna let the brother of the former Daesh spokesman move into one of his bases with his gay lover?” He snorted. “Uh uh. I’m a fucking terrorist in their eyes. That’s why they deported me in the first place!”

Sloan held up his hand. “You’re not on the terrorism watch list. I checked. There is nothing they can do to stop us from being together.”

“What about my family, Sloan?” Hamid eyes were hard, his voice bitter. “What would my family think about their only surviving son marrying a man? An American infidel, no less! No, I have to take care of my mom and my sisters now that my brother and father are dead. They’re relying on me!”

Unbidden, tears filled Sloan’s eyes and he shook his head angrily. “I’ll convert to Islam! They could come live with us! We could support them together!”

Hamid put his hand on Sloan’s shoulder and squeezed, though his body armor was so thick Sloan couldn’t feel anything. “Sloan, no. It’s not going to work. I have to stay here, marry a woman, and help my family survive. We can never be together unless we do it like this.”

Sloan wiped his eyes but more tears were already trickling out. When he spoke, his voice was harsh. “Good luck finding a woman who will fuck you up the ass like I do.” He tried to push Hamid off of his lap but the boy wrapped his arms around his neck and refused to budge. Instead, he wriggled his butt downward until Sloan’s now fully erect cock pushed insistently against his hole.

“Let’s do it more gently this time,” he gasped before adding delicately, “My one, true love.”

The big GI choked at these words and his lips sealed Hamid’s even as his tears continued to fall. He didn’t understand how or why but his cock was harder than ever despite his intense sadness and longing. He felt his hips thrust playfully upward even as his heart was breaking.

***

Sloan helped Hamid clean up afterward and was chagrined when he saw the dried blood around his anus. Hamid sighed when he looked down, making a dismissive gesture.

“You always ream me a new one when we fuck, dude! It’s that fucking monster between your legs. I both love and hate it!”

“Maybe I should have penis reduction surgery?” Sloan teased. He felt light and happy again in the afterglow of sex. “I hear they can do that now.”

Hamid guffawed. “Shit, no!” He paused thoughtfully, though, before adding, “Well, maybe you could have that ugly foreskin chopped off. It’s fucking hideous.”

Sloan shook his head. “Nope, it stays. I wouldn’t trade it for a naked cock like yours for a million bucks. I will admit, though, that the fucking dust around here works its way into every crevice. I get why your people cut them off. Too many sandstorms!” He was about to say that he had to shower twice a day just to keep his foreskin clean but thought better of it in light Hamid’s previous complaint about the severe water shortage.

As always, it was Sloan who had the hardest time saying goodbye. He let his hands linger over Hamid’s body, savoring the soft folds over his hips and the way his big nipples sagged and swayed ever so slightly. Hamid’s body wouldn’t win him a beauty contest but this only made him that much more attractive to Sloan. He loved every one of his lover’s supposed imperfections and wouldn’t have wanted him to be any different. Hamid still had a difficult time believing that Sloan, a tough and studly army grunt who could have had any guy he pleased, was so into him but he questioned it less and less. The two of them were from wildly different worlds but found happiness in each other. Why ask why?

“Promise me you won’t let yourself get caught by anyone but me!” He said, thrusting a wad of dinars into the boy’s hands.

Hamid rolled his eyes but took the cash. “Yes, Mother. I promise. Now let me go. I’ve got to get back before my sisters are out of school.”

Sloan sealed his mouth with a final, passionate kiss and had to look away as the young man grabbed the stolen loaf of bread before drifting down the alley and back out onto the street. He looked so frail, so vulnerable. He wiped the tears out of his eyes and settled his helmet back on his head. If anyone ever hurts him, I swear I’ll kill them! He thought vehemently. He waited a long time before he pressed the button to unscramble his signal and stepped out into the searing sunlight.

***

There was a new “cat boi” hanging out in front of the brothel when he walked by. He was staring down at his wrist, noticing that three of his squad mates were bearing down on him, and almost tripped over the mutant feline. He jumped back, startled, and accidentally made eye contact with the beast.

It gazed up at him with wide, blue, slitted eyes; its expression was almost imploring. Disgust welled up in him as he took in the beast’s appearance: Its ridiculous feline/human body was covered with sensuous blue, fuzzy hair. A delicate mop of white fluff fell over its eyes and its long tail was tipped with a big, white snowball of fur. It’s claws…

Sloan froze in horror as he noticed the creature still had all of its claws. This meant it was a new to the city. And that wasn’t all. He flushed when he saw that its…private parts…were still intact. So, the cat hadn’t been neutered or declawed yet. How the fuck had it gotten this far…?

He grew cold as a dark rage bred by fear took over. He’d heard too many stories about these things not to be afraid. The bizarre feline raised a clawed hand up toward him, its eyes bright and fevered. A row of long, sharp teeth filled its whiskered mouth. Sloan shivered despite the heat. As many times as he’d seen the big cats, they still gave him the creeps. He didn’t care what the scientists said, they looked too damned human to be cats. Shit, they walked upright and stood just as tall as a grown man!

The cat was reaching out to him, its long claws razor sharp and glinting in the sun. He knew he had to get away from the beast, knew about the danger of those claws, but he couldn’t make himself move. Instead, he found himself searching the creature’s wide, furry face. There was something about its face…

“Holy fucking shit, Harding! What are you doing?”

Sergeant Hooker’s voice broke through his stupor and Sloan abruptly snapped into action, lashing out with his boot to kick the disgusting mutant savagely in stomach. It screamed, a high-pitched shriek that echoed through the streets and made the hair on the back of Sloan’s neck stand up. In a second, it had scaled the wall of the brothel to crouch hissing at them from aloft a tattered awning.

“I got this, Private. Stand down.” Hooker stepped in front of Sloan and pulled the pin off a stun grenade before casually tossing it at the cat.

Sloan barely had time to get down on his knees and cover his ears before it went off. There was a pop and blinding flash as the soldiers’ body armor systems engaged. Sloan watched through his barrier shield as the body of the bizarre feline was propelled backward to land with a sick thud against the cement wall behind it. Now limp, it tumbled down into the street, an obscene ball of white and sky-blue fuzz. Ramirez and Bradley lunged forward and grabbed the beast before it could shake itself off and escape. They pinned it, face up on the rough sidewalk, as a small crowd gathered.

“How’d this one get by the sentries with its balls and claws intact?” Hooker asked, slipping his knife out of his belt and flicking the blade open with a practiced motion of his wrist.

He was reaching down to grab the cat boi’s testicles when there was a loud voice and a commotion behind them. A large woman burst out of the brothel, yelling imprecations at them. Distracted, Hooker, Ramirez, and Bradley turned and the cat took the opportunity to kick a leg free and claw at its captors. Chaos ensued as the soldiers desperately tried to contain their captive and the woman desperately tried to free it. In the end, the soldiers won…

…and so did the woman.

“Let him go.”

Sloan stared aghast as he saw the woman had produced a long, sharp blade and was holding it against Sargent Hooker’s throat. Hooker swallowed as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He was holding the cat by the throat. Ramirez and Bradley had regained control of its arms and legs. Sloan was the odd man out; he was too shellshocked to do anything but stand there with his mouth open.

“Let him go,” the woman repeated. 

Sloan recognized her now as the owner of the brothel. No doubt, she had plans for this cat. The cat bois were rumored to make the best whores in town and he knew that more than a few soldiers in his platoon made nightly pilgrimages to “visit” with the felines. The rules about the cat bois were clear, though: They had to be neutered and declawed. It was required by both the US and the Iraqi governments because the dangers of intact cats were well known and terrifying to contemplate. The woman was taking a big risk here and he wondered why.

He watched as Hooker swallowed again before releasing his hold on the cat’s neck. The creature hissed at him but otherwise remained passive.

“Yer makin’ a huge mistake, ma’am,” Hooker whispered in his Texas drawl, the blade still pressed menacingly against his throat. Sloan was surprised to see Hooker’s face had gone pale; he’d never seen the sergeant afraid before.

“Maybe,” the woman agreed. Her English was remarkably good. “But he’s my property. You will have to go through the provisional government if you’re unhappy with this.”

She relaxed her hold on the knife as Hooker nodded to Ramirez and Bradley. In a moment, the cat boi was free. It shook itself, stood up, and commenced licking the back of its arm and stroking it over the back of its fluffy head. The creature kept a wary eye on the soldiers, though. Sloan was amazed that it could be so calm after nearly losing its balls.

Hooker glowered down at the woman but she appeared as unconcerned as the cat. 

“We’ll be back later,” he said between clenched teeth, rubbing his neck. There was an angry welt where the knife had sliced into his flesh. He turned to his cadre and motioned with his head toward the base. They marched off, doing their best to ignore the hostile crowd of locals who had gathered around the brothel. 

Sloan looked back and saw that the cat boi had disappeared. He shivered, though, remembering its face and those eyes. There was something about its face…

***

Hooker was stripping out of his combat gear back at the base when he noticed it. There was a tiny scratch on his forearm, barely an inch long. For some reason, the flesh around the cut was inflamed and sore to the touch. He rubbed it thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head.

Naw, nothing to worry about. It was just a scratch after all…

Part 2

Private Sloan Harding

The commander sent two military police officers for Sloan as soon as he returned to base. He was standing with Bradley, Ramirez, and Sergeant Hooker at the front gate to the compound when the sentry’s radio crackled. She answered it, saying something unintelligible before clicking down the receiver and turning to him.

“Commander Habib wants you to report to her office ASAP, Private.”

Sloan swallowed and turned to Hooker. The sergeant shrugged but Sloan could saw his eyes widen. It was beyond unusual for the commander to bypass the usual chain of authority and go right to a private.

This can’t be good, he thought to himself as he marched across the sweltering compound. The fluid-cooler in his body armor had malfunctioned about halfway back to the base and he was sweating like a pig. He realized he was in no shape to see the commander looking like this but he didn’t have a choice. About midway to HQ, the two burly MPs intercepted him and escorted him the rest of the way.

Sloan felt like he was going to be sick. This was definitely not good. Commander Habib wasn’t taking any chances that he might try to slip away. She must have found out about his illicit rendezvous with Hamid. Shit, Hooker must have ratted him out! Or maybe the techniques the sergeant had shown him for avoiding detection didn’t work? Sloan’s mind was racing, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this one. He could get fucking court-martialed! Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The MPs were stonily silent the entire way, sweeping through security and even taking him by the elbows and carrying him through the door to the commander’s private office suite. To add to the indignity, they stripped him naked in front of the office staff, slicing his armor off with knives before throwing the tattered remnants in sealed bags. They gave him a only pair of army-ration boxers to slip on before throwing open the door and tossing him on the floor like he was yesterday’s garbage. He groaned and struggled to stand, embarrassed, terrified, and humiliated while his captors saluted, standing rigid and unsmiling before the commander.

Sloan picked himself off the floor, feeling ill, and managed to form up before his commanding officer despite the fact he wanted to collapse. He saluted, looking beyond her to the window onto the main courtyard. He was shaking.

“Private Harding, at ease.”

Commander Habib had a smoker’s voice that was nearly as deep as a man’s. It was incongruous coming from a slight woman who couldn’t have been more than forty years old. Sloan allowed his gaze to flick to her face as she was tucking a stray lock of hair into her sand-colored hijab. Her face was unreadable.

She was standing at the window, half-sitting on the sill and half-turned toward him. Sloan had never spoken with her directly and found her casual attitude and posture more than a little ominous.

I’m so fucked.

Finally, he realized she was waiting for him to respond and he said simply, “Commander.”

She nodded. “Private, I want you to watch something with me. I think you’ll find it very…diverting.”

He felt his shoulders tense further as she made a quick motion with her hand and a semi-transparent screen descended from the ceiling. She made another motion and a grainy video appeared on the luminous material.

The footage was of a back alley in downtown Mosul. There was a slight pause before a shadowy form darted into view. The lighting in the video grew brighter as the camera adjusted to the darkness and soon Hamid was clearly visible, clutching a loaf of bread under his arm. There was only the briefest of pauses before Sloan himself appeared on camera, walking slowly, purposefully, almost seductively behind Hamid.

His cheeks burned bright pink and he looked down at his bare feet. He felt cold despite the fact the room was sweltering and was keenly aware of the MPs standing on either side of him. He could feel their eyes on him as the video showed Hamid pulling off and tossing Sloan’s helmet on the ground. Then they all watched as the video showed the two men ardently kissing. Fortunately, the commander sliced the air with her hand at that moment and the video cut out. 

Sloan’s stomach was clenched in fear and humiliation. There was no longer any doubt why the commander had sent two armed military police officers to intercept him: He was going to be thrown in the brig and court-martialed. He cleared his throat and stared straight ahead, aware that the Commander and the MPs seemed to be taking devious pleasure from his discomfort. There was a long, awkward pause before she cleared her throat.

“Bumblebee drones are such useful devices, Private. I have them following all of our patrols these days.” She paused and walked over to her desk, rummaging around in the drawer before pulling out a file and handing it to him. He took it in a trembling hand while she continued, “And our new quantum spread-spectrum signaling means their tracking is impossible to scramble.”

Sloan opened the file, glanced down at it, and went rigid. The file started to fall out of his hands but one of the MPs caught it and shoved it back into his grip. The officer held it open, all but forcing Sloan to look at the photo inside. A little cry slipped out of Sloan before he could stifle it. The man in the photo was none other than Hamid. He was looking at the camera with a cold-eyed stare. His face sported a full beard and he was holding an Islamic State flag. Sloan looked up at the commander, stricken.

He swallowed, pulse pounding and mind racing.

“Do you recognize the man in the picture, Private?”

Sloan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His tongue was stuck in the back of his throat.

“Private,” the commander repeated, her voice hard, “I asked you a question.”

He gave her a pleading look but her gaze was unyielding. The police tensed next to him as he tried to make himself speak.

“This…this, uh, must be Hamid’s brother, Commander.” His voice sounded dull.

The Commander shook her head. “That’s Hamid Abedin, soldier. The photo was decrypted from a laptop hard drive taken during a raid of an ISIS cell earlier this month. We have solid intelligence indicating that he is one of their covert operatives. We believe that they put him up to seducing you in an effort to gain access to classified information about our operations.” 

Her eyes narrowed as Sloan realized his hands were shaking and he handed the file back to the commander before he dropped it. His mind was spinning. He couldn’t believe that Hamid worked for ISIS. He always told Sloan how much he hated them, how they had destroyed his brother and killed his father. No! He didn’t care what the intelligence said, he knew Hamid. If his lover was working for the terrorist organization, he was only doing so under duress; ISIS must have threatened his family.

Intuiting his thoughts, the commander shook her head. “Hamid Abedin joined willingly, Private. In fact,” she continued, her gravelly voice growing even harsher, “he joined while he was living in the United States. It’s the reason he was deported.”

Sloan didn’t know how he managed to keep himself upright. He wanted to collapse. He wanted to vanish into oblivion. In the space of five minutes, his entire life had been ruined. Having his heart broken and betrayed was just icing on the cake. It was all he could to keep standing at attention.

There was a knock at the door then and he took the opportunity to wipe at his eyes furiously, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. A soldier entered and handed a tiny plastic bag to the commander before saluting and stepping out. She held it up to the window and examined it. Sloan was too overcome to see the small, sand-colored device inside.

“Ah, yes,” the commander was saying, though how her voice made it through the chaotic thoughts swirling inside his mind was impossible to tell. “Very clever. Abedin planted this on your body armor before leaving. It has the capacity to record your location as well as to send audio back to their base. Of course, we’re feeding them false information now that we’ve hacked into it.”

She put down the bag and fixed her solemn gaze on Sloan. He looked down, unable to maintain eye contact. From very far away, he heard her words dropping like stones in his ears. They plummeted through his body, gradually building in force until he felt like he was being pummeled from within.

“Private,” she pronounced. “You have a choice: Cooperate with us or go to prison. Which will it be?”

He froze, unable any longer to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. He realized then that his toughness, his sense of place in the ranks, his confidence in the basic goodness of people, his very sense of self were all much more fragile than he’d imagined. All seemed to be on the verge of crumbling into dust. Panic welled up as he cast about for something, anything to hold onto. What had he gotten himself into? How could he have been so naive and stupid?

“What do you need me to do?” he croaked, ashamed of how quickly he had broken, knowing that he was a weakling and a coward.

There was deep silence in the room as the commander contemplated him. He couldn’t meet her gaze but he knew that nothing about him escaped her notice. It seemed like she could see inside his very soul, that even his private thoughts were known to her. He shivered as the seconds drew on, the silence growing ever more uncomfortable.

When she spoke, her words chilled him to the bone.

“We need you to get captured by ISIS.”

***

Sergeant Hooker

Hooker noticed the pink fuzz on his wrist as he was standing at the sink shaving the next morning. Bradley and Ramirez were in the showers behind him, horsing around, rolling up their towels and snapping at each other like little boys.

“Knock it off!” he yelled before holding up his wrist and examining it. He thought for a moment that fuzz was a piece of lint but it didn’t rub off when he brushed it against his stomach.

Curious, he pulled at it and found it was stuck fast to his skin. It almost felt like his own hair but it must have just been stuck to something. His daughters had sent a care package and he’d opened it that morning. A piece of fuzz from one of their class projects must have stuck to him. Reaching down, he flicked his razor across it and washed it down the sink.

He finished shaving and paced over to the showers, hanging his towel on a hook and choosing an open spigot next to Ramirez and Bradley. The men had calmed down and were chatting amiably as they washed up under the cool spray. Mosul was so fucking hot that no one took hot showers in the summer months. They were lucky if the ‘cold’ water was eighty degrees. Shit, he hated this fucking city!

He was turning on the water when his knees buckled and he had to flail his arms to catch himself. When he straightened up, he felt…different. Weaker or something. He massaged his forehead, waiting for his pulse to slow. After a minute, the strange sensation passed and he shook his head, thinking, That was weird…

He looked up and noticed Ramirez watching him with a curious expression, his eyebrows raised. “You Ok, Sarge?”

Hooker shook his head. Ramirez has the most beautiful eyes…  Wait, what? Where had that come from? His cheeks colored and he looked down at the water as it swirled in the drain. “Naw, I’m…fine. Thanks.”

The private nodded, his big, brown eyes lighting with a curious fire that sent a shiver down Hooker’s spine. “You sure?”

Hooker had to clear his throat. The tension between them was growing by the moment. “Yeah, really–”

“Sarge, what’s wrong?” This time it was Bradley. He had crept up behind Hooker.

He flushed, realizing uncomfortably that he was now sandwiched between the two naked men. He tried to step away but the privates closed in around him, Ramirez reaching out to place a hot hand on his shoulder. 

“Guys…I mean, Privates–” His voice cut off as he felt Bradley’s hand on the small of his back. Hooker felt like his head was going to explode. “Stop!” he shouted, trying to regain his composure and authority.

It worked. 

Well, sort of.

The two men dropped their hands and drew up in formation but they continued staring at him with what could only be interpreted as hungry expressions. Hooker pulled himself up to his full height and tried to act menacing but, even though he was easily four inches taller and outweighed both guys, he still felt somehow diminished. It took all he had to assert himself and his voice had an unmistakably tentative tone.

“Come on, guys–”

His voice broke off and looked down, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

Wait.

What?

No fucking way.

No fucking…

Hooker’s head started spinning and he almost lost his balance. In some ways he wished he had because of both men were sporting erections. Ramirez’s moist glans head was poking out of the collar of his dark foreskin and Bradley’s smaller, cut tool was standing up at attention, like a good soldier…

“What—?” His heart was pounding in his chest and he tried frantically to make himself move. He had to make them stop! He had to make them obey! He was their sergeant! He was–

Really turned on.

Helplessly, he looked down at himself and saw his own cock was straining, fully hard.

***

Private Sloan Harding

The MP’s hauled Sloan out of the commander’s office and took him to a sand-colored prefab building in the back of the compound. Along the way, he noticed that one of the men clearly had it in for him. He was a big, blond guy with bulging muscles and a curled lip. He kicked the back of Sloan’s knees after opening the door into a nondescript room, sending him sprawling. The other officer, a handsome, dark-haired man, didn’t say anything but something about his demeanor indicated that he didn’t approve of the other officer’s treatment. He could hear their raised voices on the other side of the door after they locked him inside.

A while later, the door reopened and two MP’s stepped inside and Sloan noticed that the blond guy had been replaced by a stern woman. The dark-haired officer knelt down beside him and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You Ok, soldier?”

Sloan nodded, unable to tell if he was Ok or not. His mind was spinning and he felt a pinching in the middle of his chest, a sensation he only later identified as a broken heart. He was lying on the floor where they’d had tossed him. He curled up in a little ball as the officer gently stroked his shoulder.

“It’ll be Ok,” the man whispered. “I’ll make sure you stay safe.” He straightened up and nodded to the woman. In a moment, they had left the room.

Sloan underwent a series of humiliating exams during which doctors stripped him naked before poking and prodding him in every orifice. They inserted several microchips in his flesh, burying one deeply in his chest cavity. One doctor told him that the chips were to track his location but he wondered if they served another more covert purpose as well. He’d heard stories from Hooker that scared him. When you enlisted in the US Army, you essentially forfeited privacy for the rest of your life.

Throughout it all, the same MP kept vigil by his side while the other watched them from the doorway. The officer’s name was Khalid Hourani, he learned eventually, and he grown up in Detroit about an hour from Sloan’s home suburb. Sloan had always had a thing for Arab men and couldn’t deny that Khalid was quite attractive. He was tall with big, expressive eyes, a close-cropped beard, and a ready smile. He always treated Sloan with the kindness and respect. Seeing him every day helped keep Sloan tethered to reality and he was relieved when he learned that Khalid would accompany him on the rendezvous with Hamid.

“Don’t worry, Sloan,” Khalid told him, dispensing with the formal military address. “I won’t let ISIS hurt you. That’s a promise.”

Sloan swallowed, overwhelmed. He was pretty good at pretending to be tough but it was just an act. Inside, his emotions were roiling and his stomach hadn’t stopped hurting since the afternoon he’d been brought before the commander. He knew what ISIS did to their prisoners and didn’t relish having his head chopped off with a dull machete during a live webcast. How could Hamid have hidden his affiliation with the terrorist group for so long? He’d seemed so convincing, both in his contempt for ISIS and his love for Sloan. He lowered his head. Nothing felt safe anymore.

***

Four days after he’d been hauled in for questioning, Sloan accompanied a squadron of soldiers on patrol around the city. It was the usual day in his patrol schedule so he knew that Hamid would be waiting for him. This time, though, squad was filled with military police dressed as soldiers and they were loaded down with all sorts of surveillance technology. Sloan felt sick as he suited up. He’d been all but naked for the last several days and it felt weird to put on body armor again. The weight of the armor felt unnatural, even after he pressed the button to engage power assist. It was probably his imagination but he swore he could feel the robotic trackers implanted in his body buzzing as they came alive inside him. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

“You will allow ISIS to capture you and take you to their interrogation headquarters,” the captain told him. “We will wait a few hours before rescuing you, so don’t worry. We will not let them kill you!”

Sloan saluted but he knew that he was a dead man. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that hostages almost never made it out alive. The first thing the ISIS soldiers did when under attack is kill the hostages, usually in the most brutal way possible. Yeah, he was a fucking dead man walking.

He slung his machine gun over his shoulder and strapped on his ammo belt, feeling his heart pound in his chest. Even Khalid’s confident wink as he joined the squad didn’t make him feel better. He nodded but inside he was crumbling. Sure, he was a big, muscular man with a square jaw and piercing eyes. He knew how soldiers behaved and had always tried his best to emulate them. Still, he’d never mastered his feelings, never had learned how to seal off his heart, and now it had been his undoing. If he made it through this alive, he vowed he would never let his heart betray him again. He would harden up, become just like the other men in his platoon.

***

He tracked Hamid down the blind alley like the countless other times that he’d pursued him. The young man stepped out of the shadows, hands on his hips and a ready smile on his face as Sloan gripped his gun and walked on wooden legs toward. His heart clenched in his chest as he took in the precious sight of his beloved, so imperfect and yet so perfect at the same time. He savored him, loving the way his belly pushed out against his tattered shirt and the way his big thighs filled out his nylon shorts. Hamid was fleshy and out of shape but Sloan loved that about him, and didn’t want him to be any other way. He often wondered about this. He would be completely humiliated if he suddenly woke up and found that he’d gained fifty pounds. And, yet he found Hamid’s stocky body really fucking attractive. Hamid was his ideal man and, despite his anxiety, he felt his big cock swell in his jock.

“How’s my big, dumb American?” Hamid voice was playfully taunting.

Sloan sighed. God, this hurt! “I’m Ok. How’s my handsome, gorgeous Iraqi?”

Hamid lowered his head. “Fuck you, don’t tease me!”

Before he could stop himself, Sloan’s hands were on him then and he was pressing himself against the man who he’d been told would betray him. “I would never tease you, Hamid,” he breathed. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”

Hamid was stiff but relaxed at these words and he allowed Sloan to knead his big ass cheeks tenderly.

“You just can’t ever get enough of my ass, can you?”

 “No. No, I can’t.” 

Hamid smiled up at him then, an almost angelic expression on his broad face. Sloan laughed, feeling a wild hope take flight in his chest. Maybe the intelligence was wrong? Maybe Hamid really loved him! Maybe Hamid really was the man he so desperately wanted him to be!

A burst of static from his radio caused Hamid to tense and Sloan reached down to turn it off. Then Hamid’s lips were on his and they were mashing together, grunting and moaning as they wrestled each other’s clothes off. Sloan didn’t even care that they were being surveilled, that a roomful of US Army personnel were watching the whole scene. He didn’t give a fuck because all he cared about was Hamid. That and proving them all wrong. Hamid loved him! Hamid loved him after all!

Soon, they were standing naked, flushed, sweaty, and suddenly uncertain what to do next. Sloan admired Hamid’s slender cock, loving the way it lifted so jauntily out of the dense nest of his black pubic hair. He looked down at his own huge cock and felt embarrassed. Compared to Hamid’s, his dick looked grotesquely swollen. He wondered what it would be like to have a small penis? Would he like it or would it bother him? He’d always been big, avoiding the angst and self-consciousness that many men with small dicks felt. Hamid was very sensitive about his size and hated it when Sloan stared at his cock for too long, sometimes reaching down to hide it with his hands.

“Hey, beautiful,” Sloan asked lightly even as he felt his heart pounding. “Can I fuck you now?”

Hamid’s eyes grew hard and tender atmosphere between them abruptly changed. “How about if I fuck you this time?” he asked in a cold voice. “I want you to be my pig.”

Sloan gave him a confused look, shivering. It was hot as hell but he felt a sudden chill. “Pig?” His voice cracked on the word. “Is that how you think I feel about you?”

Hamid scowled up at him, eyes flashing. “Yeah, I do. I’m just your dirty Arab whore that you think you can use however you want.”

Those words hung frozen in the air between them and Sloan drew back, stung.

Oh, god, no!

It was true.

He knew it.

It couldn’t have clearer if Hamid had held up an Islamic State flag.

The commander’s intelligence had been correct.

Hamid!

The world felt like it was shifting under his feet and he staggered, trying desperately to find stable ground. But it wasn’t there. He felt like he was sinking. No, it was worse than that! He felt like a filmy, gauzy veil had been lifted from his eyes and he was seeing reality the way it had always been but he’d just been too blind to see. Cold, stark, harsh reality.

Reality devoid of love or trust.

Hamid had never loved him.

Hamid had only contempt for him, and had simply been waiting for the right time to strike. 

And now was the time. Now was that time.

His shoulders slumped in defeat as an acrid understanding seeped over him like black ooze. He saw then that there is a terrible difference between being told something and learning it for yourself. And at that moment with his stomach twisting in knots, he was experiencing this yawning gulf in real time. 

It was bitter as hell.

“So,” he whispered, his voice thick, “you work for Daesh, don’t you?”

He didn’t even have time to react. Without blinking, Hamid cold-cocked him and he toppled backward into the dust. Unconsciousness descended and Sloan Harding knew no more.

***

Light.

Too much light.

His eyes fluttered open and he closed them again, flinching. He was strapped down on a table with blinding lights shining down on him. He moaned and tried to move but the bindings were too tight. Slowly, he became aware of tubes sticking into him, pricking him, hurting him. Alarmed, he tried to raise head but could only lift it an inch or two. It was enough though for him to see that he was on a gurney in an operating room. A feeding tube was stuffed down his throat and a respirator was covering his nose. He moaned.

“Sloan, you fucker.”

It was Hamid’s voice. He opened his eyes and tried to look around but he could only turn his head slightly, just enough to see his former lover lying on a gurney next to him. He blinked. Hamid looked different. He looked like…

“You’re gonna find out what it’s like, asshole.”

He could only gurgle with the tube stuck down his throat. There was stuff moving through it and he could feel it filling his stomach. His stomach felt weird. Too full. Way too full.

“It’s almost over for you.”

Sloan closed his eyes, struggling weakly, trying to free himself. It was no use; He was trapped and he felt so drained. It was almost a blessing when a bearded man appeared over him and jammed a syringe into his arm, sending him back into oblivion.

***

“Time to get fucked.”

Sloan awoke groggily to these words, feeling disoriented and nauseated. His stomach felt funny and it took him a while to realize it was because he was so full. Shit, it felt like he’d eaten more than a dozen huge dinners and the food was just sitting there like a pile of bricks inside him. He groaned and rolled over onto his back as his belly weighed him down. His arm brushed against warm flesh and he jerked. The next moment, strong arms enfolded him and he whimpered.

“I’m on top now, Sloan.”

It was Hamid. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a man who looked both like Hamid and not like him at the same time. It was eerie and he pulled back alarmed.

Hamid laughed, a harsh sound. “Told ya. It’s my turn now, dude.”

Sloan cleared his throat. “Hamid, what–?”

“Shut the fuck up! I do the talking now and I’m gonna tell you how it is.”

Sloan’s mind was reeling and he closed his eyes as Hamid wrapped his body around him, forcing him to spoon. He gasped as he felt Hamid’s cock probing the cleft of his ass. It felt big and fat. 

But that was impossible; Hamid’s cock was so small!

He yelped when Hamid thrust inside him dry. It hurt!

Hamid laughed as he rammed him. “Now you know what it’s like, fucker!”

Sloan bit his lip, feeling tears run down his cheeks. He started to wrap his arms around himself but stopped. Wait. What? His body felt different. Both sort of bigger and softer than it should have. He didn’t have time to think about it because Hamid was flipping him over onto his belly and riding him hard. Sloan had never been fucked before and he could feel the delicate skin down there shredding. Hamid’s tool felt enormous and he caught his breath, sobbing, as he savaged him. Soon, there was a slickness that both soothed and alarmed him. He knew it was blood.

Hamid came inside him furiously, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back. As his cock exploded, Sloan heard him moaning in ecstasy. He bodied quivered as he emptied his voluminous seed inside of him. After it was done, Hamid lay there with his cock still inside him, breathing hard. He tensed as he felt Hamid’s lips on his back.

“Not bad,” he gasped, his speech slurred. “It’ll get even better soon. You’ll see. I told them to give you an extra fat ass but it’s gonna take a while.”

Sloan had no idea what that meant. It was probably his imagination but he was sure he felt his blood and Hamid’s cum mixing inside him as Hamid collapsed on top him, his body sweaty and chest heaving.

***

When he awoke, it was morning. He was dimly aware of sunlight filtering in from somewhere. He blinked and tried to roll over on his back but someone’s arm was draped across him.

“Morning, fucker.”

Hamid straddled him under a thin sheet and roughly shoved him onto his back as he positioned himself between Sloan’s legs. Sloan stared up at him, shocked. The man had Hamid’s voice but his face was alien and yet somehow familiar. He furrowed his brow and Hamid laughed harshly.

“Don’t recognize me yet, do you?”

Sloan shook his head weakly, trying to speak but no sound came out.

“You will soon enough. Everything is going according to plan.”

He pulled back the sheet and Sloan gasped. More than Hamid’s face had changed. Shit, his whole body was different! It hadn’t been his imagination, Hamid’s cock really was bigger, hanging heavy and full between his meaty thighs. Shit, it had to be at least five inches flaccid, nearly as big as his own cock. And was that a bit of foreskin slipping over the lip of his glans? How…?

He gaped, transfixed by his lover’s nearly complete transformation. While Hamid still had a bit of a belly, his arms and shoulders had filled out and for the first time that Sloan could remember, he had definition in his stomach. His previously dark skin was lighter. Shit, even his body hair was lighter! A short, brown beard covered his face. But even more impossible were his eyes. His brown eyes had lightened and appeared almost green. Was he wearing contacts? Sloan shivered, unsettled.

Hamid smiled down at him, an evil glint his eyes. “Pretty fucking cool, isn’t it? Have you looked at yourself yet?”

Before Sloan could react to the question, Hamid had thrown back the sheet, laughing cruelly.

Sloan felt his head explode with disbelief as he stared down himself.

What had they done to him?

What the fuck had they done to him!?

“NO!” he shouted. “NO NO NO NO!”

Hamid was almost cackling as he watched Sloan freak out. He sneered down at him as his inexplicably big cock began to plump up.

“How does it feel to be like the rest of us, Sloan?” He asked, lifting the corner of his lip. “Yeah, how the fuck does it feel?”

Despite his horror, Sloan couldn’t take his eyes off of himself. 

This was not happening.

This was not real.

There was no way this could…

No way…

No…

His mouth fell open and he gaped stupidly as he tried to come to terms with what he was seeing.

His formerly svelte physique had noticeably softened and his muscles had atrophied. He held up his arm and saw it was thinner. His pecs had sort of melted and his six-pack abs were more of a two-pack as a small roll of flab gathered around his hips. His stomach thrust outward, obviously stuffed full and he realized that he still felt like he had a brick of undigested food inside of him.

Worse than all of this was his precious cock.

It was at least several inches shorter than it should have been even though he was fully hard. (How could he have an erection right now?) He’d lost girth, too. He couldn’t tell exactly but he guessed he was probably about six inches now. Six inches! Fuck! He crumpled then, taking his head in his hands and sobbing.

Hamid didn’t give him time to feel sorry for himself. He was already lifting his legs up over his head as he reached down and slipped his rudimentary foreskin back, grimacing.

“Yuck!” he said, noticing Sloan’s stare. “Once this is over if I’m still alive, I’m gonna get that thing cut off!”

He settled his newly muscular body on top of him and, positioning his cock, bucked his hips forward and Sloan cried out. The pain was hideous! Being dry-fucked was excruciating!

“You’re already looser,” Hamid sighed as he thrust deeply inside of him and Sloan whined. “Don’t worry. Before long, I’ll be even bigger. You’ll never be able to walk normally again after I’m done with you.”

He pummeled Sloan’s hole, taking forever to reach orgasm. When he finally shot his load, Sloan had almost lost feeling down there. He could only lie back and take it, though. He was too weak to fight, too shocked to even think. He barely even felt human anymore.

***

Hamid was gone when he woke the next time and he took a shuddering breath. The room—a sterile, steel-walled space with high windows–was hot despite the air-conditioning and the far wall was stained red by the unseen setting sun. He lay there, feeling his heart pound as he remembered what had happened. Where was the special ops team that supposed to rescue him? They’d promised him that they come for him after a few hours but it had been at least several days.

Several horrible days.

Several wretched, fucking days.

How could this be happening? How was any of this possible?

What was ISIS doing to him?

He needed a long time before he could muster up the courage to pull back the sheets and look at himself. He lifted his head and then let it fall back down on the pillow.

It was even worse than before.

His stomach had grown fat. There were only traces of his formerly sculpted physique left. He still had some definition underneath the layer of padding that now covered his torso but not a lot. His nipples were enlarged and his pecs were well on the way to becoming a pair of man-tits. Feeling revulsion, he reached down and felt his new belly. He’d never had a trace of fat on him and he’d been so proud of his perfectly flat stomach. Not now. No, now he had a roll of flab around his middle. It wasn’t huge but it was unmistakable.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to reassure himself. If he could get free, if they didn’t kill him, he could always lose the weight. Yeah, it wasn’t permanent. He knew himself. He was disciplined. He would work out hard and lift weights until he was back to his old shape. He smiled wanly. He was such a baby! So what if ISIS had force-fed him? Fat wasn’t permanent. He was famous on base for his metabolism. Shit, he could eat anything! There was no way that ISIS could take away his metabolism. He just needed to get free and then he would be fine.

Yeah, it wasn’t so bad.

He was still alive and, apart from being raped, he hadn’t been tortured.

It could be worse.

After lying there for another ten minutes, he forced himself into a sitting position. He was so weak that it took a surprising amount of effort and he sat there panting afterward. He looked down at himself and blanched.

Shit! His belly hung down into his lap!

And his cock!

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

His cock!

He had to paw at his flabby stomach in order to see it because it was nearly obscured. Finally, he stood up and stared down at himself in consternation. 

He had a tiny cock! 

Fuck, it barely poked out of the patch of his pubic hair. What was it like two inches soft?

And what the fuck had happened to his foreskin?!

It was gone.

They’d hacked it off.

He carefully reached down and plucked at it, seeing an ugly scar ringing his glans. The skin of his shaft was red and puffy. Obviously, they had only recently circumcised him. He grimaced in pain and noticed that even his balls had shrunk. They were only about half as big as they used to be. He used to have to best pair of balls! They had been so heavy and full and round, hanging so far down in his sac. Not anymore.

How the fuck had ISIS done this to him?

And why?

Why were they transforming him in this way? Weren’t they just going to kill him? Was this how they tortured people? How they broke them? How they humiliated them? Was it all part of their game? And where were his rescuers?

These thoughts were spinning fearfully through his mind when he noticed something: His skin was different. Darker. Like he had a tan but he never tanned this dark. No, this was different from a tan. He stared down at himself, still somewhat in shock and unable to completely believe that the heavy, undefined body belonged to him.

Yeah, his skin was darker. Even his body hair was darker. He had brown hair but the hair covering his chest, belly, pubes, and thighs was almost black.

How could that be?

How could ISIS change the color of his hair and his skin?

Shit, for that matter, how could they steal his muscles and cock size?

It didn’t make sense.

He was going to settle back down on the bed when he caught his reflection in a mirror across the room.

“Holy fuck!” he shouted before he caught himself. “No fucking way!”

He blacked out then, falling back on the bed and welcoming the darkness that descended upon him.

***

Much later, he didn’t know how long, he found himself in front of the mirror, staring aghast at the man reflected back at him. His mind was spinning out of control and he felt delirious. This is not possible! This could not be possible! There was no way this could be happening!

He was still standing there fifteen minutes later when the door at the far end of the room swung open and Hamid stepped in. Or at least the man who used to be Hamid.

He was wearing a US Army uniform–Sloan’s uniform–and he marched in and saluted, an ironic expression on his handsome face.

“Arab swine,” he pronounced in a clipped voice. “Get the fuck on your knees!”

Sloan stared at him, mouth open.

“On your fucking knees NOW!”

Sloan got down on his knees.

“Suck me off.”

He stomped over to Sloan and slowly, deliberately unfastened his belt and pulled down his fatigues, exposing a familiar Kevlar jock. In a moment, he’d liberated his huge tool and it hung fat and dripping and completely encased in a thick foreskin in front of him.

“Suck it, pig!”

Sloan wanted to resist, tried to resist, but somehow his resistance only turned against him and a few seconds later he was leaning forward and opening his mouth, reaching up to slide Hamid’s droopy foreskin back to expose the moist glans, and enfolding it in his mouth.

“No fucking teeth or I’ll kick your ass!”

His cock was huge, fat, and bloated. Almost too big for his mouth. He gagged and Hamid laughed, a harsh, guttural sound.

“Now you know what it’s like Sl—,” he stopped and correct himself. “Hamid. Now you know what it’s fucking like.”

Sloan was crying as he slurped Hamid’s cock but that only made Hamid laugh louder. He grabbed two handfuls of Sloan’s hair in his hands and clenched, making Sloan whimper. He thrust deeply inside his throat and then he felt hot spurts of cum as Hamid climaxed, groaning theatrically. He held his head in position for a long time and he had to fight to breathe. Finally, the monster in his throat started to go limp and Hamid pulled out, slapping it wetly against his cheeks.

“You give good head,” he said. “For an Arab pig.”

Sloan stared up at him then and cringed. Seeing his own face transplanted onto Hamid’s was too much and he crumpled down on the floor, losing himself in sobs. His life had turned into an unbearable nightmare.

***

Hamid had stripped out of his uniform and was lying on the bed naked with him when he finally pulled himself out of his stupor. The big man was stroking his head with a huge hand and smiling at him fondly. When he saw Sloan open his eyes, he reached down and patted him on the ass.

“I’m beginning to see why you liked my big ass so much when you were Sloan,” he murmured, fingering Sloan’s hole idly. “It’s so big and fat!”

Sloan couldn’t look at Hamid’s face for long. It was too disorienting. Would he ever grow accustomed to seeing his visage on another man’s face? He shivered. Hamid’s eyes were now ice blue and piercing. He had a strong jaw and angular features. He’d trimmed his sandy brown hair down to the regulation cut and his neck was corded with muscles. He was devastatingly handsome and masculine, Sloan realized with a start. Somehow, when that face had belonged to him, he’d never seen himself as that good looking.

“It’s actually bigger than mine was,” Hamid confided. “I wanted you to have an ass so big that you feel it weighing you down every time you take a step.”

Sloan cringed. With everything else, he hadn’t paid any attention to his ass but now that Hamid was holding it, he could tell that it was a lot heftier than it used to be. He’d always had a solid, muscular ass. It was the perfect ass for a top, giving him the power to thrust deep inside his partners and really make them cry out in delight. He very reluctantly looked down at his butt and flinched, causing Hamid to laugh.

“Yeah, you got a huge ass now, motherfucker.”

What he said next would stay with him for the rest of his life, tormenting him every day and haunting him every night.

“And it’s permanent,” he gloated. “Shit, it’s all permanent, dude. It’s synthetic fat that your body will never be able to lose. You’ll be a fucking fat-ass with a tiny dick for the rest of our life!” He lost himself in an evil chortle for a moment as he smacked Sloan painfully on the butt. “We’re not gonna kill you. Hell, that would be too kind. No, you’re our slave and our whore. There’s already a line of guys waiting to fuck you and make you lick their balls.”

He looked down at Sloan, his grin widening. “Soon, I’m gonna let your special forces team ‘rescue’ me. They won’t question me because I am you now, right down to the DNA and the fingerprints and the fucking microchip IDs. Once they take me back to the base, I’m gonna kill every last fucking one of you American assholes.” He shook his head as Sloan cowered, holding his head in his hands. “Your base is gonna be blown off the fucking map, dude.”

Hamid would have gone on but a commotion broke out in the hallway and a moment later a man dressed in black robes swept into the room. He hesitated when he saw they were lying naked on the bed together before launching into an excited stream of Arabic. Sloan knew a little Arabic but his comprehension was low and he had no idea what the guy was saying, other than he seemed agitated.

Hamid broke into a slow grin as the man talked. When he was done, Hamid answered him before ordering him out. The man raised his fist and exited as Hamid shook his head.

“Well, looks like things just got interesting,” he said as he lifted his magnificently toned body off the bed and looked down at Sloan, shaking his head. He was unable to keep the delight out of his voice as he announced, “Three divisions of the US Army and most of the US Navy have mutinied and are heading back to the States. It looks like your President Trump has a civil war on his hands.”

***

Part 3

Hamid left Sloan in the containment cell after dressing in the man’s uniform. He was still having trouble getting used to this new body and especially the way that his brothers in Daesh stared at him with thinly veiled distaste. They all knew that his physical transformation was required for this mission and were champing at the bit to kill the hated Americans. Still, it was that precise hatred that made them bristle every time they saw him. He now looked exactly like the enemy, more so now that he was in uniform, and they couldn’t easily turn off this dislike.

The gay thing didn’t help.

The Western media liked to portray Daesh as militantly anti-gay but it wasn’t true. Well, not completely true at least. Daesh operatives were willing to overlook certain moral failings if it served their purpose. Fuck, half the guys here were so horned up from being separated from women that they would fuck anything that moved. He knew that they thought he would burn in hell for being gay but the fact that he came from an esteemed clan that had fought valiantly for the cause outweighed their homophobia. And being a so-called high value asset meant even more. Out of hundreds of agents, only he had succeeded in seducing an infidel. Without him, this mission would never have happened and they needed him to see it through to completion. Yes, only he could get inside the American base and blow it up.

He smiled, admiring the way the uniform hugged every muscles, fitting him perfectly. Being muscular and lean (and having a huge cock) were beyond pleasurable for him. Shit, he loved having Sloan’s body even if it meant he was now pale as a ghost! He couldn’t believe that ISIS had succeeded in winning over that rich emir to secure funding for this genetic research facility. They had built it deep in the desert and shielded it from satellites and drones using the latest cloaking technology. No one would ever fucking detect it out there. No one.

His brothers at the facility were euphoric at the news of the outbreak of the American civil war. He had never imagined that President Trump would be the one who handed Daesh their ultimate victory! This would make his mission much easier because the base would be in turmoil as the command struggled to figure out what to do. Would they join the rebellion and leave or stay in Mosul and risk being cut off from vital supplies? It didn’t really matter what they chose to do because either way he would take advantage of their disarray to plant the bombs. Distracted, they would even less likely to pay attention to his movement around the base.

He raised his fist at the entrance to the command center and the doors slid open. “I’m reporting for duty and ready to serve,” he announced but he could see they were already preparing for his departure.

***

Sloan’s stomach continued to expand until he had a sizable belly. He didn’t mind the belly as much as his muffin top and huge ass. Hamid had been right; his ass was so big that he never forgot about it. It was always weighing him down when he tried to stand up, waggling behind him when he walked, and providing an enormous cushion under him when he sat. They only allowed him to wear a black jockstrap for clothing so his ‘lovers’ could take him from behind without a fuss. He was embarrassed to be so naked and vulnerable. He hated the way his little package barely poked out from the pouch and his belly hung over the waistband. Thick folds of flesh folded over the elastic on his hips, jiggling and jellylike when they fucked him. He had to wear the jock continuously and could only take it off to shower once a week. Soon, it had taken on a very potent odor that seemed to both repel and excite his captors.

The kindness of some of the Daesh militants was surprising. Ironically, his quality of life mostly improved after Hamid left. Most of the men looked at him with pity when they happened to see him shuffling heavily the halls with his bucket and mop.  Some even did small things to make him feel human. One man saved the choice pieces of chicken from his meals and another smuggled in fruit. Usually, his nighttime visitors would lie with him, stroking his hair and massaging his shoulders, sometimes even peeling the jockstrap down far enough to expose his slender cock, stimulating him with their fingers until he was hard. Only a few were brutal and they tended to visit him rarely.

He guessed that they had done something to his will when they had altered him because he became passive, almost inert, and the thought of trying to escape or fight back, much less disobey, was foreign to him. He was the property of Daesh and they could use him as they pleased. Any memory of volition or independence evaporated as he lost himself in his new role.

Sometimes, he would stand at the mirror and try to recognize himself in Hamid’s face staring back at him but it was no use. Eventually he stopped trying to see ‘Sloan’ at all and took comfort in the way he looked now. Yeah, he knew it was fucked up but he had loved Hamid very much and it was somehow soothing to see his face in the mirror now. If he couldn’t have Hamid, at least he had his face. It was a handsome face, wide and open and beautiful. He loved the beard he was growing and the dense, black, wavy hair on his head. His eyes were so tender and sweet. Yeah, he saw Hamid as he remembered him during the best days of their relationship and it comforted him.

He needed all the comfort he could get because the knowledge of a civil war in America and of Hamid’s impending attack on the US base in Mosul tormented him. It almost made him feel nauseated to think of the US military battalions attacking each other and the lack of news was making him crazy. Add on the horror of knowing his own comrades were almost certainly going to be killed due to his betrayal and he couldn’t sleep at night without nightmares. Many nights he lay awake, feeling his chest clench as he contemplated the collapse of his government and the deaths of everyone he held dear.

Day after day slipped by and Sloan descended into a bleak malaise. After a while, he stopped caring about how he looked and how lost he was. He was just waiting in limbo, nearly lifeless and drained of hope. He was going to be a captive in this body and in this lonely desert outpost as the world outside exploded in bloodshed and turmoil.

***

The attack on the base caught everyone off guard, especially Sloan. He was asleep when the bombs hit and an explosion threw him across the room, smashing him painfully against the wall. The bed was pinning him down and he lay there massaging his temples as he waited for his ears to stop wringing. When he finally extricated himself, he realized that the bed had saved his life. The other side of it was torn up with shards of metal and glass. He very carefully picked his way barefoot across the rumble-strewn room as he heard the first bursts of gunfire.

He took the boots off the first dead man he encountered after he crawled out of the hole blasted in the wall of his room. They were a little small but they fit well enough and protected his feet. He picked up the man’s machine gun and contemplated taking his clothes but they were too shredded and bloody. He crept as stealthily as he could with his ungainly body, moving as far away from the sounds of fighting as possible.

The lights dimmed as the power failed and they blinked out briefly before the emergency lighting kicked in. He clenched the gun, at once remembering his soldier training and grimacing at how he must look. He hated to admit it but it was hard to feel like a soldier when he was so big and out of shape. Would he ever feel comfortable in a uniform again? Shit, if Hamid was right and he would never lose this fat, then he would be discharged for being overweight. That is, if he could even convince the military who he was. If there even was a US military anymore… He shivered. It all seemed like another lifetime somehow.

He turned a corner and came face to face with the most sadistic of his captors. Sloan abruptly swung his gun, trying to knock the man down but he was too quick. The man jumped back and grinned as he pulled down the trigger on his gun. Sloan was trying to throw himself back around the corner but his extra weight slowed him down and he knew that he was not going to make it in time. His last thought was one of relief. It would be far better to be killed quickly than to spend the rest of his life as Daesh sex slave.

He lost his balance and toppled heavily back on his ass as a cloaked figure leaped at the Daesh fighter from behind knocking his legs out from under him. The gun discharged harmlessly into the ceiling above Sloan head as the attacker elbowed the Daesh fighter in the jaw, knocking him out. The man collapsed with a groan. Sloan didn’t even have time to prop himself up on his elbows before the figure was on top of him, holding his arms over his head.

They wrestled for a moment before Sloan stopped resisting; he was too weak and the man was too strong. He lay there limply as the man breathed something in Arabic and Sloan shook his head, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

“I’m American. I don’t speak Arabic.”

The powerful hands clamped down on him like a vise as the man raised his head and muttered something in his radio.  When he was finished, he looked down at Sloan, face shrouded in his hood.

“Target acquired,” was all he said as he punched Sloan in the head, sending him swiftly into unconsciousness.

***

He was wrapped in a rough cloak, his wrists tied to a post behind him when he awoke, groggy and disoriented. His jaw hurt like hell and he had a pounding headache. Slowly, he realized he was outside in the desert. The sky in the east was barely touched with pinkish light and dark smoke rose from the ruins of what Sloan assumed were the remains of the secret Daesh facility to the south. He moaned, feeling like he wanted to vomit.

“I can’t believe it was so easy to find you.”

He turned to the right and saw a familiar cloaked figure standing over him, bandolier filled with hundreds of rounds of ammo and a long rifle slung over his shoulder. His voice was heavily accented but there was something else about it that made the hair on the back of Sloan’s neck stand on end. The man almost didn’t sound human.

Sloan groaned again, not willing or able to speak yet and the man knelt down beside him and placed a gloved hand on his cheek.

“Sorry about punching you. I needed to get you out of there fast.”

God, that voice was so weird. It was like human speech but then again not. It almost sounded like hissing.

He wiggled his jaw and was glad to find it wasn’t broken, just bruised. It still hurt like hell, though. He realized he was thirsty and lifted his head, trying to get a look at his captor but the man’s face was concealed by the hood.

“Can I have some water?” he asked, his own voice sounding pretty rough.

“Of course,” the man said, reaching back to pull a canteen from his belt. He was holding it up to Sloan’s mouth when Sloan noticed his hand.

It was furry and the fingers ended in sharp claws.

***

“I am Abdul Nasani of Al Hamra,” the ‘man’ announced as he lifted the hood off his head. The feline face revealed underneath was striking in its alien beauty and Sloan let out a little gasp.

Abdul laughed, a sound that was more than half purr. “You’ve never met one of the Hamrim before?” A moment later, he answered his own question. “Of course, not. We don’t show ourselves to our human brethren unless we are going to kill them.”

Sloan jerked at this and the feline man laughed, his long ears slanting backward and his furry eyebrows lifting. “Don’t worry! I didn’t rescue you from Daesh only to murder you.”

Mesmerized by the man’s big green eyes with diamond pupils, Sloan could only nod. He couldn’t believe that the agents of Al Hamra were pussy bois!

“We’re not what you call ‘pussy bois,’ the man said, intuiting Sloan’s thoughts and sounding slightly indignant. “For one thing, we can talk.” The corner of his furry lip raised, exposing a row of sharp teeth as he gave what Sloan supposed was a wry look. “Are you still thirsty or are you afraid to accept water from me now that you know what I am?”

Sloan shook his head and Abdul held the canteen up to his lips. He was parched and he’d drunk half of the bottle before his thirst was slaked. When he was finished, Abdul smiled, saying, “Good thing we desert cats don’t need much water! I’ll save the rest for you.”

He reached over and sliced the bonds off Sloan’s hands with a razor-sharp claw. Sloan clenched and unclenched his hands as Abdul stood up and set down his rifle and bandolier before shrugging out of his cloak. Sloan stared. The Hamrim had the most magnificent physique. Sleek and muscular, he stood more than seven feet tall. His coat was dun-colored with streaks of black running up his legs and over his chest. His face had elegant white whiskers and he possessed a pink nose exactly like a housecat’s, only bigger. His ears, though, were much longer than a housecat’s, reaching several inches above his head and tapering to black tufts. He shook himself and his muscles rippled under his tight coat. Sloan’s cheeks colored when he noticed the big furry balls and hairy sheath between his legs. From the looks of things, the creature’s equipment was much more than proportional to his height.

He caught Sloan staring and winked. “You ever ride a horse, man?”

Sloan shook his head; he’d never been on a horse in his life.

“Good! I’m nothing like a horse.” Gracefully, he lowered himself to the ground and looked over at Sloan. “Do you mind carrying my ammo and rifle? I can’t wear them and give you a ride at the same time.”

He expects me to ride him?

When he hesitated, the Hamrim urged, “Come on, get on! Just straddle my back and put your arms around my neck.”

“But—“

“Just get on. The sun will be soon and it’s going to be hot. I want to be at the camp before the sun is high.”

Sloan lurched to his feet. His legs were wobbly and he steadied himself before bending down to grab the rifle and wrapped the ammo belt around his waist. The gun and ammo were heavy and the belt was designed to fit around the cat’s narrow waist. He flushed as he struggled to fasten it around his thickened torso. He finally got it and staggered over to Abdul. The cat was watching him with narrowed eyes and what he guessed was an amused expression. He grimaced as he thrust his leg over the feline and lowered himself on top. The cat’s skin was warm under the fur.

“You’ll need to wrap your cloak around you to keep it out of the way of my legs,” Abdul prompted and Sloan cinched it up around his waist. Then he leaned down and wrapped his arms around the cat’s neck. This was so weird…

The feline sprang forward so quickly that Sloan had to cling desperately to avoid being thrown off. The cat man’s power and speed amazed him. Even carrying a heavy man, he maintained a blistering pace while seeming barely to move. Sloan hugged his body as tightly as he could against the creature’s body and this seemed to help. He was both more comfortable and Abdul’s gait became smoother.