A Hair of the Dog

He hadn't flushed it.

His eyes shot down to the safe, still shut and secure. It felt like he'd discovered another person hiding in his room. The air gained weight. His skin crawled.

This was absurd. There was no reason to get anxious over a safe full of drugs. It wasn't like they were going to jump out and attack him. He chuckled to himself, trying to deflate the situation. All he had to do was open it up and toss the packet into the toilet. Piece of cake.

His human fingers remembered the code without difficulty. The door opened, and the scent hit him like a truck: gasoline, toothpaste, charcoal, wet dog. Blood rushed to his penis. Sweat gathered on his hairline.

He snatched the packet and carried it to the bathroom. He paused over the toilet, and placed the baggie on the counter next to the sink. He'd throw it away, he just had to take a shit first. Sitting down, he acknowledged how absurd that reasoning was. He clearly wanted to do it again.

So what were the pros and cons? He'd already broken his clean streak. A little relaxation would serve him well, and now he knew how much he could do before he ended up with more marks. He'd just have a little less than last time.

He measured another line's worth of powder in the pen cap. Accounting for an increased tolerance, that should be the perfect amount. Then, before he could get cold feet, he went into the bathroom and emptied the baggie into the toilet. Flush. There. Victory. Nothing to worry about. He tossed the baggie into the trash.

For dinner, he ordered room service. The 20 oz rib eye with an extra side of bacon would be up in an hour. He filled much of the time with channel surfing. The nature channel was showing a documentary on dogs.

"Dogs do not recognize themselves in mirrors."

Aiden scoffed. "Neither does anyone over the age of thirty."

He wiped his palms dry on his pants again. Twenty minutes. It was an eternity. Finally the server came, dropped off his food, and left. The door hadn't closed before Aiden was on the K9.

He licked his fingertip and dragged it through the line. Curling his lips, he brought his fingertip to his gums, but paused as an idea struck him. Any mucus membrane worked for dosing K9, not just the nose. Closing his mouth, he unbuttoned his pants so the opening of his foreskin-sheathe stared him in the face. He lowered his fingertip and carefully pressed it inside. He'd explored his body like this before, and he knew how to do it so it wouldn't hurt, but it did always feel odd. He circled his finger around his vein-traced shaft, then pulled it free and popped it into his mouth. The taste was mostly the musky smell of dog cock, but the twinge of the chemical drug flavor got his heart beating.

A tingling warmth traveled down his penis and pooled in his balls. The scent of the drug was odd to the human nose, but only people who had used it could truly appreciate its brilliance. His nose began to twitch, and the whiffs of K9 began to take on a new dimension. It was like a fractal coming into focus, revealing intricate complexities in the interactions between scents that had previously been a blurry blob.

With a bone-snapping crack, Aiden's nose turned upwards. Air flowed into his lungs like his sinuses had suddenly cleared. He turned to the mirror and watched his nostrils expand and change shape, twitching and flaring with each breath.

His cock throbbed as it swelled to its full size, the bulk of it resting heavily inside him. The knot growing deep inside him pushed against his taint and prostate, eliciting a dribble of pre from the tip of his sheathe. He stroked his cock through his skin and turned his face back to the mirror. His nose was now pointed fully forward, almost like a pig's snout, and he chuckled at how silly he looked. The smile on his face widened unnaturally as his lips thinned and lengthened. The muscles of his lips dwindled until they were reduced to simple fleshy flaps, robbing him of subtle human facial expressions and sounds.

"I rollaly sound suh strunge. . ." he said before losing himself to another giggle fit.

Looking down at himself, he found a dark spot forming in the front of his pants. He pulled them down to find a trickle of precum and sheathe lube dribbling from his opening. That was unusual, but not unwelcome. He stroked himself, coaxing a surprising volume of fluid from his sheathe. The libido-enhancing aspects of the drug were in full effect, and he gripped his sensitive shaft with both hands. The abundance of sheathe-lube and the fact that his paw pads hadn't come in yet, made for easy, pleasurable stroking.

He brought one hand to his mouth to sniff and taste the musky fluids, imagining that they had come from a female. In his mind, a blonde playboy bunny was bent over, ass raised in the air, eagerly presenting herself to him. He'd shove his snout between her legs, snuffing and licking. . . He'd never fucked someone on the drug before. Maybe his next girlfriend would be into the idea.

His knot stretched the skin of his sheathe intensely. She'd have to have some of the drug too to take that monster. Perhaps he'd rub some K9 on her human pussy and watch as it throbbed and swelled with each heartbeat, until each pulse made the puffy, spade-shaped lips jiggle. Her scent would change too. The familiar fishy scent of humanity would make way for the spicy and taboo scent of a beast. Like Mischa at the office. That was what he'd been smelling on her earlier today. God, he wished he had someone to fuck, but right now he was so horny even Mischa would do.

His hands cramped as they began to shift. He groaned. He'd been so close to cumming! His nails pinched into blunt claws that nipped his sensitive flesh, and he moved his hands down to the tougher sheathe-skin to massage his knot. It popped free almost immediately, spurting a line of precum onto his face. He dragged his flattening tongue around his mouth to lick it up, and then leaned forward to get the droplets that had landed on his chest. The fluid had the smell of the drug on it, and he couldn't get enough. One particularly desperate lick ended with his tongue slapping against his cock. He paused in surprise, then strained his back for more licks. It was no use. Even with his muzzle and tongue mostly formed, he couldn't reach more than the tip, and his changes had gone as far as the dose would take them. It was hopeless.

His nose caught a new whiff of K9 and he stopped. This was fresh. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He stood, lifted his nose in the air, and followed the scent to the bathroom. There he found a creature in the mirror. It stared back, cautious but non-threateningly. It looked like a horny, under-muscled werewolf with useless paws instead of claws. He leaned in for a closer look, and the creature moved too. He growled, the beast curled its lip. The human part of the creature put two and two together and realized it was looking at its own reflection.

He was disappointed by this realization, and the haze of the drug seemed to lift momentarily. He was Aiden, a human on a business trip, using a drug that turned him partially into a dog. He huffed, disappointed at the banality of the thought. Then he caught the scent again. He sniffed his way to the bathroom, and his nose led him to the trash can under the sink.

It was the baggie the K9 had been in, and there was still a film of the drug powdering the inside.

He paused. This was a bad idea. But this would be his last trip for who knew how long, and he was so damn horny. Aiden thrust his nose into the bottom of the can and attacked the plastic with his tongue. The taste was strong, and he kept at it until he was certain every grain of K9 was gone.

A pleasant warmth flowed down his tongue into his groin. Another surge of precum dribbled down his sheathe. Aiden dashed to the bed, curled his back as far as he could, and eagerly started giving his cock a tongue-bath.

At first he could barely lick the tip, but as his tongue and muzzle grew, as his neck stretched and his spine remoulded itself, it became easy to reach. He snorted and sniffed in beastial bliss. He tried taking the length into his muzzle, but his lips were too thin and weak to protect his shaft from his sharpening teeth. Instead, he opted for long, slow licks across the entire length. His ribcage and skull creaked audibly as they shifted, and suddenly he could reach his tongue to the opening of his sheathe. All the sensitivity that had been in the head of his human penis had been transferred to his knot, and each time he dragged his meaty tongue along the shiny bulb, his muscles quivered with pleasure.

Soon his knot swelled, his pleasure peaked, and he came. He'd never seen the inflation of his knot so close-up before, and it startled him to see the modest bulge swell to softball prominence in a matter of seconds. He placed the tip of his cock into his muzzle as a means of controlling the mess, but dog orgasms last minutes, and there was far too much cum to swallow. Quite a bit spilled onto the sheets.

The scent of meat woke him from his post-climax afterglow. He wobbled to all fours, knotted cock bobbing heavily in front of him as his tail flailed wildly for balance behind. A haze of steam rose carried a trillion microscopic droplets of the steak's juices into Aiden's nose, and his mouth filled with drool.

It would have been smart to have cut the steak before getting high. He took the edge between his teeth and shook the slab of meat wildly, knocking over his glass of water. A morsel tore free in his mouth, and the bulk of the steak flew and slapped against the far wall. Now a hunger that was just as intense as his horniness took him, and he dove mouthfirst onto the steak, using his powerful neck and jaw muscles to twist and rip the meat to pieces. A growl rumbled from the back of his throat each time things got difficult. Moving on all fours was getting more and more comfortable, but he didn't realize why, nor consider the risk he'd taken by re-dosing.

The thought to attempt to minimize the mess didn't enter into his mind, and once he'd swallowed the last hunk of meat, he used his nose to go on the hunt for droplets of oil, licking them up as he found them. He happened upon the spot where he'd pissed yesterday, and it still smelled fresh. He lifted his leg to refresh the smell, then made a trip around the room to empty his bladder, marking the bed frame, the wall by the desk, and the toilet in the bathroom.

Re-entering the main room, he saw something that made him freeze. There was a giant squirrel sitting in the window! He barked ferociously, and the view changed to a picture of a tree, then a human. A tinny voice droned calmly and meaninglessly. Aiden was proud he'd successfully defended his space.

There was another window, and this one was open. Aiden investigated. Cold air filled with a thousand scents assaulted his nose. Some were very familiar: beer, exhaust, sweat. Other ones he had no idea how to identify. A pack of humans jabbered loudly on the street below, drinking and jeering to each other. They were having fun! Aiden wanted to have fun, but it was too far to jump. He padded over to the door, but he couldn't figure out how to open it. He scratched at the wood with his blunt nails, but it was no use. The disappointment didn't last long. He didn't know why, but he was just so. . . happy!

There was a buzzing in the pants by the door. He paid it no mind. Tomorrow he would listen to a voicemail from Megan about how someone even higher up at the client would be attending dinner tomorrow, and how he had better be prepared, and blah, blah blah.

He spent the rest of the evening milling about the room, barking at animals on the TV, sniffing scents from outside, and making a mess. Much of his time was spent with the pillows, humping them, chewing them, and, later, curling up to sleep with them.

⢌⢌⢌ 3 ⢌⢌⢌

"Stupid!" Aiden muttered to himself as he pushed through a crowd of tourists that were blocking the sidewalk. "Stupid stupid!"

The crowds were annoying, but he was really angry at himself. How could he have been so careless last night? He massaged his neck and cursed. That morning he'd awoken curled in a circle, a sleeping position that was not kind to his human body. But a few sore muscles were the the least of his worries. He didn't remember many of the details, but the room was a disaster zone, and his body told rest of the story: Last night he'd overdosed on K9.

The fact that he was walking upright and heading to work was testament to the fact that it hadn't been a FULL overdose, but it left its mark all the same. The tongue was the first thing he noticed. He awoke with it hanging out of his mouth, dry as paper. A dry tongue always feels weird, but to his dismay, rehydrating it with his saliva didn't make it feel normal. A quick check confirmed that it was flat, wide, and long enough to lick the sleep from his eyes.

He ran the enlarged length over his teeth nervously as he walked. At least the tongue would be easy enough to hide. That wasn't true of the tail that curled between his legs. It was almost a foot long, and even nestled between his butt cheeks, it made a very visible bulge in the rear of his slacks. The overcoat would have to stay on all day. He liked having a tail as a dog, but he didn't want one as a human! It was all cramped and painful stuffed into his pants, and he hadn't even tried sitting in an office chair yet, or on a toilet. He groaned at the thought.

He was glad he'd flushed the rest of the drug. Clearly, he couldn't be trusted around it.

Arriving to work as a defeated husk of self-pity was not a recipe for success. Simple equations took longer than usual, and any problems that demanded a truly thoughtful solution were completely beyond him. Aiden stared longingly at the birds and squirrels dashing about the park below his window. He swallowed a low growl and got back to work.

His whole day was stress. He pushed his timeline estimates back another day. The thought of how his latest overdose would affect his life, who he'd have to tell, and what he'd have to do to hide it weighed heavily on his mind. To make matters worse, Mischa wouldn't leave him alone, and her scent was even stronger than it was yesterday. His eyes were glued to the clock until five thirty rolled around.

"Should we head out to dinner?" Megan half-asked, half announced.

Dinner with important clients was always intimidating, but perhaps a meal with other people was exactly what Aiden needed. He knew from experience that there'd be more talk of food than math, and at the end he'd have a resolution to half of the ephemeral stresses that were choking him.

They met the clients from the Anderson Collection in front of the restaurant, made formal introductions, and headed inside. The place was an upscale hipster affair, the sort of establishment where the staff was endlessly dedicated to their craft, but the servers still had tattoos and nose piercings. Their waitress fit the bill perfectly. She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail, showing off the silver bar in her left ear and the three hoops in her right. She seated them outside and bustled around handing out menus. As she leaned over the table near Aiden, he caught a familiar musky, spicy scent. Had they brought Mischa? No, it was the waitress.

Her eyes lingered on him as she worked. Could she smell his secret as easily as he could hers? The tip of his penis poked out of his sheathe (for that is all it could be called after last night's changes) and rubbed against his cotton underwear.

"Would you like sparkling water or still?" she asked the table.

"Still," said everyone.

"Uh, could I get your moscow mule?" Aiden asked.

Everyone chuckled at his eagerness to get drinking, but no one knew the void he was trying to fill. His recent overdose made the thought of doing more K9 unthinkable, but he still craved something to free him from his stress. The drink worked well, and as the confidence of the alcohol seeped into him, he started to relax and enjoy himself.

The moscow mule was good, but their manhattan was even better. By the time their food arrived, he was halfway through a bloody mary that was shaping up to be his favorite drink yet. He smiled and laughed loudly at everyone's jokes. The only bummer was how hot he was under his overcoat and beanie. Sweat dripped down his back, and he breathed heavily with his mouth open. His tongue lolled out, but he caught himself. Thankfully, nobody noticed. He shed his jacket and placed it on the chair behind him. That was better, and nobody would see the bulge of his tail if he didn't stand up.

The waitress stood next to Aiden as she placed their entrees on the table. The alluring scent returned full force, and Aiden had gained enough confidence from the booze to try something stupid. He waited for her to reach across the table then leaned back, hovered his face near her rear end, and gave it a deep sniff. Enough blood rushed to his dick that he almost lost his balance. Damn drinks were stronger than he thought.

"Are you all finished with that bloody mary, sir?" she asked.

"Almost." He lifted the tall highball glass in the air to drain the last few drops, then ran his tongue along the inside rim to collect more of the boozy red residue. Which drink should I get next, he wondered as his tongue shot deeper into the glass. It collected swathes of delicious leftovers from the sides, then polished the bottom. Once he'd gotten every last drop, he handed the glass to the waitress.

"I think I'll try the greyhou--" he stopped. Everyone was staring at him, shock plastered on their faces. The glass was far too tall for a human tongue to clean. "Oh. I uh. . . " He glanced up at the waitress for help, but she only looked embarrassed for him.

"Excuse me." He stood to head to the restroom but tripped over the sleeve of his jacket. After a drawn-out battle against gravity, he landed on his stomach. His tail came free of his pants as he hit the ground. More gasps. Now other tables were watching, and even the restaurant's music seemed to go silent.

He tried to put his errant tail away, but it curled sheepishly between his legs on the outside of his pants, pinning them in place. He scrambled out of the restaurant through the front door and kept going. People dodged him on the sidewalk; mothers guided their children away; people drinking outside the pubs pointed and jeered. He was halfway to the hotel before he got his tail back into his pants, and even with it hidden away, he felt like everyone could see it reflected in the shame burning on his face.

He slammed the door to his room behind him. There was a note on the pillow.

Dear Mr, Ankman

As you are aware, we have a strict no-pets policy at The Grosvenor Hotel.

We will be charging the credit card on file for the damages to your room.

The best,

-Hotel Management

Aiden crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash. No way was he going to be able to expense that. He paced, turning the night over in his head again and again, but there was no perspective that could alleviate his embarrassment or provide a plan of action.

Perhaps there was still some residue of K9 in the safe, something to ease his mind for a little while. He tried to open it, but his trembling fingers couldn't remember the code. He fell onto his bed, the room spinning around him. He wished he was high. Or sober. Anything but this.

He paced around his room some more, sobering up. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, wake up the next day, and start putting his life back together. What he wouldn't give for a hit of cat-grass, or something else that would help him sleep.

⠏⠏⠏⠏ 4 ⠏⠏⠏⠏

At midnight he gave up on natural sleep and left his room. He'd drank too recently for sleeping pills, so it would have to be a nightcap. He found a cheap, quiet bar down the street and ordered a wheat beer. No sooner had he taken his first sip when he heard a feminine voice behind him.