Advanced Litigation

"Ugh." Peak said with a sigh. "Glad that's over with, it was getting stuffy under that mask."

"What did you do to him?"

Peak looked up at Bertrand, and the two wolves stared at each other for a long time. At first, Peak looked ready to shock Bertrand again for having spoken out of turn. The look of anger quickly faded away, replaced by a proud grin which quickly spread across his face. It became clear that he was too proud of his plan to keep silent about it.

"A little potion mixed up by a good friend of mine. Basically, it makes booze taste so awful, he'll never get to have another sip of alcohol."

Blake wondered if that was really possible. Could a dyed-in-the-wool drunk like Dave really give up booze, no matter how badly it tasted? "And you think that's a sufficient punishment for what he did to your family?"

"Hardly!" Peak snorted. "But I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't kill people, not unless it is self-defense. Besides, a few of my buddies are waiting just outside to haul his ass to jail. Hopefully, this time justice prevails." He looked at me pointedly.

"Listen, man, I was just doing my job. It wasn't me who stowed a bottle of whiskey under the front seat of my car."

Peak snorted again. "None set him up. Half the guys in the force stow a bottle of booze in their cruisers. They never get drunk on the job, mind you, they've seen too many alcohol related collisions to lose control like that. But when you see as much shit as we do on a daily basis, sometimes you need something to take the edge off."

There were a million things that Bertrand could have said in response, but what good would it have done? The wolf did make his living with his mouth, but a big part of his job was to know when talking would just dig a bigger hole. Instead, he just stared up at Peak with narrow eyes, wondering what the rival wolf was planning. He was actually inclined to believe Peak when he said he wasn't a murderer. If he was the murdering type, surely he would have killed the person directly responsible for the death of his wife and child. At the same time... what was the alternative? For most cops, there was nothing scarier than going to jail, cops have no friends in jail. Their fellow inmates would obviously have no love lost for them, and the guards usually held them in lower esteem. If there is one constant among people, in Blake's opinion, people generally don't like people that switch sides. Consistency is all too often confused for honesty.

"I bet you're wondering what the plan for you right now is." Peak said.

Bertrand was hesitant to give Peak an inch, but he did want to know the answer to the question, so he nodded his head reluctantly.

"Same thing I did to Davey."

"I'm not an alcoholic, though. Haven't touched the stuff since college."

"Don't think so literally, counselor!" He said, shaking his head disapprovingly before continuing. "You're correct in a sense. You pose different threats to society and therefore require individual treatment. But while your punishments are unique, the result will be the same."

"Declawed?" Blake asked, an uneasy feeling settling over him.

Peak snapped his fingers and pointed, a proud beaming smile across his face, as if Blake were a student in a classroom who'd finally mastered a difficult lesson. "Now you're finally getting it!"

"How do you plan on doing that?"

Peak didn't answer the question, instead the prideful grin on his muzzle was replaced with a menacing smile over the question.

The tall, dark wolf walked over to the small table, which must have been the 'bar' where he'd mixed Dave's booby trapped drink. There was a cooler and a few bottles of booze sitting on it. Blake might not have known what Peak was planning, but he would rather not partake in anything from that table! Soon, Peak came over to where the lawyer was tied up and used his strength to pour the contents of a glass bottle down his mouth. Using his superior strength, and the fact he wasn't tied up, to force the contents down his throat.

It took a long time, as there was a big struggle: Blake fighting back as if it were a struggle for his life. But eventually the entire potion contents were in the doomed gray wolf's belly. "What..." Blake had to pause as he coughed and struggled for air. "What the fuck was that?"

"You'll see!" Peak said before surprising the other wolf by releasing him from his chains with what looked like a well practiced singular motion. It made Blake wonder how many other poor souls had been down here.

After his chains had clattered to the floor, Blake sat in the steel chair for some time. He felt like two dogs who'd been barking at each other through a gate right before it was opened. Now that he was actually free to face his captor, what would he actually do? Well... stand up for one! His back and legs were killing him from who knew how many hours tied up in that damned chair. As Blake stood, the lawyer's anger and fear threatened to boil over, his sluggish mind slowly catching up to reality. He wanted to take a swing at the asshole that had done this to him, even though he knew the cop would likely kick his ass, but he felt too dizzy to aim straight.

"What the fuck..." He mumbled under his breath, stumbling around as he frantically tried to get his bearings. Blake wondered if he'd stood up too quickly, or was this part of the frightful concoction Peak had given to him? Instead of throwing a punch, Blake stumbled forward, falling against the dirty wall made of clay filled soil for support. He fought to get his sense of equilibrium back: but the pounding in his head was only getting worse. Now he was feeling hot and sweaty, even more confused at what was going in. It was so bad he didn't even notice the sweeping changes over his body.

It all started with his height, shrinking down from his 'short for a fur' height of seven feet even, tumbling down to a tiny 4'5. It didn't happen all at once, his height shrinking down just fast enough to barely be noticed, but it was unmistakable once he did. Other parts of Blakes body began to shrink as well, his face becoming sleeker, his muzzle in particular, and much more feminine. His eyes seemed to grow rounder and more expressive, to an extreme degree, in fact. If Blake had been looking in a mirror, he would have thought he was becoming a cartoon character. His arms and shoulders started becoming slender as well, and it wasn't as if he had a big and burly build to begin with. His waist inching inwards as if an invisible corset was tightening around his belly. Although his shrinking belly might have been a positive, he'd put on a little weight from too many years riding a desk, these changes giving his entire figure a girlish appearance. That was hardly to his liking!

"What the fuck is going on?" He demanded angrily, holding his smaller hands to his dainty muzzle as he realized how high-pitched his voice had gotten.

Peak didn't answer the question, he just smiled smugly at the lawyer as the next wave of changes began.

Almost done shrinking, it was time to grow again: only in a very specific area. His chest was the first to show signs of growth, which made sense, as it had the most growing to do. It was his nipples that started first, growing hard with arousal and puffy as hormones flooded his system and breast flesh started mounding up behind them. Within a matter of moments, though, his chest had grown into two sizable breasts that were bigger than most of the women he knew in life: swelling outwards from mere apple size all the way to proper melons. His ass was hardly spared any growth either, quickly growing out from a man's average, if slightly boring looking rump into a bootylicious posterior truly worth lusting after.

"You see, counselor." Peak explained, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded, watching as Blake's curves continued to expand. "What makes you dangerous is that brain of yours. Maybe you could have used it to cure cancer or something. Hell, you could have been a prosecutor, then at least been a scumbag for the right side! Instead, you decided that you'd get bad guys off for a living. Did you really think those chickens would never come home to roost?"

"Fuck you!" Blake snarled.

"That's good!" Peak laughed. "Get your kicks in while you can because in a few minutes here you'll be just smart enough to breathe. I know computers with more free will than you."

Blake's eyes grew round in horror... but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Perhaps it was some figment of his imagination. Frantically, he started thinking about fandom facts. Miranda v. Arizona, the firing order of a Chevy small block, how to reference in MILA style... but after a while he was trying to remember 2+2 equals four or even just his own name.

"See, I'm not an unfair man." Peak said. "I had to make you stupid, you see, but I didn't want you to starve or nothing. With a body like this?" He slapped the wolf on the ass, which had grown into a stupidly large rump: easily the biggest either man had ever seen. "You'll find your way in the world. People won't let a thing like you languish for too long!"

"I... what... fuck you!" Blake said, his headache fading, there wasn't much left to hurt up there.

"See... dumb as shit and only going to get dumber..."

Blake didn't remember much after that... his short-term memory going to total shit soon after. He could vaguely remember being led from the root cellar and driven away in a van a while later... but there was nothing the wolf could swear to. Peak's potion had worked, perfectly.

Epilogue:

Blake stood behind a curtain, feeling club music thudding in his chest and staring at the red velvet with a blank thousand yard stare.

"Put your hands together for... Mercedes!"

If Blake still had the mind to consider things such as irony, he might have found it funny he'd gone from driving Mercedes to dancing on stage as 'Mercedes'. Then again, if Blake still had the mind to be worried about things such as irony, he'd likely be too horrified and angry to find much humor in what had happened to him.

Truth be told, Blake wasn't sure what had happened to him. The root cellar was a distant memory he could barely remember if he thought really hard about it. A few of the girls would sometimes take the time to explain to him, when asked, that they'd found him out behind the club one day. They'd gone to the police station, trying to figure out where she lived. However, there was just one wolf in the whole city with a missing persons report: a seven foot tall lawyer that, outside of fur and eye color, didn't at all resemble the 4'5 wolf with tits so big she looked ready to topple over. Maybe they were brother and sister, but they certainly weren't the same person. When fingerprints came back to none in the system, and it transpired that the wolf had broken no laws or given the police any other reason to hold her, she'd been sent back to live at the strip club. So, she'd stayed at the club... was it weeks, months, years? Truthfully, she didn't know.  Since you had to work to eat around her, Mercedes had started dancing, just like the rest of the girls.

It wasn't as much that Blake had gone through 'identity death', it was more that he was too stupid or even had the backbone anymore to really question what people told him to do anymore. If Tasha, the stage manager, or Franklin, the club owner, told him to get up on stage and dance, he did. If a customer flashed some money and told him to suck cock, suck cock he did.

It made him extremely popular at the club... both with the clientele and the owner. He was extremely profitable, and the manager was more than happy to let him live in a small apartment with a few of the other girls right above the club... for a modest rent, of course. Despite being the club's main attraction, though, Mercedes could be damned if he could ever remember the club name. At least once a week, someone had to remind him that her name was 'Mercedes' for crying out loud! Sometimes her gullibility and stupidity amused the other girls, other times it annoyed them as they were the ones that were tasked with taking care of her. They were always worried, if she somehow escaped the club, she'd never find her way back home. So, when she wasn't dancing on stage, she usually had a leash and collar around her neck to prevent her from running away.

That was probably for the best, though, as none thought the wolf stood any chance of surviving out on her own. Not unless some man took her in, and such a man likely wouldn't treat her much if any better than the club did. Nope, dancing and fucking was all the binboifed wolf was good for these days. Now and again Mercedes would suddenly be struck by a memory of his old life and get sad, but these thoughts never lingered for very long. After all, Peak had been worried that if he had left the former defense lawyer with any brains at all, he might become a danger once again someday. This way he was safe, if not entirely sound, and would never use the law to let someone get hurt ever again. It had been the perfect plan.