Yeen! Queen!

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A struggling metal band gets a dommy yeen themed upgrade.
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The rest of the band filed off the stage leaving Ashton standing alone. He pressed the microphone to his lips, raised a triumphant, leather-clad fist, and roared:

"We! Are! Jarl Slayer!"

A few tables in the back of the bar pattered a polite applause.

Ashton swallowed and continued. "Now keep it going for your next band: Midnight Alibi!"

The venue erupted in rambunctious, whooping cheers. It was the first true cheering Ashton had heard since Jarl Slayer took the stage. He set the mic on its stand, picked his horned viking helmet up off the ground, and made his way to what passed for backstage at Mini's Bar and Jazz Lounge (now featuring Metal Mondays!)

He paused at the door of the green room and took a few deep breaths to work the tight disappointment out of his chest. Now came the real performance. He stepped inside.

"We killed it tonight! Absolutely slayed!"

His bandmates glanced his way but made no reply. Three of them were crowded around the room's single, cracked mirror, wiping away their eyeliner and face paint. They resumed the bickering Ashton interrupted.

"-If it's so easy, why don't you play the bass solo?" asked Brutalis.

"I wouldn't have written a solo I couldn't perform," snipped Detheroth.

"Who tuned the guitars tonight?" muttered Geoffrey. "They deserve a kick in the teeth."

Ashton's heart sank, but he wouldn't join his friends quarreling at the mirror. For one, he didn't have any facepaint to remove. He was naturally pale as a ghost and was thankful for it. His deathly complexion and onyx, shoulder-length mane made him the very picture of a nordic metal god, or so he liked to imagine. It was an image he had to maintain at all times. As the band's frontman and leader, it was his responsibility to be the beacon of hope when times were tough.

The weight of that responsibility grew heavier each time they took the stage.

Ashton forced a smile. "Come now, we've suffered worse shows together. Next time, we'll have the songs perfected, and then-" here he leapt onto a big, busted amp that was gathering dust in the corner of the room, "then they'll worship us like royalty! You'll sign so many autographs, your wrists will ache!"

This earned a chuckle from the mirror gang, and for a moment the room felt warmer. Then came an icy voice.

"It won't matter. It's going to keep on being empty seats and people on their phones, night after night."

This was Domenic, Jarl Slayer's lead guitarist. He sat in a beat-up recliner, slumped but powerful, like a defeated king. He was out of his costume save the bronze amulet shaped like a hyena's head resting on his broad chest. Ashton fancied there was a touch of the metal-god look in his lanky limbs and bad-boy persona, and that low, cold voice gave Ashton goosebumps whenever he heard it. Good goosebumps.

Domenic looked at each band member in turn. "I'm starting to get jealous of Jack."

Hearing that name, everyone stiffened. Ashton swallowed. All eyes were on him.

"Jack gave up," he declared, summoning into his voice what little strength he hadn't screamed away on stage. "Listen, guys, we only have one shot at becoming globetrotting rock royalty. Jack threw that dream away to spend his days teaching guitar to snot-nosed kids."

The mirror trio nodded with stern looks on their faces.

"At least he can afford rent!" Domenic spat.

The band shrugged, murmuring things like, 'he has a point.' Ashton's stomach tied itself into a knot. Domenic had never before turned his aloof cynicism toward the band.

"Domenic, we've been talking about forming this band since we were in first grade. You aren't giving up, are you?"

Domenic sighed and shook his head. "I don't want to. You guys are brothers to me. But we need to change things up. Big time."

"I'm open to suggestions. What's the problem?"

"Where do I start? We got no style, no gimmick, no sex appeal, and the name 'Jarl Slayer' aint exactly fun to say. But when it comes down to it, we only got one real problem."

"What's that?"

Domenic stood from his chair and locked his eyes on Ashton. "You. You're the problem."

"Me?" peeped Ashton.

"You made a band without a lick of charisma, and then you manage it with a limp wrist. You should have given Jack the boot instead of waiting for him to leave. How many rehearsals did he ruin because he didn't know the songs?"

The other three mumbled in agreement.

Ashton raised his hands defensively. "Okay, maybe you're right about Jack. But we have a gimmick: we're Vikings. And we're oozing with sex appeal. When you heft that axe and make it sing it's, well, it's hot as hell!" He cleared his throat. "At least that's what the girls tell me."

"Flattery," scoffed Domenic. "No one wants to swap spit with my meaty mug."

Ashton wished he had the guts to tell Domenic that he was wrong, that he often fantasized about the two of them sharing a kiss, a makeout session, or more, but he was buried deep in the closet, miles away from admitting his secret desires to best friend- his straight best friend.

Domenic continued. "You're the frontman everyone should be jonesing to fuck, but you got you head buried in a viking helmet so oversized you look like GWAR."

A lump formed in Ashton's throat. "But we're Vikings. We need the helmet."

"I should wear it. Then at least it won't fall off when we take our bow." He held out his hand.

Ashton clenched his fists. He'd spent years putting together his costume, but the band needed Domenic. He lifted his prized helmet off his head and handed it over.

"Fine. You can have it. But what am I going to wear?"

Domenic pulled the hyena amulet over his head and tossed it over. Ashton dove to catch it and tumbled to the floor. As he grasped the pendant, one of its bronze, needle-like teeth pierced his finger.

"Careful!" Ashton said, sucking the blood from his fingertip. "This was my great grandfather's!"

"Yeah, it looks like something you'd find in an old person's home." Then Domenic must have caught the tears forming in the corners of Ashton's eyes, for his haughty, gloating expression turned to one of genuine concern. "I didn't break it, did I?"

"No," Ashton mumbled, squeezing the amulet. He didn't dare look up and chance his friends seeing his hurt. He had to be strong.

Domenic squatted next to Ashton and placed a gentle hand on his back. "It hurts me to do this, Ash," he whispered. "You know it does. But the dream lives in me too, and we need a strong leader."

The next words he spoke loud enough for all to hear. "Why don't we take a vote at the next band meeting?"

Ashton didn't like this one bit, but he couldn't summon the will to say no. "Fine," he groaned, "a vote."

Domenic patted Ashton's back and lowered his voice again. "There, there, old friend. On the road to glory, sacrifices must be made. The band will survive, won't it?"

Ashton nodded. Then, quick as a wink, Domenic pinched his shoulder. This was his traditional goodbye. It usually ended with Ashton chuckling and slapping his hand away as butterflies fluttered to life in his stomach. This time he didn't chuckle, and when he tried for the slap, the hand was already gone.

Domenic stood and walked out the door. Aston stayed kneeling on the ground as the rest of the band quietly gathered their things and filtered past him.

"Sorry, Ashton," muttered Geoffrey.

"Maybe it's for the best," said Detheroth.

As the last member passed, Ashton caught his wrist and looked up into his eyes.

"And you, Brutalis?"

Brutalis swallowed. "Ashton, you've sacrificed much for the band. Perhaps it's time to let someone else take a turn." He pulled his hand away. "We'll see."

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Ashton alone in the dimly lit room. It was unbefitting of metal royalty to cry, but, at that moment, he found it difficult to summon that fantasy. His throat ached from screeching his heart out on stage, his arm throbbed where Dom had pinched him, and his fingertip stung from the bite of the hyena amulet.

The amulet! Was it broken? He unclenched his hand and sighed in relief. No, the ancient pendant was unscathed. Who knew how many centuries its immortal bronze had endured? Clouds of ancient, green patina gathered in its crevices, yet its teeth were still sharp enough to draw Ashton's blood, blood which now coated the animal's tongue and dripped from the side of its mouth.

Ashton gazed into its eyes. They were mere empty sockets, though the fine craftsmanship caught a glint deep inside that made them seem alive.

"Perhaps I've sacrificed enough? Pft!" he spat. "I would sacrifice anything to realize my dreams."

With a sigh, he fastened the chain around his neck and stood. Domenic had taken the Viking helmet but forgotten the rest of his costume. Again. This time Ashton would stuff his clothes into the pack without even folding them. That would show him.

Then, as he reached to grab Dom's studded leather jacket, the single bulb above the cracked mirror flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness.

"Fucking shit venue," Ashton grumbled, groping about to find the door. He soon noticed that the room wasn't pitch black after all. A faint green light illuminated the area, and it was coming from the amulet.

The hyena-head charm glowed brighter by the second. The strange light illuminated a circle around him as though he were standing in a spotlight. The room's musty furniture began to rattle, and sheets of music fwipped and tossed like they were caught in a windstorm even though the air was still. A stream of heavy, jade smoke poured from the hyena's mouth and flowed down to the floor below. Ashton yelped and grabbed at the amulet to toss it away, but its surface nipped at his fingertips like dry ice. Damn, it was cold! The smoke did not spread or dissipate, but instead gathered in a pool on the carpet.

A pair of ghostly forelegs shot from the side of this puddle and gripped the rug with blunt claws. The rest of the beast followed like a dog climbing out a swimming pool, only here the smokey pool became the dog. No, not a dog. A hyena. A hyena that stood at least six feet tall with green, vaporous fur. He couldn't find the eyes in its shifting, cloudy face, but he felt it watching him nonetheless.

Ashton grabbed Domenic's guitar and lifted it like an axe of legend. "Stay back!" he threatened. "Or, if you're a genie, I want to rephrase my-"

The creature opened wide its maw of ghastly teeth and bounded straight for him.

"-Wish!" he finished, swinging the guitar. His aim was true, but the axe sailed through the creature like so much smoke. Only the strings themselves caught on its ghostly flesh. They screamed a drop-D power chord that filled the room, but that didn't stop the hyena. It sailed into Ashton's chest, knocking him onto his back. The hyena pinned him and yelped a hollow, victorious howl that formed an erie harmony with the guitar. Then it lunged for his head. Ashton's last thought was "at least this is an awesome way to go."

But it was not the end for Ashton. His mouth opened wide to gasp his last, but instead of air, he got a mouthful of ghost. The hyena plunged its muzzle down his throat, forcing his jaws painfully wide. It slammed Ashton's head against the ground and pressed forward, sinking deeper until its paddle ears slapped against Ashton's cheeks. Ashton could feel every frigid inch flowing down his gullet like a frozen stream. It tasted like spent firecrackers and wet dog.

Ashton flailed his arms at the ghostly creature, but it was as effective as trying to grab a hold of the morning fog. The beast certainly felt solid enough as it pushed its way deeper inside. Its form compressed to fit but still stretched Ashton's mouth so wide he was afraid his lips would split. The ears folded back and popped inside, then the neck. At the bulky shoulders, it hooked a ghostly paw into the side of Ashton's mouth and pulled itself deeper. All this mass pooled deep in Ashton's belly, descending it like he'd swallowed a watermelon. He should have burst from the sheer size of the hyena, but his stomach held.

The creature's forelegs bulged down his neck, followed soon after by its chest. The rear legs kicked wildly until one of the claws slipped past his lips and found purchase against his lower teeth. That was all it needed to pull its legs inside. Some heavy, fleshy appendage slapped against Ashton's chin before it too slurped past his tongue. Now it was only the monster's tail sticking out of Ashton's mouth. His lips made an O around the base, and it flapped this way and that, smacking him in the face once or twice before sliding down his gullet.

Ashton collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. He wiped the tears from his eyes and found himself back in the green room. The lights were back on, the wind had settled, and the only sign that anything unusual had happened at all was his aching jaw and a feeling in his stomach like he'd swallowed a bucket of ice cubes. He glanced down and yelped. His belly bulged from his shirt like he was carrying twins. He laid a hand against the taut skin and gasped a quavering breath. It was cold to the touch.

"What. The. Fu-"

He was interrupted by a sharp motion inside his belly. The thrash distorted its shape like the beast was shifting into a more comfortable position, and then it began to deflate. His stomach shrank back to normal in a matter of seconds and settled. He stared intently, waiting for what he didn't know, perhaps a bout of the most heinous gas the earth had ever seen. Instead he saw hair. Hundreds of delicate filaments growing on his skin, looking like a time-lapse shot in a nature documentary. Soon there was enough to form a patch of tawny-

"Fur?"

Here again his stomach flipped, and the chill in his belly spread through his abdomen. His mouth flooded with saliva, and Ashton hoped he was about to vomit up the ghost. He clutched the recliner, pulled himself to his feet, and staggered toward the bathroom door, swallowing excess spit again and again and holding onto the one bit of social conditioning that seemed to apply to this insane situation: get to the toilet before you barf.

The cold region inside of him moved, jerked, and then split, like a massive amoeba, into four distinct parts. Each piece raced down the nearest arm or leg. He reached to turn the doorknob and saw- actually saw- a bulge rolling down his forearm like someone had set a marble loose under his skin. It left a trail of sprouting fur in its wake and disappeared into his wrist, spreading its icy chill up his tendons and into his bones.

Ashton slammed the bathroom door. He had only taken a single step toward the porcelain throne when a loud snap rang out from beneath him and he collapsed. The chill squeezed his feet like a pair of frozen socks. The pressure was intense, but the only pain came from his shoes pressing into his toes. He clenched his teeth as the cramp became severe, then there was a riiip as his toes tore through the fronts. He sighed with relief, relaxing his face rest against the cold tile. The fresh openings in the fronts of his shoes scraped up the underside of his lengthening, narrowing feet. His toes felt big and clumsy and swollen, and each time he kicked his legs, his nails clicked against the floor.

Ashton propped himself up just in time to see the changes take his hands. A coat of dark fur erupted from his skin, leaving bald patches on his palms and fingertips. Here, his skin cracked and swelled into thick, meaty pads. Blunt, black claws erupted under his fingernails, pushing them loose to fall on the floor below.

"No, no. . . not paws," Ashton begged, drool dripping with each word. Then, as if the creature reshaping him had listened to his pleas, the chill swept back up his arms, leaving his hands mostly human-shaped save a coat of hyenine paint.

The trails of fur down Ashton's arms spread over his skin like spilled coffee. Wherever the new hairs touched his t-shirt, little green embers appeared on the fabric and began to eat it away. He patted at himself frantically to put them out, but his furry palms had the opposite effect. Soon his tattered shirt fell, revealing a carpet of spreading cappuccino fur. His pants were similarly reduced to rags, and behind him, his ankles burned through the tongue of his shoes until they clattered to the ground.

Ashton gripped the sink with a furred hand and lifted himself to an unfamiliar tip-toed stance. The four points of demonic chill reunited in his chest and raced toward his head. The entity lingered in his neck, and for each second it stayed, Ashton's neck grew. Longer and thicker with bigger muscles and heavier bones. The amulet's chain stretched around his throat as tight as a dog's collar.

When he finally managed a glimpse in the mirror, he found his human head perched atop an oversized neck that could only look at home on one animal.

"Hyen-" Ashton started. He looked absolutely ridiculous. "Heh-hyee- HehehHeyee YeeYEEYEE!" he yelped in a shrill laughter that echoed off the walls. He slapped his paw-hands over his mouth, and the chill rushed into his face to meet them.

First, his nostrils turned upward and flared against his paw pads. Next, his jaw lengthened, pushing his hands away until a blunt, black-tipped muzzle filled the lower portion of his vision. Teeth scraped obnoxiously against each other as they shifted to fill the extra space. He opened his mouth to get a look, and it complied too eagerly, spreading so inhumanly wide he could see his shifting molars as clear as day. He snapped his predatory maw shut with a loud clap, and the jaw muscles responsible swelled with bone-snapping strength. The demonic chill flooded his skull with the worst brainfreeze imaginable, and Ashton's entire head reshaped with a series of sickening cracks. The bridge of his nose broadened, his forehead shrank, and his ears stretched and flicked about, feeling heavy and floppy on the sides of his head.

When Ashton once again opened his eyes, the large, dark pools of a hyena stared back from the mirror. He opened his mouth in shock, and the mirror hyena's muzzle opened just the same. Its ears flicked backward, and Ashton felt new muscles at the top of his head twitch to enable to motion. The beast's face mirrored each emotional beat: surprise, terror, curiosity. He found the synchronicity strangely disarming, but that made sense, didn't it? He was that monster, after all.

The demon did not spare an instant to let its victim reacquaint himself with his reflection. It raced down Ashton's spine, raising a spotted mane along the nape of his neck, and landed with a jolt in his coccyx. Here budded the first hint of pleasure in Ashton's transformation. The vestigial bones jerked to life with an unexpected tickle of bliss. In the mirror, he watched an ungainly, bony length stretch upward behind him, twitching and straining as it grew. Then there was another shutter of tingling pleasure as a coat of long, black hair sprouted to cover it. The demon freed his tail new from its frozen grasp, and the new limb immediately curled between his legs, shivering against his junk and tickling his balls.

Everything paused, leaving Ashton panting, his flattened tongue hanging from his maw dripping drool. He had only enough time to wonder if the violation of his body was over before the demon gave him an answer. The chill wrapped itself around his midriff like a corset and squeezed, reshaping his furry stomach into a well-toned tummy.

"Www-what now?" he stammered, surprised he could form any words with his thin lips and floppy tongue.

The icy constrictor swept up his ribs, narrowing them subtly as it went, and concentrated itself into his nipples. They tingled furiously and immediately grew as hard as chips of ice. Ashton pinched one between the rough pads of his fingertips and gasped. The nib of flesh was unusually sensitive. More than that, it was bigger! His nipples doubled, tripled, quadrupled in size, spreading his fingertips as they swelled. He rolled the rubbery points between his pads and was rewarded with a shock of pleasure that echoed, through some trick of the wiring of his nerves, in the tip of his dick.

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