Devils: A Gender Swap Story

The locker banged as Peter’s shoulders connected with the thin metal. In front of him, Hank jeered as the small crowd laughed. Peter slumped forward, hoping someone would come along to save him. “Look, Hank, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Didn’t mean anything by it?” The larger young man’s small eyes almost buzzed with fury. “Fuckin egghead didn’t mean anything by it. Four years now we’ve all been putting up with your know it all bullshit.”

“And I’ve been putting up with your thuggish fuckery!” Peter slung his bag up and brought it heavily against Hank’s head. The crowd gasped as Hank staggered. Pure rage flowed through Peter. For his entire school life, he’d been picked on. Not always by Hank, but always by someone like Hank. The jock reeled from the first blow, more surprised than injured. He planted his feet, but Peter was already in motion. By size, Peter had an enormous disadvantage. Hank carried an extra fifty pounds of muscle and bulk that could have swatted Peter down in one blow. Peter drove his shoulder into Hank’s chest, knocking him off balance. Peter let his bag drop back to his side and prepared to punch Hank in the jaw, but the more experienced fighter recovered.

Peter saw the other young man’s weight stabilizing as he prepared to hit Peter harder than Peter had ever been hit before. As the blow came forward, Peter ducked. Hank’s hand smashed into the locker with a sickening crunch. The thug bellowed as the bones in his hand cracked, and Peter’s anger was stoked with joy. He reared back and threw his own weight into a punch that connected with Hank’s jaw. It felt as though his own hand had broken. He didn’t think it had done more than slightly push Hank, but with his one punch all his bravery and anger vanished. Hank fumbled over, clutching his hand to his chest, blood oozing out between the fingers of his uninjured hand.

“You broke my fucking hand. I’ll fucking kill you.”

“You broke your own fucking hand, dipshit.” Peter grabbed his things quickly. The crowd had been stunned by their leader being humiliated, but Hank’s goonish friends rapidly came to their senses. Without looking back, Peter ran down the hall, pushed through the double doors, and fumbled to find his keys as he reached his car. He expected Hank to be charging after him with the entire football team at his heels ready to end Peter’s existence once and for all. As he looked back, he saw only the door closing slowly on its hydraulic lever.

The school towered before him, blocking everything in view. The damage of his actions started to bubble up in his mind. He’d broken school property, he’d been in a fight, and he’d ostensibly been the cause of a relatively serious injury to a star athlete. A year earlier, it would have been a new doom set upon his head, but only two weeks remained in his sentence to that ghoulish institution. He cranked the run down sedan and backed out of the parking lot, happy to see the buildings fading in his rear view mirror. Things had been getting stranger and stranger as his classmates drew closer to stepping out of the school and into the world. Peter was not the only one who felt unprepared. Along with that came a feeling of betrayal since his twelve years in the school had specifically been intended to prepare him. It was no wonder that his peers started acting out, clinging to the safe actions of their childhoods as adult lives came upon them.

As he drove the winding roads, Peter’s thoughts turned from relief of escaping an assault to a stewing contempt for Hank and his ilk. Peter did not expect the jocks to respect him any more than he expected the cheerleaders with their bubblegum lip gloss and blonde curls to fuck him. He was always the smart one. He’d come to believe, through his own arrogance, that intellect and popularity mixed like oil and water. In this analysis of human behavior, he conveniently overlooked the young men and women in his classes that were both popular and pretty. When he did bother to consider those few, envy dominated his feelings. Since they could have both, he forced himself to believe that they were hollow in some other category. The pretty girl who was on track to be salutatorian probably cut herself. The star pitcher with straight A’s had a drug problem. They had other weaknesses or exploits which gave them the edge. Peter thought he was above such things, but even in this, he was hypocritical.

In his bag on the passengers seat, the book waited. Unknown to Peter, the book had a very long history. On the day Peter was born, the book was recovered from a burned house in rural Iowa. The firefighters thought it odd that the book somehow survived the blaze entirely unscathed. It was held as evidence in a case of suspected arson until it went missing, stolen by a secretary. She discovered that whenever she opened the book with a question on her mind, she would find the answer written in red ink on the pages. She asked what she should do with her life, and the book told her to move. With the book in tow, she sold her belongings and moved to Memphis where she bought a night club. She relied on the book more and more as time went on. In her sixth year of its possession, she finally asked the question the book always wanted her to ask. How did the book work? The night club did not burn, but the owner as well as thirty seven persons who were inside all vanished. The night club was foreclosed upon, and all the possessions of its owner were put into an estate after she was declared legally dead. The estate held the property for several years as relatives were searched for before auctioning it off. The book went in a case with dozens of other pulp novels and sold for a nominal sum to a pawn shop. The book was purchased and sold twice more, moving further south until it appeared in the stall of a craft fair in Georgia. Then it found Peter.

He had admired the strange leather cover and the bizarre lettering along the spine. In truth, it was a beautiful tome and he felt lucky to find something so well made among the piles of broken-spined romance novels. He planned to use it as a sketch book, but as he opened it for the first time wondering how many pages it contained, the number appeared plainly on every single page. He experimented with several other questions such as “what number am I thinking of” and “what is the color of my shirt” before realizing the book held some type of power. Peter did not rush to abuse it like so many of the previous owners of the book. Instead, he paced himself with simple and mostly harmless questions as he probed the extent of the book’s power. He became afraid of the book when he asked its name. The response came, “We are called Bezel and Zebub”. Nevertheless, he kept it with him at all times lest someone else take his prize. He felt very much that if given the chance, the strange book with two names would go to a more willing owner.

As he pulled in the drive of his house, his thoughts still raced with contempt and vengeance. He grabbed his bag and went inside the empty house. His parents were gone. They were always gone, content to leave their unassuming, nerdy eighteen year old at home alone. Peter came with no risks of wild parties or destructive weekends. This thought nagged at him as well, stoking the fires of his anger further. He threw his bag on his bed and the book toppled out. It caught Peter’s eye and the question came to him clearly. “How can I get back at Hank?” His hand reached out and opened the book.

“It takes strong magic. But it can be done.” The words glittered in ruby red on the page.

“How?” Peter asked, this time aloud.

The words disappeared and new ones took their place, scrawling across the page with an elegant script. “Let us out.”

Peter felt his stomach grow cold. Whatever the creatures were, they were bound to the book. Never in any of his reading or exploration of myth had someone released a spirit and not paid some type of consequence. “What will you do if you get out?”

Again the words changed, “We will make you popular.”

“Yes, but how? What specifically will you do?”

“Strong magic.”

Peter considered the answer gravely. “Will I be in danger?”

“No. You will enjoy it. They will not laugh at you any longer. They will kneel at your feet if you so choose. This “Hank” that clouds your thoughts will be made to understand your true worth. You must only let us out. We will help.” Beneath the words a picture appeared showing Hank on his knees. All around him the others who revered him so pointed an laughed.

Peter made his choice. “How do I release you?”

“In a faraway place, a cave has been shut. Within lies all the secrets man has forgotten. Etched upon the stone are the words of opening. Ask us to show you this stone.”

Nervous, but excited, Peter asked to see the stone. The page turned black and white lines slowly drew an image of a large stone set into the side of a mountain. On the stone were words that at first seemed illegible, but as Peter watched he came to understand them. His mouth opened and he attempted to utter “release the lock,” but the sounds came out in a language that he nor any living human knew. As his surprise subsided, Peter realized he was no longer alone. He turned around and a scream caught in his throat. Standing on the other side of his bed were two creatures. At first, he thought they were identical, but as he looked closer he started to see the differences as one would see in a pair of similar cats. Bezel and Zebub stretched their limbs and popped their necks as though they just woken from an uncomfortable nap. They were both built like Hank with heavy set muscular torsos and powerful legs that ended in hooves rather than feet. Across their bare chests were symbols and words Peter did not understand. Their faces were handsome, but held black eyes and fiendish grins. Ram horns curled back from their temples separated by a mane of stringy black hair. “Satyrs,” Peter whispered.

“Now there is a word I have not heard in many years,” said the one closer to Peter. “Our last few owners were thickheaded and dull. I am called Bezel. He is Zebub.”

Zebub stood up straight, his horns scraping the roof of Peter’s room. “Thank you for freeing us, human. Do not fear us.”

Peter realized he was not frightened at all. Neither of the satyrs seemed to know this. “I’m not scared.”

“Of course he’s not,” Bezel said, the words sliding out of his mouth like thick venom. “This one’s always had a dark heart.” He stepped closer, and the smell of copper and brimstone filled the air. “What you might call a kindred spirit.”

“You can’t read my thoughts any more, can you?” Peter had initially been alarmed at dealing with the magical entities in the book, but now he felt more secure. Even as Zebub towered above him with limbs strong enough to pull him in half, Peter felt for the first time in his entire life that he was in absolute control.

“No, the enchantment on the book allows us that trick. We have other tools now. You wanted to be popular? You wanted to see the other little friends of yours worship you? You wanted to become powerful?”

Peter nodded. “Yes.”

Zebub sniffed the air. “The one called Hank is coming. Abandoned his friends to seek vengeance. He is wounded as well. Your work, I think.” The taller demon laughed. “Begin your work, brother, I will find the prey.” The half beast, half man lowered himself enough to fit through the doorway and stalked out of the room.

Bezel stepped closer to Peter and grabbed him by the arm. “I’m afraid this will hurt.”

The demon pressed the palm of his hand into Peter’s chest. Splintering, hot pain radiated out through Peter’s chest. He did not cry out, but groaned in agony as he fell forward onto his bed. Bezel made a clicking noise with his tongue, “Mortals, such weak flesh. Pliable, though. I can still remember when I was mortal. I remember this pain. Do not fear, it will not last.”

The words did not penetrate the dull thrumming in Peter’s ears. His eyes watered as every muscle in his body twisted and strained. He felt bones snapping and reforging as his flesh writhed to suit his new structure. He grabbed his shirt and pulled hard, ripping it down the center, to expose a newly muscular chest and strong forearms. The pain centered in his feet as he rolled to his back and frantically kicked off his shoes and pants. He couldn’t believe his eyes as his toes fused together. A sharp pain made him yelp as his foot broke and the bone folded in on itself. His skin hardened and the flesh darkened as hooves like the other two satyrs appeared. “What have you done to me?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“Given you the gift you always wanted,” Bezel snickered. “Hang on, here is the best part.”

Peter’s quads swelled to support his new weight and bone structure, but something else started to cramp his boxers. This change did not come with pain, but with an expulsory pleasure. His hips bucked, and he moaned as his hands grabbed the cotton shorts and yanked. They came free with a wet rip, and his nakedness spilled into view. Looking down past his sculpted chest and heaving, flat stomach, he saw the last change in all its glory. His cock jutted out from him nearly three times its original size. Beneath the heavy rod, his balls sat in proportion to the new cock. Tentatively, he reached down to feel his new manhood. It responded quickly to his touch, swelling to its full length. As it did, the pain of his transformation vanished, and he understood his purpose.

Bezel had given him a gift beyond measure. Immortality, eternal youth, and a freedom from the constraints of humanity. Peter thought through the faces of his classmates. He thought first of Amanda, the cheerleader on track for valedictorian. He no longer felt contempt or envy, but a primal hunger. Bezel promised they would worship him, and Peter could easily picture it. As he rose to his feet, somewhat uncertain on his new legs, he imaged Amanda kneeling before him. He would gently take her head and move it forcefully onto his throbbing cock. She would gurgle and moan as she tried desperately to get as much of his length as possible inside of her. She would be wet and horny from the sight of him alone, but to touch his cock and have it down her throat would make her spasm in orgasm over and over. He would spray his cum on her face as a reward before moving on to the next. They were not few in number — the cheerleading squad, the other cliques of popular girls, and so on. He could sense their dirty little secrets now. Eighteen year olds desperate for a good fuck yet too prudish to ask for it. Yet still they shaved their pussies bald, pierced their belly buttons, and stayed up late practicing deep throating purple dildos. Peter saw them all and hungered. As he stood up to his full height, horns burst from the top of his head.

“Yes, that’s good. You will be a great addition to our number,” Bezel jeered. “I told Zebub you would. He doesn’t like new friends most of the time. I convinced him though. You’re powerful. I can sense these things. Now it’s time to use that power.” Bezel led the way out of the bedroom. Peter stalked behind him, growing more confident in his stride. His legs moved differently, and he could feel strength in him that he had never imagined before. The walls of his home seemed small and pathetic, but he quelled his rage rather than start destroying everything around him. He felt that rage had bonded to his nature and knew instinctively that it could control him easily if he did not control it. His hooves clicked on the fake wood flooring as they entered the living room. Zebub had moved the furniture out of the way and not with care. Peter assumed he didn’t hear anything due to his changes, but wondered if the neighbors might have. He didn’t hate the idea of Mrs. Williams nosing into their business. He’d fantasized about her for years and wouldn’t have any qualms about bending her over a sofa and showing her what a real cock felt like.

In the middle of the living room, on his knees was Hank. Tears streamed down the jock’s face. His poorly bandaged hand remained pressed against his chest. Zebub had stripped the young man of his clothes and Peter laughed at the sight of the feared football players small dick. “Jesus Christ, Peter is that you? What the fuck?!”

Peter strode forward and raised himself to his full height to show off. Hank’s eyes trailed down the monster’s body and lingered on the large genitals a moment longer than he wanted. “Like what you see, Hank? You came here to finish me off? I think you might get that wish.” Peter and Bezel laughed while Zebub scowled and grumbled.

“C’mon man, let me go. I won’t tell anybody. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“You’re sorry? For humiliating and torturing me for years? You think you get away with an ‘I’m sorry?’ No, Hank. I can smell it on you. All those years of bravado and dick swinging around everyone you knew while in your twisted little heart you wanted something very different. Isn’t that right? You saw the girls in their pretty dress and their big tits and you wanted them, but not like the other boys. You wanted to be them. You wanted to know what it was like to have your tits mauled by some half drunk, overblown fuckwit that would spin out his potential by twenty five and spend the rest of his days belligerently recounting how he was so great when he was young. You wanted to feel used like you used them. Those girls with their crushes and their doe eyes who came to you fawning about your strong arms and your bad jokes. You took something from them you didn’t even want. You did it in a blind effort to fill a hole inside of you that had begun to fester and rot. Isn’t that true? We can see it, you know. These black eyes see more than you could ever hope. Smell it too, the stink of rot in your soul. Go on, tell the truth.”

Hot tears streamed down Hank’s cheeks. The bulky young man looked like nothing more than a blubbering child. The words coming from the satyr’s lips stabbed at him like searing irons prodding an infected wound. Hank had never thought about it and yet now it seemed laid bare before him. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Then accept my gift and be free of your burdens,” Peter taunted. He stepped closer and took his cock in his hand stroking it slowly. Hank looked at the massive member with both desire and revulsion. Peter took his other hand and placed it on the top of Hank’s head and laughed as he felt the surge of energy pass from him into the young man he had once feared. “Let’s make you a little more suitable for cocksucking first.”

Hank felt the pulse of energy enter his body. Relief washed over him as his fears and worries vanished. Then came the pain. Hank lurched backwards, arching his stomach as his body began to break and reform. Bezel and Zebub watched with fascinated curiosity, their own small cloths covering their genitals tenting at the sight of Hank’s transformation. The young man’s body thinned as his chest rippled and grew. His hair pushed out rapidly, turning from a short crew cut to long black curls. Hank remained bent back as though paralyzed by an electric current as his hips broke and reformed wider. The bandages on his hand fell away and delicate, feminine fingers curled and uncurled in a spastic rhythm. His cock shriveled and pulled into him as his balls drew tight before splitting apart with a wet pop. Hank started laughing maniacally. Finally relaxing, he brought his hands closer to his body and slid his palms up his flat torso to grab handfuls of the ballooning flesh. His thumbs flicked over his newly sensitive nipples as he leaned forward. Eagerly, his hand slid back down his body and delved between his legs. He cackled as his fingers found wet folds and slid inside.

Peter felt no shock or horror at the change he’d seen before him. Hank had not grown hooves like him, but tits and an ass that jiggled with even the slightest motion. Any understanding of the situation was second to a primal urge toward one goal - to put his cock in the beautiful creature he’d just created. He did not have to wait long. Once the new Hank finished exploring her body, she set her eyes on the glistening head of the fat cock only inches from her mouth. She scooted forward and took Peter’s length easily into her warm lips. Her tongue lashed along the underside of his cock as the head pushed against the back of her throat. Peter looked down to see his old bully’s eyes still staring back up at him, yet they were filled with a carnal joy. Hank pulled the cock out of her mouth with a wet slurp and held it vertically as she moved her mouth down to lap at Peter’s balls. The heavy orbs moved slightly as her wet tongue bathed them, all while she maintained eye contact with the monster she’d chosen to worship.

Peter couldn’t stand it any longer. With a grunt, he ordered her to turn around. Hank did so gladly. Finally, she would know what it was to be filled with a cock. Finally, she would be complete. Peter’s vision grew clouded with lust as well. He grinned at the jiggling ass in front of him as Hank positioned herself. Peter knelt behind her and pushed her legs out wider as his cock nudged against her pussy. His hands took meaty grips of her ass, reveling in the sinful flesh. He gave a commanding thought. More. The flesh grew hot in his hand as it began to expand. Hank’s already robust ass grew into a fat bubble that Peter gave a hard slap as he shoved himself inside of her hot pussy. He groaned as her heat surrounded his virgin cock. Her walls stretched to accommodate him, squeezing in protest all the while. Hank’s tits swayed underneath her as she rocked back against the invading rod. Peter looked at the other two satyrs, and the malicious thought came again. More.

The gleeful smile on Bezel’s face vanished. His chest rippled as breasts grew out rapidly. With a grunt, he dropped to his knees and tore away his loincloth to reveal a shriveling cock. “No! How could you?! You can’t be that strong. Not yet?”

Buried to the hilt in Hank’s pussy, Peter looked over at Zebub who had backed away cautiously. “Go on, fuck the new breeding bitch.”

Zebub smiled, feeling confident he’d avoided the new satyr’s malice. He moved over to the changing Bezel and pushed him onto his back. Cloven feet dangled in the air as Bezel relented and spread his knees, allowing his new pussy to open to Zebub’s hard cock. Peter thrust harder and Hank met each stroke with a vigorous shove back. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the overturned room until Peter grabbed Hank’s full hips and forced her to take his full length as he started erupting inside of her. Hank’s body quivered and shook as orgasm crashed over her with each spurt of hot cum inside of her. Even Peter was surprised by the volume of his load and thought to reward her by pulling out and spraying his last few gouts over her beautiful ass. The pearly white fluid splashed on Hank’s butt, dripping down between her ass cheeks. She cooed and thanked Peter as she struggled to regain control of her convulsing body.

Peter rose from his position and moved over to the other rutting satyrs. He was pleased to see that Bezel’s face had become more feminine and that the breasts had filled out better than even Hank’s. “Clean it off,” he ordered. Bezel moaned as she slurped Peter’s hardening dick into her mouth, tasting Hank’s juices and the salty taste of Peter’s cum. “Then we’re going to go visit some other friends.”