Brandon Twice
patreon
Earth Takeover
🕑 Added 2021-05-25 01:26:13 +0000 UTC[highly inspired by this amazing post]
Before we’d launched our first wave, I’d studied my target so much I could have navigated his abode with my visual receptors completely deactivated. I’m not sure what it is about these terran beings that compels them to project so much of their banal daily life along their--what’s their word for it?
(Ah, yes, “Internet.” So simplistic to dignify a basic communications matrix with so, in terms of their language at least, lofty a name.)
Regardless, my terran--designated “Nick Walker”--was strutting around his abode wearing what I’m fairly certain are called, “gym shorts.” We watched him, waddling around with his hyperdeveloped physiology, before engaging the transmat beam. My assistants, Xora and Chredux, were confused about why he would willingly choose to vary so much from the average physiologies of his people.
“It makes some of them feel better to be a little bit bigger,” I explained, although by terran standards I understood that Nick was quite a bit bigger. His strength, I told them, was not at all the goal of his daily administrations and his attempts at personal biohacking. He simply wanted to be larger, and competed with other “men” to see who could be the largest, and in the most pleasing way.
(Xora clicked up some visuals of “obese” men and asked why these specimens weren’t regarded with as much awe. I told him he had quite a lot to learn about the terrans, although soon their culture would be a history lesson.)
When we appeared, our target seemed stunned. He balled up his “fists” and threatened us, commanding us--us, a highly evolved technorg species!) to evacuate. The more he demanded that we comply, the more amused we were. If only he knew we could have incinerated his fleshy meatpile body with but a twitch of our digits. But that wasn’t our goal here--not destruction of their species, but subjugation.
Chredux engaged a gentle force field to prevent the target from hurting itself, while I tapped into his genetics and started to make adjustments. This overgrown terran’s posturing went from bravado to terror, his visual receptors growing wide as his body was subsumed in my organic reorganization beam.
I started with his phallis, the “human”--as they call their primitive species--reproductive organ, since it seemed to be such a psychological focal point for these creatures. It changed quickly, immediately filling his garment to capacity, and beyond. The flimsy material tore, and moments later I had completely reshaped his phallis to be that of the species designation to which he would soon belong: equus asinus, more commonly known as a donkey.
Xora’s dorsal tendrils twitched and glittered, signifying his amusement at Nick’s sudden predicament. He was shocked, grabbing the much larger organ with both hands. He seemed stunned by both its size and its bestial shape. He opened his mouth to express his dismay, but I had already reshaped his vocal chords and the nerves surrounding them. Poor Nick just opened his mouth and let out a loud and pathetic, “HEEEEEEEEEE-haw!”
He wasn’t able to grip his new member for long, as his hands quickly reshaped into hard hooves. He clapped them against each other, braying sadly, before the same thing happened to his feet. The “clip-clop” of his panicked feet against the floor entertained all three of us. Watching the bulges of his hypermuscular physique flex and pulse as he tried to escape us only increased our enjoyment.
At my command, Chredux dissolved the force field, alloying NIck to stumble around his abode. Even in his human form, his absurd bulk made it difficult for him to travel at much more than a spirited waddle, but with his new animal appendages he was even slower and clumsier. He rapped his hooves uselessly against the knob that would have activated his exit from his abode (and us), but, lacking proper digits, found himself trapped there.
The large muscles known as “pectorals” flexed and twitched as his face went white. Nick let out a long, slow bray as his hips rotated and he found himself tumbling forward, now stumbling around on all fours. Grey fur had sprouted over his rock-hard, hairless physique as his thick, bulging arms grew longer, to make his four-legged embolism more comfortable for him. He trotted around, unsure what to do, as we continued to record and observe.
Since there was still time until he was fully transformed, I sent a hailing signal to Zredoz, who connected immediately. His target, a large “actor” named Jason Momoa, was also midtransformation. Zredoz showed me the big “lunk” (one of my favorite human words, both in its simplisty and the concept it conveyed) as his (by human terms) attractive face contorted and pushed out into a muzzle. His long, lanky body, nowhere near as muscular as my target but still quite a bit thicker and sturdier than the average human, was about a third of the way transformed, his rippling torso coating with hair as his ears sprouted up, tall and furry, above his head.
Zredoz and I exchanged tendril glitters at his predicament, as his newly animal tongue clumsily navigated around his bulky new teeth. Jason was clearly trying to reason with Zredoz, who had waited for this moment (as I had with my target) for nearly 9000 clicks. While we could understand human language, our plan was merely a tiny part of the plan of a galactic empire’s takeover of this pathetic little planet. There was no room from debate, especially from an insignificant, albeit visually pleasing, specimen. Jason had much more value to Zredoz in his new form, as Nick did to me.
Ending my communication with Zredoz, I turned back to my target as Xora continued to record. His body, from the neck down at least, had mostly completed its transformation into that of a big, bulky donkey. His velvety ears twitched and turned at the sound of his brays, and as I approached, they folded down.
We specifically chose humanoid forms, similar to the terrans in a superficial way (pre-transformation of course) to facilitate our peaceful takeover of their planet. I extended my hand (an appendage I’d practiced with for hundreds of clicks before we arrived on Earth) and stroked Nick’s face gently as he brayed softly. When I produced what these beings call a “carrot” (an organic subterranean object that the equus asinus traditionally crave), his eyes went wide. I’m sure his new bestial impulses were asserting themselves, overwhelming his still partially human neural cortex as he tried to resist.
Turning away from that carrot was his final act of defiance. He let out a long, guttural bray as his face pushed out, fur covering his blocky face, finalizing the transformation. I stroked his mane as he leaned forward and crunched on the treat, his large rump finding its way to the floor as he leaned forward for another bite. I fed him six carrots as he grew more and more docile. I’d treated the carrots with a chemical, but not one to subdue him. That had happened naturally.
The chemical I’d added to the carrot was supposed to increase Nick’s mass. By the time we had set up his abode as our residence, Nick’s donkey body had gained 30% more muscle and 60% more subcutaneous fat. His brays of protest at our commandeering his living quarters were easily silenced by offering him a new carrot.
When it was time to parade him around the streets, I fitted him with a sadly and a blanket on which we had printed his original form, in all its overdeveloped glory. He could only bray and trot as I walked him around the streets with blinders on, chasing a carrot I dangled in front of him.
Nick’s transformation, as well as those of the other men we had transformed during the primary phase of our takeover, was broadcast across the planet so the humans could see how easily their most physically powerful members could be transformed into our pets. Displaying their prior human forms on their bulked-up animal bodies only served as a reminder of who they used to be, and how far--in their human eyes, of course--they had fallen.
Our takeover had been such a success that I was promoted to caretaker once all of the formerly human donkeys were gathered. What a thrill it was to see these Earth figures I had admired from afar all gathered together! I got the privilege of washing a half-ton Henry Cavill, who brayed the whole time, his big donkey dick throbbing as I lathered him up and rinsed him down. He snorted and nickered as I polished his hooves, a thick clumsy tongue rolling around his spotted mouth between vocalizations.
I was certain to broadcast the donkey that used to be Dwayne Johnson getting mounted by John Cena. For some reason, conversion had always left the donkeys with increased libidos. Since this made it more difficult for them to train, so we allowed them to engage in intercourse however they wished. Since their brains would remain human for a time, we had laser-printed each of their human physiques and visages on each side of their torsos. I’m sure John was entirely sure who the thousand-pound donkey he was vigorously penetrating was as he stared, lazy-eyed, into the distance.
The project was a complete success; all of the Earth’s most powerful men were converted forcibly into donkeys to convey to their entire species how easily we could remold their flesh. Those of their species who raised arms against us became lobotomized slaves. We gave their entire population a choice: happy servitude as our pet, or mindless labor. Broadcasting these former bastions of strength and masculinity, now enormously bloated donkeys, on a constant feed made a peaceful takeover far easier.
As my original target, Nick was always kept close by. Deep down, the donkeys all remained human, but the longer they were treated as beasts, the more they started to embrace the role. There were times when you could see Nick’s defiance starting to rise, but all I had to do was dangle a carrot, or the pulsing anus of another “bodybuilder” (such a silly human term) he used to be acquainted with, and his will easily died out. Nick prefered to mount the donkey formerly known as Craig Golias, although the two of them soon grew so huge that all they could do was rub their massive hides against each other while they rubbed their gigantic donkey dicks along the ground.
Big dumb brutes. I truly had the most enjoyable job of the entire Earth takeover.
