by Tym Greene

Cedar, mascot for the Magic-Maker Mascots company, recruits a room full of guys to be the next generation of audience-enthusers.

Added: Aug 2021 5,297 words 2,583 views 4.0 stars (2 votes)


There were flyers up all over town. “Be popular. Travel. Support your favorite team or company. BE A MASCOT!” they proclaimed in bold text, the words surmounted by a photo of a big plush beaver grinning toonily and pointing at the viewer like he was recruiting for some fluffy felt army.

Most people ignored them, or laughed at how silly they looked, but a few guys found themselves captivated by the beaver’s big, half-lidded eyes, the welcoming smile behind those oversized plastic buck teeth, and of course the promise of travel and popularity and perhaps a better job. These were the men who took down the posters, or took quick cellphone photos, or simply wrote the address and time of the meeting on the back of an envelope.

These were the men who showed up at the dingy little room in the community center, with its smell of old chairs and Alcoholics Anonymous coffee. The presenter, by contrast, had provided two travel boxes of

Starbucks with all the trimmings; the men spent a few minutes fixing their drinks, chatting quietly while they waited for the designated time.

Then they fell silent, staring at the little stage built along one side of the room. It was barely a foot high, just enough to provide speakers with a bit of gravitas, and stepping out onto it from a door on the back wall was a beaver. The same beaver from the poster.

He was short, maybe four or five feet tall, and had that beachball-stuffedunder-shirt look to him. Except he wasn’t wearing any shirt; he wasn’t wearing anything, apart from a pair of bib overalls cinched up around his round belly. A logo had been sewn onto the front of the overalls, the same logo as had been on the corner of the poster: “Magic-Maker Mascots.” He padded out in front of them, thick waffle-print tail dragging along the floor and webbed paws grabbing the straps of his overalls.

His head and body were covered by high-quality faux fur that seemed to cling to the body beneath, soft highlights accentuating the form of muscles and fat as he moved. It was his face, though, that held their attention. Mouth frozen in a big goofy grin, cartoonish eyes droopy—like he was permanently sleepy…or high…or horny—with tiny round ears dwarfed by the big black plastic nose and the big white plastic teeth.

He stood there, posing before the small crowd of hopefuls, waiting while they seated themselves. And then the face moved. The monofilament whiskers twitched, the lidded eyes blinked as the pupils left their straight-ahead stare, and the lips—that plump double line of glossy black beneath the overhanging mustache of fur—shifted. He spoke, his whole head as animated as if it were alive.

The audience was so surprised by the apparently state of the art animatronics that went into the mascot’s head that it took them a moment to pay attention to what he was saying.

“…name is Cedar, and as a representative of Magic-Maker Mascots I’d like to welcome you.” He paused, and the men applauded without knowing why.

Cedar, the beaver, held up his pleather-webbed hands and the clapping stopped. “You all have come here because you want more out of life, am I right?” The men nodded. “I’m here to give that to you, if you want it. My company is in the business of making mascots that are larger than life,” here he patted his belly, and it almost looked like it jiggled beneath the denim, like it was real fat and muscle. “Heh, so to speak.”

They laughed, seeing that he was shorter than any man there, but it wasn’t as though it were the funniest joke. Still, none of them minded: it was nice to feel so happy and welcomed, like the beaver was already their best friend. Their eyes followed him as he paced up and down the stage, big feet slapping softly, overalls hugging his plump belly and rump, tail emerging from the back beneath a flap buttoned on one side.

“Now, before we get down to business, why don’t y’all refill your cups. There’s plenty of coffee to go around, and I wouldn’t want anyone to be thirsty.” The men stood, each thinking how smart a suggestion that was, how kind the presenter was to give them time, and how good the coffee really did taste. The fact that some of them hadn’t taken more than a few sips so far didn’t seem to matter: they just chugged the last of their first cup while waiting in line to fill their second. Once they were all back in their chairs, Cedar watched as they leaned back, spreading their legs, resting hands on bellies that seemed bigger than they’d been before, the men’s expressions content, almost sleepy, as though they’d all just left the Thanksgiving Day table. The beaver’s smile broadened further.

“So,” he said, his buck-toothed lisp a little more pronounced than before, as though his own enthusiasm were causing him to slip, “you all want more outta life, right? Going all over the place, getting people excited for the things you’re excited about, bouncing around with endless energy, not a care in the world…sounds great, right? Well, I hate to disappoint ya…so I won’t! It is great! I love my…job, and I just bet that you boys will too. Let me hear ya!”

The men in the audience, applauded and cheered, some even whooping and pumping their fists in the air. They felt so full of energy, whether it was from the caffeine or the group spirit or the infectious ardor of their host, they didn’t know and didn’t care. Again the beaver held out his hands and the hall fell silent once more, waiting expectantly.

“Now, there’s a big stack of contracts on the table there, and there should be plenty of pens for everyone, so I’d like y’all to hand them ‘round and fill them out. I gotta warn ya, once you sign them, there’s no turning back, so make sure you’re sure. If you ain’t, there’s no shame, just head out the door and we won’t think any less of ya: it’s a big commitment, working as a mascot, you’ve really gotta throw yourself into it, body and soul.”

A low murmur ran through the audience as the men—patting their expanded bellies—conferred with one another, a few deciding right away, others taking more time. One man, a balding redhead, did stand up, looking hesitantly at the door. He took a step, then turned and glanced back at the beaver smiling at him from the stage, saw the lack of judgement, the open eagerness, and found himself sitting back down—leaning forward a bit to hide the erection awkwardly tenting his jeans. No one else even considered leaving.

Cedar grinned and threw his arms wide. “Welcome, brothers, I’m glad you all want to join our family of fine mascots. You’re in good company…and in a good company too!” Again the pause for obedient laughter. “Now, go ahead and sign those contracts. You’ll notice that each one of you has a different one—don’t worry if there’s extras, I’ve got plenty more meetings like this in the next little while, plenty of opportunity to meet willing fellas like y’all.” He kept talking as they filled in the forms, explaining how sometimes he only gets one or two “volunteers” and othertimes he runs out of contracts and has to have two or more guys sign up on the same contract. He added something, almost to himself, about how the Culver City Centaurs were really happy with their new mascot.

“Can we sign up for more than one?” Asked a timid voice: the man who’d contemplated leaving seemed to have changed his mind about the whole affair.

“Well, now, I appreciate that sort of eager-beaver spirit,” Cedar replied, flashing a winning smile at him, “but unless you’ve got a twin hidden in that big belly, it’s not possible—what would happen if you got assigned to work opposite football teams, or in two different cities at the same time?”

He paused, stroking his whiskery mustache in thought. “Actually, unzip that jacket, wouldja?”

Everyone in the room was watching by now as the nervous man reached around his belly to comply with the beaver’s instructions. The only sound was the ziiiiiiip as the two sides of the pulled-tight jacket were parted, revealing…a copy of the red-headed man, both of them now as skinny as he’d been when he first came into the little room. “Ok,” said the twin, blushing as he unfolded himself and stood beside his brother, “you caught us fair and square.” No one seemed to notice that he hadn’t existed until just a moment ago.

“There, now you can sign up for two spots!” Cedar fished a contract from somewhere behind the bib front of his overalls and handed it to a brownbearded man in the front row. “Pass that on back. I think this will be the perfect fit.” The paper felt warm, and perhaps a little moist, with a few strands of faux beaver fur stuck to it. The new twin obediently filled it out, borrowing his brother’s pen.

“So, everyone done? Bravo! Go ahead and pass your forms forward, thank you.” The same guy in front collected them all, tapping them into a neat stack and handing them up to the beaver. Their hands brushed together, and the bearded man moaned softly, squirming in his seat. A slightly tangy scent wafted up from him, but no one seemed to notice that he’d shot a load just from the beaver’s touch.

Cedar flipped through the contracts, far too quickly to be actually reading them—it looked more like he was just checking that every field had been filled. Satisfied, he slipped them into his wood-veneered briefcase. “You’re all such good boys,” he praised, beaming. A few other men lost control of their building arousal, and soon the aroma of cum and the sound of breathless panting filled the air. “Now that you’ve joined the family, I want to show you something special.”

The audience hung on his every word, watching as he turned around. His broad back was bare between the two straps of his overalls, and they could see creases and folds as though it were flesh and fat and fur—but there was also the prominent ridge of a zipper running straight down the middle from somewhere under his neck. Slowly, like the quintessential showman he was, he placed one hand on either side of his head, gripping at the corners of his jawline, and lifted. The men watching expected to see a smaller head revealed, a sweat-slicked thatch of hair, a pair of human ears. What they saw was nothing that they could have imagined.

What they saw was nothing.

The hands held the head up high, spinning it around so they could see his face as he continued speaking. “As you can see, I’m me, through and through.” He tucked his own head beneath one arm as the other reached up and began to unzip. “I can be worn, of course, but it’s so much more efficient this way, don’t you think?” The top corners flopped out, showing the inside of his front, the rough weave of faux fur and stitching. His hips had started swaying, the pleather tail shussshing across the floor, as though the short fat beaver were performing a striptease. The straps of his overalls fell off, first one, than the other, and he reached back with his free hand to unbutton the tail flap.

With a whoosh, he was naked, the denim pooled around his flipper-like feet. He was also completely hollow, the zipper-pull resting above the base of his tail, his insides exposed to the whole room. Just as tauntingly he began zipping himself back up, fat rump swaying to inaudible music, head-under-arm watching the lolling tongues and slack jaws of the men staring at him. Finally he placed his head back on his shoulders, arranged the collar of fur that masked the transition, and turned around so they could see the rest of him.

“What’s so surprising,” he asked playfully, his lisp even stronger now. “Y’all are naked too, ain’t’cha? There’s no shame in that: plenty of us mascots go ‘round wearing nuthin at all!” As he spoke, their jeans and sweatpants and t-shirts and sportcoats and shoes vanished, leaving every man completely exposed—including the ones who’d already orgasmed, the cum drying stickily on their thighs now.

They didn’t care, they were too enraptured by the beaver’s front. His chest and belly looked so real, so heavy and solid, two moobs draped over the great round ball, with little folds of fat at the sides. His nipples, they could now see, were the same hard glossy black plastic as his nose, as big as silver dollars. An actual button had been sewn into the apex of his belly, and his thighs were thick and strong. But between the belly and thighs was where the audience’s attention fell: a puffy triangle of faux fur from which sprouted the thick tube of his sheath and a double-handful of nuts. The sheath opened, and a nub pushed out, little more than twice as big as a thumb—it looked like a rubber dildo.

Cedar reached down around his belly and gripped the shaft with thumb and forefinger, giving it a few strokes for the audience. “That’s right, some of us even get bits…why don’t you reach down and feel your own, see if you can guess what you’ll have.”

There was a shuffling in the room as the men all looked down at their crotches, most having to bend around big new bellies of their own.

Almost half had actually lost their genitals—even their nipples if they’d been inclined to check—giving them a friendly pear shape reminiscent of Baloo from the TaleSpin cartoon and similar Saturday morning fare. The rest found their balls swathed in faux fur sacs, their dicks rubberized and changing shape and size. The bearded man in the front row giggled to find that his still-dripping dick was now bright red and canine-shaped, as was the cock of one of the twins, though his was colored more of a sea green. Two men had apparently lost their balls—only to feel them nestled inside their blubbery groins—and found their cocks to be longer, flexible, and emerging from slits.

“Go ahead, touch them, they won’t bite,” the beaver encouraged, stroking his own shaft with pinky upraised and the other hand on one of his plastic nipples. “As you might have guessed, you’re not gonna be human much longer…and I bet there’s not one of you who minds, is there?” He scanned the faces looking back at him, each one enraptured, some even slack-jawed with the pleasure of watching him, of feeling themselves changing. “You love feeling this good, don’t’cha boys? And if it feels good now, just wait!”

A balding man in the back row moaned loudly as his hair grew back in: a thick glossy mane of acrylic fibers that sprouted from his scalp, the back and sides of his head, the line of his jaw, and even down to his chin. It spread further, filling in the sides of his neck and top of his chest as his face pushed forward into a muzzle that somehow managed to look strong and dainty at the same time. His mouth opened, revealing a thick glossy lower lip, as his tail pushed out through the open chair back, tipped with a tuft of brown that matched his mane. His body swelled, but not like some of his compatriots: his chest was the hardest hit, then his rump, and lastly his belly; his arms actually seemed to get more slender as the seconds passed.

The beaver on stage was watching intently, a hungry look on his cartoonish face as the human man became a more-or-less female lion.

“Leon/a, please stand up and show yourself off to your friends here.

Boys, give the gal a round of applause: I’ve never seen someone change so quickly. Guess you really wanted to be a hair care products mascot, didn’t’cha?”

In reply, the lion stood, and gave her glossy mane a toss. Giggling in a deeper voice than one might expect, she turned around, showing off the new booty, the hairy chest that seemed somewhere between boobs and pecs, the svelte belly that dipped down to a tidy black rubber pussy.

“Strong enough for a woman, gentle enough for a man, right Cedar baby?”

“That’s right Leon/a! It feels so good to be able to say your company’s tagline, doesn’t it?” The lion wo/man nodded, both thickly-delicate hands slipping across her thighs. “You all will find yourselves with a repertoire of phrases, sayings, attitudes, even dialect. Wouldja believe that before I found my true calling,” he thumped his tail on the stage for emphasis, “I was a boring old English teacher? ‘Course, that doesn’t matter any more, does it? Ooh, I see another one of us is about to sprout,” he gestured towards the other side of the room where a formerly-skinny guy had gotten to his feet and started going through a set of poses.

He pulled a “most muscular,” and grunted as—with an audible pop—his face pushed out into a snout with a big blunt horn on the top. Purple began to flood down from the tip of that horn, changing his flesh to taut molded felt, inflated with foam muscles. He shifted his pose into a “double biceps” and held it as his pecs and belly swelled up into a sizeable musclegut. Spinning around like a dancer, he placed his hands on his hips for a “rear lat spread,” which showcased not only his broad triangular back, but also his meaty rump and short tail. He spun back around and raised a three-fingered hand as the other men applauded.

“Looks like our rhino friend really enjoys showing off,” the beaver said, indicating the pulsing purple shaft and taut-pulled balls beneath.

“You know it, Cedar! The only thing better than flexing is fucking, and the only thing better than that is getting pumped up!” His voice was now a gruff bass rumble, with the timbre one might expect to hear in a frat house. He gave the guy sitting next to him—who’d started to grow teal diamond-stitched felt—a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Come on, bros, let’s all get pumped up!”

The rhino turned and bent to touch his toes…and stayed bent, his little tail flagged up to show off the purple donut between the felt-covered hams of his butt. His neighbor pushed wire-frame glasses up his dragony snout (neither of which he’d had a moment before) and dove in, tonguefirst. Each snort of pleasure seemed to puff the rhino up more, and the teal felt—it was by now obvious that the mass-produced diamond stitches were supposed to emulate scales—swallowed up the rest of his willowy body. Satisfied with the rimjob he’d gotten and impatient to get to the main event, the rhino pulled forward, repositioning his rump so he was nearly sitting on the dragon’s lap. The dragon’s rubberized cock slid into the rhino’s rubberized hole, and they both let out rather whorish moans. Each thrust seemed to stretch the dragon mascot longer, mustache-like tendrils draping down from his upper lip. Meanwhile, the man in the front row had lost his beard, but his pleasure at the spectacle before them all—not to mention his canine erection—was unflagging, even as his eyes glazed over.

His was packing on pounds of muscle and fat, and he didn’t even notice: he was watching the rhino and dragon too intently, was too busy stroking his doggy dick and playing with his balls. Cedar noticed, of course, but then he knew what each one of them was becoming, and for whom they’d be working. He watched out of the corner of his big toony eyes as the man’s face became similarly cartoonish, eyes droopy, jowls droopy around an out-thrust lower jaw. He heard the growl of the newly-made bulldog’s pleasure, tracking the progress of the white-and-brownblotched fur as it spread his school’s colors across his body.

Taking their cue from the pair in the back, the two men who’d grown long tongue-shaped cocks started making out as well, hands feeling over one another’s forms as their passion accelerated their changes. Skin grew smooth, taking on a dull sheen, little specular highlights showing that they were now covered in neoprene. The smaller of the two, taking the lead, had pulled his companion into a deeper kiss, their dicks unsheathed and twining together below their locked and growing jaws. The neoprene skin of the bigger man was shifting tone, giving him a white belly and eyespots to contrast his black back, while his new boyfriend’s material became solid grey. Tails and fins grew from their spines as their hands and feet grew longer, more flexible, with webbing between their fingers.

The passion of the orca and dolphin inspired the cloned twins to explore one another, and the one who’d sprouted a sea green canine cock pressed it against the tapering shaft of his twin. They wrapped their arms around one another’s shoulders, feeling the fur they each were growing, but the dog-dicked one seemed to be sprouting scales from the waist down. Even his feet changed, ending in broad fin-shaped appendages. The other twin, on the other hand, was very obviously feline, his triangular ears and spotted face marking him as a lynx.

Elsewhere in the audience, two of the men who’d lost their crotches entirely, leaving with with smooth cartoony groins, continued to swell up.

Extra height and broader hips helped them stand out in the crowd, and their thick soft paws were soon busy roaming over their bodies as fur sprang up. With matching bellows, they finished changing: one into a polar bear, with an eager, intelligent-looking face, the other a brown bear. His expression seemed to tend more towards goofy dopiness, and he dropped to his knees, giggling in his new bass voice, so he could start sucking on the bulldog’s cock.

One guy looked down to realize that while his cock had vanished, his balls were bigger than ever, and covered in dusky brown fur. With a thought, he found he could expand or contract them, and he chortled as his belly swelled too, his thick round-tipped tail grew out, and his head finished growing its darker-brown raccoon-style mask. Next to him, one of the more eager audience members found his own changes finally happening, heralded by a splitting headache. He reached up and felt a tall spiraling horn of rubberized plastic growing out of the middle of his forehead…then heard a soft clunk. Pulling his hands back down into his widening field of vision, he saw that he had hooves now, glossy gold split things topped with blue tufts. Grinning broadly, he watched as the blue felt flowed over his body, smoothing and slenderizing as it went. It finished with bifurcated hooves and tuft-tipped tail, leaving him a blue unicorn with a flame-gold mane, and nothing between his legs of either stallion or mare, and he found he didn’t mind in the slightest.

Throughout the room every man was having similar thoughts: that this was a coming-home, a returning to true forms they hadn’t known they’d had.

The last man to change became—unsurprisingly—a slug. His body glossed over as skin became shiny stretchy latex fabric and legs merged into a long lower torso. Instead of dull earthy colors, his back became bright blue, his belly white, and along the edge he took on the short red, white, and blue stripes of an airmail envelope. Like some of the others, he had no genitals now, and so turned his attention to the big round balls of the bandit-masked tanuki sitting next to him, stroking and caressing them with rubbery mitten-shaped hands.

And through it all, Cedar was watching over them from the little stage, one arm still stretching around his belly to play with his cock, the other still tweaking a plastic nipple. “Oh, you boys are such a good audience,” he whispered, his lisp almost rendering him unintelligible as he stroked the little rubber dildo between his legs. “Ok boys, we’re almost out of time here, and it wouldn’t do to, nnngh, let the public see just how dirty we can get. Time to—oh fuck—finish and…get…dressed….” Apparently the thought of “his boys” in their uniforms, happily representing sports teams or corporate owners, was enough to kick the beaver over the edge.

With wobbling legs and his tail slapping the stage, Cedar came, shooting what looked and smelled like maple syrup across the floor. As he panted and moaned, coming down from the heights, the other former-humans around the room found themselves orgasming as well. Most found their cocks spraying out condiments or beverages: the polar bear, for example, came cola; the buff rhino shot powerade; a hole above the tanuki’s inflated balls dribbled sweet rice wine; and the dolphin and orca found clean pure water to be fountaining from their entwined shafts. Those without genitals, on the other hand, simply reached a pinnacle of pleasure, and then slowly came back down again—mess-free, but just as enjoyable.

Once they’d all finished and had handed around paper towels to clean up the various fluids before they soaked into the tough industrial carpeting, Cedar once more stood before them in all his naked glory. Hands on

chubby hips, he said, “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you all, throwing yourselves into your roles like this. Believe me, keep up that attitude and you’ll always have plenty of opportunities to show just how much you love your new owners. In my experience, most teams and companies are happy to arrange special ‘events’ to allow interested parties to get better acquainted with their favorite mascots. That said, however, most of the time you’ll be wearing your uniform. Go ahead and reach under your chairs there, and pull out what you’ll be wearing from now on.”

“Oh,” the beaver added before anyone had a chance to bend down, “remember, you’re your owners’ property now, so if they decide to give you a new uniform, that’s A-OK, right?” The audience chorused eager agreement. “Y’all’d be surprised how often companies change their color schemes, and sports teams are always adding special holiday outfits.

Heck, once I ended up dressed as a tree—they had me wear that on Arbor Day and Halloween and April Fools’ Day—still, it was interestin’ to be on the other side of the buck teeth for a change.” He laughed heartily, then gestured to them to continue.

As one, the audience bent forward and reached beneath their chairs; none of them noticing that their clothes had long ago vanished, nor did any mind that the new uniforms had appeared out of thin air. The cloned twins pulled hockey jerseys from under their seats—crosstown rivals, the Seadogs and the Wildcats—while Leon/a found a slinky purple dress that contrasted her fur and mane and showed off her not-quite-feminine physique.

The bulldog had the most gear: a full college football uniform, with his new last name (“GOODBOY”) spelled out above a giant number zero on the back, jockstrap and cup to hide his dogcock, pads to accentuate his musculature, shiny pants stretched out by his plump rump, and a shirt too short to keep from riding up his big belly. He nearly came again, just from feeling his uniform wrapped around him, but managed to keep himself in line by mumbling the school cheer to himself. He didn’t even think to ask why he knew it.

Others had far less to wear: the teal eastern dragon only had his glasses and a pale blue t-shirt with “Chess Team” emblazoned across the front, the polar bear wrapped a red scarf around his neck, and the slug only had on a little delivery cap and a mailbag slung at his side, leaving his broad white underside completely exposed. Similarly, the tanuki only had a traditional white hachimaki headband perched on his forehead, with the name of a popular sake brand spelled out in black kanji characters.

The two neoprene cetaceans found matching plumbers’ coveralls and put them on as their cocks retreated into their slits. The dolphin’s smaller coverall had a name patch saying “Drip,” while the orca’s said “Drop,” both of them had the name of a large plumbing company printed on their backs, and they sat a little closer, knowing now that they were married—thanks to the plumbing company’s marketing strategy of being more hip with their main city’s gay community. The rhino, on the other hand, squeezed into a pair of compression shorts and a matching sleeveless shirt that left nothing to the imagination and showed off his big foamunder-felt muscles.

The toony brown bear was the last one to get dressed: he was so silly that he kept putting on his khaki shorts backwards. Finally, with some help from his neighbors, he was able to don his costume. Apparently the national parks service was trying to appeal to a younger audience, and so they’d specified that their silly-looking brown bear mascot would wear a cartoonishly-stylized ranger’s uniform, right down to the olive socks peeking out above his oversized pleather boots.

As though of one mind, the newly-minted mascots stood and faced their creator. Cedar—now once more dressed in his snug overalls—smiled broadly at them. “Look at you wonderful creations! Your new owners are going to be so pleased with how well you turned out. Please file towards the door, there are two big vans waiting out front to pick us all up and take you to my corporate headquarters. Once we get to Magic-Maker Mascots, they’ll take photos of you from different angles and with your heads off. Be good and follow the photographers’ directions, and then you’ll be packed up and shipped out to your new owners!”

“And remember,” he added with sudden gravitas, “mascots don’t sleep, we just dream of glory!”

With a cheer, the various beasts and creatures walked out of the little community center, leaving the floor spotless, the coffee setup cleaned up, and all the chairs neatly stacked in one corner. It was as though the crowd of transformed men had never been there. All that was left was a notice pinned to the bulletin board in the hallway.

The same grinning beaver character was printed on the same bright paper with the same field of text, with the same encouraging enticements to attract just the right potential candidates. The only difference was the date: it said that the meeting would take place the next weekend, at a conference center the next city over. Cedar, it seemed, had plenty of orders to fill.

More Like This

 Looking for stories 

Got one you want to share? Send it in.

 Commissions are open 

Want a BRK story? Find out more.