Mark hated Gargoyles. They were imperfect, oozing, ugly antiques of an age long gone. Despite being portly, unattractive, and prematurely balding, he preferred things with clean, pretty aesthetics. Smartphones. Modern cars. Jumpsuits. He lived for manufactured sameness. He had just put a down payment in on a nice large McMansion for himself and his boyfriend, paid for with his job as a realtor. He enjoyed the paperwork and officespace part of his job, but loathed dealing with the mess and uncertainty of other people’s homes.

He stood in front of an old Victorian mansion, a decayed hulk that looked fit for demolition, but that he was required to appraise, along with the help of an inspector. A row of revolting-looking gargoyles was perched on the building, staring down at him and looking as if they were about to come crashing down atop him. He especially disliked their carved eyes, with pointed, jagged pupils turned towards him. 
He stood at the front of the property, overgrown and reedy, composed of more wildflowers and weeds than grass, checking his watch every couple of minutes. 15 minutes late. 20. 25. He tried ringing the doorbell and knocking. No response. The place was abandoned. He turned to walk back to his car. His car was gone. It had seemingly vanished into the mess and chaos of the property that he stood upon.
He looked around for it, panic growing like a slow-burning coal. He had parked in front, right? Or had he parked along the back and walked to the front? The property was somewhat rural and isolated. It could be easy to lose one’s bearings in such a disorderly place. He walked to the back and stepped through a half-open gate covered with wild morning glories and ivy. Here things were even more chaotic, wild hollyhocks standing like monstrous triffids 8-feet tall in every direction, tree trunks blocking him in even though he recalled seeing no trees from the front of the property. Overgrown shrubbery created a hedge maze with four straight walls and no exit.

It was claustrophobic, awful. He grew ever more disoriented. Mark spun around and found himself staring at huge, grotesque monster face carved of stone. It looked vaguely leonine, but it sported large bottom tusks from its maw, and short horns from its forehead. Its nose was twisted, scarred, and swollen. While a lion would have had a proud mane, this one had only long stringy hair growing from the back of its head in a most unpleasant way. Large bat wings coming from its back made it seem improbably huge, even though it must have only stood at a little over five feet, not counting its pedestal. It sported huge, literally chiseled muscles on top of a bow-legged posture ending in mutilated, gnarled, clawed feet that were enormous, their long toes snaking every which way over the pedestal. Its arms were so thick and bloated that no actual creature would have ever been able to even move them. What was most disconcerting, however, was the perverse, almost 5-foot long member that jutted forever erect in front of the creature, now pointed directly at Mark’s chest, almost bigger than the rest of the gargoyle itself.

He stared at it for several moments, absolutely repulsed and yet fascinated by the thing. It took him a bit to register what the thing was, aside from being an obvious gargoyle, before he realized it was a fountainhead. And he was standing on top of another rather large pedestal that would have made a second fountain. He looked down to see long-dead lilypads and algae scum on the concrete where he stood, brown and brittle. How did he get up here? He closed his eyes for a second, mentally forcing reason back into his head. He remembered. In a fit of panic he had crawled up here to get a better look around him. He saw an exit to the right. He decided to leave this place, attempt to call someone, and find a ride home before reporting his car stolen.
He moved to step out of the fountain and climb down. He could not. A jolt moved through him as if he had tripped, but he was still standing in the same spot. He mentally took another step, but a jolt of painful lightning shot through his leg, making him scream in pain. Still he stood in the same spot. He prepared again to move, felt another shot of pain, and heard a disgusting, boney crack. He looked down at his feet. One of his legs was swollen, bulging with flesh. The pant leg was torn open. As his heart beat, so too did his red, veiny leg pulse and throb. It began to shift and crack, growing longer, forcing him to stoop into a bow-legged position. He shoe burst open, his toes spilling out, rubbing fast and hard against the rough concrete, creating an agonizing sensation upon his soles. They curled about the pedestal and froze into place. The hot, red, clotted blood look of his legs began to fade. His flesh turned blue and cadaverous, then dry and cracked, then cold and stony. He still retained all sensation in his legs, despite losing all control of them.

The horror was upon him. This must be a nightmare. Surely he would wake up soon. Already he realized what was to be his ironic fate, coming to the realization sooner than most dullards of his variety would have. “No, please no,” he gasped pathetically, as the change spread up his torso, ruining his expensive sportscoat. He budged out all over; his flesh turning hot and infected, giving him a Greek god’s sculpted muscles, a bat’s sinewy wings, the clawed paw-hands of a beast. His arms grew to the size of giant pumpkins and he instantly lost the ability to move them. The flesh piled itself upon his back and breasts, causing him to stoop over even more like an animal as his neck disappeared deep into his shoulders. And almost as soon as it had happened, he felt his new body going dead, life draining even as the nerves still seemed to remain.
The change crept up to his face. His jaw stretched out, hard, stiff, tusks rudely pushing their way from his virgin gums. His neck twisted and forced him to stare directly into the face of the other gargoyle, to see exactly what he was becoming. He could see that the gargoyle was almost smiling at him, a look of perverse delight mingled with mind-twisting horror etched upon his face. He stared at it as he felt most of his hair fall out, except for a small band along the back that grew long and curly past his shoulders. Horns pushed themselves out of his forehead. The horror in his mind began to turn into resigned acceptance as he felt his expression turn into a permanent jaw-drop.

This wasn’t so bad, right? At least it was over now. All life faded from his body. He felt at peace. As he stared helplessly at the other gargoyle, a mirror image of himself, he started to re-think its ugliness. In its brutish way, it was rather handsome. Almost…sexy. Although the life had left his body, he felt a pulsing, warming feeling from his loins. Then he realized that he did not yet have the same enormous cock as the creature did.

Like a volcanic eruption, a giant dick sprouted from his crotch, growing stiff and erect, red-hot, pulsing, throbbing, shooting mounds of pressure-cooker-hot cum that splatted and steamed all over the fountain and himself. Although he was now made of stone, the heat radiated slowly to his dead nerves and made him mentally shiver. His balls inflated, growing fat and bulbous, swinging down low as the red-hot volcano dick continued to explode. The sensation was heavenly. Mark’s mind was lost in the incredible pleasure. He forgot all about the unworldly horror of his situation and only felt the pulsing jerk of his uncontrollable dick, which he wanted so badly to touch, but could not. It stretched harder, tighter, longer with every spasm. For a while he thought it might grow even longer than his twin’s. Each spurt of cum splatted on his toes and warmed them.

He wanted it to never end. But it did. Just like the rest of him, the monster dick cooled and drained of life, becoming cold and petrified. The red-hot cum cooled as well, but its flow did not decrease. Instead, the cum’s viscosity became looser, the color cleared. It was water. The flow turned into a steady, nonstop stream, almost as pleasurable as before, but now with no break or respite.

For the first time since his transformation, Mark’s outward expression was not quite the same as his inner expression. He came for what seemed like weeks, witnessing the slow turn of days into nights. Then one day, he heard crunching in the garden. Someone was exploring the yard. It grew closer. A figure approached him and climbed atop his pedestal.

“There you are, hun. Enjoying yourself?” the man asked, staring directly at the gargoyle-Mark.” I thought you might. You needed a change from that boring old routine. That’s what you get when your boyfriend is a warlock who just can’t help but keep himself from trying out the old family spells.”

The man kissed the gargoyle on the forehead and left it alone to enjoy itself till the end of time.