FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Well, for starters, he fucks like a coked-up rabbit."

"You don't say."

"Like if you sold power bottoms the way you sold power tools, he'd be the one with the longest list of hazard warnings."

"Here I thought he was all mouth."

"Speaking of, I didn't know throats could even DO what his does."

"What does it do?"

"Take a foot and a half of wolf cock without complaining."

Arumbi'aji raised an eyebrow. In the doorway to his office stood a seven-foot tall, two hundred eighty-pound wolf man who shrugged nonchalantly, though the movement carried a twinge of discomfort. He wasn't used to talking like this. There was a ghost of a smirk, a ghost of uncertainty, a ghost of doubt. Still, he muttered, "Call me blessed."

Through a window onto the floor of the gym he owned and ran, Rumbi - short for Arumbi'aji - caught the eye of a creamy white stoat man who was doing a conspicuous, cartoonish tiptoe away. The slinky male froze, then put a cupped hand to his mouth and called out, "Consider him a peace offering!"

Rumbi pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then two at the ermine, glaring but unable to keep a smirk off his lips.

Some background on these interactions: Arumbi'aji was a magically gifted individual who ran a racket for transforming people's bodies. Even he wasn't sure what the limits of his powers were, but he knew that when an individual sacrificed something of value to them, he could feed on that sacrifice through the eldritch crown that was disguised on his forehead as a set of short, golden horns. The crown had accompanied him from another world and an ancient lineage. He was starting anew as of less than a year ago, and starting with a gym as a physical trainer and fitness coach while he felt out the world around him.

Physically, Rumbi was the kind of person who could easily intimidate someone into making such sacrifices: he stood well over six feet tall, wore the physique of a professional wrestler, and besides all that, was a predatory, crocodilian dinosaur in this world of anthropomorphic animals. His leathery skin was charcoal gray slashed with horizontal, yellow-gold stripes that went from the top of his back to the tip of his muscular tail. Thick spines ran down his back, necessitating special-made clothing. More than that, his irises were yellow within pale gray sclera, lending him an altogether alien appearance. The stoat outside the office was a potion seller with a forgettable name who kept walking the line between encroaching on Rumbi's turf and flirting with him - even now, he was making the "call me" sign with his hand as he slipped away. It was unclear how much of the flirtation was overt manipulation and how much was wanting to get treated like a cock sock, but it was obviously a bit of both. The "peace offering" was the value of having found a potential useful contact - nothing more.

The two had clashed here and there previously. The wolf was new. Name of Darrow, he was a casual behemoth of a man who made even Rumbi look small. Iron gray fur that lightened to a creamier color on his front and in his mane flowed thickly and half-combed across his muscular bulk. He wore jeans torn to look like he'd swelled through them and a plain white tee shirt ready to give way at any moment to bulging pectorals and a broad back. Between the two massive men, the office seemed cramped.

The office itself was nothing special: A desk with assorted paperwork, a few hobbyist craft airplanes on shelves, and an assortment of free weights. It had plenty of space, in theory, but it was usually Rumbi and someone smaller than himself, not someone who blocked the entire door frame.

"So, what you're telling me is," Rumbi continued, "that that minx took eighteen inches of dick and didn't die." His voice was calm and resonant, rich and deep. Approached the lewd subject the same way he might a building contract.

"Both ends. Barely gagged. Ain't whimper, either. All man." Darrow's was rougher, but lower, like he wasn't used to talking at length.

"I'll be damned. Anyway, rude of me to ask after someone else when I barely know you. Take a seat, Darrow - what brings you here?" Rumbi was wearing a bright blue jersey under a brazenly purple vest and loose, black athletic shorts. On anyone else, the color combination would have been clownish, but on Rumbi, the vest lent a hint of professionalism to otherwise forgettable attire.

Darrow took one look at the wooden desk chair he'd been offered and stayed where he was. "I'll stand, boss."

"Boss?"

"I'm here about a job. Meat slinky said you're hiring."

Rumbi's gaze darkened. "Did he say for what?"

Darrow held up one hand placatingly. "I picked up what he was laying down, nothing else. I'm sick of being fired from desk jobs and coffee shops." He looked down and rolled a shoulder as he crossed his arms again. It was probably the longest sentence he'd said that day. "He said you could line me up with something more suiting."

Rumbi took a long moment to assess the wolf. He was a giant of a man. Rumbi was big, but he was whatever size he wanted to be after decades of feeding on the daily sacrifices of the people around him. Magical ability, especially that which transformed the body, was vanishingly rare in the wake of some atrocity that had been committed some years prior elsewhere on the continent. Rumbi knew that he was a fully unique individual in a world that had until a few years ago sold magic commercially in every pharmacy and corner store. So, for someone to be standing in front of him with a body that only came naturally to one in ten million raised his suspicion.

"Meat slinky didn't slip you anything?"

Darrow startled. "What."

"Never mind." If the ermine had kept mum about what Rumbi did, he supposed he could extend a similar courtesy to the potion salesman's antics. "I'm asking, is that all natural?" He nodded at the wolf in general.

"Yeah."

"So here's what we'll do. I've got a problem needs solving south of South on Shade Street. I want you to solve it in a very specific way, and if you do, I'll keep you on as hired muscle." Or more specifically, muscle that could be in one place while Rumbi was another.

"Gang initiation? I ain't killed before."

"That's up to you." Rumbi stood up and flicked a switch on his desk to close the blinds into the office. This was his favorite part. Darrow was strong. He seemed proud, or at least confident in himself. Rumbi could already feel that Darrow experienced an amount of loss just at admitting he needed aid finding employment, and it was pickling the voracious dinosaur's hunger. Rumbi made his way around the desk to stand in front of Darrow, a mere foot away. "I'll give you the means to do whatever you want with them."

Darrow got the dizzying sensation that even though he was taller than Rumbi, he was looking up at the other man. He blinked hard. The room seemed darker and smaller all of a sudden. Rumbi's presence seemed to take up the entire space. The wolf uncrossed his arms and growled.

Arumbi'aji rumbled out, "You weren't meant to be a pencil pusher or serve coffee. Look at you. Kneel." He reached up a hand to Darrow's shoulder. He pushed down. Darrow's enormous quads trembled and his eyes widened as he struggled to keep standing. The room kept getting smaller, it felt like. Rumbi was growing. The wolf felt thoughts fluttering through his mind. The drive to just be a normal citizen. Finish school. Not get harassed by every sports coach who laid eyes on him.

Rumbi's bronze voice seemed to seep into his ears. "Who told you not to lean into that body? Mom? Grandad? Older sister?" The dino shoved again, and this time, Darrow went to his knees. He strained with every muscle, but couldn't resist. His body had carried linebackers into the end zone, when he'd played for a season. Rumbi made him kneel. The wolf heard the voices of his supervisors, his aunt and uncle, his teachers, trying to tell him what he had to be, who he had to be, to be careful, quiet, calm, out of the way, respectful. Rumbi's voice cut through all that. None of that mattered. What mattered was that Darrow had internalized all of that. Darrow wanted to be a normal guy. Darrow had struggled for years to be a normal guy. And Rumbi was saying to give that up.

The devilsaur grinned. "Give up, Darrow. That's no way to live your life. Let me show you what you can be."

"But I'm. I'm huge. I'm a monster."

"Not yet, you aren't. Lean in." It occurred to him the stoat had done him more of a solid than he thought. He remembered Darrow's odd discomfort when he'd been asked about the little potion seller. The stoat hadn't just pointed Darrow in the right direction - he'd given the wolf a taste of what it was like to love his size. People didn't change this instantly, even in the face of Rumbi's... charisma. There'd been a chink in the armor, a chip in the dam. Rumbi's long, long years of experience with people let him read everything that passed over Darrow's face, and he shortly knew that this was someone who had been taught, his entire life, that his body was wrong. And now...

The wolf looked up at Arumbi'aji. "Do it."

The devilsaur's grin widened enormously. His chest swelled. His height surged. He ran his thumb possessively over Darrow's lips, which made the wolf snarl with indignation, but he was swallowed by Rumbi's shadow as the ancient reptile fed on what he was giving up. "Here's what you'll do for me."

--

Darrow felt over his teeth where Rumbi had... "blessed" him. Each of his incisors had a vertical stripe of gold on it. He could feel that his body had been changed by something the dinosaur had done. It had been explained to him, but it seemed insane. Even more concerning was that he hadn't been sent alone on this mission.

"So yeah, Rumbi just said you're running an errand and I could settle up early on what's left of my debt if I came along. 'As practice,' is what he said. Are we roleplaying something?" asked a fit, lean mouse man who was a full foot and a half shorter than Darrow.

The intimidating wolf shot a glance down at his escort, whose bright white fur gleamed in the afternoon sun. "I guess."

Once it was clear there wasn't going to be any further explanation, the mouse offered up a hand while they walked. "Name's Merl, by the way."

Darrow took it. Engulfed it. "Darrow." They shook.

"Have you known, uh, Rumbi long? He helped me, uh, tone up for my wedding in a couple weeks, heh. I can't believe it, honestly. But it all seems legal! And it feels, um. It feels nice." Merl adjusted his round spectacles and tugged unconsciously at his collar. He seemed uncomfortable in his body, the way his gait bobbed, as though he wasn't used to being so spry.

"No." Darrow inclined his head at a narrow alley and turned towards it. They'd taken Merl's car to a place a discreet distance from their target. As they'd gotten closer, the streets had gotten progressively smaller and buildings somehow both more tightly packed and further apart, with empty lots or unkept yards making open space that wasn't really open space. It was late afternoon, so the angle of the sun made the alley Darrow had chosen almost black.

"Oh, yeah." Merl followed, walking double-time to keep up with the much larger man. "So, what are you practicing?"

Once they were both inside the mouth of the alley, Darrow sighed. He closed his eyes while facing away from the mouse. Rumbi had given specific instructions, and sent along Merl for practice.

The massive wolf turned. Using momentum and the strength of his broad core and shoulders, he picked up Merl with one huge paw across his chest and pinned him to a wall a foot off the ground. The mouse squeaked and writhed helplessly. He was so light. He was so small. Wordlessly, Darrow removed Merl's glasses and pocketed them.

"What are you doing. What are you doing," he breathed out in a panic. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Shut up."

The mouse cringed. Darrow felt a surge of appetite well up inside him. It started low, lower than his gut, and burned up, up into his chest, his throat, his maw. He dropped open his jaws and descended on poor Merl.

"I-I'm getting married in a week I did everything he asked I just-mmmm! Mmm!" His voice was cut off as his muzzle was crammed into Darrow's throat. His narrow shoulders, even with his disciplined training, barely strained the breadth of the giant wolf's lips. His hands came out to try to grip at Darrow's ears, but no purchase was enough to fight the predator's urges.

Darrow gulped down half a foot at a time. He didn't bite. He just swallowed. He felt the mouse's terrified twitching in the back of his throat, down into his chest, down into his belly as he kept swallowing, kept swallowing, unspeakably strong throat muscles claiming ever more of the unwitting practice partner. The lean physique felt good as each firm curve of the man's body passed over his tongue and into his throat - round shoulders, slender torso, bubble butt. He bolted down the knees and calves, then grabbed each foot in a paw and pushed as he gulped one more time. The whip-like tail went down like spaghetti while Merl was forced into a curled up fetal position. Darrow sensed inside himself, nervous but not afraid. He felt claws come out in desperate defense, but his tissues had been hardened, almost rubberized, and he relaxed.

Merl kept squirming for a long time. His form twitched inside Darrow's gut while the wolf watched it and contemplated what he had done. What he was going to do. The fact that it had his cock throbbing down the length of one thigh. He glanced left and right to check for onlookers. No one seemed to have witnessed. He leaned back against the brick wall of the alleyway and thought while Merl wailed, something about a fiancée. He got quieter and quieter as Darrow remained unmoved. Eventually, Darrow's new occupant went still. The wolf could feel him still breathing in there. He'd simply fainted in panic.

Darrow sighed and buried his face in one hand. He could feel with what had been done to his body that he had a choice, here. He could end the little man. Darrow had never killed before. He'd been in fights - most of which had ended quickly - but he'd never gone any farther. The wolf was aware of what would happen if he let loose on someone for even a single blow.

Or, he could put the mouse into a coma-like state and simply transport him. His body was already beginning the process of unmaking Merl to absorb him, but the wolf could still feel a heartbeat, could still feel respiration despite the lack of airflow, could still sense... something. Spirit? Whatever the mechanism, he was able to store his prey inside himself. It unnerved him. He could play executioner. His morality, his will, was all that mattered, here. No one to tell him what to do. No one to tell him to be gentle. No witnesses.

More, he was growing. He felt his torso stretch against his already strained tee shirt. As he incorporated his meal and the mouse-shaped bulge in his belly softened, he felt his thighs start challenging his jeans. He flexed his left biceps and watched it throb an inch, two inches bigger around. The growth squeezed his manhood painfully against his jeans and he heard one of the tears widen by several stitches. He felt a vague dizziness as the ground dropped a few inches away from him. A smirk crossed his lips as he considered that the entirety of the smaller man had simply made him those few inches bigger all around.

You're just too big, Darrow. Stop eating so much, Darrow; you'll get too big to fit through doors. Could you stop growing? We're running out of money for clothes. Hey, can I have some room at the locker? Two customers saw you behind the bar and left, Darrow. You'll break the espresso machine, Darrow. You can't raise your hackles at HR, Darrow, they'll wet themselves.

He swallowed again, slowly, remembering the way the mouse - now a barely noticeable swelling of his gut and an extra couple dozen pounds of muscle - had squirmed. Helpless. He could do whatever he wanted. Rumbi played the part of a one-man jury, deciding innocence or guilt, but Darrow was both judge and executioner. So he played judge to the little he'd gotten to know about Merl over the twenty minutes it took the man to dissolve into him, while he grew into his new position.

Darrow pushed himself up away from the wall when the last of Merl vanished. Decision made. Time to go make good on his end of the bargain.

--

"Open mat?" Darrow asked as he stepped inside a dimly lit warehouse.

"You got a uniform?" returned one of the blackbelts. On a tatame, two rodents of substantially different builds faced off. It wasn't a pretty space. It was someone's memory of a judo mat, surrounded by piled loot, mattresses, castoff suitcases, apple crates, and half a car. The "uniforms" the rodents wore were biker jackets and sweatpants, to make sure there was plenty to grab onto. Everyone surrounding the tatame wore the same style. Presently, the smaller of the two combatants darted in with an elbow to the gut, then kept the turning motion going, snagged his opponent's jacket and waistband, and flung the taller guy over his hip into the mat. A referee shouted, "Ippon!", the crowd went wild, and money started changing hands.

"No." Darrow hadn't watched much judo, but he was pretty sure there was no hitting involved. Also, he had just eaten someone for the first time in his life. Someone whole. Someone alive. It couldn't possible stop stalking the edge of his thoughts.

Because it had been wonderful. And because he had coughed up Merl's clothes and dumped them in the alley, and he wondered if he'd remember where they were.

"Then it's not open mat."

"No one can lend me one?"

A black rat who stood a foot shorter than Darrow arched an annoyed eyebrow at him, then shrugged and hooked a thumb at one side of the makeshift arena. "Big Bert's might fit, but you'll have to ask Big Bert."

Darrow licked his lips and met the bouncer's eyes. "I doubt it. Come on. I haven't thrown around in months. I'll go no-gi with someone." He used terms and slang he'd heard in movies. It worked. The rat was suspicious, but seemed cowed by Darrow's gaze.

"Up to the boss. Hey, Boss." The bouncer turned and caught the eyes and ears of another rat - almost everyone here was rats - with a torn ear and a fast food crown on his head. He was one of those guys you'd call "dangerously thin." Someone who probably had knives on him even naked. For now, he was the only one with a real judo uniform. Rumbi hadn't said these were martial arts wannabes; just that they ran a ring.

"Yeah, Bri?" the boss answered.

"Big guy wants in."

"He got a uniform?"

"Nah. Wants to go no-gi."

"Well what's the problem? Let him have No-gi Phil."

"But boss. No-gi Phil weighs like a quarter what this guy does."

Darrow's stomach growled. He felt empty. He remembered the way Merl had slid down.

The boss cocked his head at his bouncer. "The fuck does that matter?"

"All I'm sayin' is this guy could probably bench press about ten No-gi Phils, even with gis."

The boss locked eyes with Darrow. "Rules are, get the other guy's shoulders on the mat."

Darrow shrugged. "Okay."

The boss shouted at the throng of thirty or so, who had slowed down while they watched the boss have a conversation with the absolute giant of a wolf who had walked into their "underground" warehouse fighting ring. "Clear the tatame! And bow, you fucks. Show some respect. Phil! Get out here and play with the new guy."

Clearly confused, some bowed to him, some to Darrow, and a few who seemed the most adjusted, to the mat. As Darrow understood it, anyone could walk into a "dojo" like this and ask to throw around. This one was mostly members of a rat pack, but there were a few outsiders hovering around, some with gradually swelling bruises or even cuts from dirty fighting, others still waiting on a turn.

No-gi Phil wore exactly one article of clothing, which was, ironically, half of a gi. He had a judo bod that he was clearly quite proud of, and he showed it off by only wearing an ancient, once-white jacket loosely over his shoulders. He was a gray squirrel with nothing to hide who stood at around six feet even, and he shed the jacket in what was clearly a ritual performance before taking to the mat. Some leered, some jeered, some cheered, a few smacked his ass and got backhands in response.

Darrow bowed awkwardly before stepping on with him. He'd never tried judo. He'd only wrestled briefly before deciding he was too likely to break bones waiting for a tap out. The squirrel's ripped body looked... appetizing. The referee, probably the oldest person there, signalled for them to bow to one another, then shouted something in Japanese that Darrow couldn't make out.

The naked squirrel closed on him fast. Claws went into his triceps, then shoulder, then a knee had jammed into a pressure point in his thigh to make him step it back out of the way, and then he was falling face first onto the tatame as Phil did a back roll and tossed the three hundred-plus-pound wolf over his head. Darrow's height meant that where normally such a throw would have sent him sailing onto his back for an easy win, he crashed down messily before rolling to get his eyes on the squirrel, only barely remembering not to let his shoulders touch. Phil was already moving. He got his claws in again, this time in Darrow's wrist and forearm, and tucked his legs over the wolf's chest and neck. It was a nearly picture-perfect arm bar and Phil slammed his entire body into a motion meant to shatter Darrow's elbow.

But Darrow was huge, and it was only nearly a picture-perfect arm bar. Darrow flexed his biceps just short of his elbow locking out. Phil yanked again, digging his claws in deeper. Darrow ignored the damage and instead looked around at the spectators until he found the boss. The fight was making his heartbeat accelerate and his vision brighten. "Message for you," he said. With his free hand, he snatched one of Phil's ankles and lifted it up over his maw. There were a few muttered expletives. Phil warned, "I'll open your whole fuckin' wrist if you don't tap, kid." As a counter-offer, Darrow snapped his jaws around the foot and swallowed.

Fuck it felt good. The pain from having been slashed at just became a faint, numb buzz. Phil wasn't a consideration, anymore, beyond being delectable. The squirrel struggled, but whatever Rumbi had done to Darrow's body, once something was in him, it wasn't leaving. The leg may as well have been stuck in cement, except that when he pushed, trying again to break Darrow's arm, it just shoved his leg deeper inside the wolf and turned him slightly on the ground. Darrow grabbed the free leg and enjoyed a few seconds of struggle before slipping it into his maw as well. The squirrel kicked, but nothing threatened his teeth or tongue or palate. Without his feet able to brace on anything but the slick surface of Darrow's throat, Phil couldn't threaten the elbow anymore. He went for deadly ripping motions at Darrow's wrist, but the wolf just thrust his arm straight up, carrying Phil's entire weight with the one movement. The smaller man had clung too hard to the arm, trying to dig deeper in the tough tissues, such that he briefly found himself with a feeling of floating as he stood upright in Darrow's maw. The wolf pushed himself up to a seated position with his free arm and swallowed ferociously at the same time. His throat bulged outward, easily stretching for his meal. The only thing keeping Phil out of his gullet was the fact his arm was still trapped between the squirrel's thighs. With his snack so thoroughly stunned by what was happening, Darrow simply slipped it out and then, to the increasingly panicked yelps of the prey, in three huge, snapping gulps, he sucked down muscular hips, cobbled torso, and burly chest, letting gravity do most of the work. Phil's arms struggled against Darrow's jaws, sharp claws starting to go to work. Darrow caught his wrists and met his pleading gaze over his muzzle. The wolf perfunctorily rocked himself forward and down to tap Phil's shoulders against the mat.

"Ippon," breathed out the ref, shakily. "Point. Point's done. You can disengage."

No amount of scrabbling or kicking was amounting to anything that could stop the newly made predator, though, and with a huge, slow movement of his chest and neck, Darrow yawned wide and clamped his jaws over Phil's head, shoulders, and forearms. The hands went in last, and teeth shut behind them like a jail cell.

One final, loud gulp, and Darrow leaned back on his hands with a satisfied sigh. The room was dead silent except for muffled sounds of Phil's struggle. The massive wolf found the boss rat again with his eyes. "Your man here tried to kill me." He held up his torn wrist, dark blood staining rivulets through dark fur.

The boss's eyes were steely. "Seems that way. What's your message?"

"Arumbi'aji says you collected on debts that weren't yours." The details didn't matter, but this group of chumps was made of petty murderers, he'd been told. The kind who make Batman happen. And Rumbi didn't need a Batman showing up while he was trying to do business.

Safeties on a dozen sidearms clicked off. Everyone not in the gang was able to read the room and left it immediately. A pair of switchblades appeared in the boss's hands. "Close the doors, boys. Don't want anyone out there catching me skinning this man alive."

Darrow grinned and rumbled low. His body hastened its consumption of Phil. The muscular squirrel's twitches were fewer and farther between with each heaving breath of Darrow's chest. More, he was rapidly becoming pounds of flesh that made that chest rip through Darrow's shirt. He savored the meal. A whole person. Two whole people. His. Him. To make him bigger. Stronger. Hungrier. The idea was so twisted, so foreign, but so... good. He yanked off his jeans before his thighs could crush Merl's glasses in his pocket, then the boxers under them, only to find that he was fully, intensely erect again.

"Ugh, sick," came several voices at once while doors were obediently closed and yellow lights came on. At least one whistled in admiration.

"I'm putting every one of you in there with Phil." Bloodlust whelmed his senses. Darrow was ravenous. He was gluttony. He was the need to feed. "Where's Big Bert? I'm hungry."

Someone shouted and ran forward with a fire axe. Darrow batted the weapon out of his hands with his knuckles, letting the rat stumble past him, then snagged both hips, lifted the smaller guy in the air, flipped him over backwards, and crammed him into his open maw. Three swallows, and he joined the squirrel. And Darrow grew.

"More," he growled. Guns came out. He lunged forward at the leader, who flung some other poor sap in front of him and darted out of the way. The rat was bowled over under Darrow's weight. He thought about something Rumbi had mentioned back at the office. "It's magic. You can put them anywhere you want." He thought about something the ermine had mentioned after they fucked. "Something that big? If it can't fit in someone, I'll bet someone could fit in it." Perverse. Bizarre. But the way they squirmed in his gut, how would it feel...

Feet first, then writhing tail. His body was enormous, and it felt impervious. Blows rained in on him while he was distracted. He wondered what his limits were. He wasn't sure he had those, anymore. Knees slipped in, thighs stretched him. Fuck... fuck... He moaned out in sexual ecstasy, cracks forming in the aura of calm certainty he had exuded. Shouts came muffled to his ears. Hips, all writhing, all his, helplessly pinned under his torso, then belly, then chest, stretching him wider, shoulder, arms, neck, head... and then he swept his arms around and stood up to face the crowd of assailants, so they could watch his distended nut sack claimed the body of one of their companions.

Darrow grew. His cock purpled with need. It surged forward as he absorbed his meal, from twenty inches to two feet. He was so hungry. He looked over his body where knives and other blades had tried to pierce his hide. Some combination of his ragged, wild, coarse fur and his dense musculature protected him. Maybe it was something in the pact he'd made with Rumbi. It didn't matter. He was hungry. He pounced, each meal worrying away at his sanity. One by one, they entered him, and with each one, he surged larger. Even against his shaggy fur, his biceps pumped upward and outward until each line and curve was perfectly defined. The U of his triceps was etched an inch deep into his arm and each of its heads became visible as the smaller accessory muscles shoved out against their major counterparts. On the lighter-furred underside of his forearms, veins pulsed into view across the individual extensor muscles running up their length.

Eight feet tall. Four more, and he was nine feet tall. Each one was a small percent of him. Each successive meal gave him less. Big Bert at least made him stumble a bit in his uncontrolled hunt as the tubby rat swelled out Darrow's throat, but he vanished into the wolf's muscular gut all the same and Darrow kept growing.

Most went down the usual way. The bouncer and a half dozen others got crowded into Darrow's sac, and as he ate and grew and ate and grew, he start drooling precum in surges, wetting the floor as he bounded across it from prey to prey. He guarded the doors jealously, more animal than man and easily able to leap from one to the other. Gunshots fired out uselessly. He felt each one squirm and struggle and kick as they went down, but Darrow was insatiable, unstoppable, unassailable. Twelve feet tall. Pushing thirteen. Head in the rafters, shoulders too broad to feel comfortable in the small warehouse, cock bigger than the single remaining prey's entire body.

"Why?" shouted the boss as Darrow cornered him. Knives flashed out and did nothing against Darrow's hide. "All we did was close some rotten accounts. The boys needed practice."

Darrow was barely coherent. Little sparks of thought sprang through his mind. There was a dissonance between what he had been and what was happening now. Too much, not enough. He grated out in a voice like a mountain, "Arumbi'aji decides when his accounts are closed. You ended something that wasn't yours." Specifically, some rock-bottom losers... but rock-bottom losers who had belonged to Rumbi's gym. People he'd wanted to cultivate.

"They were nobodies," he snapped.

"They were his."

"That's not what I mean- hey! Mmp!" The rat found his face stuffed into the head of Darrow's cock. His hands looked for something to grab onto, but when they tried to push at the collar of muscle around his head, they slipped inside with it. Darrow let this one linger. Inch by inch, the lesser man slid into him. The movements teased the belly of his enormous cock and helped push him to the edge. There went in the chest, feeling every surface, every inch, every little contour of the body. There went the thin belly and its soft fur. There went the waist and rump. Darrow stumbled his way to the mat. He was starting to feel weak and wasn't sure why. The hunger had kept mounting, no matter how many he ate. He kept growing. The thighs, knees, calves, and at last, kicking, squirming feet slipped inside him, aided by a satisfied push from his palm.

Need coursed through him. He knelt and put both enormous paws to his shaft. It throbbed in his hands, swelling rapidly as he consumed the gang leader, whose form softened and vanished: a part of Darrow now, with no body of his own remaining. Distant thoughts echoed in Darrow's head. Twenty-four. Twenty-three plus Merl. He contained twenty-three other people. Precum poured in a constant flow onto his belly and chest. They were his. They were him. He felt his loins, enormously overgrown, tense up. The people who had run this place belonged to Darrow, now - by Rumbi's order, of course. And so the place was his. His to mark, and desecrate. He would never stop growing. He imagined growing so large the warehouse couldn't contain him. His body throbbed.

On the lip of orgasm, he heard a yelp of someone else's pleasure. How had he missed one? Spatters of someone else's gyzym dropped down from the rafters. Darrow half registered what he was doing as he half-stood, reached, grabbed, and swallowed, sending the last one to join the rest. Then, he lay down on his back, six-foot cock surging in his hands.

Orgasm hit like a hurricane blasted through the spout of a firehose. Torrents of cum slammed noisily against the sheet metal siding, soared through rafters in waves, coated surfaces in a thick, endless flow. Darrow remembered one thing, vaguely, something important, before his mind narrowed to a pinhole. Something with form and substance was ejected from his body by a corner of his consciousness. It went unnoticed. He was immeasurable. He was unstoppable. Growth was feeding was pleasure was purpose. Cum painted the ceiling and the walls and formed a small pond around the tatame where the wolf lay. He kept cumming. He wasn't sure when he stopped.

He wasn't sure who he was.

--

Half an hour or more later, Darrow woke up to a quiet voice.

"Hey. Hey, you alive?"

"Mm," he guttered.

"We gotta get you out of here. I-I don't want to know what happened. I just don't think, I don't think, you don't seem like, I think I want to help." It was whispered and panicky. It was familiar in the way it stuttered.

"Glasses. My jeans," Darrow grated out. He felt like he was floating. Twenty-four? He was twenty-five people.

"Oh thank goodness." Merl scurried away, chattering nervously as he went. "I-I found a moving truck, and you uh, you coughed up the keys, from one of them, so we can use that. Just d-don't eat me. Again. I'll bring it around."

Darrow blinked. He still felt weak. Hollow. Insatiable. He wanted to eat Merl, more than anything. He wanted to just... be this big. Be huge. But he'd kept Merl around for a reason. He closed his eyes so he couldn't see the little man, and waited until he heard the truck moving to stand up. He cracked his head against the rafters and knocked loose a sticky, soaked pair of biker jackets. He was twenty-five people.

"Get in, quick, no one's looking."

He got in, still dizzy from the blow to the head and his gnawing, endless hunger. He knew he'd kept Merl around. Merl was a good guy.

--

"Merl? I thought we were closed out. Back for more?" Rumbi asked with a grin.

The little albino shot him a dirty look. They stood in the parking lot outside Rumbi's gym. Merl steeled himself. "Didn't know what else to do."

"Why do you smell like cum? Are you... drenched in cum?" The devilsaur sounded thoughtful.

Merl stomped (wetly) over to the moving truck he'd stolen from a gang that no longer existed. "Look, I'm just worried about the kid, okay?" He unlocked the back door and slid it up, revealing a mass of charcoal and cream fur that barely fit inside, whose snout had been pushed into a corner with a hole to get clean air.

"He's in his twenties," Rumbi said, considering. He was unmoved by the fact Darrow was the size of an elephant.

"He's a kid! And you made him this!" Darrow snorted and Merl jumped half a foot in the air with a yelp. "I don't know what you do, I don't care, I'm out, just... fix this."

Rumbi leveled his gaze on the small man. "What are you willing to give up for it?" he asked casually.

"A fucking moving van!" the mouse shouted, before storming off to the front doors of the gym.

"They're locked."

Merl yelled wordlessly in frustration. "I didn't sign up to get my car towed! I'm still parked downtown! I'm soaked in cum, I drove naked in a moving van because Darrow ate my clothes, I thought I died, this isn't even the body we agreed on, the least you can do is let me in so I can take a shower. You talk about sacrifice?" The mouse was, even at this moment, naked except for his glasses.

"Merl, that's fair. You kept to your end and more. Here." Rumbi approached the mouse and held out a hand. He hid the fact that he could feel himself feeding on all the things Merl had given up to bring back Darrow and the van: time, dignity, moral certainty, and possibly most importantly, comfort. Rumbi had grown by inches by the time he closed the distance between them.

"D-don't make me into a monster. I-I need to go back to my wife. I just want what we agreed on."

"Mhm." The dinosaur laid the hand on Merl's shoulder. It thickened instantly. All across his physique, the body Merl had worked so hard to achieve, which was lean but unimpressive, bulked out. The mouse groaned despite himself. He went from reasonably fit to amateur bodybuilder in the space of seconds. "And a little something for the missus." Merl blushed crimson under his fur as he felt his loins surge with virility and plump noticeably in size. "Here's hoping she takes it in stride." True to his word, Rumbi also unlocked the doors to the gym. "Extra sweats in the bin outside the men's room."

The mouse took a deep breath, snorted, then strode inside and out of sight. Rumbi turned back to his new enforcer. Darrow was slowly unfolding himself from the moving van. He stepped out, one enormous foot at a time. He was well over twice Rumbi's height. Rumbi crossed his arms and looked up. The monster before him wasn't really... well, sane. Darrow was looking down at him like he was considering a meal.

"What happened, Darrow?"

"I ate them," he answered, his gravelly voice far-off. "Like you said."

"And?"

He swayed a tail that ran into the moving truck and made it rattle. "And the mouse. But he's back. Good guy."

Rumbi nodded. "And?"

"Dunno. Twenty-four." His sheath, like a sleeping bag, swelled as he watched his patron.

"Should've been twenty-three."

"Oh." Jet black wolf cock begin spilling out of its sheath. His breath huffed out around teeth the size of Rumbi's hands. He was still hungry.

Rumbi pondered some more. He thought about something the ermine had told him once*. There was a global contract in this world forbidding and precluding transformative magic, called The Disagreements in the Deep. Rumbi, however, hadn't always been a part of this world. He was an outsider. He was clearly able to exert his powers as he chose on himself, but recently, there had been an annoying caveat of how he seemed able to exert them on others. It so happened that deal-making was a joy of his, but it hadn't always been a necessity.

Darrow, though, was beholden to the Disagreements. He couldn't act outside of the limited scope Rumbi gave him. The pack of rats had impinged on Rumbi's belongings - by killing them for petty bullshit - but had only been under a thin "contract" consisting of implications and word of mouth, so it was walking the line close enough even for Darrow to have eaten the twenty-three of them. Then, though, then he'd eaten a twenty-fourth, who hadn't been a part of that agreement. The dissonance of Darrow being incapable of doing what he had done had reverted him to a primal state of some kind. It had happened before, with another potential enforcer**.

"Hand them over, Darrow," Rumbi said. "Otherwise you won't be able to do this anymore. You'll go feral."

"No." Hackles rose in a wave. A long tongue came out to wet his lips. His cock throbbed to fullness.

Rumbi shrugged his shoulders and grinned. He'd enjoy this. Rumbi was much, MUCH larger than his current appearance let on. With a single flex, he'd shredded his way out of his clothes. Another vest gone, but it was always worth it to feel himself grow. His tail shot out along the ground, feet at a time as muscles bulged, swelled, rippled over his body. In seconds, the mini-godzilla was at Darrow's chest height. Darrow snapped his head forward, but Rumbi caught his jaws with his thumbs.

"Give them up, Darrow."

The wolf grunted, "No," over Rumbi's fingers. He grabbed the lizard's arms, hands easily circling them, but his grip was broken almost immediately by Rumbi's rapid expansion. He reached the same height as Darrow. His crown gleamed a harrowing yellow. The grey sclera of his eyes blackened. His gut went from solid to barrel-like to fairly pushed Darrow backwards over the moving truck.

"Give them to me." The eldritch lizard pressed his body to Darrow so the wolf could feel how much smaller he was, how rapidly insignificant he was to the primordial titan that was Rumbi. This wasn't the first time Arumbi'aji had collected from unwilling debtors of Darrow's size and power. This wasn't even the most interesting time. But each one was always so satisfying, was always new, was always empowering, to watch someone who believed themselves to be massive be so rapidly humbled. His power went to work. Mass was leeched into him through an unseen force. Rumbi's arousal surged forward, up, dwarfing the hyperphallic wolf's shaft in moments and swelling up between their pecs. The dinosaur put a hand on Darrow's shoulder, just as he had when they met earlier that day, and shoved. This time, Darrow couldn't resist even once. He kneeled, cracking the asphalt. Rumbi lowered himself to one knee and, with the new position, pushed his cock and the wolf's down to angle them at one another.

"Give them to me," he rumbled low. He pushed his hips forward and his cock swallowed the tree trunk-like shaft Darrow had so recently fed entire people. He enveloped it completely in a few thrusts, then began rocking his hips back and forth. Darrow tensed, heaved out breath, then howled with unbidden pleasure. The truck behind him was leaned off its near wheels with each thrust. He was rendered mute, rendered powerless, rendered a slave to his pleasure and to his patron.

Minutes passed while Rumbi milked his enforcer, until finally, he snarled one more time, into the wolf's ear, "Give them to me."

Darrow came. Floods of gyzym left his body and with it, all the mass he'd gained. Rumbi grew and the smaller male became even more diminished, even more helpless, as gallons of spunk flowed out of him and into Rumbi. Rumbi could practically count as the mass from each meal Darrow had collected for him entered him. Two, five, ten, faster and faster as Darrow lost more and more control over himself and more and more of himself. Rumbi turned his head to his own biceps as they surpassed propane tanks, then beer casks. Sixteen, twenty, twenty-three, and the flow slowed while Darrow shuddered with exhaustion, now a minuscule eight feet tall and his cock barely making a bulge in Rumbi's enormity. He thighs quaked with effort and a last blast of cum left his body, and with it the last foot of his acquired height.

Rumbi stood. He didn't care how tall he was. Taller than power lines. Taller than trees. He was the devourer. He consumed what others gave, and he took it when it didn't come willingly. But he needed enforcers who could do their jobs without losing themselves. He put a foot on Darrow's chest to hold him down and closed his eyes, concentrating. There, there was the twenty-fourth one. The one Darrow hadn't been able to fully consume, because he hadn't been part of any contract. He pieced that one back together inside himself, then picked up Darrow in a hand and walked to the back of the gym. He'd dug a trench there after the last time he'd flooded the place. It was deep and wide enough to serve as a community pool, so barely enough to contain his orgasm. He tossed Darrow in the trench, then knelt, stroked himself along the muddy bottom of it, and climaxed endlessly for ten minutes. While he did, he welcomed the new mass. Entire timelines given over to him, by choices they'd made to dare to harvest what could have been his. It was a shame, always, when he had to prune like this. It was a loss of potential gains. But the crown didn't care. The deep magic that simply endlessly hungered found this banquet exquisite, so Rumbi blended pleasure and indulgence and blissfully let the orgasm roar through him for twenty-four long, luxurious pulses.

When he was done, his essence overflowed the pit and Darrow was, naturally, soaked head to toe. But leaning against one bank was the voyeur Darrow had heedlessly consumed earlier that evening. The man - a rat, of course - blinked awake.

"Bo," Rumbi addressed him. "Meet your partner. You keep Darrow sane and in check. He's transport. You're... mass management, call it."

The rat looked over his body. He'd been reformed in Rumbi's image to a degree, so he was more powerful than he'd ever been. He looked at the pool of cum. He looked back up at Rumbi. "This is what I get out of it?"

"That and gainful employment."

"You got it, boss, assuming this ain't a nightmare."

"And Darrow." The wolf met his eyes, his own gaze troubled and far away. "Good job. Glad you enjoyed yourself."

"Yeah."

Bo, who seemed mostly just glad to be alive, piped up, "So, uh. Cum sauna is nice and all, definitely hard as a rock in here, glad I don't have to worry about my old boss maybe putting my eye out for fun, and I gotta say, super fan of Darrow here's show of it, but I gotta get home some time." He did look perfectly at home, as though in a spa. And it was, sort of. "Ya got clean clothes?"

"By the... by the men's room," Merl stammered from around the corner. "Fucking... no part of this. No part of this at all. I'm calling a cab." He muttered as he turned on his heel - displaying a fantastic ass in his sweatpants - and vanished. "Calling a cab and getting out of here forever."

Rumbi, still mammoth in size, smirked as he watched his customer go. "We'll see," he murmured.

*A/N: The Disagreements get more attention in non-commissioned work in this folder! "Some Vore Porn ... 2" goes into it more.

**A/N: See how Rumbi handled this in "I'm the only one who sells size"!