FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Leashed to the Gates

For SuperDuperDog

By Draconicon

Once more cured of the endless transformations that he'd piled on himself, Morris was down in the depths of the earth looking for more riches. Some would have decried the wolf's efforts as being in vain, or simply stupid, but the white-furred thief simply didn't know what else to do with himself. After all, he was a very successful thief, when it worked out. It was just that when the consequences hit, they tended to hit hard, and he wasn't always able to fix things on his own.

Such had been the case in the goo-vault, with the orc shaman that had decided he needed to be a good bitch, and endless other occasions, but for some reason, he believed delving down to the Gates of Hell would actually be a better opportunity for him. Did he believe that for any good or sane reason? Not really; it was merely greed and the urge for adventure that pulled him there.

Morris coughed as he emerged from the latest chute from the surface, waving his hand in front of his nose to clear the dust out of the way. Each chute in the old temple took one further from the surface, but closer to the Gates. Each time he popped out, he half-expected to find the great Cerberus or some other hellhound waiting for him, and each time, he was disappointed. Happily disappointed, admittedly, but disappointed nonetheless.

And this latest chamber was no exception. As vast as one could have imagined a hellhound needing, it was nonetheless empty, housing only a hole in the wall and a series of old paw prints on the ground that vastly outsized Morris's bootprints. The black stone shimmered around him, casting back a darkened reflection of himself, the leather armor turned from brown to black and his fur to something reddened and hellish. The wolf looked at himself and smirked, rubbing his face.

"I look good like that...but nothing beats the original."

Still, the hole in the wall was either an abandoned beast den or another chute, and while the latter would be useful, he didn't want to get involved with the former. And besides, while all the other chambers had been a solid four walls, this one only had three, with the fourth falling away to form a window out into the depths. If that led to an open rock wall, it might be climbable. Morris made his way over, resting his hands on the spikes that formed a natural railing, and -

"Oh, yes..."

The white wolf's lips turned up in a grin as he looked at the open space below him. While too far down to climb, the bridge that led into Hell was finally visible. Perhaps another half-mile of descending through caves, and he'd reach it. Whatever riches the underworld had for him, he'd have them soon enough. And when he did? Well, he'd pay off the person that fixed him, for a start, and then he'd fund the sort of party life that he had been aching to try. After all, what kind of thief didn't get to be a suave partier at some point or another? It was a wasted opportunity to not try it.

He started to pull back, only for another shimmer of light to catch his attention. Leaning over the railing again, he saw something metallic hanging just below the stone. Morris leaned further over the edge, cocking his head to the side.

Collars, he realized. Leather collars, stained blacker than the walls around him, bound together with some type of obsidian stone and spiked along the band, they hung in a collection of thirteen from the other side of the stone balcony. He watched as the light shimmered off the obsidian stones, wondering who had put them there, and why. They belonged there, he could see that, but at the same time, they gave off enough of a magical aura to imply that they were valuable.

"Hmm..."

It wasn't anything compared to the legends of riches hiding inside Hell, but it wouldn't hurt to get a souvenir from the descent. For that matter, it might be worth something to the right buyer, someone that wanted to have magical dogs around. Morris chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned over the side, his fingers stretching for the nearest of the leather bands. He'd find a buyer, surely.

He'd almost touched it when the collar twitched on its own. He had just enough time to think 'not again' before the collar leaped of its own volition. Morris lunged backward, but too late; the collar slapped against his throat, snapping open and wrapping around his neck.

"Ugh! Why does this always happen to - ulk!"

He gagged as it pulled tight, dragging the leather strap through the obsidian strap. The wolf shoved one finger under the band, pushing it back out enough for him to breathe, but it was still not easy to get a breath of air from it. He coughed, sputtering as he fought the tight leather wrapped around his throat. Even with all his strength, he barely got a second finger under the band, and that was scarcely enough to keep the air flowing. He coughed again, shaking his head as he heard the 'click' of it sealing itself shut, and knew that there was no real chance of getting it off again without outside help.

"Okay...what's it going to do this time?" he muttered.

Because it was going to do something, he knew that much. These magical items always brought some sort of transformation, or sexual sensitivity, or mind control, or submission, or slavery, or something alongside their often abysmal look. This one was a little better, as the leather actually did seem to be in good shape, well cared for and oiled properly, but it was still magical, and that meant that it was going to do something as soon as it was properly settled and -

"Nnngh!"

There it was. It wasn't pain, but rather warmth, warmth that should have been a good way further into the temple and closer to Hell than up here, but - well, what the hell did he expect when he picked up a magic collar on the way to the fucking Gates of Hell?

Morris knew that there was no stopping it now that it had started, so he stumbled over to the far wall of the room, resting his back against it. His pants were already starting to feel tight, so they were the first to go, kicked off and thrown across the room. His loincloth remained, even as it was already filling up on the inside, and he bit off a groan as he saw the usually barely-visible bulge beneath getting thicker, fuller. His sheath was going to be very big by the end of this.

He shook his head, dragging his vest over his shoulders. He was glad that he'd left it to a vest rather than a shirt or tunic this time; that would have been impossible to get past the spikes. As he tossed his clothes in a pile, he looked down at his chest and saw the first of the black and red strands of fur popping out. Morris sighed, rubbing his forehead as the heat continued to spread from his throat down to his lungs, and then back up as something far more fiery than before.

"Mmmph...figures...should have...ah...ah..."

Expected it, for sure, but talking was rather hard when he could feel flames coming up his throat with every breath. He swallowed, only to wheeze out a breath of steam immediately after. It was a deluge of hot vapor coming past his lips, but even as the gray mist hissed past his teeth, he could see the white fur of his muzzle darkening, turning black with red striations through it, and the color rushed up along his cheeks towards his eyes and down towards his neck. With every breath, it went further, and he could feel the heat steaming through his fur, leaving him hot and sweaty.

As the color change spread further, so did the other effects. His arms bulged at the biceps and triceps, thickening and pushing out, to the point where they would have ripped his vest if he'd kept it on. Further down, it pulled at his pecs, making them rise, showing off more, ruining his slender physique. He was not at all the roguish, willowy figure that he had started as, but more of a muscular male, the sort of bruiser that one expected to find as a guard for wealthy places.

"...Oh, that's not fair..."

Morris groaned, rubbing his forehead as he leaned back, feeling his back pop and crack as the transformation took greater effect, running him further up the stone as he got bigger, thicker, and stronger. Every little pop made his muscles feel a bit broader, almost like armor built into his flesh rather than something to be worn. It throbbed, but not as hard as his cock and sheath did.

That was getting bigger by the second, and his tip finally pushed up and free. He looked down and watched as it went from a simple pink shaft to something redder, almost as red as blood as it spilled further and further from the furry tube that had held it. It was thicker, pulsing, throbbing like some sort of stud-tool, framed with white that was diminishing into black fur. It was no longer some decorative bit of flesh that stayed mostly unattended while he put the other side to use, but something that was meant to break those that he beat. Something that would claim prizes.

He growled deep in his throat, and black and orange flames alike rose from his chest, curling past his lips. No more steam there, just fire.

Morris closed his eyes, feeling the heat and pressure and power of Hell filling him, as it did any hellhound. The fire burned, cutting through the old ideas of what he was there for, leaving his old dreams and ambitions as dead and buried as anything in the upper world. A dog in Hell wasn't meant for dreams. They were meant to guard things, and their reward was the right to rut anything that they were able to beat.

Rut.

Rut.

Rut.

The thought sent a thrill to his cock, the flesh such a crimson that it was almost black, his knot standing out wide and proud as he stepped away from the wall. Thickening legs wobbled for a moment before he found his footing, but then he stood with a solidity that rivaled the stones around him. He breathed out slowly, the fires in his lungs pouring across the stone and turning them from black to red, searing hot in those few seconds before they started to cool and darken again.

Power. He had power.

But also responsibility. He could feel the tugging on his collar, and he knew that he was due near the surface. He had to guard the Gates of Hell, and to do that, he needed a pack. A large pack. One that would serve in each room that he'd passed.

Morris gestured over his shoulder, and the other collars came flying, coiling around his arm like wrist-bands and bracelets, all the way up to his shoulder.

Twelve more. That will do, he thought, and he began to make his way back to the surface. More will come...and they'll be collared.

The End

Summary: Morris goes for another artifact, and the expected happens.

Tags: M/solo, Transformation, Wolf, Hellhound, Collar, Cock Growth, Muscle Growth, Magic, Fire,