FSE

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Greetings, my lovely fellows. This is a story trade I've completed with the talented Gentry, (https://gentry.sofurry.com/), with his reciprocation to soon follow.

Art of Gentry's character is by Shuki at (http://www.furaffinity.net/user/shuki/)

Disclaimer: He shall enjoy physical interactions only appropriate for those old enough to view the inappropriate.

Let's have some fun, yes?

The disgraced fairy-fox Ian Something awoke from a dream in which something of import happened, and then something funny, which turned into something sexual, and then he fell from a giant golden ring, and before he hit the planet's purple sandy surface, it turned into the loamy undergrowth and the patch of flowers he'd made his bed in, which was now crushed. It was lightly raining on him and his gear.

The fairy-fox Ian Something awoke face-up in the forest, and after blinking his amethyst eyes a few times he could see the forest for the trees. In slow resurgence, he dimly remembered why he was here, the facts of the matter hidden in rubble. It had been a long day's walk and a hard night's skulk, but he'd made it to Marltrod Nezrav, the Forest Heart. This was a mystical museum to the flora from which the fauna stayed away. Insects, birds, lizards, deer--none set foot, hoof, or claw inside.

Ian rested on the glen's edge.

And the grass was impossibly green. It was a green only previously seen in his cloister of fairies, but that was magic, and this ...

This was impossible.

The fairy-fox Ian Something slowly peeled himself from his resting spot, yawning as he straightened out the great monarch butterfly wings on his back, their grand ephemeral canvas rattling like distant thunder. Barely clothed, the fairy fox stood and retrieved his favorite raiment, a burgundy chiffon tunic that he quite enjoyed; it was demure, but spicy; flamboyant, but prim, from a tree outside the Nezrav encasement and shook the leaves free from it. There was a sudden torsion in his groin, but he ignored it. He then ignored a stone, and in stepping forward he tripped over it and uttered a light muggle's curse.

The garment was bone dry despite the rain. His Spell of Warding had lasted through the night, but he could feel its power fading. In bitter remembrance, he contemplated ever wearing the chiffon fairy garment again: great turmoil between members of his fairy cloister had forced him to take leave of the convent, and because he was the only one to take the higher ground, they'd taken his name as well. He'd magically forgotten it, and this brought him pain.

With a huff to suppress his welling emotions, Ian studied the delicate fairy fabric as he blindly groped for his staff, which was currently leaned against an opposite tree. He didn't need to look at the staff; he could find it by its aura alone: it was a potent shaft with a firm, tensile thickness topped by a bulbous purple orb.

His staff had long been a part of his life: it was an extension of his body. A firm, virile extension.

The fairy-fox chanted a few magic words and renewed the spell, but when he moved to put his tunic on he looked down and saw the source of torsion. His loincloth was twisted up on one side of his sheath, breaking around his groin like a river about an embankment. The strap that ran under his pelvis knotted against his tailhole.

The fairy-fox took a modicum of relish in extricating the strap from his preciously sensitive slit, and then he smelled those fingers as the other paw pulled the pouch of his loincloth over his swelling sex. He gave it a firm squeeze as he moved to refit the rest of his regalia.

Once all in place--his bangles, a necklace of three gold coins, and a headband to hold up his flowing mahogany tresses--he snatched up his satchel and stepped into the blessed ring of Marltrod Nezrav, where in the center lay a pool perfectly blue: a sky with no clouds. When he entered, he was alerted to a few sensations: his paws crunched on the green grass which then turned into dust beneath him. Marltrod was hot, and the ground was dry. And, mysteriously, although there was no fauna to be seen, the air was full of sound.

Here the conjuring would begin.

The fairy-fox Ian had brought with him many relics, reliquaries, and bric-a-brac which were all meant to tickle the mundane world. On this new hallowed ground, however, in this crisp untasted air, the exact recipe depended on a voice from the Ever-Therefore.

The fairy-fox wrapped his paws around his thick, rigid staff and bowed, feeling power radiate from its blessed wood.

"Ampucci Verigo," he incanted, "I come on bended knee. Open my velvet eye that I may commune with thee."

A misty whisper wound about him and a gossamer ghost of air swirled before his amethyst eyes. It spoke:

Plant of defilement

Lock of bird

Seditious rock

Thing

The fairy-fox Ian knitted his brow as the ghost repeated itself once and then vanished between his legs, tickling his velvet slit on the way past. The fairy let out a titillated mewl, then quickly launched into thought. Piece by piece, the puzzle came to him.

From his satchel he pulled a lock of bird: a feather. That was simple. Then he paused, and had to think again. The plant of defilement came to him as scratched his side: there was a flower scrunched into his coat from where he'd slept. He held this with the feather and placed them in the pond. They floated to the center.

The seditious rock came to him quickly thereafter.

The fairy-fox Ian returned to the glen with the stone he'd tripped over and heaved it into the pond, where it landed with an incongruously small splash and did not sink, but instead floated to the center with the flower and feather. Then Ian was puzzled again. He put his staff's bulb against his temple as his other paw idly skirted to his necklace, fidgeting with the chain.

"Thing?" he said aloud. It resonated in the air, full of sound.

As a finger twirled the necklace round and round, the gold coins clinked against his knuckles. Ian's head shot up with a revelation: coins, material possessions, things. It had to be.

The fairy-fox Ian Something undid the clasp and threw the entire chain into the pond, where it suddenly sparked in the water and formed a golden ring around the other three items. The pond's surface began to glow with images of hills and a desert, a distant sea, and then a portal opened before with a loud rush.

The conjuration would soon be complete.

But then came a rush of wind, and his hair and his tunic were flapping wildly, pulled towards the glowing aperture. His feet began to slide so he hit the ground and planted himself there, bracing against his staff plunged in deep. He folded his wings tightly against his back.

The suction was too intense. Ian's tunic split in the back and ripped right off of him, leaving him in his loincloth, and then his hairband followed, and then his staff. The fairy-fox fell to the ground and dug his paws in the dust, his claws plowing troughs as he was pulled toward the portal. The portal was conjuring him, drawing a creature into the Ever-Therefore instead of drawing one out.

The fairy-fox sharply gasped as his loincloth's string waistband snapped on one side, and then the other, flying out from between his legs. Then it caught on his ankle and wrapped up tight, and the broken garment dragged him nude into the void.

Ian landed on purple sand with a thud, eerily familiar and then explicitly so. It was the desert from his dream, stretching out on all sides in dark purple dunes and a dark twilight sky with faint monuments beyond, large rings upon their facades like the one he'd dreamt falling from. The land was entirely foreign, but a silver lining appeared in his clouded head:

It felt good to get out of the rain.

Slowly peeling himself upright, he rested on one knee as before him stood a massive pair of hooves, each one nearly as wide as his head. He'd never seen such hooves, and those shins--the sheen coming off the fur was bizarre, to say the least. There was an odd quality about the figure's general color and appearance, this just coming off his shins and hooves--the figure's orange fur seemed to glow and cast light at flat angles, and there seemed to be a black outline around the entire figure, as though it were a fairy illusion, a fey animation.

He knew he had to look up. His nose told him so.

The fairy-fox's eyes traveled up the large figure's form, taking in firm calf muscles, wide, defined thighs, and then stopped in awe. The fairy-fox suddenly felt a rapid tingling between his legs, his sheath swelling as its pink flesh began to show. His mouth became wet and his tail began to thrash at the sight before him.

A thick, veiny horsecock hung before his muzzle, arcing out from the creature's hips and hanging limp at twelve inches. Ian's muzzle was so close he could smell a fine hint of musk in the air. His own senses clouded and his own pricked twitched and grew, soon becoming large enough for his hips to notice the new appendage's weight.

The beast must have seen him look up--the massive shaft immediately twitched, growing upwards and rapidly closing the distance to the smaller male. Its firm, tensile thickness was gorgeous, and at its end the flat purple flare drooled precum, calling his name.

The fairy-fox was sure he loved it. Standing properly on his knees, he looked up past the shaft, up the horse-beast's carved abdomen and rounded pectorals, to a face shrouded in darkness. The silhouette of a large horse's head shone black against a darkened twilight sky, and two white eyes stared back at him. The beast gave a slow nod, and so the fey male fluttered his wings and leaned in to taste the head.

The fairy-fox had to stretch his jaw to fit around the thick flare, and he was painfully aware of the relatively small prick throbbing between his legs. It wasn't his best feature; that was the perky, round ass that he currently sat against his heels. His lips feathered around the warm medial ring and he was rewarded by a squirt of pre which hit the back of his tongue and fell out the corner of his mouth. Ian bashfully wiped the bouncy slime from his cheek and open his mouth wide again.

With startling quickness, the horse yanked the fairy to his feet and grabbed his hips, crossing his thick, meaty arms in an "x" so that each paw was on the other hip. The svelte fairy had to puzzle this out for only a second, and then found himself flipped around and held upside-down, his face hovering mere inches from the massive cock before him, which had grown to fifteen inches. The beast's balls below were the size of grapefruits, wrapped tight in a black fuzzy sac.

The fairy-fox didn't need any sign, no memorized conjuration, no gossamer ghost's whisper. He wrapped his paws around that giant cock and plunged it into his mouth, stretching his jaw as wide as he could manage. The meat filled his vulpine maw, rubbing against the insides of his cheeks. The flare butted against his tonsils. The slit spit viscous fluids against the back of his throat.

On the other end of him, bouncing through the air, his own cock glanced against the horse's plush lips. The fairy-fox tried to thrust his cock forward but his hips were anchored by two massive paws, making the rest of his body writhe instead. And suspended upside-down, his spit ran free around a thick log of horsemeat, his paws wrapped tight around it yet unable to touch the fingers of the other paw.

Its circumference bested them, its firm, tensile strength.

A fairy's favorite staff.

With another sudden motion, the fairy-fox's legs were hefted over the beast's shoulders, and his thin and limited entirety rose up, his torso rubbing against the horse's painted veneer and those hard, chiseled muscles. But there was plenty enough cock for the small male to keep on sucking, and in his enthusiasm he'd been stretched enough for the slit to rub against back of his throat.

The horse angled the fairy-fox's hips toward him and pressed his wide, wet tongue against Ian's tailhole. The smaller male jolted with pleasure and lost a couple shots of pre-cum, one from his mouth and one from his prick, and shivering with a new coat of blush he gorged himself hungrily upon the horse, his cheeks bulging as the flared tip thrust to and fro in his wanting maw.

The horse pressed his tongue against the fairy-fox's ring, and then pushed through it, the slick organ spreading his round cheeks wide. Ian let out a louder mewl of pleasure around a mouthful of cock, his paws moving urgently across the veiny shaft. His tail thrashed as he was penetrated, the tongue sliding deep into him, and his hips instinctively bucked back. The tongue was thicker than most mundane cocks he had taken and it was much more agile, filling every inch it breached. Pre dribbled from Ian's wagging prick, spattering his svelte body and the beast's firm abs.

Some hit him in the chin and he moaned anew, muffled with his muzzle's loud slurping. His mahogany tresses swung in his periphery, reminding him that he was upside-down.

The horse's tongue pushed in further. Sliding against his velvety innards, making him writhe between the horse's paws, he scraped the tip of his prick against the horse's collar. Ian could feel the thick tongue getting close to his most sensitive spot, and he doubled his efforts down below.

A line of pre ran up Ian's inverted face as he sucked. The horse was close and he knew it. The fox's jaw ached but he didn't care--he had to have the horse's seed. He had to have it bulging his cheeks, running down his throat, filling his stomach--and so he reached a paw forward and groped the horse's massive sac, rolling the heavy orbs in them until his jaw felt an unmistakable pulse. The horse responded by pressing his tongue against Ian's prostate and ground it there as the fairy below let out a muffled, unmistakable squeal.

The fairy-fox Ian shuddered as orgasm came fast and wracked him soundly, bracing his paws against the horse-beast's rippled thighs as his eyes went wide and his lower body convulsed around a thick, wriggling tongue shoved deep inside, his knot swollen as it hit him like a magic missile and his prick rained strings of seed down to stripe the underside of his tortured jaw.

The horse erupted buckets into Ian's muzzle, the fairy-fox's cheeks bulging lewdly before his mouth popped off the fat flared head like a balloon. Upside-down, his cum-soaked muzzle let out a sex-confused scream as the massive cock sprayed his face in thick, running coats, fat jets splatting in his fur and dribbling off. The fairy-fox struggled to pull himself back to the thundering organ, groping at the horse's muscular thighs as he fought against a spray of semen pushing him back, collecting in his hair, and tumbling in goopy rivers up his mahogany tresses to the ground, throwing musky streaks across the purple sand as he struggled.

The horse's orgasm subsided and he turned the fairy-fox rightside-up, holding him out in front of him, making eye-contact once more. Ian rubbed cum from his eyes and weakly rested his thin vulpine arm against the beast's large bicep, woozy with every part of him hanging limply: from the beast's arms and from his own sheath, perfectly spent. The horse's white eyes glowed brightly, questioningly, in the afterglow.

Strangely, the fairy-fox Ian knew he had to respond.

With something.

"...I'm...my name is Ian Sss ..." he said, trailing off. His amethyst eyes smoldered with thought. Suddenly they sparked. "I'm Ian Saxxton!" he proudly proclaimed, shoving his fist into the air.

The horse-beast did not give any sort of reciprocating answer, but instead snorted approvingly and began licking Ian Saxxton, not stopping until every drop of cum was cleaned from the small male's bust and face. He then hefted Ian onto his shoulders and with little further ado, he lumbered into the desert, carrying the lighter male who, curious, optimistic, and completely bereft of clothes and supplies, carefully trusted him.

For days and nights they traveled, the horse confident in his path, stopping at oases for water, nutrition, and for fervent lovemaking. The fairy-fox Ian Saxxton reveled in his journey, day in and day out most fervently taking his partner's needful body, sometimes fantasizing in the in between as he rode on his partner's shoulders, passing through the mysterious landscape. It was one great desert, and occasionally in the distance Ian Saxxton would spot another one of these ominous ringed monoliths, shivering as they passed by. But the horse never veered closer to these monoliths, and instead continued through the desert until they came to a shaded shore, rife with foliage and fauna, similar to the forest Ian Saxxton left.

He felt his journey coming to an end. It had lasted nine days...

and on the ninth day, he let the horse run free,

'cause the desert had turned to sea.

There were plants, and birds, and trees, and things;

there was sand, and hills, and rings.

He'd been through the desert on a horse with no name;

it felt good to be out of the rain.

In the desert, he could remember his name

For there weren't no one for to give him no pain.