FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Honestly, it was a pretty regular job at first. The Earl's men were bringing him a new jeweled bauble of some type (I never pay much attention to those specifics--whether it's a ring or a necklace or a statue, it doesn't change much) when they were waylaid by bandits. Not terribly surprising, as the Earl's men are the sort of drunken rabble who can't go to the outhouse without bragging loudly about something. They'd probably been throwing the treasure from man to man and seeing how loud they could shout about it.

So the Earl, knowing that I am the type of lady who is extremely proficient in making sure that objects are in the right places, hired me to get it back. I've been dealing with bandit gangs longer than most of them have worn their present sets of underwear, and believe me, that's easily years. I didn't expect there'd be any trouble.

And at first there wasn't. They were holed up in the old overseer's house by the abandoned mine, an obvious place made more obvious by their campfires and drunken singing. I barely had to leave out any of my specially-treated beers at all, they were already so close to stupor. So I left the seven dumb muscleheads in various states of drowse and slipped inside.

It was dark inside, of course. But I carry a number of very useful potions on my person at all times, and a quick nip from a small vial gave me night vision about as good as a cat's.

They'd trashed the entire ground level, though it was not in good shape to begin with. Empty ale bottles, splintered boards and a suspect odor that made me think not all of the men had bothered stumbling outside to urinate. But I went through their packs anyway and found a nice little sum in coins, even a few silver rings and a particularly handsome dagger that I took for myself. Nothing that could have bene the Earl's lost bauble, so I headed upstairs.

The first two rooms I peeked into were much the same as the first. Haphazard bedding, body odor and remnants of snacks. The third was a different story.

It was the leader's room, of course. A real bed (though falling apart a bit), real blankets and a small but sturdy chest with a lock beside that. Knapsack at the foot of the bed and a generally less appalling reek.

I went through the knapsack first. Some decent clothes, a small bottle of what I identified by smell as a cheap eau de cologne, and even a book. None of them items I would have expected to find, but I suppose everyone's got to be surprised now and then. I paged through the book, but it didn't interest me. Myths and fables, mostly, and no treasure in it. I put it back.

The chest, of course, would be the real goal. I have never yet met a lock that didn't love me. They must know in some way that the things they hide all really belong to me, whether I've found them yet or not.

It opened like a spring breeze--easy and sweet. But of course piled on top were more clothes. Fine shirts, clean pants. It seemed our bandit leader had pretensions to nobility, or something similar. I tossed them on the bed as I went, and underneath something gleamed.

A creak, a step at the stair.

Now look. I have robbed more bands of angry, brickheaded louts than anyone else in my line of work. They drink like fish, and by that time of night even the ones who hadn't sipped my tainted ale should have been out like a light, or near to it. The number of bandits who'd be aware of something suspicious at that point--well.

I wear very dark cloth over my specialized leather armor, and my reflexes are unparalleled. In normal circumstances I'd've been under the bed in a second and out the door with my prizes as soon as I heard a snore. But who the hell, I ask you, who keeps plate mail under the bed. What bandit cares enough about tidiness not to leave it in a heap in the corner?

This one, apparently. There wasn't room for me under there. But luckily at that moment I had a flash of insight. Under the last level of those poncy lord's clothes in the chest, there had been a small white bottle of exactly the sort that I have always bought my invisibility potions in. I can't buy them often, because they are not cheap, and I've always felt that they're a bit like cheating, anyway. But when you're in a corner, there's no point being above a bit of cheating.

My gloves--I designed them myself--have little metal claws on the tips, which have never come in handier than then to pop the cork off a bottle. I had it at my lips and was chugging it down even before the leader's shadow arrived in the doorway.

It was--nice. The hag I usually buy my potions from knows her trade, and even she can't seem to brew an invisibility potion that doesn't taste like pond scum and bull piss. But this was sweet, and sort of creamy, like milk and cinnamon. And it had the warm burn of hot mulled cider sipped too fast.

And it didn't work. I could still see my gloved hand clutching the bottle, clear as clear. And worse, I could see the bandit leader, standing just inside the room, arms crossed over his chest, looking at me with, not fear or even anger, but a sort of grim amusement.

"Well," he said. "You've just cost me a small fortune. But I expect I know how you can pay me back."

I take care when I go out thieving. I bind my hair back and my armor and clothes combine to do a good job changing my shape. I don't wear makeup and I'm easy, very easy, to mistake for a boy, because if a drunken idiot catches you stealing from him and thinks you're a woman, you're in for a rough time of it.

I expected that was what this lout meant, though how he'd guessed I was female I wasn't sure. I have a bit of a foul mouth--which has not always helped my trade--and I was more than prepared to sling a choice remark or two at him, hopefully in preparation for my getaway.

Instead, I said, "Ggnnnhhh."

While he was laughing at this I opened my mouth in shock and, I suppose because I was too surprised to know what else to do, tried to stick out my tongue and see if it was even still there. It was, but it certainly wasn't listening to me any more. It felt heavy and thick. My mouth still tasted of spiced milk.

I tried again. "Nnnhh."

He kept laughing. "All right, then. Up, lass." He was across the room with his hands under my armpit before I could react. Under the layers of cloth and leather, my skin felt hot and sticky. Normally I would have had a blade in the thigh of any man who even tried to pick me up like this, but I was still too fixed on the rebellion going on in my own mouth.

I gave another slurred moan. He'd pulled my hood off and now that he was out of the back-lit doorway I could see what he looked like. Nicer armor than your usual lout, and better-kempt, too. Trimmed hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and far too knowing eyes that met mine as he undressed me.

As he--what? It wasn't the rough grope-and-squeeze I was blurrily expecting, but an efficient and quick undressing. As soon as I realized what he was doing I sped to help. My skin felt hotter and stickier every second, and whatever concoction I'd drunk didn't seem to be sitting well with me. Down in my stomach it seemed to burn.

He neatly discarded my cloth coverings and unbuckled my armor. I tried to kick my boots off, forgetting they were buckled too. When they wouldn't get off, I gave a nearly involuntary groan of frustration. My tongue was still not performing its job properly; I couldn't get out more than sloppy vowels and moans.

"Easy, lass," he said, taking off my damned boots. My feet were so hot. "Easy, there." For all the world like he was calming a horse.

He pulled off my undershorts while I fumbled off my bra. I didn't even try for the blade hidden in the seam. I knew it was there, but I was burning up, the air felt so sweet on my skin--and besides, he was helping me. Why would I want to hurt him?

Finally I was naked. I don't know what I expected then. Actually, no, by that point I was in no state to expect anything. I was on fire. My skin, my guts--all of me burning and hot. I rolled and writhed on the bed trying to find a place that the heat of me hadn't yet warmed. I tried to beg for help, for ice, for water, but I was no more able to speak than before.

A series of clinks and a heavy thump alerted me to more movement; he was shedding his armor and stripping down too. I was beyond caring. I bucked and rolled on the bed, and when I saw my own arm in front of me something was wrong. Instead of the fair skin I usually saw--I am not likely to spend much time in sunlight--I saw white, true white. I tried to hold still and focus but I was trembling all over, hot and sweating and sure I was dying of fever. The whiteness, when I threw my arm across my forehead to moan again, was short, velvet fur.

I don't know what I thought was happening. When I looked up at the man he was standing above me with his cock in his hand, smiling as he watched me squirm.

"I suppose I should introduce myself, lady," he said as his hand worked and squeezed. "I'm Bellen. And you're going to be mine."

I think I tried to tell him to go to hell. I know for sure it was no more effective than the last ten times I'd tried. The heat suffusing my body was unbearable, like standing in a fire without the mercy of burning. The fur was all over me now, thicker, and soft when I touched it. Something was wrong with my hands, my stomach was churning, and--oh--god--

I looked down to see something stranger than the rest, a thick black nub protruding from my cunt. The fire washed over me again and I saw it throb and twitch and grow. Bellen grunted his appreciation as I keened in sudden pleasure.

I rolled off the bed and landed at his feet. Tried to stand up and couldn't; my legs just didn't seem to work. On the floor in front of me my hands had become completely alien to me, thick split things as hard as stone. I tried to grab his leg, plead for mercy, but I just patted his calf with a--oh. With a cloven hoof.

I pressed my thighs together and the dark thing growing between them was squeezed deliciously. I let out a cry almost like a whinny and I felt liquid spatter me as Bellen spent himself over my back. I looked up--face only inches from his dick--and he was still stroking.

"You're a lovely sight," he said breathlessly. I moaned. My ears twitched, though I'd never been able to do that before. And I began to grow. Not just the cock growing between my legs--which felt so heavy and fat against me as I rolled onto my side--but all of me. I kept trying to get to my feet, not yet realizing that if I wanted to stand, it would have to be on all fours. My head was level with his cock, and then above, and then--

The rest of it had been bearable. Strange, and hot, and feverish, in a way that rendered me senseless, but it hadn't hurt. This hurt, deep and sharp, a hot poker being run through my skull. I know I cried out. I must have collapsed, or screamed, because the pain was terrible. So terrible that it took me for a moment out of my body, so that I could almost see myself from above, a surprisingly graceful white form still flowing toward its final shape, and nearly there now as the tail sprung from my spine and the horn grew from my head with the pain of all the hells.

"Ahhh," Bellen gasped, spurting his cum on me again. Unsteadily I made my way to my feet--my hooves. Found my footing on the wooden floor. My head was about level with his shoulder now, my shoulder at his stomach, my horn as long as his forearm, my--

Ah yes. My cock, too, probably about as long as his forearm as it grew harder and thicker under me. I gave a shiver of pleasure and felt my cunt clench and dribble--at least I still had that.

I shifted my weight, growing accustomed already to my cloven hooves, my delicate tail, how to move now. The delicate arch of my neck. The heat was still there, but subsiding, settling deep in my belly, my cunt, my cock, becoming something focused and light.

He wound his fingers into my mane. I tried to buck but he held me too tight, pulled the hair there with a tug.

"You're going to make things much more complicated," he told me, "but much more fun." He lined up behind me and I felt his cock at the lips of my pussy before he pushed into me. Still holding my mane he thrust and gasped and the heat in me responded. I arched my back, raised my tail, and pushed back against him. My breathing came fast, matching his as he bent over me and fucked and fucked.

He came quick, even after all his masturbation. I felt his fingers go limp in my mane as he rested on my back. And that moment gave me a bit of clarity that I had lost.

Fast as I'd been before, I spun around, head down, fully intending to butt him off of me and be out of the house before he could try to make me his. Instead, buttery-smooth, my horn pierced his chest.

In a night of strangeness, that was the strangest. In one moment that stretched longer and longer, I became two. I was inside Bellen, feeling everything he felt--feeling more, because I could see his body with a clarity that even he could not. I cleansed the ale from his bloodstream with an easy instinct I hadn't had before, reknit an old broken rib that had mended badly, drew out the fatigue he felt of three orgasms in a quick row. I did it all easily, without consideration, as easily as I'd once tossed my hair out of my eyes.

I felt him feeling this, watched him watching this. Felt his awe and gratitude and a thin ribbon of fear. I pushed the fear away--I was not here to harm him--and in that act realized the power I was holding. Realized what I could do.

I set to work. He wanted to own me, but I would make him mine the way that bits and bridles never could. I soothed his mind and taught him to love me, tweaked the parts of him that I wanted, set it on him to follow me anywhere I pleased. And with the inward kind of unicorn's grin I made a few more changes, too.

I didn't realize then how deep and difficult these choices would end up. A unicorn is well-equipped to heal, but in binding him to me, I bound us together, too.

At the time I didn't realize, didn't care. As my horn pulled from Bellen's chest as though it were water--bloodlessly, painlessly--he began to pant and moan in a way I recognized. He reached gratefully for the bed and fell on it, one hand moving back down to his spent cock. I saw a white shape on his chest where I'd pierced him, a starburst, a scar already healed. His cock was growing thicker, fatter in his hand. If he was going to fuck me, he'd do it with the right tool for the job. Quickly he brought his other hand down to rub and stroke his cock, though his fingers were having a harder and harder time wrapping around it.

And then another of my changes went into effect. He whimpered a bit as he spread his legs and I lowered my head to sniff at his new pussy. I ran my tongue over it and he cried out. I did it again, rolling the hard little nub of his clit around, pushing the tip of my tongue inside him, and his cunt clenched around it. He gasped again as his balls drew up and cum splattered across the bed, across his body, even across his face. He shot again and again, and I kept licking and pressing at his cunt as he did. I could feel his cock clenching and twitching as he shot--feel it almost like it was my own--feel his cunt contracting in orgasm--feel his bewilderment and pleasure and greed for more.

Finally he lay on the bed, wet with sweat and jizz, eyes closed, breathing heavy. I gave his pussy one last nuzzle and pulled away. He stared at me under half-lidded eyes. How did you do that?

I pushed my head against his side and began to roll him over. Shhh, I thought back. _It's time you get fucked. _