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I felt a current of fear ripple through him, but a swipe of my soft tongue over his new pussy subdued it. I wriggled my tongue into him, feeling the muscle there grab and try to hold. I didn't care; I dug in deeper, made him moan. Out loud a heavy gasp, and a Fuck in my head.

Touch yourself, I told him. Make yourself ready for me. You're going to be a good slut and that means being ready.

He dug his head into the heaped blankets of the bed, but he reached back between his legs and fumbled for his clit. He rolled his fingers over it, back and forth, while I thrust my tongue deeper and rolled it. Satisfied I'd spread enough of my slick spit to help him get started, I withdrew for the moment. Come on. Finger your new pussy, Bellen.

At the sound of his name he gave a deep groan and obediently plunged his two middle fingers into his cunt. Rolling his palm over his clit, he plunged them in and out. His hips thrust and bucked against the bed, rubbing his newly fattened cock as well. I could feel it pushing and pressing against the soft furs and cloths, and it made my own cock give a lurch and spit across his ass and back.

Waste not, want not. I leant down and licked it up, rewarded with a sweet taste that was reminiscent of my hurried quaff from the potion just before. Interesting. But not as interesting as the way Bellen was fucking himself and humping the bed. I watched appreciatively as he added a third finger to the two already working in his pussy.

Good boy, I told him. You're being so good that I'm going to give you a nice treat. A rill of worry, then anticipation, trickling into me from him. I would have laughed.

Instead I pushed my snout between his bucking cheeks and ran my wide, wet tongue over his asshole. He cried out, and the sensation of his cock shooting pre-cum onto the bed and immediately thrusting back through it again caused my own to dribble sympathetically. He tasted a bit sweaty and salty, but with another few sweeps of my tongue that was gone, replaced by only the taste of skin. His hole twitched under my ministrations and I heard a quiet whimper, even though his face was currently buried in the bed.

What was that? I asked pleasantly. I'd heard perfectly clearly--my hearing was sharper than it had ever been--but this was about making him squirm. I wriggled and licked over his hole again, sliding and squeezing my tongue over it deliciously. You need to speak up.

"I--I said--feels so good--" he broke off with a loud moan, but even through the blankets the words were clear. I backed off long enough to see that both his thrusting fingers and his twitching hips had sped up considerably. He had all four fingers in his pussy now, held tight together, and they were sawing in and out frantically.

You're ready! You really are a good boy. You did exactly what I told you. A sharp current of anticipation crawled up my spine, and I was sure he felt it too. Now I'm going to fuck you like you need to be fucked.

"Ahh--please--please!" He actually arched his back up for me. Perfect. A wet pop as he pulled his fingers from himself and used the same sticky, messy hand to rub his fat cock under his body. "Oh please--I need it."

I reared up and put my two front hooves on either side of his shoulders--a bit of a heavier landing than I'd meant, but this was still new and I was in no mood for subtlety and deliberation. My own cock was aching with greed and spattering pre across the bed and, now, his body. I caught the sensation from him: hot across his back, his cunt and asshole, but not hot enough to satisfy.

It was a completely new feeling, trying to line my heavy penis up with his cunt without being able to see what I was doing, or without the use of my hands. But a few awkward rolls across his pussy--Bellen gasping under me as the hard, flat head of my cock caught his clit on the way--and he proved just how much he needed it. He spared one hand from his still-burgeoning dick to fumble at mine, pressing it against his wet, open cunt.

I won't lie. I savored it. I even closed my eyes so I could focus on every sensory aspect of my cock pushing so slowly into the entrance of his cunt. The heat, warmth, slipperiness--the way he pushed back underneath me, the constricting feeling of my tool being just a bit too big, the feel of so many kinds of wetness intermingling. It was perfect.

And then it was even more perfect as I gave a mighty thrust and half my cock buried into his cunt. That sensation sent him over the edge again--a multiple-orgasm man, my Bellen--and together we gasped and heaved in the feeling of his pussy gripping and rippling around my cock, his cock shooting out jet after burning jet of cum into his squeezing hand, where it spread across his belly and chest, and he didn't stop, my cock beginning to follow suit and squeeze pre into him--so that he continued to cum, wet jizz spurting between his fingers and rolling over his cock. We felt each other's pussies spasm in orgasm, our cocks spurt and thrust, and I lost myself in the feedback loop. I lost my thoughts, my clarity of consciousness, dissolved into the dual orgasms we moved through together. I felt my own cum pulsing through my cock and into him, felt my thrusts speed up as the passage became first lubricated, then downright sloppy. Cum oozing back from my thrusts, to coat me again as I pushed into him. I could feel, through him, the tantalizing stretch of being full of my cock, the heat of my cum as it gushed out, the prickle of my fur against his back.

I'm not sure how long it took. Whether it was one orgasm, or many. When I think back, I can strip things down logically--the feeling of my face splattered with my own cum, that was Bellen's feeling, not mine, but I felt it just as intensely as he did. The memory--his--of ducking my head down to lap greedily at the spewing fountain of the head of my cock as the unicorn thrust on top of me, filling me fat with jizz. The slippery, half-an-orgasm-again slip of my cock pulling from his well-fucked hole. It all merges.

I stumbled back, dripping and spent and suddenly feeling very drained. In front of me Bellen lifted his head enough to meet my eye, though his hands still gently squeezed and pulled at his cum-covered dick. I gave his pussy one last affectionate nuzzle--smearing my nose with our mixed fluids as I did--and let out a deep sigh.

"What the hell was that?" Bellen asked, voice hoarse.

You think I know? I tossed my head, fixing him with as sardonic of a look as I could manage. You seemed to have an idea. Why don't you tell me?

"I'm not telling you anything," he growled, shifting and starting to turn and sit up on the bed. From his movements I could tell he was feeling as sore as I was now.

All right. I have to say, though, I think I can find out anyway. Using a perception I don't think I'd had before--unless I had had it and hadn't known how to use it?--I pushed and burrowed into his mind. It was easy at first, just moving through his emotions and the quick thoughts that stayed buoyant at the front of his consciousness. Anger--worry--a huge and heavy sense of bodily exhaustion, no surprise there--a snake of deep fear that slithered away before I could follow it--a conjoined sense of shock and curiosity at his changed body. If I pushed harder, I knew things would give way, and I could tunnel in until I found the answers to the obvious questions.

From the expression on his face, it wasn't a pleasant feeling. Finally he reached out and actually swatted at the air as though that would stop me. "All right! All right." Defeated, he slumped back against the wall, looking in no small way ridiculous given that he was plastered with semen and his penis was still half-hard and lolling against his belly, obviously too big for his frame. "I'll tell you. Just stop that, already, lass."

I suppressed a mental snicker at "lass" but let up my pressure. Go on, then.

He glared--he didn't want to meet my eyes. "So your Earl here--you know much about him?"

I'd met him a few times, a vaguely slimy man with long thin hands who always seemed to be clutching for something to wrap his fingers around. But mostly I'd dealt with his advisor Heath, who was much plainer, just a straightforward man with a tiring job to do. Not much, I told Bellen. Why?

"Well, Earl Rainier here has a funny idea that all the earldoms would be better if they were back the way they were when the Cailon was on the throne. And he thinks he has enough guts to set himself up as the one to make this happen." Bellen was outright glowering, now, staring down at his own belly and picking flakes of dried jism off his skin in visible irritation.

Don't be stupid, the Cailon is just fairy stories. That's why everything was so bad under the kings, it was too much to govern.

He shook his head. "Not at all. The library at Everhearth has genealogies and lineages locked away if you know where to look. There was a line of kings, back when Cailon was a hereditary title and not just the name we call a myth-figure. Pieces of the family are still around, not that your Earl cares. The idiot thinks the want of power is all it takes to take a throne, provided the taking is impressive enough."

Fair enough, I supposed. History was never something I paid much mind to, though I had had a soft spot for fairy stories before my wild and ragged adolescence. And the Earl of Karnat, "my" Earl that Bellen was so soundly denouncing, certainly had a reputation for avarice beyond the limits of good sense. Trying to set himself up as pretender to a dead throne didn't sound well out of his usual bag of tricks. But that didn't exactly connect all the dots.

That doesn't explain why I have hooves now. I stomped one lightly on the floor to make my point.

"I was getting there, lass." Bellen hoiked himself back on the bed so he could sit up straighter and look me in the eye. "So the Earl, as you obviously know, doesn't shirk at being a bit underhanded when it's the most effective way. Knives can pierce to the truth a lot quicker than words, is his apparent feeling. So he's had his men out this-ing and that-ing for a few years now getting after the things he thinks he'll need to make himself look like a real kingly specimen."

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. I couldn't blame him; I wouldn't have minded a few hours' rest myself, though I wasn't sure quite how to get comfortable for sleep with the strange way my body was built now.

"I doubt you know the full story of the White Ark of Abenport, though the fable form is quite common." He gave me a glance to confirm and I dipped my head in a nod. "Right, well, it's not just an allegory for the Cailon uniting the earldoms and ending the wars. The beasts he sends away on the Ark aren't just representative of the exiled families. They were also just what they sound like: beasts."

I scoffed before I could stop myself. Every child knows the story, and every child who gets any schooling at all hears it explained over and over: how each of the ferocious, deadly and troublesome beasts that Cailon conquers one by one and binds to his will is actually just a poetic version of one or another of the earls he had to diplomatically subdue in order to end the wars and rule the land peaceably. There are plenty of songs about it too, often written as sly digs at the earls themselves, just coy enough not to get the singer into any real trouble. But none of the beasts were ever real.

But even as I was indignantly turning this over in my mind, I was looking down at the cloven, sturdy, vaguely pearly hooves that shuffled on the floor where my hands would have been. The body I inhabited now was--maybe not enough to verify Bellen's words, but certainly enough to force me to consider things in a new light.

"You see it now, right?"

I shook my head. Not really.

"Well...the Ark wasn't a ship, or wasn't just a ship. Maybe there was a ship sometime as well, I don't know. But the Cailon didn't just send the beasts away; that binding is more than poetic expression. He didn't just bind them to his will, he bound them--some of the stories say he bound them 'into sleep' or maybe they mean 'into dreams,' it's not that clear. But there's some sort of implication that they weren't just sent away the way you send someone away on a boat."

The more Bellen talked the more I felt forced to revise my image of him. Not a rough lad playing at being a prettyboy after all. Perhaps those fancy clothes in his trunk were more his usual wear than the armor and leathers he'd been wearing before. At the very least, he was talking like someone with more schooling than I'd expected--probably more than I'd had, too.

"So your lovely Earl gets wind of some vestige of the Cailon's staff being dug up. Nothing to do with him, of course; someone else'd done all the research and all the work long before he got the slightest whiff of it. But that's his way--let everyone else do the hard work so he can nip in at the end and take advantage, and credit too if possible. Had his men ambush the band who'd done the work and take what they'd gotten."

I was starting to see where this went.

"It wasn't the staff, of course. It was that pretty little white bottle you so quickly gulped down." He leveled at me a look that was utterly sardonic and more than a little bit self-pitying. "I don't suppose you have any idea how many men and how many hours it took to get that little thing up into the light, let alone in my hands."

Of course not, I shot back crossly. I thought it was an invisibility potion.

He laughed at this, very loud and long, wiping a tear from one eye (though I thought that was pretext, a bit of theatre for my sake). "Ah, lass. If only it had been. We'd both be in much a different state right now, I expect."

I expect you're right. I shifted my weight uneasily. But it doesn't help us now. What--what do we do now?

"As to that, I have some thoughts." Bellen ran a hand through his hair. "But they'll be clearer in the daylight. Better to figure it out tomorrow."

Tomorrow?

"Well, after some sleep. I'm dead awake and I'd be willing to bet you are too."

What am I supposed to do to sleep--like this? And what do you expect to tell your men?

"Hmm." He quirked his mouth to one side as he thought. "You're sharp, girl, I'll give you that. I suppose we'll have to get traveling now, and talk on the way. Leave the men, they're none of them worth a flat cent. And they should be easy to loose given the amount of ale I left them with."

I scuffed a guilty hoof. I suppose I helped with that. I did lace it a bit.

He chuckled, but he was already getting back into his clothes and packing his things away. It seemed he really did mean to travel at this hour. Though where he thought we'd travel to was beyond me.