FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The city of Tappahannock was as developed as a free city could get. Tussled back and forth between Sergals on the west and Orcs on the east, it liberated itself from both and found a niche as a neutral area. Both countries, and many economic interests, found it a useful place to congregate. The clash of cultures had helped it develop into a metropolitan flower with paved streets, lamp posts, fine and tall buildings, and a diverse population of races. However, it also led to its degradation. As years passed, wealth disparity grew, violent crime increased, and it became a shadow of its former self - at least for common people.

For people like Ardella, who reveled in spilling blood and crime, it was a wonderful nest. Splattered in the ichor of someone and really need to rent that apartment for a few weeks? That's fine, so long as you have the coin. Similarly, wetwork was always there to be had. Doubly so with such easy access to other provinces and markets. Her canine form offered her much security and strength when her magic and potioncraft couldn't save her.

Nearly uncomfortably tall, the wolfess was, at just under two meters. Her body was warped too, glamored with the use of magic to be nearly perfect. Large breasts, a shapely ass, an hourglass figure noblewomen would murder for. It wasn't earned through good means. Hard work, yes. But not healthy or moral. And it showed. In the polluted and evil purple irises, the long and cracked nails that tipped each finger, the grey streaks in the otherwise onyx fur, and a general aura of malaise she carried.

She had little want for coin, most times. Her benefactor and business partner supplied much of what she needed. And what splurging she desired to engage in was supplanted by her potion-making and strong-arming. Most of her responsibilities were checking out books and summarizing them, and tending to a small storefront with an apartment above it.

So, when on a dour afternoon the bell to her shop rang and a dreary and rain-doused young man entered, she kicked her footpaws off the counter and put her full attention to him. A man, that is to say, a human male. A mop of wet black hair, firm eyebrows, and a soft face that was appealing in its gentle masculinity.

He took only a short canvas of the shop. It wasn't much to look at. A bit dusty, a bit disorganized, and darkly themed. The greyness outside leaked in, making the storefront possess a foreboding energy of gloom. Ardella's lupine features curled into a grin of sinister pleasure as her customer noticed *it*.

Ardella cultivated, purposefully, on herself and by extension her home in the shop, a heady musk. A fetor of feminine pheromones that compelled arousal and confusion both; even races with dulled senses like humans. It brought her great pleasure to see visitors struggle to confront the rich scents of her sweat, sex, and her unique redolence.

This carried to the stuffy clothes she wore as well. Tight, dark leather trousers which clung to her legs, and a leather cuirass with side-latches and a high, rounded collar. Underneath she was absolutely soupy, slick with the precious (to her) saline of sweat. On a cold night, if she opened her vest, the clouds of steam were visible. Her partners - consenting or not - would come to enjoy the particular flavors and scents of Ardella or suffer in muffled silence.

And before he'd opened his mouth, Ardella had this piece of prey pegged as someone she would torment.

He swallowed harshly, and trying to ignore the environment and her piercing glare, spoke in a voice with delicate and refined cantor. "I've come seeking a potion to solve a matter of a discreet and private nature."

Ardella, rolled her shoulders back, set her clawed hands to her hips, and leaned down to expel breath over him enough for his bangs to move. She nodded, "I believe I already know your issue. A matter of the bedroom. Have no fear. The words said within these walls stay here. Pray tell, your issue in its exact detail."

The man, who introduced himself only as Courte, began to describe a common issue among men. Performance anxiety! Courte assures Ardella he is deeply attracted to his wife but merely struggles to find himself rising to the occasion. An easy fix, really, but he didn't know that. Clearly, if he did he'd have just asked for the mixture itself. No, he hadn't a clue. And that meant he could be toyed with and molded just like she wanted.

"There is a permanent solution to your problem."

Courte's eyes flutter at the mention of 'permanent', something about that word in relation to his genitals didn't inspire trust.

Ardella continued, "The price is high."

"I am prepared to pay a handsome price," he immediately went for his coin purse, the jingle of coins already ringing out in the quiet shop.

She cackled, throwing her head back, her mane of hair thrashing with her. "I am sure you could muster a figure as handsome as your countenance. Useless to me. The craft of the cure requires sacrifice. Centimeters. These will be used in the spell that adds the potency to the potion."

"What?"

"Your cock will be shrunk to fuel the potency of the spell, of course." Her nonchalant voice only concerned him further, and he began blubbering to get a reply out, but before he could. "I am sure your wife would prefer a smaller stiffer dick to a longer, floppy one. Besides, human women don't need much, right?"

He began to weigh his options in his head, wringing his hands.

"Well, don't waste my time with all this hemming and hawing. I am a busy woman. You can take your limp worm to a different shop that will sell you ground herbs and roots that will do nothing but give you heartburn."

She turned, slightly, reeling him in by pulling away. And perfectly, he gave a little chase. Just like a fish on a hook! He grasped after her and followed her to the counter. On the other end, she searched the shelves for a tape measure and produced it. Courte couldn't help but sniff at the air and gawk at her behind when he thought she couldn't tell. His sniffing made her ears twitch, she had heard him but said nothing. The twitch made his face fall flush in embarrassment. Not to mention how hard it had made him to take in her detail.

"How many?"

"That depends on how effective you want it to be. But, first, I must see what we're working with. Disrobe."

The only urging more he needed was the intense stare from Ardella when he took too long. He unlatched his belt and undid his trousers. As expected, when he sprung free it was at the fullest mast he could manage. The pheromones’ fault, surely, given how it was dripping and throbbing.

"Excited for a cure I see. If you run home fast enough maybe you could use this with the wife."

Ardella knelt to measure him, she had to, Courte came up to her tits. The most well-hung human in Tappahannock would look like a dicklet in her palm, and Courte wasn't any different, and he most certainly wasn't impressively endowed. "Fifteen and a half centimeters. Hmph."

"Huh... ?" Courte made a mewl that many men do when lacking in confidence, 'please reassure me'.

"I am sure it's fine for a human. A wolfess requires something with more... strength?" Her inflection and careless attitude cut him to shreds. But, it also made that dick she held twitch in her palm, a sticky string of pre having leaked out. She pulled away, cleaning her palm with a lick and smirking at him.

"How many do you need?"

"Five? Six?"

"What! That's like! That's, that... th--," he looked down at his prized possession and made a whimper.

"Take it or leave it." With her hand, she gently holds and strokes him toward her. "The exchange method is intimate. It requires, bluntly, the potion crafter to be fucked."

Between the stroking and the suggestion of sex, Courte was putty. Ardella pulled her trousers slightly, the fabric digging into and showing her puffy, canine pussy.

Courte had little fight left in him at this point. He mumbled something about being severely pent up. Not much time with the wife but plenty with his hand, apparently. When Ardella unclipped her vest and revealed her motherly, stupendous, heavy tits and the cloud of sweaty, rank musk hit him, he was shaking. He had to bite his lip in order to not spurt across her thigh in that instance.

She grasped him about the head and shoved his back to the counter, getting him between her legs with a predatory snarl. The idle threat of tooth and claw was a bizarre mix of arousing and heart-poundingly terrifying for the man, and he could do little but grab onto her hips in a small effort to get some control back.

Ardella barked a firm order for him to undress her lower half and he did so with the trembling disposition of a cherry boy. He didn't expect the sight he found, a lace black thong several sizes too small comically pretending at concealing her grabbable dogpussy. And he couldn't have ever stood a chance against the smell of her musk.

His stance wobbled and knees knocked as he slid down the counter to huff, sniff, kiss, and worship at his newfound altar. A villainous merriment fell over Ardella as Courte simped at her pussy, licking the developing slick there like a desert explorer at an oasis. Down below she could practically hear each cock-throbbing heartbeat as he made out with her cunt.

Enough foreplay, though. Ardella pulled at his head to yank him back up to standing, she didn't want to have to bend her knees too far, now. Courte felt as though his throat would be torn from him at any moment as he was pinned against the counter. Her splendid, divine, unwashed spade thrust itself down upon his trembling human shaft without warning. Her downward hump pulled the foreskin back in a tantalizing and desperate thrust that had him clutching at her thigh fur and calling for Mommy.

Courte had never felt the heat, the pressure, the gripping tug of such an animalistic cunt. What's more, was what each downward thrust was doing to him. He was desperately trying to push her off, the heavy weight of this beast, assaulting him, making his cock feel as though it were pleasurably melting into a small, little nub.

And that's just what was happening. Ardella was consuming the masculinity of his cock, weakening it, softening it, stripping centimeters of it with a whispered enchantment, to fuel her own glamors. Courte wanted to escape, couldn't, wanted to stay, couldn't. Yes, that part of him that loved the assault on his hips, each wet plap against his hairless legs from the shaggy wolfess, couldn't indulge much longer. He was going to cum.

Hardly a minute had passed Ardella noted, when she heard her mark gasp and release his seed in her. For Courte, it had felt like a marathon, but it was naught but a little twenty-metre sprint. He twitched, he bucked back up, and groaned in lust at the sight of her cunt lips hungrily gripping at his needle dick.

Ardella graciously allowed him his full orgasm, but did nothing to catch him when his knees gave way and he slid down the counter. She stood over him, firm, trunk-like, muscular legs penning him in. "Payment rendered."

He made a mournful, full-bodied gasp, looking down at his cock. Well, what was left of it. His quickly softening baby carrot couldn't have been more than nine centimeters, and woefully lacking in girth. Insult to injury, was how her bestial cunt leaked his cum to the floor of the store so carelessly.

While Courte grasped at what was left of his manhood, Ardella brewed him a tincture of ground herbs and roots that would give him heartburn. It would give him a long-lasting and powerful erection, for what little that was worth now. Those precious centimeters would feed the glamors altering her body for a few months, and that was a win.

Out and out she pushed him, once he'd gotten his cure and tugged on his clothes. "Come again soon."