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M x m Anthro mind control evil body hair

Description: Fahen is scouting for treasure in an abandoned castle only to find a trapped warlord who wants to be set free from his mirror prison. Fahen is his way out, but he must coax Fahen into being his willing slave.

Tag: Furry, Anthro, mind control, seduction, yaoi, gay, body hair, mirror, evil,

Fahen really came out ahead this time. He was an experienced dungeon diver, catacomb conqueror, maze master. He had many names, but what it amounted to was that whatever a typical party of explorers could do, he could do but better. He was a social being, and when not that, an aggressive and intimidating nightmare. He got information one way or that other, at base.

And this little tip had yielded some serious fruit. The history of these ruins were shrouded in time, history even turning the name of the battle mage that lived here to nothing. What was known was that people stayed away from it, stayed away from it for so long that it and the reason why it remained undisturbed was left to speculation.

But not Fahen, he wouldn’t get the riches, nor the excitement and thrill that he had learned to crave had he simply followed what others thought. Most of the time the best treasures were hidden behind some sort of superstition. A few goblins turned into a raging war party to a commoner, a lizard, in the right shadow, could be confused for a dragon, and other such nonsense.

This isn’t to say that Fahen hadn’t had his fair share of scraps but the plundering business was good and worth the risk. Usually.

Not this time though. But, Fahen didn’t know that just quite yet.

The ruins, in this case, was a towering tower. Merely a few floors high, but as far as architecture goes, that was massive and mightily impressive, especially without any type of civilization around to justify such a structure. It had decayed over time, practically falling apart. The stone that had meticulously been crafted for such an impressive feat had been wind worn by time, but not unstable. It was, however, obviously a shadow of what it formally was – whatever that was, really.

The ruins, nestled deeply in the woods exuded an aura of mystique and foreboding. It sent a shiver through Fehen but he advanced without concern. Brushing off his instinct and laughing at his own silliness, he remained undeterred. He had collecting far too much information about this place and it was getting the better of him.

Crumbled stone archway greeted him, a large boulder, the keystone, toppled on the dirty dusty path before him.

Past that dilapidated arc way were various statue of people. They, like everything else, were stilled, frozen in time, succumbing to the elements and nature. They would fetch a pretty better, each and every one of them. Judging by the sheer vast array of them, that was a lot of pennies!

The courtyard, now overgrown with ivy, moss, and other flora, gave age to the place. A certain distinct quality, a foreboding, a sense of haunting, even. It had been undisturbed for so long, too long. So thick was the overgrowth that he almost stumbled on a stone path he was unaware of, thus his booted foot couldn’t accommodate for. To say it was eerie would be an understatement.

The center of this overgrown courtyard lay the shattered remains of a massive and grand statue. The dismembered destroyed arm was as big as Fahen himself. It was hard to piece together what the statue was, or looked like back in its glory day – before it has submitted and succumbed to the ravages of time, but he could tell many things with just a cursory investigation: that this was a man, that he was stronger than a bear, and that he was, indeed, some sort of wizard or mage, given the staff laying plainly in sight, merely cracked in two, preserving the general objects shape.

Of all the various stories he had acquired about this long forgotten place, he did remember hearing something able a battle mage. A warlord, if he wasn’t mistaken. It mixed and mingles with other stories though, and it was hard to piece it from the rest, but he had the general core concept, though it was vague from the get go anyway.

There was, however, something that added a more dreaded and powerful sense of foreboding littered around the courtyard. There were statues, many statues, so many so that to call it a collection would be an understatement. It was a proverbial menagerie. Stone men and women lined the pathway from courtyard to the tired, exhausted tower before him. These statues were both clothed and naked, some were engaging in some rather provocative sexual actions and behaviors. He had seen them from afar, even crossed into their general surrounding proximity, but when he was in the middle of them all, the epicenter, encircled, enclosed on all sides, it felt visceral. He knew they were statues, yet he felt them looking at him. It was oppressive.

The style of clothing was unique, some of them were depicted to be in peasant attire, others were royal and breathtaking, as if a Queen or King had posed for such a laborious task of carving their image to something that would last throughout the ages.

He discarded his concern, and blatantly stopped inspecting the statues, secretly he was keeping an eye on them, waiting for one to move. He was prepared – not to fight though, but to run. If these things did move, he would be hilariously outmatched. But he couldn’t turn his attention to them any longer lest he retreat from his much deserved payday. He focused ahead, storming past the courtyard and into the tower proper.

As he neared the tower, the human shapes twisted and contorted, hybrid and evolving into figures that were an amalgamation of humanoid and draconic. These were dragonborn creatures. He didn’t know why, but it was these amalgamations of statues --- these hybrids, that really chilled him to the core. A hard feat, given he was in some rather spacious, loose clothing, but it was thick, heavy, and the fur under just couldn’t get relief from the sweltering humid heat that sought to cook his brain like a piece of bread.

Fahen was alone. But not completely alone. Not in his mind, at least. He heard it, calling to him. It wasn’t a voice, it spoke not a language, and yet he heard it still swirling through his mind. More of a feeling than anything else.

It was unnerving yet provocative, it was intrusive but mesmerizing. Yet he didn’t know where it came from, but he was drawn to find the origin. Wherever that might be, wherever it would lead him. After drifting in and out of room after room he finally happened on it. The origin. He closed the door behind him to isolate him from escape. It never occurred to him why he closed the door, but all the same it felt as natural and normal as everything else that he was doing.

Though what he was doing was anything but natural or normal.

There it was. An ornate, full-body mirror that seemed to possess such a spellbinding charm. It beckoned Fahen forward. It was tucked far off into the corner of the room but it seemed to occupy the center of the room. The frame was intricately adorned wood, curling vines and mystical symbols, all etched in shimmering gold.

It still possessed an archaic vibe to it. Fahen approached gingerly, cocking his head to the side, his heavy horns protruding from his head tilted his curious inquisitive body movement all the more jarringly.

This was the newest addition to Fahen’s treasure trove, recently acquired from dungeon diving. He’d yet to examine it, or even appraise it. He took it because it certainty looked expensive. And in his profession, anything that looked expensive, especially a full-body mirror in the middle of a dungeon … Well, it’s got to be magic. If it wasn’t magical, he would shave off his teal untamed mohawk.

There he was. Fahen. He possessed the fashion sense of a punk rocker without too much of the leather and less attitude. He possessed muscles, distinct and etched with definition – the perk of actually possessing an exercise routine in addition to being young.

He looked at the mirror, tracing around the edges that seemed to be somewhat distorted, almost rippling like a pond disturbed. But what he saw didn’t really exist. It was a normal mirror, a big one at that, but nothing was shimmering or distorted. But he felt it, should see it in his minds eye.

All was eerie, but when he finally turned his attention to his own full body reflection, his body chilled and goosebumps raised on his flesh tucked under light murky grey fur. His eyes were crimson, like blood, he felt his lips pulling back straight, perplexed. But what was in the mirror, not reflected by the mirror, it wasn’t him. The eyes were a brilliant azure, sky blue, and his mouth was twisted in a sadistic, mischievous grin – No, it was… malevolent.

His fingerless biker gloved fingers reached toward him, as if to grip his hand. Fahen slipped his hand back from the advancing self-same hand reaching to grasp it. It seemed that the mirror was acting on its own accord.

Fahen inhaled and stepped back.

Mirror-Fahen exhaled and stepped forward.

This was a trick of the eyes.

His eyes. His once crimson now blue eyes. He found himself sinking in studying his new appearance.

That was all the Warlord needed. The inhabitant of this mirror.

He had been banished, exiled. But not destroyed. Not dealt with. Who could content with someone such as him. He was a savage warlord who conquered far and wide, any resistance was meet with swift and brutal consequences.

The moment that he latched onto Fahen, the moment the Warlord felt freedom within his grasp, he prepared himself mentally and physically. As he toyed with his liberator’s mind, beckoning him to the mirror, calling him near, he drank deep from a clear glass vial before snatching two golden necklaces. They were special, they were unique. He put on one and kept possession of the second. This one was meant for Fahen.

The Warlord snatched the paw of Fahen, pulling him toward the mirror.

Fahen struggled against this. Struggled so much that the distorted reflection of Fahen, the blue eyed, smirking, bulging muscles version, was pulled from the mirror. The mirror shimmered and nearly broke, even though it seemed to have a liquid-like state to it as the Warlord stepped forward.

The Warlord wasn’t exactly free, he was still bound by the magic of the mirror. But his freedom was a foregone conclusion.

Fahen stumbled to the ground. He hit it with a thump.

“Well now, that must be embarrassing,” The Warlord laughed condescendingly. His paw smoothed through the Mohawk, loving the feel of his fleshed body.

“Who the fuck are you!?” Fahen said as he stood up.

“Why, can’t you tell, I am you.”

“The hell you are.”

“True. But that is a temporary problem. Something I aim to rectify right now,” The bolder, brasher, more built Warlord stepped forward. His presence was intimidating. His actions certain.

Fahen wasn’t a stranger to fighting, but fighting himself? That was odd, even for him, not to mention that his doppelganger was carved from marble. Sure, Fahen had definition and strength, but this abomination, this imposter, he was ripped from head to toe. The neck was a thick tree branch, arms tree trunks. There was no way he would win a fight with this… this… perfect specimen of a creature.

And yet he didn’t run. There was something holding him back, something was compelling him to stay. His nostrils flared up, inhaling, deep and long.

“You like? My very own concoction. Smell, deeply. Before I made my escape from my prison, I drank something that would make my musk highly addictive. Maybe you want another smell?”

“Fuck you!” Fehan said, mostly because he was so taken aback from what that glorious scent was.