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Gail hated forming adventuring parties. So-called "common" wisdom suggested that dungeons were easier to deal with when one had three to five total amateurs in tow, arguing over the division of loot and walking head-first into every trap and ambush. The young gray tabby didn't go for that, however. He loved nothing more than to challenge dungeons solo. That way, nobody could steal his treasure. No one could complain that he ran too fast or that he was so good with his blades that he was stealing everyone else's XP.

Best of all, he could trash-talk as loud as he wanted and nobody could tell him otherwise.

"Fucking... yeah!" he barked, to the rapidly dissipating puffs of smoke that had, just moments ago, been a pack of monsters. "I'd tell you guys to suck it, but first you'd have to actually touch it." He bounced on his paws, limber and still jonesing for a run. His studded leather jerkin jingled with the motion, his boots clacking on the flagstones with every hop. "Like, come on, guys! How deep do I have to get before I find something fast enough to actually hit me?"

The empty room did not answer him, and he reveled in it. Three levels stronger than me, my ass, he thought, as he sheathed his daggers in the holsters lashed to his rear. This place is barely tough enough to get my heart rate up. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the reason he had even entered this room: the large, gilded chest on a stone platform at the far end. Oh, well. Easy money's better than none, I guess.

Normally, a chest in a dungeon three levels too strong for an adventurer would be beyond their ability to pick. However, one would be amazed at the quality of tools a person could buy, when they weren't sharing their loot with three to five losers. In no time at all, he was throwing open the lid of the chest with almost enough force to wrench it off its hinges. The fancy, gold engraved ones like these tended to hold one of two things: a large quantity of shiny objects, or one high quality piece of equipment. Gail was almost disappointed, when he did not see the glint of shiny things. Instead, what greeted him at the bottom of the chest was a folded square of white silk.

"Okay? So what's this?" Reaching both hands in, he pulled the fabric up closer to his face. Numbers hovered in the air next to the garment, illusory information about the object he was holding. He shrugged with his lips. "Wow. This thing's got some pretty good stats. Armor's higher than what I got, even though it's cloth... is that an Agility buff? That's huge. It's too bad, though..." He shook the garment, letting it unfurl to its full size in front of him. "I mean, why'd it have to be a dress, of all things?"

It was, in fact, a silken dress. Long enough to extend just past his knees, it was an improbably light thing, almost weightless in his hands. The hem, collar and sleeves were embroidered in delicate spun gold, in patterns reminiscent of curling ivy. An obvious aura of magic clung to it. No doubt fortifying it, since without such enchantments it felt like the thing should fall apart in Gail's clenched paws, to say nothing of how it would allegedly behave in battle.

Gail frowned at it. Or, more specifically, to the stat window hovering to its right. "Fucking figures," he muttered. "The best piece of armor I've ever found, and it looks like something I'd pull off a country maiden. Who the fuck enchants a dress this heavily? Honestly! At that point, why not enchant something actually substantive?"

Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the garment itself. It was so lightweight, that the merest twitch of his hands or the vaguest breath of air circulating from the hall outside caused it to flutter. It was a wonder that he wasn't able to see through it, as gossamer thin as it felt in his hands.

A thought occurred to him, right at that moment. He scoffed and shrugged his shoulders. "Fucking whatever. There's still the big chest, at the end. If they're putting stuff like this in this dungeon, whatever's at the bottom's gotta be way better. Maybe they've even got Wing-Mail." Looking once again at the stat screen, he couldn't help but smirk. "Fuck it. The stats are good, and it's not like anyone's around here to complain."

Pulling himself out of his jerkin and hose, Gail threw the dress over his head. There was a momentary struggle with it, as the enchantments worked to arrange the garment in the perfect size for his lithe, stringy body. When his head was through the top hole, and his arms through the sleeves, he took a moment to test his range of motion. He felt... unburdened. The leather he had been wearing was hardly knight's apparel, but now that nothing was between him and the world outside but silk, his whole body felt significantly lighter. Experimentally, he tried a hop.

His eyes were drawn down to the lazy flare of the skirt, how it followed his motions a fraction of a second behind the rest of him. Air billowed beneath it, as he landed. He was very, very aware of the movement of the air around him.

Gail's expression fell. Then, shaking his head, he laughed to himself. "Right. Gear optimized, I guess. Now to finish this stupid dungeon and get me my Wing-Mail."

The next few minutes were a blur. The first time a pack of goblins materialized in front of him, his daggers were in his hands and he was off. Once he got started, he could not stop. Gail was not sure if he was faster, or if the feeling of the wind against his thighs and arms and chest were just making him feel faster. When he spun, daggers outstretched to cleave a slime, his skirt spun forward and up. How fast would he have to spin, before the monsters got a clear look at his small-clothes? What about when he leapt through the air, to strike against the hard snout of a gargoyle? Was he covered, then? In the din and the rush of combat, Gail couldn't begin to answer those questions.

All he knew was that, if the monsters here did see anything, it would be the last thing they saw before they were defeated.

It was only when the gargoyle finally collapsed and dissolved into mist that Gail realized two things. The first was that his Stamina was completely drained, something he had not experienced in some time. The second were the illusory words, burning before his eyes:

Dungeon Complete!

For a long while, the cat stood there, breathing heavily. He looked around him, suddenly noticing for the first time that he had passed the distinctive purple bricks that marked the boss chamber. Those words had not been a hallucination: the large chest lay before him, an even clearer sign of his victory.

Holy fuck, he thought,as he reached into his bag for his water skin. Either the enchantments on this armor are even more juiced than I thought, or I was in another world, for a second. I can't remember the last time going full-tilt like that felt so... good.

He pushed the thought away. Now was not the time for a runner's high. There was treasure to be looted! Eagerly he rushed for the chest, half as tall as he was and almost a Gail wide. These always had the best prizes. He fiddled with the locks, tail swishing against the ground in excitement. Please be Wing-Mail. Please be Wing-Mail. Please be...

With a clatter and a creak, the chest swung open. Gold coins and gemstones gleamed from inside, casting a vibrant glow.

Gail made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "Fucking... figures. The one time I don't ask for coin, it gives me coin." Stymied, but wholly unwilling to turn away free money, he scooped his winnings into his bag. The coins all disappeared inside, filling the pocket many times over, but when Gail slung the pack over his back again, it was no heavier than when he had first entered the dungeon.

With his task done, he sketched the customary sigil in the air with his finger, declaring himself victor over the dungeon. The dungeon, recognizing his victory, dutifully responded by opening a portal at his feet and whisking him away. There was a flash of light, and when he opened his eyes again, Gail found himself on a hill overlooking the town of Sorcerer's Rest, where he had set out.

"That fucking sucks," he muttered to himself. "I know enchanted armor's a rare drop, but I was really liking my chances, there. Whatever. I got money. Maybe with this, I can just ask around and buy myself a new suit. I'm sure somebody in town's holding on to a spa..."

He had gotten halfway down the hill when a sudden breeze picked up. Gail flinched as he felt the wind ripple the fur along his shins and thighs. He brought his paws down to stop the hem of the dress from blowing up. It was at that point he realized something.

"Fucking... whoops!" He chuckled, ears flat against his head uneasily. "Looks like I'm still wearing this stupid thing. Good thing I found out now. Let's just get out of this dress and into some actual men's clothes."

He stood there, on that hill. The wind picked up again.

"Gonna... take off the dress. Before I got into town."

In the distance, a Seeker Bird whistled a mating call. Gail's expression fell.

"I'm going to put on some pants, now. Gonna stop wearing..."

Still he stood. His arms lay at his sides, his pack still firmly on his back. Concern began to set in.

"What is happening? Come on, Gail. We can't go back to town, like this."

The Seeker Bird cried, again. Concern gave way to panic.

What the hell is going on?!

---

If was at all possible, his heart hammered in his chest more strongly during his walk through town than when he was running and jumping around in the dungeon. The town was a lively and bustling place, loaded to the brim with adventurers and the enterprising people who served and equipped them. The main square was a riot of colors and bodies. Armor gleamed and robes fluttered in the wind.

The wind. Why was it suddenly so fucking windy, now of all times?

With such a large crowd, it should have been easy to blend in. Gail had lost himself in this crowd every day since he first became an adventurer. And to the crowd's credit, it did hide him. Nobody pointed or laughed or loudly announced to the world that Gail the Solo Crawler was running around in women's clothing. All the same, it didn't feel the same. Gail thought he must have been so obvious, so bright and noticeable, that the only way he was going to get through this was to get off the street as fast as a crisp, business-like stride could take him.

The sight of a familiar sign ahead was morale-boosting. Quickly, he ducked into a cramped little magic shop in the middle of a whole row of magic shops. The door opening awoke a trio of enchanted bells, which rang out a little tune to announce his presence, and before he'd had the door closed he was staring up at the proprietor.

Lane was a round and chronically soft bear. Born into a family of giants and barbarians, he consistently disappointed his den-mates with his aptitude for the scholarly and his intractable love of sweets. Even now, half a rhubarb pie sat in one large paw, which he nibbled on as he balanced a book in his other paw. His ear turned towards the door, as Gail walked in, but in true Lane fashion his eyes would not follow until they had finished the paragraph they had fallen upon.

"Welcome in," he chirped, setting the book down and pulling the spectacles from his broad muzzle. "Sorry. I'm halfway through this treatise and the author is doing things with magic circles that..." He stopped, brown eyes widening as he finally noticed his customer. "Gail?"

Gail's ears flattened against his head. He muttered out something that might have been a greeting.

The large bear shook his head, before breaking out into a warm grin. "Wow. That's... wow! I've never seen you wearing something like this. I didn't think..." He paused a moment, putting a hand up to his lips. Then, he started again. "You look good, Gail. Real good."

"Wuh...!" Gail flinched. For a moment, he could only offer that one proto-word in bemusement. His face burned, his fingers curled into balls. Then, finally, his mind caught up with him, and he responded with immediate hostility. "Fuck you! Asshole..." He made a motion with his paws, up and down his body. "I found this stupid thing at the bottom of a dungeon, and now I can't take it off. I think it's cursed, or something. That's why I'm here, doofus. You gotta help me!"

"Okay?" Lane could tell that this was serious, so he tried really hard not to laugh. "Why... did you put it on in the first place?"

The cat recoiled, at that, before defensively saying "The stats were really fucking good, and I still had a bunch of dungeon to finish." He folded his arms, trying his best to look indignant and not embarrassed. "Now, are you gonna help me, or do I have to go make myself a priest's problem?"

Lane sighed. "I mean, all right. Pulling people off of cursed equipment is one of my specialties. But..." He set down his pie and leaned on his elbow, on the counter. His expression got smoother, his voice huskier. "...you know what's gonna happen, once I get you out of your clothes, right?"

"Ugh..." In any other circumstance, Gail would have been happy to see the shopkeeper start with that voice. He still kind of was happy to hear it, but for obvious reasons he was not exactly in a flirtatious mood. "You know, you're lucky you top like a champ. That and the fact you don't rip me off are the only reasons I come back to this stupid shop."

"Happy to be of service." Lane stood and walked over to the side of his counter, lifting the flap that separated him from the rest of his store, and motioned with his head to the room behind him. "What do you say you step into my office, and we can get started?"

---

Lane was as harmless a creature as they came. Gail had never even heard the bear raise his voice, outside of the Bazaar where such things were necessary. However, if there was ever a time he became worthy of his stature, it was when he was horny. Horny Lane was decisive, forceful. Not rough. Never rough. Gail wouldn't have let the two of them get this far if Lane had been rough. Even so, something about the relationship flipped, whenever Gail heard the bear's breath in his ear.

Within seconds of stepping into the cramped, book-riddled bedroom, Gail's back was to the wall. A heavy body was pressed against his. A muzzle pressed possessively against his lips and growled something charged and inarticulate into them. Gail threw his arms around Lane's broad shoulders, moaning back with a tone he only felt comfortable using around the bear.

For a moment, all of this felt normal. It felt just the same as the last time he'd wandered his way into the shopkeeper's bed, and the time before that. But then, when one of Lane's hands traveled downward, Gail felt the silk brush against his thigh, and he gasped. He brought his paws down, gripping Lane's wrist in a panic before the skirt could ride up any further.

"What are you doing?" he breathed, sharply.

"You asked me to get these clothes off of you," Lane responded, sardonically but with a clear hunger in his voice. "It's gonna be hard to do that, if you won't let me move."

"Oh... r-right." With a shaky breath, Gail relented. He felt the hem of his dress slip up further and further, past his knee and up his thigh. That large hand snuck underneath, tunneling upward to cup at his linen small-pants. He groaned in unease. He had been stripped down, before. He'd had breeches peeled off of his legs, felt those thick fingers as they pulled at laces and gripped his most sensitive areas. This, however... this felt different. He had never felt more naked, than at this very moment. He had never felt more vulnerable and small as when he felt his small-pants bunching up against his mid-thighs, his crotch still covered but that covering doing nothing to stop that infernal hand from claiming him.

"F...fuck you," he whimpered. "I don't need help with those. The dress. Get... get this stupid dress off of me, already."

"I meant what I said," The bear pressed the assault, one hand rolling the cat's sensitive balls while the other worked at the laces of his own breeches. "You look real good, right now."

"I don't care," Gail lied. "I don't fucking care. I'm not... please, Lane. I can't... fuck you in this thing. Please."

The shopkeeper straightened. His hands fell away from their work. As suddenly as his heavy charms came, they were gone, as he was suddenly made aware of something he would have to take seriously. "Okay," he said, bringing both hands down to the cat's thighs. "Come here. You're gonna have to lift up your hands. I don't think this is one of the ones that have the laces in the back." With a single motion, he pulled the hem of the dress up, turning it inside out over Gail's head. Then, stepping back, he pulled the cat's head out of the neck-hole and his arms out of the sleeves.

Gail gave a wary look to the bundle of silk in Lane's hands, before looking down at his own body. It was done. All he had on him now was a thin, sleeveless shirt, a bunched up pair of underwear around his knees, and his old boots. His erection throbbed, aching for a large hand to come back and resume groping it.

Lane tossed the garment onto his dresser in a loose ball, then walked over to his bed and reached for his nightstand. When he spoke, the huskiness was back in full force. "Get up here," he commanded. "You can do the rest, right? Then get them off."

"Y...yeah."

Gail clambered onto the bed, the same way he had the first time they'd fucked. The cat had always kind of been leery of his own body. He was too skinny, too light and whippy. Nothing compared to the thick fur and ample belly that Lane was digging out of his shirt. Still, Lane seemed to appreciate it. When Gail got on his back and kicked his boots off, pulling his underwear off his legs in just the right way as to show off his fuzzy, toned rear, when he arched his back and shimmied out of his shirt and gave the bear his best set of "fuck me" eyes, it all had almost killed him from embarrassment, the first time around.

Now?

Now all he had to do was see the slightly glassy-eyed way in which Lane salivated over him. Now all he had to see was that one paw, groping at the knot in his breeches before losing all patience and fishing it out. Now all Gail needed was to see that bear's cock, shorter than most but almost cruelly thick, fully rampant and drooling for the cat's body.

It used to all be embarrassing. Now it made him feel downright invincible.

"You're gonna want to slick up," Lane growled, pulling a glass bottle from the nightstand and tossing it to Gail. "I've been thinking about that ass, all week."

"You look impatient." With his clothes gone, Gail felt almost normal. Almost. He slathered something slippery and fragrant on his fingers and immediately set to work rubbing it into his tailhole. Of course, he did that in such a way that Lane had a perfect front-row seat. "Better be careful, or you might hurt me with that thing."

"Do you want me to hurt you with it?" Lane grabbed the bottle and upended it into his paw, gathering a generous amount before stroking his member with it.

Gail grinned, with a hint of fang. "Tempting. After beating that dungeon, it'd be nice to remember what pain feels like." His fingers slipped past the ring of his anus, stretching him open as he immediately went to search for the spot that would... there! He groaned, luxuriously, and when he opened his eyes again the glint in them was about as greedy as Lane's. "Fuck it. I don't care. I need you, right now."

Lane did not need anything else, by way of consent. The bed creaked as he put one knee on the mattress, then the other. Slipping in behind Gail, the cat chirped as he felt one strong and slick hand grip the inside of his knee and lift his leg up. Then Gail felt something volcanic slip between his cheeks, poking and scraping at his sensitive hole before finally finding purchase and sinking in.

As mentioned before, Lane had never been rough, up until now. That was a streak that he would not break, tonight. He was large, and when he got going it was clear how much his giant's blood was thrumming away under that soft pelt. However, the noises that came from his muzzle, as he bottomed his hips against fuzzy cheeks again and again, were almost impossibly small. There was an air of fear in his gasping, as if every thrust was not entirely in his control, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Behind all of it, however, was a warmth and a fondness, a guileless warble of love and pleasure.

It was so small, though. So very, very small.

It made the moans that he was wrenching from the cat's throat feel so large, by comparison.

Once the moans started, Gail couldn't stop. There were maybe three people in this entire town who knew this side of the cat. Two of them were strangers whose names he had never bothered to learn. He used to tell himself it was just letting off steam. Having to be at the top of his game for hours and hours, dominating monsters with nobody around for backup, took its toll. Here, in a place where it was safe, he could let his guard down. He could let somebody pin him down and take away his control. Just why doing so made him so loud, he was never sure. He was always embarrassed, when the boners went down. Lane always said he liked when Gail moaned and sang. Maybe that was the reason why.

That was definitely the reason why.

Suddenly, the voice came back into his ear, deep and urgent. "I'm getting close, Gail. Can I...?"

"Oh, fuck!" Gail's hand went down between his legs, pumping at his cock as he gasped back at the bear behind him. "Don't... don't you dare pull out!"

Lane didn't respond. Instead, he rested his chin on Gail's shoulder and began to roll his hips with greater urgency. Even as he began to roll himself over the edge, his voice was still so small. So very, very small. It was barely a whisper as he ground himself home and began to paint Gail's insides with hot, potent seed.

Compared to that, Gail's own release was an aria. He threw his head back and cried with pleasure, his cock in both hands spitting onto the sheets.

For a moment, they both lay there. Then, Lane's paw relinquished Gail's leg, and wrapped itself around his chest. The bear's muzzle pulled back, but only to plant absent kisses on the cat's back, his shoulder, the back of his head.

Gail savored the feeling. The phantom void where Lane had just been, the trickle of the last of the bear leaving his body. Then, almost reluctantly, he was back to business. "So... I guess I gotta pay you, huh? What level of curse were we looking at? Level one? Level two?"

"What?" Lane pulled back. Then, recognition struck. "Oh. No, that's all right. You don't owe me anything."

Gail laughed. "Don't you fucking start with that, Lane. I have the money. You know I have the money. And if I start paying for services with my ass, I'm gonna be nothing more than a common..."

"No, no, no. You don't understand."

Gail turned over in bed, looking up into the bear's eyes with a raised eyebrow.

The bear sighed. Then a smirk broke out onto his face. "You don't owe me for a spell-cast because I never actually cast a spell. The dress was never cursed."

Gail's eyes widened. His hackles raised. "What? That's... what? Are... are you telling me..." He sat bolt upright, his eyes glued to the dresser and the bundle of white silk on top of it. "Are you telling me that that thing over there is... just... an ordinary dress?"

"Well, not 'ordinary.' The stats are really good. You were right about tha-"

"Bullshit!" Gail whipped his head around, glaring at the shopkeeper with something trying as hard as it could to be anger in his eyes. "No, that's wrong. You're fucking with me. You're fucking with me! If that dress isn't cursed, then how come...?" The words died in his throat. He looked back to the dresser, sheets bunching under his fingers as they clenched into a ball beneath him. "...then how come I... why...?"

Lane propped himself up on an elbow, patiently waiting for the cat to finish his thought.

Eventually, Gail's ears flattened. "How come I didn't... want to take it off?"

"Gail..." Lane pulled himself to a seated position. He wrapped his large arms around the cat's body and pulled him close, with another soft peck to the top of his head. "I don't know that I have an answer for you. That's something you're gonna have to figure out for yourself." A second kiss. Then a third. Then "I promise you, bud, I'm here if you need help with that."

Gail was silent. He brought a paw up to grab the arm around his chest. He caught himself smirking. His ears flattened, further. "I'm still not forming a party with you," he muttered. "You move too slow and you take too many snack breaks."

Lane laughed, before letting go and getting out of bed. "Come on. Day's done, so we can hang out at the tavern. You beat a dungeon, right? You're buying the first round."

"Fucking cheapskate," Gail laughed back. He caught a cloth, as Lane passed it to him, and proceeded to clean himself off. Then, staggering to his feet, he found his small clothes and threw them on.

His eyes fell on the dresser, once again. He stared at the dress.

Lane, once again in his regular clothes, came up behind Gail and put his hands on his shoulders. "Thinking of putting it back on?"

Gail opened his mouth. Then he shook his head. "I've got pants in my bag."

Lane smiled, but not in a way that the cat could see. "Well, pick something out, quick. If you're still walking around in your undies by the time my refractory period wears off, I'm gonna start suggesting some other things we could do all night."

"Like you weren't going to ask for a second go sometime later tonight," Gail scoffed, bending over to grab his bag.

He threw on a pair of normal clothes. Something with no stats, that nobody would notice. He was planning on getting drunk, tonight, and there was no way he was doing it as the Solo Crawler. Lane, for all his horny bluster, was already halfway out the room, his desire for some of the tavern's sweetmeats trumping his desire to perv on half-dressed cats. Gail was almost in the same hurry, as he threw on his boots and made for the door.

He was not, however, so much in a hurry that he couldn't spare one last glance back, at the dresser.

He turned back.

He stuffed the dress into his bag.

And then he was off into the evening.