A Touch Too Long
#10 of Quickies
One of the things I read was that, in one of the versions of DnD, there was a spell that could change shape; if the caster concentrated for an hour (or some other set length of time) the transformation was permanent. I always thought that a "whoops" with one of these spells could be a good basis for a story.
Entry for FakeMan's 1000 word TF story contest.
A Touch Too Long
The plan was simple: Carnaby would coax the donkeys, I'd support the portcullis, and Magnus would try identifying any items we'd nabbed. Not great, but it was what we had. Supplies were low, and corpses claimed no treasures. Down to boots and underpants, I swore as the portcullis slammed down again.
Magnus croaked uneasily, holding a brittle scroll; he looked at me uneasily, and a knot filled my stomach.
"What is it?" I barked.
Magnus elaborated: the scroll described an old parlour trick: turn a man into a beast, then back again. "Two donkeys aren't enough, but maybe three?"
His pleading eyes found Carnaby's. "Judging by the weight," he judged, "a draft horse may be better."
They both looked at me, and I frowned back. "No way-" I began.
"What's the alternative?" Carnaby observed, "Starve?"
I knew he was right: if we were going to try this stupid idea, it had to be me. Carnaby'd grown up as a stable boy, and could get the donkeys to do what he wanted. Magnus knew magic. That just left the muscle. Still reluctant, I let Magnus guide me: I stripped off the rest of my clothes, flipping Carnaby the finger.
"At least your cock'll be big for a few minutes," he quipped.
Biting my lip, I braced myself as Magnus began to chant. The effects were immediate: strength flowing through my body to the pounding of a new heart. Sweat dripped down my prickling skin as I stumbled, unfinished hooves on enlarged fingers breaking my fall. The impact sent a jolt through me, my body releasing the shock as a twitch of my rapidly-growing tail and a whinny bolting out of my elongating throat.
Carnaby was ready: at the first sign of my jaw protruding out as a horse muzzle, he slipped a halter over my head, noting, "Magnus turned you into a fine piece of horse-flesh."
I awkwardly grunted in response, my body still expanding, my human form almost entirely gone but not quite the size we needed. The donkeys brayed in panic at the magic; thankfully Carnaby was quick to calm them. Our bodies pushed against each other; the magic still crackled throughout my slightly-unfinished draft horse frame as the three of us strained against the ropes. The halter started to fit easier: my long ears popped through the right gaps. My large, presumably brown eyes examined the donkeys at either side. I was even bigger than they were, if only slightly: the oddly comforting idea caused a twitch over my tan-haired hide.
Carnaby tugged on the donkeys' lead; I strained, relishing my new body's strength. The heavy iron portcullis groaned, struggling to refuse to give way to the power of three beasts. Magnus had done a great job; my heart raced as I heard Carnaby's encouragement. Not even the brief stumble of my hooves against the old slippery stones could dampen my spirits.
The portcullis inched off the ground; the jennies - funny, I never cared before about the donkeys' sexes before - quite willing to take my lead, leaving Carnaby enough time to wriggle underneath to pull the switch we'd passed on the way in. Magnus glanced at me, uncertainly repeating the spell, a worried frown etched on his face.
My equine heart was thumping proudly in my chest, elated at the rumbling as the portcullis opened properly. The release of the anxiety left me giddy, I pranced about like an eager foal; it caused another release in me, the tip of my shaft slipping out to let out a stream made me rather conscious how incredibly well-endowed I now was.
Hands moved over the females - jennies, I thought briefly - as I felt our bonds being released. They relieved themselves as well. The flared tip of my manhood lingered out of my sheath. The excited exertion had me lathered up; it was like the exhilaration after a battle, when your heart pounded your blood to all of your extremities, leaving you feeling light-headed and ready to plunge your cock into the female you had won rights to.
Curling back my lips, I let the chill air brush that sweet scent across my gums: the females, sisters going by their similar scents, were both ready for a stallion. A stallion like me.
I shook my head. Something about that wasn't right. A man - his name flowing out of my head, leaving me with the lingering sense of familiarity - mentioned something like "a touch too long" in a nervous tone. Someone else - a bothersome idiot, getting in the way of me finding out where that delightful smell was coming from - tried to grab my head.
I bit the stupid two-legs, who yelped, letting me turn my attention to the females. Both were coyly raising their tails, their hot mounds singing to me. One tried to bite her sister: I liked her spirit, deciding she would be the one I mated first.
The irritating two-legs murmured something about "a bigger share of the treasure", before his noises turned completely meaningless. My mind was hazy with lust. It was getting harder to focus on the strong two-legs that filled a lot of my memories. His scent was everywhere, and quite calming. But there was another scent I desired more, and I chased after it.
Both two-legs panicked a bit as I chased the sisters outside, up the hill to where the air was fresher. I mounted the feisty sister, my heavy shaft jabbing against her rump. I bit down on her neck, the way my father had done when he had covered my mother.
I jabbed, the female below me whinnying in excitement. My cock found its mark, sliding in as we mated. Our bodies rubbed up against each other, our hair heating up as my excited shaft found its mark. The throbbing fullness inside me built up; heaving away, I exploded inside her. As our juices dripped from her opening, I felt truly satisfied. I'd earned my treasure.