FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

By Ishtar Writing for Unity Press

The great thing about being an Eidos is things don't have to work logically, they just work. Take me for instance, the Puck. I've been around four-hundred and twenty-six years and I don't look a day over eighteen when I feel like it. The only limitations insofar as they exist are the ones imposed upon us by our creators, and with every reinterpretation, a given being becomes more nuanced and powerful. Not that I've ever been interested in the power, that's just one of the perks of the job, I would much prefer to be the man on the side. I'm the jester, tweaking the nose of the king, pointing out how utterly ridiculous this all is. Even now, when the curtain has been called and the vast majority of Eidos have settled into the dream realm, it still operates on its own unreasonable inner logic, and that's always worth a laugh. Unfortunately, sometimes I'm the butt of that joke rather than its architect.

Most recently I was relaxing in my office between gigs. You wouldn't imagine how many of those little windows on your television set lead to perfectly useable rooms in null space with ill-defined limits you can make into anything. I've found some enterprising concepts turned into art galleries, libraries, bordellos, at least one person turned a space into a Minecraft server but don't even ask me how that works. I have a nice little office on the old Eyrie Tower set from the gargoyle days. It was originally intended for a character I played by name of Owen Burnett except it wasn't used more than twice in the entire series run and is just another forgotten piece of supernatural real estate now. I like to come here to think and to enjoy myself, and generally try not to let on it exists should some new owner of the building try to evict me.

I luxuriated in the big comfy desk chair with the back reclined so I could let the sun rest on my face. The desk itself dominates most of the back end of the room so you can't see behind it if you come in, which makes it perfect for entertaining guests. I can't presume you know what a smurf feels like but lemme tell you the blue has got to be from a lack of oxygen. That's the only explanation I can come up with. On the other hand, if you say to me "but Puck, you're one of the most powerful and successful managers in Agency 34, why would you even want a blow job from a smurf?" The answer is I'm a fairy. Why wouldn't I? And no, I don't mean that kind of fairy.

Read a book.

So there I am, communing with the powers that be, that cute rubbery face buried in my crotch with Smurfette's well known and talented throat muscles coaxing my tallywhacker along when Demona kicks in the door. As you may imagine, this did much to put a halt on my good vibes, and with that moment of fear and surprise I seized up pretty hard, but damn it all if the little blue broad kept right on nursing like nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Demona stormed right up to my desk and slammed her fists down on the inlaid surface, tail cracking like a whip, glowering and snarling less than an inch from my face. "I won't do it, you disgusting little troll."

"Ah," I gasped. "Do what?"

"You want me to do another incest scene with that scenery chewing whore, Angela?" she snarled. This is a reasonably regular problem when working with Demona. She's hot, she knows it, the only woman with a sweeter ass in the Gargoyle docket is Dominique Destine, and she's got a very successful dominatrix thing going on. But Demona's got hang ups, all kinds of scenes she won't do, a terrible prima donna to work with, and generally a black cloud on my day because I'm the only agent she'll put up with. It could be because we had a good working relationship back in the day during syndication. It could be because I'm not afraid of her. Maybe because we had a fling that one time and I really do have magic hands. Whatever the reason I couldn't be rid of her, and she had a singular talent for hunting me down at the least convenient times. "Demona, baby," I soothed; trying to compose myself as my less than a foot tall distraction dug her tiny dull teeth into the underside of my cock greedily. "That's where the money is."

"Bullshit," he hissed. "What about that series I did before?"

"No!" I shouted, giving my foot a stomp for some slim corner of control. I could not afford to lose control in front of Demona. She would walk all over me given half a chance. Licking my lips I gave her the most severe scowl I could manage and watched her with a long stare until she retreated from my desk and crossed her arms. "We are not going to let that psychotic little steel doughnut out of the Asylum for another round of sleazy fanfictions."

"Well, I won't do it." Demona countered with the usual obstinacy. "She's my daughter."

"She's not your daughter," I said. This conversation was already exhausting me and would have killed my hard on if not for the consistent ministrations I was receiving. Some people give blow jobs because they have to, and some people just seem to live for them. But I had already been through this same debate with Demona before on the subject of a human dick to an eventual impasse. She would refuse to do the job, I would refuse to renegotiate, and in the end, I would have to figure out some other way to get what I wanted. Woe the tribulations of being an agent. "She just played one on TV."

"Well she's like a daughter to me," Demona said with the crocodile empathy I'd come to know so well. One of the finer points about Eidos most people don't know is that while we do develop a literal life of our own. As I said before, it has to be within the limits of the personality bequeathed at creation. So, for example, Kim Possible is a spunky go-getter that everyone loves because she has a can-do attitude even when what you want her to do is an entire team of Harlem Globetrotters in a cheerleader outfit. On the other hand, you have a character like Demona who is an unmitigated bitch, so, of course, she's actually a complete bitch. Most folks learn how to moderate their behavior, but actors - oh man actors - they love to act high and mighty. "You wouldn't do that sort of thing to your own child they want me to do."

"I would if I had a child to do it with," I said. "It's just a series of pictures, Demona, it's not the end of the world."

"It's an Agency 34 cinematic universe!" Demona roared again. She had a gorgeous face all things considered; high cheekbones, narrow chin, and full pouty lips. She was very classically beautiful and could turn those looks from fire to ice in a moment. Even when her traditionally red hair was bone white she would look gorgeous, and for a moment I was reminded of why we had that fling way back when in the first place. Real slap-slap-kiss-kiss stuff. "What does that even mean?" she seethed.

"They're all the rage now," I said, leaning back to try to enjoy the woman at my groin as she juggled my balls against her palm. "It's not good enough to just be porn now, it's got to be a story stretched out over multiple pieces, and those all have to be released incrementally so the audience gets a constant stream of the good stuff."

"And why, exactly, does this mean I have to be a MILF?"

"Because," I explained. "It's a bigger pay day for the human market if you show human signs of having been a parent." I didn't care to also point out that Demona's fans were getting older, and soon it was going to be difficult to support not just her but most of the Gargoyle cast if there weren't a revival of some sort. It was a common enough belief that agents like myself were self-serving scum always trying to find the bottom line, challenging that belief by pointing out one of your stars was being a big child when all you were proposing was a largely cosmetic change was just souring the well. "It's cheaper as well," I added.

That was, perhaps, not the words I should have used. Suddenly Demona surged forward, digging her claws into my desk and pulling it forward as she spun it out of her way. Standing in front of me at her full height, she was dressed in a dark black business suit and skirt over a white blouse that contrasted with her robin's egg blue colored skin. Towering over me like that I had to look up through her barely constrained breasts to look up at her furious face, and the surprise of that moment mixed with the intensity of being that close to her did nothing for my self-control. However, Demona didn't notice as Smurfette lifted her doe-eyed face off my prick with a fae sigh. "Cheap?" the gargoyle rasped, bending forward to glower at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A hot rope of my fae ejaculate smacked Demona right in the face as she loomed towards me, and for a moment she was more shocked than outraged. I was largely insensate from my moment of release while the majority of my second burst glazed the tops of her breasts and oozed down the front of her jacket. Smurfette, the sweet kid, pouted as she didn't get any of what I had to give but that didn't stop her from shoving her face right back in my business to get what she could. Demona glanced down at the little elf greedily sucking my dick and then covered her face with one claw in aristocratic annoyance. "I can see you're busy," she pronounced. "I won't do it, Puck. Fix it."

I shivered, trying to get a hold of myself.

"I'll talk to Angela," I said lamely.

So Angela and I had lunch. Now I know it's a thing: like father like son, like mother like daughter, and so on, but with this pair it just doesn't hold water. Demona was created to be a predator, ultimately embittered and mean-spirited, which is why she was so good in the 34 Agency where one-half of the fools jerking it to her performances wanted to dominate her and the other half wanted to be dominated by her. Angela on the other hand, well, she was born out of more practical needs.

I couldn't tell you how the world outside crafts us into being. When I was born it was reckoned we were creatures of myth and legend, story and song, and we lived a lot closer to the others than we do now. The two worlds commingled in the wild places. We were the muses, the flights of fancy, the erotic dreams of the repressed, and they gave us being and definition. It's not as multifaceted as the relationship between man and god, more of a symbiotic relationship, and every so often someone like Angela is born into existence to serve very specific purposes. In particular, she and the other Avalon gargoyles were birthed to fill out the ranks and appeal to some childish demographic. These kids show up all shiny and new with almost no background, and all they're supposed to do is represent for young girls, how is that supposed to work?

Yet Angela was one of the lucky ones, luckier than that dried up hag Jem, she got a cult following on the mainstream and that let her Eidos flow until she could start working the agency circuit to make end's meat. It also works both ways: not having much of an established personality she can be her own being, and freely indulges her senses. Demona took about six months to convince she needed to find some gainful employment to perpetuate her existence. Angela was already having after shoot parties with the boys back on set. Of course now everyone wants her to bang her "dad" from the show, or do some girly action with Demona for whatever reason, but however, it goes she goes all the way.

She showed up to our business lunch in a pair of daisy dukes and a size too small T-shirt that she'd tied at the ends above her stomach. Unraveled it read 'all this and brains too', but bunched up it just said 'All This'. I couldn't tell if it was a statement or an invitation as I stood up and pulled her chair out for her. Angela had been out shopping and dropped a pair of bags on the concrete before she threw her arms around me with an overly friendly hug draping her wings over my shoulders. She hardly noticed the latte I had ordered for her in advance, and I have to admit, four hundred years or so old, I still appreciate getting my face shoved in her assets.

"Hi, Angela," I said remembering that on-set snit she had years ago about being called Angie.

"Puck." she purred before she sat down. I scooted her in and reclaimed my seat. The meal was already on the way, not that I would have called it such, but Angela was obsessed with keeping her figure. It was always some diet or system or other, I couldn't rightly keep up with them but vegan generally passed as acceptable. "What did you need?"

"It's about Demona."

Angela laughed and rolled her eyes, or at least I got the gesture of that behind her sunglasses from the movement of her eyebrows. Then she put an elbow on the edge of the table and rested her chin on the wrist. "Let me guess," she said. "Mommy damnedest doesn't want to do the scene."

"That's right," I said. "I was hoping you could help me set her straight."

Curling her wings around herself like a cape Angela pouted as she crossed her arms. As I sat there I had to appreciate her physically. Forever twenty-one, perpetually beach body ready, tits that would never sag and an ass you could bounce quarters off of. I knew by some alchemy that the creators weren't immortal, but I knew also there would always be a place for a creature like Angela, our sweet summer child. She made me feel young to be around, and if I weren't the Puck and hadn't been around as long as I have I might have made a play for her. Beneath those long well-muscled arms that had been so recently embracing me was a pair of cantaloupe-sized breasts barely constrained by her top, and my eyes drifted along the neat valley they made between her clutching thumb claws on her wings. I was still feeling drained from the intense blow I had with Smurfette earlier that day, but my dick gave a sympathetic throbbing as I thought about what it would be like to slide my prod between those fat fun bags while she grabbed at my tip with those leathery wings. Angela dragged my attention back to the present with a well-placed question. "What did she say the problem was?"

"The same as it ever is," I said. "She doesn't want to do incest with her daughter because the creators fucked up her brain and she can't separate the show from that emotional baggage they gave her."

Angela moved one of her hands towards her chin, curling her fingers together, and delicately bit her thumb in deep thought. Her other hand wrapped around the body of her Styrofoam coffee cup, and no matter how old I get I'm still enough of a child at heart to conflate her hand gestures with jacking a big fat mocha cock. Still, I didn't let that distract me as we dealt with the real problem at hand. "So she doesn't actually have a problem with taking the D," Angela replied invoking the modern parlance. "and it's a gargoyle-gargoyle scene, so this isn't about her being a racist cunt."

"I still think we should have forced her to take that role in College Clanswoman Cum dumpster," I said with a grin remembering how much of a complete disaster that had been, trying to get Demona to dress up in a combination Quarryman and Nun's habit so she could run a train of nonspecifically threatening guys in hoods and nothing else. She still hated humans with a burning passion and had threatened to do some reconstructive surgery on any dick that got too close. It was a real shame too, considering how much the self-hating bitch loved human cock. "We would have made a mint."

Angela shrugged. "That's more for me then."

We lifted our coffee cups and tapped them together in an impromptu toast with shared smiles, and then Angela got back on point, pausing only to take a sip that accentuated the length and curve of her neck. I silently wondered if I had a blowjob addiction. "The scene calls for mom to find me in the shower," she said. "And then to aggressively seduce me, only to discover that I've become subject to a curse that has transformed me into a dickgirl."

"What if instead, I were fully male?" Angela asked. I shook my head though taking my own slurp of coffee. The problem wasn't just presentation, it was blood. I couldn't sell Demona on her daughter's penis just because I put a party hat on it and called it a clown. Angela didn't give up on the idea, however. "And what if," she continued. "We didn't tell her about the switch?"

"Then we're just making straight porn," I said. "might as well get your old man at that point, and you know how they are on set, better to let Goliath keep working the interracial market with that BGC." Angela only smiled at me, crossing her legs at the ankles and kicking them out with a delicate bob. "We're definitely better off without Goliath or Thailog's big gargoyle cock," she said.

"I had a different idea."

And quite an idea it was, such that I was feeling much better when I got to set. Times are tough for fairies that come in sizes taller than a flower, but I remember my friends, and Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustardseed know how to tailor a suit. I bet old Queen Titania is still regretting the day she had to let the servants go. I showed up with a peace offering and cut through the warehouse with nary a sound or a backward glance except for the thuggish looking guy in the corner with the not very well-concealed firearm holstered on his left.

If you've never been to a porn set, no matter how sleazy, let me disillusion you here. It's not one giant orgy where everyone stands around jerking off and the girls flash their tits for amusement. An Agency 34 set is a machine, just like any other movie set, and has a very similar layout to what you may have seen in one of those prime time sitcoms. You've got the outliers like me with the costuming rooms, catering table, and while there might be fewer functionaries than a Hollywood production both stage hands and go-fers are still vital to a successful production. Moving inward there's the concentric ring of chairs and end tables half-filled with the creative bodies. The director, if they aren't dancing about one end of the set to the other, is usually stewing in their own intensity watching the action. The producers will be nearby, often uncomfortable, quietly texting their investors or headed out for a quick phone call. Then there's the inner ring of cameras, usually a combination of movie and no-flash photography - you can always tell a quality shoot from a shitty one by how often the camera man talks or that annoying click flash of a camera distorting the lighting - as well as the boom mic, lighting, and stage hands all waiting to do their bit.

One thing you probably won't see is a teleprompter or a guy holding cue cards. Rule 34 is still an artisanal business, even with the pervasive invasion of computer aided effects. The vast majority of actors and actresses are only as smart as their Eidos allows, and that means they aren't smart enough to read the often 'stellar' writing and move their hips at the same time without moving their lips separately. I mean really, how hard is it to scream 'fuck me harder you bastard' on cue? It's practically Kabuki theater at this point, the opera of squelchy sex sounds, more about how much believable intensity the actors bring to the role than its perfect replication.

At the center stage, you'll have the actors themselves who are basically on spot to jump on the bed, pool table, milk crate, stable chute, jungle gym, or what have you and go at it like animals. The advantage the Agency has is we don't actually need to have condoms or pretend to have sex when we have the magic of the Eidos to pave things over. It's always the real thing, and yes, she is taking that huge honker right in the asshole. But because of that, overall, nobody gives a fuck. It's just a job, and everyone from the fluffer to the actors is just working to keep their game face. It is exceedingly rare to encounter a couple of people who actually care about each other and are willing to go at it on camera for the masses. If they do, it's either because this is their fetish and they're cumming like gangbusters, or it's a one-off and quickly moves off the market soon after; people in love who try to fuck on camera and balance their careers usually have a hell of a time if their relationship doesn't implode.

Today's gem was a little week-long development called MILF Matters. Demona, the MILF in question, was reprising her role from her first Agency gig to complete a trilogy of films: Demona's First Day, Avalon Clan Bar, and today's presentation. In this one, Demona who had been trading sexual favors to patrons and stealing tips from her co-workers Ophelia and Angela were going to be at it again when in a moment of revenge Angela would plow her mom with an enchanted wang to the delight of the extras. There was already talk of episode IV: The MILF Fucks Back but I wasn't certain.

Drifting towards costuming I squeezed through a door into the other half of the warehouse where temporary structures had been erected to grant the actors some privacy. Through the part of curtains, I could see snippets of people studying their lines to memorize cues, putting on costumes, or being fluffed. A point about fluffing, as an aside, is that it also isn't what most people think. It's not just a quick fuck to get you ready but is instead a carefully trained skill by experts in eliciting a physical reaction with the least amount of personal investment possible. Imagine being jerked off by a robot and you've got the level of dispassionate action the average fluffer has. It's like getting a massage by a nurse without the fetish friendly uniform.

Here I found Demona seated in a folding chair, her tail coiled around her ankle, wings clasped, and reclining as her fluffer rubbed warm oil into her skin. She had that sexy shine look you got with models slightly glistening under the high lights while her nipples protruded out like cherries atop her sky blue breasts. The lubricant kept the skin pliant and aided with the transformation process, and so before every film actors would be oiled up while they sat in makeup. "They're doing Angela now," Demona remarked without looking up from her script. "You failed me."

"Not as such," I said without meeting her gaze. "I made some last minute changes with the director; you're going to have a scene in the barroom with one of the patrons. Angela is going to be gunning for you, but get waylaid and end up having an adjacent scene without actually putting it to you."

Demona eyeballed me skeptically as I stood there with the box under one arm. I quickly pulled it out and handed it to her, where she made me hold it outstretched like a desperate hobo for a solid minute while she put aside her script before investigating the contents. Inside, under the sheaf of packing material was a nice new fae-made suit and skirt the color of green sea foam. She didn't actually put it up against her gleaming body but lifted it up to scrutinize it critically before putting it back in the box imperiously. "For earlier," I explained. "Sorry."

"So who am I performing with instead?"

"We got Angela an understudy," I said letting out a relieved breath despite I wasn't over the hump. Demona was a real fire-and-ice client and could switch positions on a subject just as quickly. "They've spent the better part of the day learning her cues and will know what to do, so while you do the dance in the script they'll have their way with you."

"Which I'm just to accept?" she asked.

"Well," I said. "They aren't half bad looking."

"They had better not be," Demona warned with a breathy sigh while her fluffer tugged at her nipples to maximize their perkiness. I tried not to stare as the slightly darker blue areola swelled and nipples stiffened in readiness as if just asking to be suckled or chewed. Unfortunately, Demona caught my glance and dismissed me with a gesture. I wasn't even worth the moment of agitation to bitch out for my moment of lechery.

It didn't hurt she liked being desired by men she considered beneath her notice.

As I stepped out into the hallway between curtained partitions a trio of stagehands entered Demona's prep area as she stood up. I stood just out of sight and watched while the three took position around the gargoyle and joined hands. One of the Weird Sisters could not resist a sly smile in Demona's direction as they marshaled their prowess. "It's so nice to be working with you again."

"Fuck off." Demona sneered.

A bit of history there, back when we were gainfully employed outside the agency the Weird Sisters, Demona, and I were all on the same show with the sisters being mysterious antagonists. While we fae continue to persist quite comfortably, Demona and the Sisters had a fair amount of negative interaction that crossed over to their professional lives away from the camera. The Sisters are the best at the body modification job and it grated intensely for Demona to be dependent on her one time enemies.

Each of the sisters wore a formless white shift, neck to ankles, with flared sleeves. They looked like storybook princesses or nuns, but then they just as readily shrugged out of the cloth and let it pool at their feet. Each roughly six-foot tall lady was revealed to be lithe and toned of muscle with the slightest bit of baby fat clinging to their hips and ass that made men want to both ravish and protect them. From dainty toes to long legs, supple thighs, flat bellies and proud apple sized breasts, each sister was like a carved piece of marble crowned by flowing hair which was the only thing to differentiate their silver eyed appearances: kind blond Phoebe, raven-haired temptress and scarlet woman Seline, and ephemeral white haired Luna, each now clothed only in a loose diaphanous belt of sheer material that did nothing to hide their shaved girlishly bald pussies from view. Even four hundred years later from when I first met them on the stage of the Globe Theatre, they were like a lightning rod to my dick that demanded I take notice of them.

Slowly they began to move around Demona with their hands still linked, the sisters stepping in time with one another in such a way that to maintain their balance they had to bob their bodies down between movements and then raise straight onto their toes for the next practiced step. Old magic from the time before televisions or books when human beings gathered at ritual fires, I could feel the energy gathering within the curtained room as the ladies picked up speed. "Seasons come and seasons go," they began to intone with an unnatural synchronicity that resonated through the charged air. "Wax runs and features flow, in this place a warrior-woman born replaced now with a rutting ho."

I almost fell flat on my ass as I bent double trying to hold back laughter.

Demona growled as the magic started to take hold but didn't say anything. Instead, I could tell she was trying to maintain her composure as the effects of the spell made itself apparent. Within the swiftly spinning circle, the sisters made ghostly afterimages of their bodies drifted towards her, shadowy hands caressing her breasts, stroking her ass, and despite their intangible presence pulling apart her thighs apart to get at her juicy core. In spite of herself, Demona moaned as a spectral version of Phoebe embraced her backside in clutching palms and pressed its face against her mound using that red pubic brush as a little landing pad to guide the tongue in.

Meanwhile, Seline was standing behind Demona grinding her hips against the root of the gargoyle woman's tail, immaterial hands juggling her breasts. Lastly, Luna drifted towards Demona levitating off of the floor and kissed her on the lips with a powerful oral grasp. Because of their chimerical state, I could both see Luna pressing her tongue into Demona's mouth and Demona opening her maw hungrily to accept it despite nothing being there. Instead, I was watching Demona undulate against nothing in an increasingly frenzied dance that I'm not ashamed to admit was moving as fast as my hand was over my cock in the pocket of my slacks. It wasn't quite enough, but I wasn't dumb enough to whip it out right there as I watched Demona's toes curl in lust.

The oil her body had been covered in was gone now and Demona was starting to change. Her smooth body filled out as her hair started to turn white like Luna's, growing harder and more muscular while also retaining a plush softness. Her heaving blue breasts grew even bigger and bigger on her chest, starting to sag just enough that they would readily wrap around a man's head no matter which one it was. The breastbone of Demona's chest also became more prominent as her hefty orbs spread out, looking gravid and milk filled. Her tail got a slight kink in it as Seline used it like a dildo, mounting herself on it with a pleasurable sigh that was shared by her physical anchor, clutching to Demona's outspread wings for support while she rode out the sensation of being filled by the flexible digit.

And then, all at once with an explosive flash of light that left cinders of ash falling through the air, it was over. Demona staggered back under the weight of her new and more matronly form while the sisters broke hands and began to dress. The gargoyle glowered at them for her female equivalent of blue balls and I didn't envy her co-stars who were going to get put through the wringer so Demona could get off.

I had composed myself by the time the sisters were ready to leave but I shouldn't have tried as Phoebe's eyes locked on mine knowingly and she enthusiastically threw her arms around me in a powerful embrace that sent me right back from zero to one thousand miles an hour in my pants. She tittered and teased the edge of my elven ear with her tongue before gently gripping it in her teeth and giving it a tug. "Hello Puck," she bubbled. "We've missed you."

I muttered something equivalent to 'raggle fraggle' while one of her hands found its way inside my fly and she grasped me tenderly by the scrotum. In that moment, I would have done anything for her. I wouldn't have cared who happened by or why as long as I could stretch that out infinitely. However, just as readily, Phoebe abandoned her grasp and headed down the aisle leaving me somewhere between ready to go and aching for more. Seline fixed a scowl on me as I looked her direction and promptly gave me the least ladylike, most brutal, kick to the groin I had suffered in recent memory. I crumbled like a bitch and curled up on the floor as she then placed her bare foot on my chest, silver painted toes just at the edge of my tear-filled vision.

"Bloodsucker." She accused.

Then she continued on, leaving Luna who passively ignored my plight to instead walk right past me. Only as she reached the end of the path did she call back charitably. "Let us know when you want us for the Witches of Bitch Mountain, Puck."

This time I didn't say much of anything.

"Pour yourself in here elf," Demona said seeing my suffering. "If you think you can make it to a chair."

As I crawled along the cool concrete floor I looked up through my disheveled hair and saw Demona wobbling towards a chair of her own. Her transformed body, more junk in the trunk than before, took some getting used to as I watched her backside sway pendulously from one side to the other with tail lashing. Once seated, she had the fluffer hand her a terrycloth robe which she put it on. It only came down to her hips, leaving her prodigious breasts only partially obscured, and her silver dollar sized nipples threatened to pop free at the slightest provocation when she shifted her thick thighs in order to cross her legs at the ankles. For just a moment from my crumbled position I had an all too good look upwards along Demona's inner thighs to the crux of her loins and my well-kicked Johnson pulsed painfully with an undesirable level of attraction. "Couldn't resist stealing a peek?" she asked.

"You know me," I said, grasping the arms of the chair I had been offered and pushing myself to my feet. My legs were like rubber and twitched side to side before I turned around and sank into the seat. Looking at Demona again I found her sitting with the kind of relaxed stillness actors get as she was swarmed by makeup people who began to do touch up work now that she was 'in costume'. As I watched they powdered her chest and long neck, another pair of hands at work on her face daubing her eyelids and painting her lips to bring out their pout. Without smiling in her placid stare she pursed those lips and rolled them with a subtle kissing motion before tracing her upper lip with her tongue. I became even more painfully aware of her raw sexuality with only clothes and professionalism between the two of us. "Never saw a bad idea I didn't go for."

Demona hummed noncommittally. "You know," she started. "I've been thinking."

Those were always dangerous words.

"There are other opportunities for me out there," she continued. "Agency 63 is always looking for talent." She watched my face intensely as she sounded the words out carefully to make sure I understood the nature of the threat she was making. Agency 63 was our glorious rivals in the adult entertainment industry who had made their reputations by specializing in one kind of entertainment above all others. While we had magic, those mad scientists with their chemistry sets over at Agency 63 would dope up their talent and change their genders, turn a woman into a boy or a boy into a lady, and then have them do the horizontal mambo on camera. It wasn't like their quality was any worse than our own; they just seemed like a bunch of try hard imitators. Agency 34's motto was 'if it exists, there's porn of it, no exceptions. Agency 63 had the blatantly similar 'For any male, there is a female version, no exceptions.' Sometimes I wondered if we should be taking them to court for trademark infringement. "And they won't make me do things I don't want to do."

I grunted as one of the makeup people dropped a hand sized pack of ice on my crotch while passing out leaving Demona and I alone for the first time in her dressing room. I gingerly moved the ice, rolling it against my palm as I shifted my angle for comfort. "Except you won't be you either," I countered. "They'll make you into someone else and then they'll own you, at least with thirty-four you're still who you want to be and how you want to be."

"Am I?" Demona asked pointedly and then unabashedly spread her legs to expose herself. My eyes swelled like lust filled dinner plates as I saw that downward pointing arrow of the russet pubis, the pursed lips and the slightest hint of rosy internal pink, glistening with the agitation of arousal. Then she upped the ante by dragging her thick clawed finger through her folds with one slow motion before lifting the claw tip to her lips and sucking it clean. "Does it look like I enjoy being a magical slut, Puck?"

I tore my eyes from her ready sex and looking into her disdainful face with as much authenticity as I could with an agonizingly hard cock in my pants trying to melt ice with body heat alone. "It's not like that," I said. "You're doing this to survive, but you're doing it on your terms for more than just survival, Agency sixty-three doesn't care about you."

"Not like I do," I added.

Demona tilted her head to the side.

Someone outside called five minutes and Demona got onto her clawed feet in a smooth action, the moment lost. She shed the robe as though I did not exist and lifted her costume up, pulling on a pair of specially tailored fishnet stockings that rested high on her thighs. Over that she donned a slit gown that draped ankle length, and above the waist a corset bustier that tied in the front with a series of delicate knots that still left her flat belly and navel exposed. Her breasts, already the size of my head, ballooned within the confines until one wondered how Demona could see over them, her arms spread out to either side of her body so that she rolled her shoulders with each hulking step. She hadn't wasted time with panties and with every step from the right angle I could see nothing or everything, flashpoints of sexuality that mesmerized me as she swept out of the room towards the set.

By the time I had recovered and willed my dick to stand down the scene was in full swing. I stood by the catering table and watched while the gargoyle extras clanked their tankards on the tables in time with the music being played by a live band of bards. Center stage was a long low set table made for fucking on, and along its surface, Demona was dancing. Her skirts flowed one direction, then the other, while despite her increased bulk she was able to delicately move from one foot to the next with poised pauses using her tail as a rudder. The actual words the extras were singing weren't very important as Demona seized the cameras attention with her best and most seductive movements, including a surprisingly deep backward bending arch of the spine where she twisted into a delicate curve that made her breasts protrude skyward, before she then whipped off that top with such force the drawstrings snapped noisily causing her bust to heave precipitously.

Meanwhile, there were cheers as the female actors filtered into the scene with their male counterparts, placing their hands on shoulders and chests to signal their places. Unknown to the vast majority a porn shoot is less raw sex and more explicit choreography, the actors schooled in the use of slight gestures and eye contact to express key messages to their partner so that both can do their scenes as easily as possible. The sex was real, as real as my reinvigorated hard on, but the passion was generally false.

One actor who enjoyed it in the ass might demand their partner stick it in their back door, and they would signal with hand holds and squeezing 'here I am, here's my dick, here I go', and she would gasp or groan, growl or squeal to indicate how she felt about it. Most importantly, even if it was a hardcore bondage setup, the actors weren't to damage one another. An aggrieved lady wasn't to clamp her Kegels down on some over eager stud just to crush his junk because that junk was paid for, it belonged to the agency, and it was the agency's job to deliver punishment.

That's where I came in as I watched. I was Demona's agent, and she was under contract for so many shows, so many kinks, non-negotiable. So when she said she wouldn't do a scene, I was on tap to make it happen. Sometimes it was a rewrite, sometimes a change of actors and extras, and sometimes it was my personal favorite: perfidy.

The big secret was that Angela didn't have an understudy. How do you improve on the perfect and slutty actress in porn? You don't. So when the male in question strolled onto stage nude, well hewn, light lavender in color that reminded one of Goliath but thinner with a runner's physique, more like an African tribesman than the usual stocky Scottish clansman, Demona didn't even notice how primed she had been by the Weird Sisters. She was ready for a cock and despite protestations to the contrary likely didn't care where it came from.

The spell crafters that had forged Angela's illusion of masculinity certainly hadn't skimped where it mattered, with low hanging balls that bounced freely as he walked, and a thick swinging penis that curved slightly to the left with every step. I wasn't gay, but knowing what I did, I wouldn't have necessarily said no. Instead, I watched as they pressed up against Demona's ass, pushing that engorged flesh up against the small of her back along the root of her tail while their arms encircled her hips.

The intention was no doubt to join her in the lurid pseudo-dance while Demona twerked her thing for the cameras, but ever the prima donna she spun about like a startled cat and took a swipe at the disguised Angela with her claws. The latter dodged by taking a step back and then reached forward, gripping Demona's hands and pulling them at her sides while she struggled. For a moment Demona's outrage was written plainly on her face, and you can't make up that kind of emotion, but it instantly became muddied when her unexpected co-star leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the side of her throat. Demona buffeted the dark haired male feebly with her wings, tail lashing, and sighed into the embrace as it continued.

Angela's firm grip relaxed, mother and disguised daughter slowly twining their limbs in a sensuous display as Demona's arms looped loosely around Angela's neck and their mouths met firmly. I could hear cameras zoom in there, focusing in on the interplay of lip and tongue as the hot oral digits were traded sliding along one another and questing probed one another's mouths. Meanwhile with her wings drooped about the male's hips Demona's breasts could clearly be seen pressing into the flat of his chest as she ground herself against his loins with a wanton gasp of need.

That was when Angela's illusion began to fail and the real extent of her transformations began to take place. Demona needed to be overseen by the Weird Sisters due to a number of arcane irregularities in her magical makeup, dedicated specialists to attend special needs.

Angela had no such difficulties and so could enjoy a more natural program of alterations to her physical form.

The flesh crafters had worked their art to reshape Angela's body, making it lusher and full figured, and then the illusion had been worked to fool Demona into thinking she had been replaced with a male ringer. Now as that dream decayed and dissipated Angela's true appearance reasserted itself with all the sensations that the flesh craft would have inspired the first time around. Her body swelled and deformed as her breasts inflated against her mother's own, becoming so large that both of them were almost pushed apart by the sheer press of mammary flesh that was hot to the touch and quickly beaded with glistening sweat. Her false six pack of abs became a smooth downward pointing line broken only by her navel, and to the back under her mother's wings, Angela's ass swelled like a miniature sun. The pair starting to look more and more like a pair of party girls on the prowl instead of mother and daughter, their continuing lip lock dizzyingly as around them the pretense of the film fell away and the individual actors focused on their own sex acts like a room full of artists hard at work.

Then Demona leaned back and gasped again, this time at Angela's smiling face as her lust-stricken features asserted themselves over the male her mother had been kissing. Angela's cheeks filled out with that bit of delicate baby fat and dimples that drove the boys wild when she smiled, her lips growing lush and inviting as she licked them with her narrow tongue and dragged that flexible muscle over her fore fangs. Wreathed by dark tresses, Angela's skull was crowned once more in the swept back horns that protruded from her forehead, and these she leaned against Demona's forehead as she leaned close enough that the heat of their breath was palpably visible.

"Mommy," she whispered.

Indecision was plain on Demona's face. She wanted to pull back and raise a fit, but she was also mid-scene, and her arousal was skyrocketing with the sheer debauchery of the scene as her eyes dropped lower and drank in Angela's form. Her long and muscular thighs stretched as Angela shifted from one foot to the other, spreading them smoothly to better accept her stance, her long tail lashing behind her excitedly. Then Angela stepped back from her mother so that Demona could see all of her, running her hands through her hair while her wings curled around under her arms and grasped her pendulous breasts from below, juggling them with an almost gelatinous roiling while one of her hands dropped down and reached between her legs.

That's when Demona saw Angela's cock.

The flesh crafters had made one all important addition to Angela's body for the scene, and it was as prodigious as it was different. Her testes remained the loose low hanging gourds she had carried under the illusion, but at the crown of her loins, Angela boasted a ridiculously long penis partially obscured by a loose sheath of skin that slid up and down her girth as she massaged it with one palm. The bright bubblegum pink meat that was exposed was perhaps six inches long half hard and already drooling lubricant from the tapered teardrop shaped head at the end. Angela continued to stroke herself, looking at her mother with undisguised lust as she rolled her hips brazenly and a fat dollop of fluid was ejected from her tip to splatter along Demona's flat belly.

Spellbound, Demona sank to her knees with a surprisingly submissive action and leaned forward until her face could receive Angela's torrid splash from the end of her equine dick. Opening her mouth wide Demona extended her tongue and let the fluid pour into and paint the inside of her mouth with its musky patina, then crawled on her hands and knees to begin kissing and slurping at the flared head deliriously. Angela for her part groaned deeply and moved her hands to Demona's shoulders for a measure of support while she shifted her legs side to side, swiveling them for a perfect stance before Demona engulfed her manhood with a wet slurp.

The other actors, cameras, and hot lights drifted away as the pair became entirely focused on one another. Angela began to rudely pump her hips, causing her ass to jostle back and forth, quaking mightily as she fed her phallus down Demona's throat. The sloppy sound of Demona fellating her daughter filled the air and the older gargoyle woman groaned lustily, her eyes closed, as she willingly swallowed Angela's length as best she could until it threatened to choke her. Then Angela did thrust hard, causing Demona to feebly beat her hands against Angela's thighs as she squirmed on her knees, the desire to breathe in conflict with her boiling over lusts.

Pulling back in a rush Demona gasped, coughed, and then pushed her face in again under Angela's prick. Rubbing her sweat slick and saliva dripping face against Angela's testes she began to suck them in a frenzy while her hands wrapped around her daughter's cock and began stroking it up and down firmly, each downward squeeze loading it before jerking upward to cause a hot stream of pre through the air. "Mommy," Angela moaned needily. "F-fuck me, Mommy."

They were well off of the script by this point, but no one was stopping what was unfolding in front of the cameras as Demona looked up at Angela with a perfect cherub-like smile and then passively wheeled about on her knees to lift her tail. It was about as willing to do anything as I had ever seen her to that point, and Angela didn't miss a moment by dropping onto her knees and mounting her mother right there on the table. The wood surface was scuffed by the thick scale that armored their knees, and the whole thing groaned heavily as it was abused, but the thick construction held as the two bodies began to rut into one another.

Demona sank onto the table, resting her face on her forearms, and smiled deliriously with her tongue peeking out rudely as she grunted with each brisk penetration. Partially obscured by her outstretched wings her breasts flattened out against the table and were ground back and forth over its surface, nipples gouging into the wood finish ineffectively, while her body was jostled about. Meanwhile, Angela draped her claws over her mother's hips and slid them back until she rested her palms on either globe of Demona's rotund ass, kneading the pursed cheeks while just below her cock proceeded to disappear at regular gyrations inside the older gargoyle's slick passage. One could get a good look at it in movement every now and again, the lavender length glistening with excitement and beading with the sweat from Angela's body. She was completely shaved whether by choice or as a result of the magic, and their conjoined liquor was oozing down Angela's thighs to soak her swaying balls with each pelvic thrust. Thankfully, a camera got right in there, and Angela lifted her tail without being signaled to show it all off as she drilled her mother good and hard, driving into the root.

Not wanting to end things too soon Angela dragged her claws upwards along Demona's back, eliciting a hiss of pain and pleasure from the latter, as she grasped her mother by the shoulders and pulled her upwards into a kneeling position. With Demona firmly planted so the slight deformation of Angela's magical manhood could be clearly observed against the red-headed gargoyle's flat stomach, and she lowed lustfully as the change in position caused the phallus to similarly shift around inside her. Then Angela slid her hands down her mother's sides and towards Demona's loins to hold her penis inside while her wings came around from behind and the crooked claws at their apex grasped Demona's breasts. The squeezed firmly, a natural clothespin and Demona's nipples protruded practically purple between the small fingers as she groaned again more loudly.

She was like putty in Angela's hands, and the younger female used that to great effect to position Demona how she wanted. From a kneeling position, they slid naturally onto their sides, rotating subtly so as to play for the camera, Demona's chest swinging in regular circles against Angela's grip while her daughter continued to grind against her steadily. I could see it was definitely getting to her, Demona's cheeks flushed and her eyelids drooped in a stupor as she concentrated on the sensations running through her body. Her wings and tail were limp, only twitching irregularly, and she was curling and uncurling her toes with tiny ephemeral spasms that denoted orgasms; the deep kind.

Then Angela switched positions again, hauling Demona onto her lap as she lay on her back. Apparently done with the hard work she let her wings splay across the table as she lowered her hands again to Demona's buttocks and slapped her palms against them encouragingly, like a jockey nudging a horse. For her part Demona was completely out of it by this point and soaked with sweat she drunkenly looked over her shoulder at Angela then placed her claws on her daughter's knees, shifting her hips side to side astride that thickness to center it, which caused Angela to give her own hoarse groan of approval as her calves tensed. That low sound rose in pitch, quickly becoming a keening wail as Demona began to bounce up and down on her daughter's cock using her knees as hand holds.

Again that rude sultry sound of wetness filled the air as Demona slid up and down Angela. She should have been loose by this point, and probably was, but there was so much gleaming horse dick that it had Demona stretched to her limit, and her clitoris was clearly visible to the camera protruding upwards like a spike before the dazed gargoyle began furiously strumming it with her fingertips. Soon both were moaning and screeching, roaring out as their eyes flashed with the electric inner light emblematic of the gargoyle species, stealing the show as they drifted towards a massive release.

All too soon it was on them. Angela dug her claws into her mother's flanks in an almost savage fashion, screaming out as she arched her hips upward with a brutal stroke. At the same time, Demona drove down roughly and hilted her daughter. Squealing as she felt Angela's pony meat swell inside her, there was a moment of stillness where both were somewhere between release and not, where their bodies were rigid with tension. Then like the snapping of a rubber band they were climaxing together, Angela burning in her loins, her swollen balls pulsing and erupting into her mother like a volcano of white hot goo. Demona simultaneously cut loose with one of the most impressive torrents I'd seen to that point, utterly soaking her daughter and much of the table immediately beneath them to infuse the wood with their shared lust. I just knew that was going to go viral on the internet.

Finally, they collapsed, both bodies worked to their limit. The air was hazy with their heated breaths and around them, the rest of the set was similarly powering down. Some were already finished, cuddling together. It wasn't specifically professional behavior, but then Agency 34 tended towards what I call a family environment. Really, people who worked well together often worked together regularly, and so got to know each other pretty well for all the good and ill that meant. That was why when I started out I had been so desperate to get the Gargoyle crew as my clients. Now, watching Angela and Demona writhe together, tilting their faces towards one another, and their passionate oral embrace as the director called cut, I felt a fair amount of pride at the accomplishment.

Another successful movie shoots in the can.

There was some complaining from the director about how he hadn't quite gotten the shoot he had wanted, a discussion of reshoots I knew the producer would never go for, but everyone knew they had gold on their hands. Maybe even a mother/daughter spin-off series. That was an idea I'd have to put in my pocket. It was as I was dreaming of Angela and Demona in a number of Lara Croft style adventures that one of the staff tugged my sleeve and directed me back to the dressing rooms. Already the actors were dispersing for the day, the set being broken down, and cleaned.

I trailed back and paused at Demona's cubicle with a knock. Inside I could hear voices and a giggle, and I wondered just what she had in mind when the curtain opened and Angela stepped out. Partially toweled off, still naked as a jaybird and cock bouncing before her like a flagpole, she leaned down and kissed my cheek. "Let's do lunch again, okay?"

"Sure thing, kiddo," I said. "Off to get that removed?" I asked indicating her pointer.

"Oh, heck no," Angela laughed with an edge of mania. "I'm going to get some mileage out of this thing!"

I tried not to let the horror in the back of my brain come to my face and nodded with a smile as Angela took her leave. Instead, I headed into Demona's dressing room to see what she wanted. Demona reclined in her folding chair, a towel spread across her chest and her head leaned back with her eyes closed. Her legs were slightly akimbo, everything on display, and her ankles crossed. When I came in she opened her eyes and looked at me with a strange glint in her eye that made me instantly nervous. "Puck," she said. "come here."

I made an 'um' sound as I strolled forward, but Demona didn't gesture for me to sit, instead she had me stand right next to her. Smiling, she placed her clawed fingers on my chest and began playfully snapping the buttons off of the front of my shirt. "I want to thank you, Puck," she said undoing the front of my jacket. Then she unzipped my fly and I gasped as she wrapped her fingers around my dick by reaching right into my briefs. "You've helped me immensely."

"Glad I could help," I rasped feeling my pulse quicken. I couldn't help but get hard this close to a gorgeous and very nude woman, and Demona's smile continued to grow into a toothy grin. "I was just doing my job."

"Yes," she said. "your job."

Then she cupped my balls, tracing them with her claw, and began to squeeze. I saw the muscles of her bicep picked out in stark relief and felt the fibers of them stretching beneath her skin as once more my loins were under attack. I squeaked. "And," she said slowly, still grinning. "If you want to continue doing your job for me, you will never surprise me like that again."

"No ma'am."

"Good," she soothed. Then she stood up, still holding my prick, and walked over to the curtain in order to close it. Then she walked over to the makeup table and perched her ass on it, her tail disheveling the arrangement of powders, fragrances, and the like. She spread her legs again meaningfully. "Now drop your pants and make yourself useful."

An hour later I was still shaking as I put my hand on the door to my office. My suit was in tatters, my chest and back lined in scratches from the working over Demona had given me. But man, oh man, did I feel good. She'd drained me of what I had and then brought me back to life. So it was all the more unsettling when I opened my office door and found someone waiting for me.

Fae, as a rule, are all related, subdivided between the clan Seelie and Unseelie, and then further subdivided by noble parentage. I would never confuse, for instance, the twisted little gob that makes my shoes, with the proud horse-riding lord who demands my rent. For many years I had the privilege to serve the Byronic high king Oberon in the court of his lady Titania. They were good leaders, if tempestuous, given to cycles of intense affection and blackest hatred. When we all moved into television I finally was forced to leave them behind. I hear they're still on Broadway doing Shakespeare in the Park, some people just never changed with the times.

Jotunn, on the other hand, I have no time for. Belligerent, double-dealing, untrustworthy, as I am an honest Puck do I hate when a giant darkens my door and some more than most. I stood in the doorway for a moment and adjusted my tie before walking in as cool a customer as a guy in a suit falling off of his shoulders can. "What do you want, horse-fucker?" I asked.

The jotunn at my desk turned about with an expression of mock hurt, touching his chest with his pale fingertips as if deeply offended. I wondered what I had left on my desk, how long he had been here going through my things. I wondered where I was going to find a new secretary after I fired my current one. The jotunn ran his fingers through his dark hair and perched on the edge of my desk like he owned the place. "Such rudeness," he remarked. "I thought the Children of Oberon were renowned for their hospitality."

"Uninvited guests tend to get the cold shoulder, Loki," I said.

"True enough," Loki admitted before handing me the papers he held in his other hand. I took them and upon opening the file immediately regretted it. However, I kept the surprise off of my face and continued to read as I moved around the desk and took to my chair. Loki followed me with his eyes, his face an impassively smiling mask of amusement.

"Eris wants to take over my agency?" I said at last.

"Ah ah," Loki corrected. "Discord Studios. The apple isn't personally involved in this merger."

I dropped the file on my desk like it was corrupting me to touch it and looked squintingly in Loki's direction as the green-clad trickster watched me. I was letting too many of my emotions come to the fore, and could not hide my scowl. "Eris won't be happy until she tears everyone down, will she?"

"Now Puck," Loki said with a pouting voice. "No one wants to get into a fight with entrenched management." Then he came around the desk and put his arm around me, encouraging me to rise and walk over to my large office window with him. "Look at it now, thousands of Eidos, all looking for a place to be, and the two most powerful adult modeling talent agencies in the multiverse competing when they could be so much stronger together."

"Free agencies like this are being snapped up left and right," Loki continued. "If it's not Discord, then it's the Huntsman and his foxes, or it's the Brothers, you're going to have to pick a side sooner or later so why not pick the winning side?"

"Like you did?" I said slipping free of Loki's wormy grasp. "Bought and paid for by the people trying to own the tapestry one weave at a time?"

"Careful, Puck," Loki warned. "You're coming very close to slander."

"Agency 34 has been here long before you started sniffing around for Discord, Loki," I said feeling something akin to Oberon's level of anger when little Willy Shakespeare had dared to offer the lord of the fae a contract for appearing on stage. "And it will still be here after you and Agency 63 are gone."

Loki just laughed. "You can't fight a giant, Puck."

"How's your brother feel about that?"

Loki's smirk slipped and for a moment I felt an immense wave of vindication as the Jotunn's eyes burned with hatred and I wondered if he was going to take a swing at me. I was filled with Demona's energy and I would have fucked his shit right up, the law is damned, but then he sniffed and composed himself in the way that little punks always do.

"He knows who owns his contract," he said. "And if he wants to appear in any more movies he'll do what he's told."

Then Loki smiled again as he took his leave.

"And so will you."

I sat behind my desk in my darkened office backlit only by the city stretching out behind me and rested my elbows on the table. I made a steeple of my hands and tried to figure out what I was going to do. I would have to work quickly if I was going to keep control of my agency. Already I knew that Loki's minions would be filtering out and petitioning my people to switch sides. He would only make this move if he already had his pieces in position and was sure of his victory.

I put my head into my hands.

"Fuck."