FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Disclaimer - Imagine watching a scene from Indiana Jones where instead of finding a room full of ancient vaguely Christian artifacts of unimaginable power, he found some kind of ancient occult sex dungeon. If you are a sane, moral person, who would immediately stop watching, loudly protest the indecency, and then leave, then you should go no further. However, if you are a covertly insane, amoral person, who would immediately stop watching, loudly protest the indecency, leave, and then make a note to Google it at home, then this might just be the story for you. (This is a work of pornographic fiction. Please do not read if it would be illegal for you to do so.)

The Tomb of Golden Desire

Atlas held his lamp aloft in front of him as he studied the carvings on the gigantic carved sandstone doors. He dusted off the ancient etchings with the back of his hand, rolling his eyes as he translated as best he could.

"King of kings," yadda yadda, "ancient tomb," etcetera etcetera, "cursed for all eternity," and then the most important pictograph: "Gold."

Curiosity piqued, the intrepid explorer rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin, eyes alighting on a small alcove to the side of the imposing portal. He unwound his small roll of tools and began to poke around, finding a hollow panel with a depiction of a scowling face on it. Rolling his blue eyes, he took out a small hammer and gave the thin brick a sharp smack, smiling as the old tile shattered, revealing what looked like some sort of ancient locking mechanism. It took a good half hour of tinkering around with prods and pries before, with a heavy clunk, the door wheezed, grinding against the floor as it slid open about a foot before stopping anticlimactically.

With a sigh, he picked his lamp back up and walked over, preparing to squeeze through the small stony slit. The counterweight had probably broken years ago . . . But what he saw through the crack in the door hurried his lethargic motions significantly. On the other side of the door, the dim light from his lantern positively danced, refracting from a myriad of possible angles, bouncing off of something impossibly lustrous. He thrust the lantern through the partially open door to be sure, squinting at the resulting brightness. It was an entire chamber untouched by the ravages of time, positively filled to the brim with polished twinkling gold.

He squeezed through the crack like a raw egg slipping through a funnel, completely ignoring the stone rubbing against his knuckles. His desirous eyes lit up as bright as the room as he turned from side to side, but regardless of where he looked, the only thing he saw was shining gold. There were stacks and stacks of heavy and rather thick looking coins, jewel encrusted goblets, platters, ceremonial weapons, looming statues, and finely forged implements of other ceremonial functions. There wasn't a speck of dust in the place either. It was the find of a lifetime.

Atlas reached down, idly grabbing a coin from a particularly tall stack, causing a miniature clacking avalanche. It was warm to the touch, like the desert air was incubating it, keeping it in perfect lustrous mint-condition. His eyes wandered absentmindedly as he considered logistics. To get this all out of here, there would need to be bribes . . . Even with a well-paid crew, it would probably take over a week . . .

As he crunched the numbers in his head, his miserly gaze fell upon one of the immaculately crafted larger-than-life golden statues near the center of the room. It was fairly standard for this part of the world, a blend of human and animal characteristics, this one sporting a jackal's pointed head and paw-like hands. The odd thing though, was that the statue was also obviously male, erect and generously endowed. Its sculpted penis jutted out from above two heavy rounded testicles. Atlas raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it was some kind of fertility cult? He circled the statue and saw that the only non-golden thing was a strange damasked metal base from something lodged in just under the statue's tail.

It was bizarre. He'd never run across anything that blatantly explicit in all of his recovery projects. Not that it really mattered. He rapped a knuckle against the statue's warm solid thigh, a shiver running through him, making the coin in his other hand seem to tingle for a moment. If this was solid gold, he could melt it down and sell it for millions. Heck, there were probably collectors who were into this sort of weird shit anyways. There were always ways to flog off stolen art in Amsterdam . . .

Walking into the center of the room, he looked at the other imposing statues on their carved stone pedestals. All of them were facing in at him. It was like the picture of Uncle Sam, where his finger follows you wherever you go, except these weren't fingers. Every eight-foot-tall statue sported its own hefty erection, chiseled Adonis-like bodies all topped by a stoic expressionless animal head. Some of the carved stone platforms though, were completely barren: matte brown islands amongst the gold. It looked like there was a hawk, a lion, a boar, and hadn't he seen a jackal earlier? It was actually kind of hard to look away from the golden figures at this point, their perfectly defined male bodies drawing him in like a moth to the flame. He could see his own distorted reflection moving, flickering over their polished hides like a pornographic funhouse mirror.

He shook his head, dry chuckle escaping his lips as he wiped his brow, surreptitiously bending over and setting down his lamp to inspect a squat stemmed golden glass by his feet. It was surprisingly heavy, and by the looks of it, the red stones set inside of it were real rubies as big as his thumb, possibly the biggest in the world. He was going to be rich. He could buy his own country with wealth like this. And yet, not even the contemplation of potential value could stop him from glancing towards the lion statue's cock that stuck out towards him accusingly.

A creaking jingle echoed throughout the room. Looking up, Atlas's eyes narrowed. It was probably just another heavy coin falling off a stack . . .

But before he had time to rationalize further, something stepped in behind him, wrapping arms under his own and pulling him up in an effortless sweeping motion so that his feet dangled off the floor.

Atlas swore, trying fruitlessly to shove himself out of the unfaltering grip. He lashed backwards with his forearm, attempting to get at his sudden assailant's eyes, but instead his own eyes watered as he rapped his knuckles against something warm and unyielding. Wrenching himself around, he glimpsed behind him, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the torchlight as he saw the perfect golden physique of his attacker: the massive statue with the stoic jackal's head.

This couldn't possibly be real. As hard as he struggled, the statue held him preternaturally fast. Maybe he had just stumbled back and gotten stuck in its arms somehow. But even as he tried to rationalize his situation, there was a metallic creaking that resonated through the room as the other statues slowly descended from their pedestals. He shouted in hysteric terror, held in place and forced to watch their impossibly smooth movements, like stop-motion animation without the frames, hearing each one of their heavy footsteps clunk against the floor. They were oddly silent, considering that they must weigh multiple tons.

The focus of his worries shifted suddenly as something warm and hard prodded him from behind. The statue's solid gold cock was pressing against his pants as the other golden figures lumbered forwards with measured yet ponderous steps. He squirmed and shouted louder, voice echoing around the golden room. In a desperate move, Atlas slammed his head backwards, but was only rewarded with pain and black-neon blotches in his vision as his skull made contact with the jackal's defined pectorals. His movements sagged for a moment, time speeding forward as the hawk-headed figure grabbed his legs in its steely grip, pressing them up so that his knees were near his shoulders.

The other two statues stood on either side of him, metallic bodies glinting in the dim flickering light as each reached down and gripped their titanic erections, beginning to pump up and down with mechanically fluid motions. Atlas mumbled in dazed protest. This was wrong. It was impossible. But if the statues could hear him, they made no reaction. He was lifted up slightly, heart rising in his chest as he felt the smooth iron-hard cock under him press against the thick denim of his pants. A startled garble of pain escaped the man's lips as the jackal-headed statue let him drop, the fabric of his trousers straining before tearing, the sculpted dick sinking fully into his ass in one calculated shove. Hot pain radiated through him as he struggled and swore. He could feel the heat from the member seeping into him as it began to quiver and throb inside of his ass, metal moving in ways that flesh never should.

The sharp-beaked hawkman helped manipulate the man's flailing body in the same way that one might fold laundry in a stiff breeze. Precise hands guided the man's body down as he fruitlessly tried to escape, anus clenching around the unyielding golden rod in his ass. They tilted him forwards and set him on an empty pillar, holding him in place. The jackal fucked him mechanically from behind as the stark creaking clanks of the other statues jerking at their shafts echoed around the chamber. Although their faces remained perfectly placid, their lustrous cocks pulsed, testicles seeming to distend slightly, as if inhaling. As one, both the boar and the lion came, shafts shuddering before hot dollops of shimmering liquid gold arced out against Atlas' arms.

He tried to recoil both in horror and disgust, but the hot golden jizzum splashed all over him, pulling together and hardening quickly, gluing his hands to the pedestal. The hawk calmly reached in, talons ripping through his clothes with ease, tearing them away as slops of hot opaque statue cum rained down over Atlas' legs as well, cementing him in place. Every dripping glistening jolt of liquid metal seemed to weigh more than the last. They lit up his senses, making his flesh writhe as they pattered down against him. It soon became a struggle to even move as what felt like hundreds of pounds of weight bore down on him.

Atlas' shocked blue eyes dilated as he felt the jackal's grip tighten against his buttocks, its cock arcing inside of him before it released a torrent of liquid gold into his abused ass. The internal weight was immense, pressure making Atlas moan despite his struggles. It should have killed him, he was positive, but something was wrong. The feelings were changing, the sensations of the warmth gushing through him beginning to feel . . . good? His insides felt like they were churning, gold seeping further into him, spreading warmth and an electric thrill that changed his shouts into moans. His own cock began to stiffen, Judas erection bobbing below him as he strained against his hardening restraints.

The hawk joined its brethren, avian hand wrapping around its shaft, more heavy splatters of masculine metal raining down, sticking to Atlas' body as if it was magnetic. Even the more errant splashes of cursed cum were then sucked in towards the man's body, drawn in like smaller droplets of water joining with a larger one. The definition of his body was becoming quickly subsumed by shining amorphous lumps. His muscles strained and faltered as he wheezed under the immense weight, but oddly, it seemed to be getting easier and easier to bear, like the gold was holding him up. The precious metal ran down, quickly pouring over his member that jerked invisibly under his golden shell with every pressurized rush of hot fluid weight into his ass.

The bird-headed statue shifted its stance slightly, angling down so that its jerking dollops of molten metallic passion splattered down between Atlas' shoulders. His eyes hung half-lidded, thoughts muddled as the gold changed him from the inside as well as the out. He knew that something was wrong, but he could no longer place just what he was trying to do about it. The steady heavy rain started rhythmically thudding against the back of his head, balming the pain from where he had foolishly tried to attack the jackal before. The sudden memory was disconcerting. Why wasn't he struggling? His neck strained, barely able to move under the weight of the gold. He opened his mouth, letting out a wordless sputtering cough of protest, a dollop of liquid gold leaking out from his lips as he stared at it, eyes wide, lacking comprehension.

Massive bodies creaking with the clack of metal on metal, the statues continued to single-mindedly jerk at their shafts, converging at his head. The man's protests and the gold leaking from his mouth were both stopped as the glistening metal spattered against his face, covering up his lips. His nostrils flared, but no longer drew in breath as they too were lost to the rising tide of precious yellow metal. The last things to be covered were his eyes, desperately twitching in their sockets before they were sealed off as well, leaving him in tight solid darkness.

His lungs should have been straining for breath as the loud leaden drops of gold rained against his rigid cocoon. But instead, he was left with the uncanny thought that he _should_be breathing, and yet felt no imperative to do so. His ass writhed, squeezing longingly a few last times before the contact between him and the golden shaft embedded in his ass slowly changed, becoming harsh and grinding like a screw in a socket too large for it. With the squeal of metal on metal, the jackal pulled back, its member sliding out of the lumpy solid metal blob on the carved stone pedestal. Atlas' ass gaped open, just an undefined hole in the featureless glistening mass, muscles that controlled it long since having turned to solid gold. He could still feel it though, the placid air in the room feeling almost chilly. He would have shivered, if he was able.

The treasure hunter's thoughts were bouncing around inside the golden husk. He couldn't move. Was he dead? That didn't seem right. He could still feel . . . but the only sensation was that of his exposed rear. Atlas felt empty, or perhaps out of place, almost like he had walked outside without wearing pants . . . He wanted to feel more outrage, but couldn't seem to stoke the fires within himself. He tried to shake himself, but couldn't so much as twitch. He didn't feel restrained though. It was like . . . he was just resting . . . waiting. The thought was oddly calming.

His mind's eye turned to his memories of the golden statues in the room, thoughts coming in with perfect clarity as saw their chiseled features, raw masculinity mixed with feral stoicism. An ache built up inside of him as he thought about those perfect sculpted cocks that rest between their legs, always hard, straining here in the darkness for centuries. That seemed almost admirable. They were so loyal . . . He remembered his reflection glinting off the glittering metal of the Jackal's shaft.

As the man was lost in the dark void of his own thoughts, the jackal-headed idol methodically walked over to the back of the room, the force from his heavy footfalls diffused by his mechanical grace. The other three stood at attention, erections jutting out like military salutes, surrounding the lump of gold that had been the explorer. The jackal's golden hands reached down, carefully opening a golden crate at the back of the room, his metallic fingers clinking as he pulled out a strange smooth rod of damasked steel.

It had a wide flared base with a heavy swollen bulge before it. The tip gradually tapered into an elegant smooth point. Even though it was not nearly as lustrous as the gold, it almost glowed in the flickering lamplight, bands of ashen metal seeming to writhe under its surface as the jackal walked back towards the golden mound at the exact same speed he had departed. It held the strange metal object as if it were some sort of ceremonial scepter.

Atlas' thoughts were torn from his lustrous stupor as he could feel something resonate inside of him. There was some primal buzzing that sent tingles through the gold that had engulfed his body. His limited senses suddenly lit up as the jackal lined the mixed metal rod up with his gaping golden asshole, and slowly pressed in with automated insistence.

Atlas' world burst into a kaleidoscope of lights filling up the void of his thoughts. The strange metal dildo screeched and squealed against his rigid hole for a moment before his metal flesh twitched, seeming to loosen before squeezing with impossible strength. Malleability seemed to ripple out through his unshaped metal body, the lumpy gold twitching as the rod was pressed in further, straining his golden ring taut. His whole body went from feeling lifeless, to pulsing with virile energy, throbbing just like the statue's cocks had . . .

Pushing in with constant insistent force, the jackal rammed the bulb in the middle of the shaft against the man's now-pliant ass. The straining golden ring resisted for half a second before the entire length crashed into him, locked into place, heavy bulb stuck fast inside of him as the wide base still protruded from his rear. It thrummed with energy, pulsing like a heartbeat as Atlas' senses all became muddled, sight and smell and touch all comingling into a strange sharp insistent metallic tang.

As one, the four metal statues leaned in over the mass of metal between them. The jackal's pawlike hands groped at his back end in rounded strokes, forming the nothingness into either side of a shapely rump, golden flesh twitching as it was molded like smooth reflective clay. The boar and lion squeezed in at his sides, sculpting his back into a form that a body builder couldn't hope to achieve, form defined by prominent muscles and angular features that biology simply couldn't produce.

Each touch was a benediction, making the damasked rod in his ass resonate, energy leaking out into him, making desire bubble up from his heavy golden insides. He had wanted to do something earlier . . . it had been important. But how could anything be more important than making sure his body was sculpted into the perfect form? Surely this is why he came to the tomb in the first place.

The hawk's hands rubbed small circles against the front of the golden mass, making two small indentations and then beginning to pull and knead. Pleasure flowed through Atlas' body in waves as a discernable head began to form at the front. His thoughts were massaged along with his physical form as his developing face was stretched out further. He slowly developed a blunt muzzle, the two holes forming flared but purely decorative reptilian nostrils.

The mechanically precise fingers of the boar and lion statues both ground in against his developing sides, each squeezing and rubbing in perfect synchronicity. Atlas was beginning to see it as well as feel it. Like he was watching himself, and feeling it from a distance. His body was squeezed and kneaded, deft yet demanding hands forming first two ill-defined protrusions that were then carefully sculpted. The feelings of his first twitches blended together with the acrid tang of gold and the thrumming of the damasked rod that his ass squeezed around like a vice. At first, they were just twitches, but soon he started to develop a sense of impetus, straining against the other statue's electric insistent molding ministrations.

The jackal-headed creature meticulously divided his lower half into legs, kneading his now strangely pliant golden mass into muscular lumps and defined joints. It was strange. At this point Atlas was experiencing what was happening, but also somehow knew exactly what was coming next, time unfolding like a book. His melding senses were thrumming. He could hear each metallic creak resound inside of him with the feeling of utmost authority as his forming limbs were splayed out into hands and knees, his fingers sporting a slight webbing and his toes ending in hooked claws, each pulled out with a methodical flick of the jackal's wrist.

There was a thrumming that filled his body and mind as the statues worked on, but it was muddled, like trying to listen to a symphony while underwater. It felt like tendrils of something were wrapping around his consciousness. On an instinctual level, he tried to push them away, but he could no longer remember why. It was so beautiful, like the world was a jigsaw puzzle and he was being molded to fill in the final missing piece.

His whole body was thrumming with pleasure and power, the statue's hands massaging his chest, raising up smooth chiseled pectorals, and then sliding down, pressing hard enough to give the definition to his developed abs. The fingers then met for a moment, both pressing against his belly, leaving a defined masculine navel. Their own reflections now gleamed across the rounded expanses of Atlas' polished body.

The hands of the hawk-headed idol caressed the flesh of his long flat face, raising up subtle details. There was a click of comprehension as Atlas understood his body from the outside in: His head was that of a crocodile, but a stoic refined one. The raptor's talon-like claws dragged over his skin, each like a needle on a record player, leaving a faint impression of scales behind them. Even as his thin reptilian lips were sculpted, Atlas knew he would never open them. There was no need.

The hands massaging his body seemed to reassure him. There was no need to eat, to speak . . . to sleep, to move without purpose . . . The information sank into him as his round golden eyed were formed, blank and unseeing as the information seemed to well up directly from inside of him.

There was a sudden impetus as hands wrapped around his arms. A single wordless expression that he understood immediately.

Up.

It was a collective thought, the last vestiges of his humanity squirming as the looming desires of the temple crept in from all sides. But he did want to rise, and so he stood, clawed feet scraping against the floor with the sound of cinderblocks being ground together as he moved with their assistance, allowing them to pose his immaculate body.

Balancing was difficult, his form seemingly ready to topple despite his solid construction, firm grips of the others under his arms keeping his immense weight upright without even straining. He was suddenly struck. There was something . . . something he needed, but despite staring towards the open door with his unblinking eyes, he couldn't think of what it was.

Atlas' questions were answered in a way. His ass clenched and writhed with imperceptible force as the jackal's sculpting hands massaged just above the damasked plug. A new appendage was coaxed out just above it by insistent golden hands: a thick almost saurian tail tugging and squeezing into existence. He couldn't imagine its absence. The feeling of his body thrumming, boiling inside of his golden skin was making him almost giddy. Instead of questioning what he was doing with a tail, he felt like there was something else missing. He still wasn't complete. His new amalgamation of senses honed in, coming to a razor-sharp awareness of the flat expanse between his legs. The other statues' golden stiff erections jutted from between their toned thighs, hot desire embodied, heavy plump testicles squeezing below, recharging after having fulfilled their purpose just moments before.

Need tore at the new statue's mind, the thrumming of the old crypt caressing the edges of his consciousness. He wanted to have that. That straining purpose. That metal-hard direction in his lustrous existence. As his inner thoughts roiled, all four statues closed in around him. Each one extended a hand, tracing down his belly and across his rounded rump until they converged between his legs. A spark of pleasure illuminated Atlas' new body as he began to understand his purpose. Two hands squeezed in with firm circular motions, raising up and forming bulging orbs as they were polished out larger and larger. The other hands pinched in as one, kneading and stroking at the start of a thick smooth golden rod.

His crocodilian face remained perfectly placid, even though his body began to tremble slightly. He could move. But why would he do so? There was nothing he wanted more than to be complete. His forming balls churned, pulsing with molten gold, making ecstasy resound through his quickly changing conception of self.

Anyone who entered the tomb was changed. This was his truth.

His growing shaft was squeezed, caressed as animalistic fingers circled around the tip, drawing it into a pronounced glans. They bent the length into a needy arc, perpetually hard, straining, pulsing with desire. Atlas needed release, but each stroke brought him only blissful torment. The golden sculpted bodies around him were already perfect. He needn't waste a single drop of precious fluid gold on them. Slowly his trembling stopped, desires internalized, echoing throughout his soul, focused into the needy throb of his golden maleness and the perpetual taut fullness of his plump rounded testes.

The four statues pulled back from the crocodile-headed fifth, blank gazes not meeting, not needing to as they were connected through the thrum and throb of the tomb, the magic resonating inside them from the damasked rods lodged under their tails. Their collective need was palpable, filling the room with metallic warmth as they separated. The sculpted body of the crocodilian idol glinted in the guttering lamp light as the others slowly and methodically stepped onto their own pillars, standing in a stiff vertical pose just as their new brother did.

The flame on the lamp finally died, but the new statue's need did not, his cock standing out stiff as he waited, senses ever-vigilant, ready to share the gifts of the tomb with whoever entered into their domain.

There was a soft stony grinding as the door slid shut in the darkness. Whether it was to be minutes or millennia, the statues were all thrumming with eagerness, ready to fulfill their illustrious purposes once again.