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The Kingdom of Ctheren was a large, prosperous nation. Most of its neighbors lived in quiet envy of its many fertile valleys and rivers rich in fish and pearls, but not one relished the idea of attacking the place. To plot against the royal family and their magicians would be suicide. Peace reigned over the land.

But, decades of peace and chests of gold inevitably led to restless kings. And, King Innokenti was the worst of the breed. Early on, he decided that he would be remembered as a strong, conquering king. The royal possum, in spite of his fat gut and terrible sense of balance, insisted he train with his army whenever the whim struck him. He ordered swords forged, armor assembled, and seemed always to be threatening or insulting one ruler or another from the nearby kingdoms. Fortunately for Innokenti's subjects, he wanted to win, not just fight, and so, he kept preparing and putting off his conquest of the world for another day.

Then, one day, things changed.

The Royal Alchemist called the king into his chambers beneath the palace. Innokenti grinned, eyes twinkling, and set off downstairs. His faithful servant invented a grease that burned with unquenchable fire, a liquid that turned swords to dust, and even a bottle of lightning that could turn weather foul in an instant. Whatever the old deer buck created this time was bound to impress! The possum waddled as fast as he could, shoving guards out of the way, demanding the servants and advisers trying to follow him to leave him alone with the alchemist.

"I am king, and this is a secret only I should know!" he snarled, and everyone scattered.

"Your majesty." the alchemist bowed as Innokenti stumbled into his underground retreat, out of breath, but still smiling.

"Tell...me!" the possum searched the room, barely acknowledging the buck.

The alchemist, a humble, slender deer that rose up from the peasantry thanks to the teachings of a local temple and his magical talent, dressed in plain forest green, his armored apron glinting in the light of the many oil lamps sitting in mirrored little nests in the walls. His antlers were silver, a result of some early accident he never spoke of. But, he was not nearly as interesting as the rest of his workshop.

Bottles of bubbling, self-boiling liquors sat in shining golden buckets, green flames licked from black cauldrons that looked like miniature volcanoes, and a globe of glittering quartz resting on the main worktable gave off a faint, reddish glow. The king examined everything, uncomprehending but pretending he could decipher the meaning of the arcane mixtures in front of his servant.

"So, Laure, what have you got for me today?" the possum finally turned to the Royal Alchemist.

"Yes, well. I have Hall fetching it from the pit right now. It was too dangerous to be kept anywhere else." the buck said, motioning for his king to sit on a stool by the worktable.

Innokenti sighed, but perched his bulk on the creaky wooden seat. He hated waiting, especially when he imagined the alchemist's message to him was urgent. Still, it was no use rushing the deer. Laure was no charlatan, and if he said something took time or required special precautions, the possum accepted his words as law. Most of the time.

When the apprentice, Hall, walked in, heavy mittens over his paws and his apron covered in protective runes, the king smiled. The glow from the heavy, green-black copper bowl the young otter carried was familiar to the royal possum. He wore the metal on his claws, around his neck, and even had a sizeable ring of the stuff in his deep navel. Gold even appeared on his clothing, the royal robes threaded with it and the scaled crown he wore was studded with gold spikes rooted in a silver circlet.

"My gods, you've turned lead into gold?" the king clapped his paws, drooling.

"Err...no, your majesty. As I explained before, while it is possible to transform a base metal into one more noble, it is a self-defeating process. To make gold from lead reliably would cost more gold than it would ever produce." the buck said, and stepped back to allow Hall to pass. "This substance, while it does contain a great deal of gold, is actually a sort of wishing potion...wait a moment! Hall! What's that on your shoulder?"

The older deer pointed at the otter's simple tunic. Hall blinked, confused for a minute, and then he saw the droplet of shimmering golden fluid on his right shoulder. In the blink of an eye, Laure grabbed the bowl from the water-weasel, and pushed the male backwards.

"Your majesty, please, take cover!" the alchemist shouted, and slid down under the table along with the bowl of wishing potion.

The king followed after, his naked tail swishing angrily behind him.

"Master, I'm fine. You didn't have to push me like that!" cried Hall, whining as he rubbed his chest.

"Shut up, you stupid, careless...oh, what's the use? Just...take off your clothes, would you?' Laure said, and turned to his king. "Your majesty, I had hoped my words would be enough to prove what I said. But, you will witness the power of this wishing potion for yourself."

"M-master? I-I-I'm gonna?...Oh gods..." the otter trembled, his voice feverish with terror, and something else, something far more primal.

"Take off your clothes, Hall. You won't need them now." the deer ordered.

"I..I'm sorry, master. I'm sorry, your majesty. I hope I will at least make a good... demonstration." the heavy apron fell to the floor, and the tunic with it.

It took another moment for the otter's loincloth to drop. Innokenti knew the boy enjoyed his time at the local taverns when he had time away from helping the Royal Alchemist. The possum heard plenty from Laure about Hall's habit of coming to work dressed like a whore. With the tunic and the glass-gem-studded loincloth off, the otter was as naked as the day he was born. He was beautiful, a slender, feminine creature that could easily pass for a woman, if only he had the tits, and lacked a certain something in between his legs.

The water-weasel's cock, almost seven inches of fat flesh that covered his balls and shook comically as he stood there, trembling and whimpering, clutching at his shoulder, was growing hard before Innokenti's eyes.

"Like a lodestone drawing forth metal from sand, this wishing potion raises the desires of the victim to the surface. Forgive him, your majesty. He cannot help it. Soon, he will be nothing but male seed tainted with the power of the potion. Then, the real trouble will begin..." the buck spoke quickly, holding the bowl out of the king's reach.

Innokenti's eyes, meanwhile, were glued to the boy. With a small yelp, the otter fell on his knees, and both of his paws wrapped around his member. Tears of terror streaming down his face, Hall moaned in anguished bliss. His cockhead looked like a bloated, red apple already, and angry veins crept from his crotch up towards his belly. He pawed himself, slowly at first, then pumping as if his life depended on it. Faint wisps of glittering, golden smoke rose from him, puffs of it escaping his gaping, panting mouth and swirling up from his member.

"M-master...it feels sooo good!" he whined. "Too good! Please, kill me! I can't take it!"

Laure shook his head. The possum next to him, however, felt a stirring in his loins. The feminine otter before them was sweating and mewling in unwanted pleasure, and all he could think of was how he would love to go to him and sink himself in that luscious behind. It was a terrible thought, and the king squashed it down. But, he kept watching.

The otter's belly grew, at first merely swollen, as if from a large meal, then into territory reserved for pregnant females. It was a beautiful orb, wobbling as Hall massaged his enormous cock, the boy's navel growing deeper as he succumbed to the wishing potion. His length increased, thickened, sprouted more veins, until the cock clutched in his paws was almost as big around as his arm. His ballsack, much slower than either his stomach or his dick, sloshed downwards slowly, jiggling as the testicles within responded to terrible magics.

Hall was no longer crying. All fear left him, and he sat on his knees, pouting lips open in whorish displays of lust, begging for more. He received more before Innokenti's eyes, much more than the king thought possible. The lithe water-weasel's belly was now a bag of hot, bubbling seed, bigger by far than he was, resting heavily on his cock, which swelled far past his knees now. His balls were gigantic, far bigger than his head now. With a gasp of ecstasy, Hall found he could not spread his legs any more, and simply fell backwards, his thick tail twitching.

He was fast approaching his limits. Golden smoke spurted from what little of his length could be seen from between his balls and belly, the pair of grotesquely fat spheres of male essence wobbling as the otter fruitlessly pawed himself. Whenever he managed to cry out, his weak voice came accompanied by great clouds of gold.

"Soon, Hall's deepest desires will become reality. But, he won't be around for it." Laure said.

Finally, cum began to leak over the floor. Squirting from his clenching butt-cheeks, bubbling up from his mouth, and dribbling down his cockhead, it was like butter, thick and slow. Innokenti watched as a puddle of the sticky white stuff formed around the soon-to-be-former apprentice. The boy was silent, apart from his desperate cum-spraying breaths and a low, leathery creaking coming from his taut form. He lay there, too big to live but too lustful to die. Then, all of the sudden, his gigantic dick shot a stream of seed up to the ceiling, and he disintegrated.

SPLOOSH! Cum splashed all over the place, some even landing on the worktable and covering the walls. Then, obeying some terrible purpose, the drops, globs, and puddles of otter cum poured back from where they came. Before Innokenti could ask, there was a flash of golden light, and the semen was gone.

In its place lay a small pebble, no bigger than the king's thumb. It looked like a ruby, but had an odd, purple glint in its depths. As the two left their hiding place and approached the last remnant of the apprentice, the Royal Alchemist spoke, rubbing his silver antlers with one paw.

"The wishing potion is a terrible power. It would take a creature of exceptional purity of heart and strength of will to direct it in a positive direction. Worse, it carries the cost you just witnessed." Laure's words meant nothing to the royal possum.

Innokenti was focused entirely on the gem before him.

"What is this thing?" he asked.

"Hall was a good apprentice, but I've told you before he was a bit too interested in the ladies. The ladies, for their part, loved his maleness. It wasn't enough for him. Hall wanted to be even bigger. I wouldn't be surprised if-hey, what the-" the buck dove after the possum, but it was too late.

The king stood up, the pebble pinched between his claws. With a satisfied moan, he thrust his hips, and his maleness filled the fabric of his royal robes. In an instant, the fat possum went from being modestly endowed to carrying a pair of melons in between his legs. What traveled down his pants leg was almost as big as the otter's cock became, before it, and the boy's whole body, burst.

"By the gods! Incredible!" Innokenti cried, eyes widening, ideas bubbling in his skull.

"Your majesty, please, this is dangerous magic. It is wild, uncontrolled and uncontrollable..." the deer put a paw on his shoulder. "We must be very careful!"

"Hah! Uncontrollable? You guessed the little fool wanted a bigger dick, and now look at me! This rock made me HUGE! You CAN predict what the wishing potion would do!" the king roared, his hissing voice growing into something stronger and far, far less regal. "I NEED MORE! Let's see what bandits make! And merchants! And whores! Oh, yesss...whores! I'm gonna need buckets of this stuff!"

"Your majesty, you're not thinking straight. Perhaps, this pebble isn't safe. You must put it down." the deer ran back to the table, carefully lifting up the bowl, walking past the king. "We can't just use it on someone! It's horrible! It just popped poor Hall..."

"YOU would tell me how I should behave? In MY palace? In MY kingdom? WITH MY THINGS? I OWN it! And I own the wishing potion!" the possum king's eyes bulged, and he grabbed the alchemist's clothes, pulling him back. "This will FINALLY get me my conquest! I will be the greatest king Ctheren has ever known!"

"Innokenti! Please! I think you're not used to so much male essence flowing through you! Your humors are in chaos!" Laure cried, but it was too late.

"If you don't hand over the wishing potion to me RIGHT NOW, I will have you BEHEADED!"

The maddened possum roughly spun his Royal Alchemist around, snarling about his future plans. There was a splash, and the front of his royal robes was dowsed in the wishing potion, instantly sinking into the gray-furred belly and gigantic member under the cloth.

"NO! HELP ME! I'M SORRY! I didn't mean it! Please, undo this!" the king's wrath and courage disappeared in an instant.

Unlike the otter, who received only a small dose, the possum's flesh absorbed enough of the golden fluid for him to glow with its light. His beady black eyes glittered as shining sweat poured over his gilded fur.

"I couldn't help Hall! I can't help you, your majesty!" Laure whispered sadly, and threw himself behind the table, pulling it down to shield himself from the coming blast.

He did not have to wait long. The possum's body was glowing like copper in the sun, thick streams of light coming off his flesh. His crown melted, running down his body, liquid metal hissing as it hit the floor. He screamed and stamped his feet in a terrified tarantella, clothing turning into burning rags, revealing more and more of his fat body, but remained strangely unharmed. The wishing potion had a far worse fate in store for him. The king's newly-grown dick did not even have time to grow erect. With a throb, it disgorged a quart of cum unto the floor. Innokenti slapped his crotch, whining in fear, and his cock slapped his gut, suddenly far harder and more sensitive than the spoiled monarch ever felt. The possum's panic stopped as he swayed in place, weakly panting, about to faint. Then, chaos overtook him. His ballsack, already tremendous by any creature's measure, blew up so much he lost his footing, feet scrabbling on the floor as its weight pulled him down. The doomed creature's belly cushioned his fall, then expanded beneath him. The monstrous change happened to fast, and stretchmarks bled on the king's hide, covering every inch of him in complex lines of gold-tinged red. Innokenti spent the last moments of his life squirming on his own massive gut, unable to breathe, a halo of fire around him and rivers of cum gushing from every orifice in his body.

BOOM! SPLASH! SPLAT! The mass of cum that was King Innokenti exploded with the force of a bomb. The heavy worktable Laure hid behind was flung back, along with the Royal Alchemist. There was a foot-deep crater in the floor where the possum detonated, and his tainted, glowing seed dribbled from the ceiling directly under it.

"Curious... he exploded in a pillar of golden cum..." the buck said, eyeing the dent his liege created in the reinforced palace ceiling. "I'm lucky he didn't just blast apart. Would've been covered in cream...and probably squished."

As if responding to his words, the seed bubbling in the crater shivered, then suddenly, was sucked together into a point, which blossomed into flesh, knitting itself together in the space of a heartbeat. Foul smoke, like musk mixed with spoiled meat, rose from the muscles and fat assembling before the alchemist's eyes. Then, the magic-spawned monster stood.

It was as if someone painted a heroic portrait of the king. The creature was still recognizable as the monarch, but details were altered to make the overweight possum appear more noble and powerful. His feet were planted solidly, and he stood straighter, his spine unbowed by his fat frame. Muscles bulged in his arms and were even visible in his fat thighs. His belly contained a red, ruby-like stone Laure instantly recognized as the result of his apprentice popping. Upon the creature's head, the Royal Alchemist saw a crown, gold flecked with ivory. No, it was no crown! These were horns, grown in the shape of a crown around chunks of metal!The false Innokenti's face was twisted in a wide, smug smile, and his eyes were like two small black holes, radiating an obscene pride and hunger that made Laure look down rather than meet that gaze. That was a mistake. Down, between the monster's legs, throbbed and shuddered a golden pair of balls as big as prize-winning pumpkins, bowing his legs. His member was like some sex-crazed jeweler's dream, as thick around as his thigh, touching the floor with its shiny ivory tip, and just as metallic as his scrotum.

"Like what you see, Royal Alchemist?" the thing rumbled. "KNEEL."

It was as if Innokenti's voice was poured into a volcano and mixed with a dragon's roar. Laure could not help it. His legs obeyed. He was looking at the demonic possum from the floor, on his knees.

"You're not Innokenti..." Laure slowly said.

"I remember him like a dream. Indecisive, cowardly, compassionate, stupid. He could have written his name in blood across a dozen kingdoms, and instead, he merely played at being a powerful ruler." the demon-possum scratched his gut with gilded claws, and belched.

"You're...his wishes. Unbelievable! What did he want?" the buck struggled to understand.

"He wanted to be a great king. And, I am..." the monster laughed.

"You are an abomination." Laure said grimly, shaking off the demon-possum's command and standing up.

"No, I am not." the beastly creature chuckled.

The false king's form flickered. His crown was merely a gold and silver circlet to all appearances, and though his genitals looked much, much bigger than Innokenti's, they seemed to be merely flesh now. Even the strange ruby in his belly button was gone.

"I could never give up this wonderful size, but I do believe my subjects will accept me better now. What do you think?" the demon-possum patted the tremendous cock. "I bet you're wondering how to kill me right now. The answer is...YOU CANNOT KILL ME."

The possum's words echoed through the workshop as if it were a temple. Laure stumbled backwards, clutching at his head. All thoughts of destroying what he created were gone. His desire remained, but it was as if his knowledge of alchemy simply left him the minute he sought to connect it with the monster's demise.

The monster huffed, winded. His legs shook, and he looked on the verge of collapse. Before he could recover, Laure rushed out of his workshop, and ran for his life. The Royal Alchemist could do nothing to stop the demon-possum, but perhaps, he could teach someone who could. The deer's resolve grew with every step, and by the time he rushed out of the palace, his wife in tow, the beginnings of a plan formed in his head.

VVV

"Well, boys! Good news! The whores are on the king, tonight! We've collected fifty gold over our quota today, thanks to the donations of the local temples and traveling merchants!" the scrawny coyote prancing among the soldiers giggled.

After years away from the capital, Gehart still knew the tax collector's kind. They were not greedy. At least, not when it came to money. The coyote loved one thing more than anything, and it could be found between his legs and nowhere else. Gehart's training kicked in. Instantly, he went through the possible transformations, the apparent strength of every creature gathered before the coyote. The large deer's father taught him well. The wishing potion was safe to use.

With steady paws, he dripped a single drop on his shortsword, and made sure to clamp the container closed before putting it away in his cloak. Then, he stepped from behind the tree, and into the tax collector's camp.

"Good evening." the fat buck offers, smiling as if this was the most natural of meetings.

"And who the fuck are you?" the coyote snarled, the canine's longer, thinner blade unsheathed in the blink of an eye, his soldiers following after.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you are collecting money for a monster's treasury. And, it would seem, spending any extra to feed your own desires." Gehart kept his mask of civility on, but his words found their mark, and he secretly enjoyed the wrathful grimace on the tax collector's face.

"Boys... This bastard thinks he can take on a noble trusted by the Radiant King himself to gather the gold for his glorious conquests. Put your blades away. I'll run him through, and then we can see how well fools burn." the tax collector walked around the deer, measuring him, looking for weaknesses.

Gehart easily stood a head taller, and betrayed no signs of worry. He did not even move. His well-groomed brown fur looked ridiculous paired with the dark, scuffed scale-leather armor and the stained, green cloak coated in several layers of wax, no doubt used as a tent more than once. His sword was barely big enough to fit in his paw, and his antlers looked like they were polished with a soft rock, small scratches decorating their blunted tips. He looked as harmless as any traveling trader or pilgrim.

"Don't I at least get a last request?" Gehart looked down, his own shortsword relaxing in his paw, as if he was about to drop it.

"I'm Lord Keene, doe-fat buck! I will bet you are thinking you've picked the wrong tax collector to rob, eh? I'm a hundred times your better. And, I won't give you anything but a quick death!" the coyote gloated, his eyes flashing as he saw weakness and clumsiness before him. "I'm not-"

The coyote never saw it. The old bronze shortsword, little more than a big knife for the buck, swung upwards, turned, flashing gold in the firelight of the camp, and its tip buried itself in the noble. Lord Keene shrieked, clutching at his injured arm and stumbling backwards, all his small, cruel thoughts squirming into the darkest recesses of his skull as pain illuminated him for the first time in decades. His thin rapier lay on the ground, forgotten.

"You...you...you sliced me!" the coyote's whining tone betrayed his true nature.

True nature that Gehart noticed the moment he saw the soldiers gathered by the fire. Their leader was a pervert. The bull picking him up from the ground was a boot-licking coward. The badger, thumping a mace against his side, was greed personified. The bear now standing up from his seat by the fire was, at the first glance, a terrible glutton, but now Gehart saw a murderous gleam in his eyes. The ursine enjoyed killing. Finally, the stallion who remained sitting, looking as fearful as the tax collector, the deer knew from the beginning as a lazy good-for-nothing.

"That's right, Lord Keene. I sliced you. And now, before you let your foolish rage come back, here are some sad news. My blade is poisoned, and you will be no more in only a few moments." the large buck grinned as panic swept through the crowd of soldiers, the muscular bull even stepping back from the coyote, letting the noble drop back unto the leaf-strewn ground like a sack of grain.

"Idiots! He's just bluffing! Next, he'll offer me the antidote, in exchange for the gold, or some such nonsense!" Keene growled, and stood up, cradling his arm where the deer's weapon slithered past the metal of his armor.

"Actually, I'd need your gold to make the antidote. I don't have any with me. You really should strip off all that heavy, metal armor, before things get too tight. Might prolong your life by... I'd say at least a dozen heartbeats." it was Gehart's turn to gloat, but he remained at the ready in case either the coyote or his minions attacked, even though he knew they never would.

Like called to like, and the beast made of corrupt desire brought out corrupt desire in his servants. Bravery, strength of will, and reason simply could not stick around in any being that willingly associated themselves with the false king. None of Keene's band would willingly endanger their lives.

"I don't believe you!" the coyote gasped, but unbuckled his armor, and let it slip to the ground.

As his soldiers watched, the noble kept denying his reality even as it became apparent. Keene's skeletal body was plumping up. As he peeled his clothes off, he pleaded with himself to be alright, a foolish hope now that his stomach made him look like he swallowed a pumpkin whole. His wound had healed itself, the nick from Gehart's blade easily repaired by the magic now coursing through the coyote's veins. The same magic that made the tax collector throw aside his trousers and lewdly grope himself with a desperate lust.

"What is this? What's happening to me?" he cried, and Gehart only chuckled.

"My father called it the Gravity of Wishes. Your desires are all backing up within you, pressing their weight upon your soul. A male's lust is easy to arouse, and so this is the first, and the most powerful effect of the poison upon you." The deer stepped forward until he stood before the twitching, barely-upright coyote.

Gehart twirled his shortsword, and a pair of soldiers ran off into the woods. The bull and the stallion proved the wiser creatures, to the deer's surprise. The other two stood their ground, the badger scooping gold from one of the collection chests right into his pockets while the bear hungrily watched his lord's demise.

"Please...help me..." Keene begged, and collapsed unto his back.

Gehart never imagined there was so much lust in the thin coyote, and it seemed that the strain of it grew too great for the noble to do anything about it. He lay there, his paws twitching, pregnant with a sloshing ball of cum in his belly and a pair of sweaty cum balloons between his legs, his maleness waving in the air like an obscene flag of surrender.

"Why should I help someone who threatened and insulted me? You were not going to grant me a last request. Why should I?" Gehart asked, looking down at the desperate, weak coyote with undisguised satisfaction.

"Please...It's too much...I'm so dizzy, I can't even...pleasure myself..." Keene groaned, raising his head enough to look for mercy in the buck's eyes.

"You boys might want to back away. I'm about to make your leader a wet spot on the ground." Gehart warned, and knelt down beside the overloaded coyote.

The bear was drooling, expecting some terrible act of violence. The badger was ignoring everything in favor of his gold. Neither seemed to care for the mercy the deer offered them. Gehart shrugged, grinning down at the huffing, profusely sweating ball of a canine before him.

Keene no longer resembled what he once was. In moments, he had become more male than he had ever been. Only his comically skinny arms and legs betrayed a creature familiar with a diet. His belly was almost four feet across and just as tall, the navel a painfully red outie at its apex. The coyote's nutsack resembled a dragon's, swollen so big that its raphe was lost in the cleavage of the balls. His dick was a crimson, bobbing monolith, the veins on its hardly pulsing. Keene's eyes bulged from beneath half-closed lids, and he panted, tongue-out, exhausted by the power of his libido before he even had a chance to enjoy it.

"Now, you know I can't stick around to help you blow, Lord Keene. It's a bit...dangerous. But, I can offer you something of a last kindness." Gehart produced a thick, shiny dildo from his cloak, and wiggled the piece of cherrywood in front of the noble's eyes.

Keene's clouded mind protested for a moment against such abuse of his tailhole, but he broke only a heartbeat later.

"Pleeease..." he whined, eyes watering from sheer desire to cum.

Gehart did not need to be told twice. He spat a generous dollop of deer drool unto the dildo, and lifted one of the coyote's balls. It was as hard as ebony, every vein, every tube within it stretched and filled beyond mortal limits. The larger buck thrust the dildo into Keene's rhythmically clenching ass. Then, the deer bounded away, throwing himself behind a tree.

The coyote throbbed on the floor, struggling to lift his butt off the ground in a hump, fists so tight his claws drew blood from his paws, and reached the climax of his life. Keene screamed a gurgling cry of victory, his cockhead, as big around as his own skull, pushing up a weak stream of seed that sparkled gold. There was an obscene splash, as if a cask of beer had burst in the camp, and the fire was dowsed. Musky rain fell all around, canine semen slapping the leaves of trees and sliding off the tax collector's tent. Some fell on the bear, and the murderous creature snarled, wiping it off and running. No doubt, the soldier expected a far different show than the one he got. The badger, meanwhile, escaped without a single drop hitting him. Unfortunately for him, the coyote's demise did not mean the demise of his desires.

There was bright flash of gold as Keene's seed turned into a cloud of floating, green spores, almost large enough to be seen as particles in the night air. They glowed, following the wind, and swept into the money-counting tent.

The badger rubbed his eyes and coughed, trying to clear away the poisonous tree spunk his lord had become, panic finally breaking through his haze of acquisitiveness.

"Oh gods! What is this green shit?" he demanded, his paws still holding a bag of money he flled up when his pockets became too laden down with loot.

"Judging by that erection in your pants? They're a powerful aphrodisiac." Gehart laughed, casually walking up to the striped weasel.

With a strangled cry, the badger grabbed a knife, and sliced open his own pants. His modest, five-inch length shot out, dribbling precum, ballsack flopping out a mere moment later as the hole grew. He looked around, panting feverishly, and finally, his eyes settled back unto his gold.

"Fuck...fuuuuck meee!" he sobbed, and forced the heavy sack of gold between his legs with both paws, humping for all he was worth.

He came, and came again without any build-up, each time looking more frenzied. The spores forced the soldier into a death spiral of climax. Each new high brought a new plateau of bliss, and another climax to build upon it. As Gehart watched, the badger's seed ran down his pants, over his bag of gold, and made puddles on the ground.

"Well, this looks almost as bad as popping. I suppose I don't have to do anything to you. Just... keep an eye on my gold while you marinate in your own seed, alright?" the buck patted the badger's shoulder, and got a series of grunts and gasps in return.

Gehart knew that if he let the other three go, he could lose whatever element of surprise he had with the false king. As long as these remained mundane robberies, the monster would think his rule is secure. The moment he knew the son of Laure the Alchemist was developing an antidote to the wishing potion, Gehart's job became a hundred times more difficult.

With a grumble, he set out at a brisk pace, easily picking up the bull's trail first.

The bovine was smart enough to hide, but he proved woefully inadequate when it came to ambush. He struck from behind, and Gehart's shortsword claimed another victim, burying itself an inch in the white bull's belly, only a claw-length away from his deep navel. The bull shook his horned head, bellowing in horror, and threw himself backwards, as if removing himself from the blade's tip would get rid of the poison.

The bull landed in a thorny bush, his cheap scale-leather vest punctured instantly. Whatever safety the soldier thought his bulk afforded him meant nothing now, and as he watched, moaning as if milked, his member rose up, along with his stomach.

"Please! I'm not like the others! I was a harem toy for the king! I swear! I just wanted a bit of adventure! Help me!" he struggled to right himself, his sloshing new stomach, growing bigger with every moment, and gave up, his giant muscles useless before the might of the magical poison.

"I told you before, there is only one antidote, and it costs a great deal of gold to assemble. You're going to splash. Might as well lie back and enjoy it. You certainly have enough meat for that." Gehart allowed himself a pat on the enormous, nearly three-foot dick before him, the white-and-pink spotted length trembling as he did so.

"Fuck you! King Innokenti will eat you! Skin you! Shatter your skull! He's powerful! Magical! He'll have you drinking that fucking poison of yours soon!" the bull screamed in rage, overcoming the weight of his lust to throw a ponderous punch at the deer. "I'm his...his..."

"His overgrown cum-rag. Now, a cum-fountain." Gehart stepped away, and turned from the bull, walking back to the camp to begin tracking the stallion.

The bovine's hide was resilient. Strong as most armors made of scale-leather, it withstood the pressure of dozens of gallons of jizz he produced. His genitals hung down off the bush his rapidly expanding body demolished, bigger at last than his royal lover's. The white bull felt a surge of awful strength, and like a shaking, sloshing mountain, he rolled himself forward.

"I'm not done with you yet, you fucking!-" he shouted, taking a step forward.

The bull was proud of his appearance. He loved the way his shiny white coat made even the king demand a night in his bed. He wished to be with the king again! He could not bear to be an enormous blob of his own cum. Not now. Not when his lust was at its greatest, when his desire for the possum's luscious buttocks was beyond all control! But, even by using his lust, the bull could not strengthen his bones. His ankle gave out from the tremendous weight, and the ton and a half of bovine seed crashed to earth, his last scream a high-pitched squeal of lust and terror. He felt a sharp pebble on his monstrously extended outie of a navel. Veins stood out on his flesh, he creaked, and in the blink of an eye, there was a new clearing, and a pool of white in its center. Which rapidly vanished to become a small, beautiful lizard-thing, which crawled away, empowered by the bull's insane wishes.

Gehart, meanwhile, made his way back to the camp. The badger now lay on the ground, the money bag between his legs soaked through and torn, his dick buried in it, still hard as ever. The greedy soldier's heart was about to burst in his chest. He was painfully aware that he was fucking himself to death, but could not stop his own paws, his own dick, or the terrible spores he swallowed.

"Just pop me, you son-of-a-whore!" he screeched at the fat buck as he appeared from among the greenery. "Just pop me like you done Lord Keene and Orrig!"

"Shut up. If you want to pop so bad, kiss it. I'm not wasting a bit of energy on you." Gehart snorted, and shoved the sword before the badger's nose.

Tired and demoralized, all insults forgotten, the striped weasel eagerly ran his tongue over the blade. Even the small wound on his lip mattered little. With a sigh, the badger bloated up, growing faster than any other male before him. Gehart cursed quietly and brisky walked away. The badger's gut ripped out of his leather armor, and his junk slapped it, squirting still, but he no longer looked to be in the throws of orgasm. Instead, he seemed to be experiencing a disgustingly debauched afterglow, running his cum-wet paws over his stomach, murmuring sweet nothings to imagined lovers, and heaping praise upon his tremendously swollen balls.

"Oh, yesss! So sweet! Mmm! Like I fucked the Goddess herself!" he growled to the sky.

Somewhere in the distance, there was a rumble, and a terrific burst. The bear, hit by the coyote's tainted seed, must have reached ripeness and destroyed himself. The badger laughed. He kept giggling, drunk off the greatest climax of his life, until the build-up of semen in his body became too much, and he could only dribble bubbles of sticky, white foam. When he popped, it was with a sigh of supreme satisfaction, his body ripping asunder and turning into male essence far less explosively than Gehart expected.

Finding the horse proved almost as easy as following the bull. The young stallion had tired out quickly, and simply sat on the ground, bawling like a babe when Gehart shoved the sword under his chin.

"I can tell you haven't been in the king's service long. Or, in anyone's." the fat buck observed, walking out of the bush, his shortsword a hair's breadth away from sinking into the stallion's neck.

The boy shook, but cautiously nodded his head.

"I'm a recruit from the Twelve Hills militia. They told me I'd get to meet the king. Something about being fertile ground..." the stallion looked over his leather armor, the crest of Ctheren in bronze decorating his chest. "I thought I was helping the kingdom. They say there are so many threats to our peace now... But, all we ever do is threaten farmers and trinket-sellers for gold pieces like robbers. I hated them. I hated myself. But, I was too lazy, too scared to do anything. I...I deserve whatever this poison is."

"Hmm. Perhaps not. If you help me, you will help the kingdom tremendously, and I won't have to burst you. Now, I'm sure you've heard the tale of Laure the Popper. You know, silver antlers, black soul, tried to blow the king's home? Well, here's what really happened..." the sword disappeared back into its lead-lined, rune-covered sheath, and Gehart launched into a tale of his father's greatest failure, and how he eventually figured out what would defeat the false king.

END PART I