FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The first thing George saw that morning was the owl.

At first, he didn't understand what he was seeing, half asleep on a lazy Saturday morning with no responsibilities to think of. That is, until it flapped its wings against the window with a loud rap-rap and his brain kicked itself awake.

"Muhhhh," was his first remark; his tongue wasn't as awake as his mind- what he had meant to say was "Bird!" His tongue flopped around his mouth for another moment before it warmed up enough to form words. "Birdie! You can't be doing that!"

Of course, the owl being an owl, it continued. George sweated, wondering if he was about to end up with a dead bird right on his windowsill. Would that get him a fine? He definitely couldn't afford a fine.

He opened the window with a book in his left hand. "Oi!" he yelled hoping to frighten it away.

To his surprise, it worked; the owl turned away at once, screeching, a pale blur on the bright blue horizon. Funny; why was it out in daylight?

Frowning, he noticed something else. The owl had left a long, pale tawny with blue-grey spots feather behind it. George picked it up, feeling his skin prickle when it touched the still warm barbules. He held it gingerly by the shaft and put it aside, suspicious of the sensation. He didn't want an allergic reaction.

Once it was set aside, he soon forgot about it and went to get his breakfast, then sat for the next few hours watching Netflix. Only the prickling itch on his hand remained, and mostly he could ignore that.

Or, he could ignore it until he popped back into his room for his phone, and saw the feather lying on top of it. The tingling in his hand increased tenfold until he gritted his teeth against the sheer strength of the burning feeling. The itching tingle spread until everywhere from his fingertips to his elbow stung.

George stumbled away, staring at his arm. Massive goosebumps swelled on his arm, the itchiness concentrating in the spots. His hand was not free of the strange appearance of goosebumps, however; the skin turned rough under the touch of his other hand- which, as he rubbed it picked up the unnatural feeling sensation. When he looked at the palm, it was itchy, thickened red.

A powerful urge to faint came over him. But he knew he needed help- perhaps this was just one massive allergic reaction? To the feather. The feather which was on top of his phone. With the way touching it had brought about a massive reaction hours later made him disinclined to touch it.

Outside, then. Outside would be good. There weren't any neighbours by his cottage, but he was sure he could survive the walk into town. Stumbling on tingling toes and struggling to open the latch with his roughened hands, he got out and walked along the path.

Autumn was in full swing, and there was a chill in the air. Said chill bit into his goosebumps, who swelled. The itchiness became pain, George gripping them as they burst-

Instead of ominous fluids or blood, the feel under his fingers was silken smooth. He opened his to creamy feathers speckled with blue-grey spots, a few white feathers about his elbow. It was too much: he screamed.

Sharp blades dug into his shoulder. "You!" he snarled at the owl, waving his arms around.

The black eyes set in the owl's heart shaped white face revealed nothing, but the strange screechy noise it made before flying away sounded for all the world like laughter to his ears. His ears that when he touched, were shrinking, oddly smooth as if they were smushing into his skull.

"Come back here!" Too confused by everything to consider his actions, George gave chase to the owl that was gliding over the fields like a ghost, instead of down the gravel road which would lead him to help.

It was a doomed pursuit from the start. Fencing and hedges at once caught him, forcing him to struggle instead of glide towards the owl, and he soon lost sight of it. His shoes came loose from his feet in puddles of squelchy mud, and with one especially desperate tug, off went his right shoe alongside his sock.

He frowned, holding his foot high before shoving it back in. His toes poked out of his sock, which wouldn't go back on all the way. Keeping on shoving it on to no avail, he eventually let it slip off entirely. What he saw made him want to scream again.

His toes were merging into each other, little talons pointing from the reduced digits. Worse, it was rough like his hands, but also dark greyish in splotches. With a tingle in his hands, the new colour spread to them too.

For as long as he could manage, he stood like that, wondering what on earth he could do, other leg trembling and aching. He shuddered as he noticed the pressure and the tingling accompanying it. No, no, no, please don't-

His left foot tore out of its shoe, stretching into talons around the wreckage of fabric and rubber. George almost toppled until his arms caught the air; while he had been staring at his feet, more feathers had sprouted, and they pulled him upright somewhat.

Gasping for breath, he clawed his way out of the mud. The forest, he thought. Its reddish brown form clung a field away. Some new instinct in his mind urged him on into the shelter of those boughs, knowing it was a place of comfort. At that moment, the human parts of his mind weren't strong enough to resist.

Once in the forest, he was tired from running on strange feet and was panting heavily. His heaving chest rose out further and further. It bulged out beneath his clothes, an intense feeling of hot tension. A blush tickled the skin of his cheeks, the combined feeling of discomfort becoming almost... pleasurable? Something about the pushing and pressing against his jacket, along with the heat, made it feel like his chest was being massaged.

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore and tore open his clothes. His torn shirt fell off him, revealing a pair of pillowy tits, slick feathers covering them except for the pert nipples.

George moaned, rubbing his thinned hands into his breasts. A little squirt of milk shot from his nipples, rolling right off his waterproof feathers, which were spreading rapidly down his naked body. As they reached his cock, it sank into his body...

Yet he didn't notice, so taken up by his tits, he couldn't even think of how strange it was to be growing them while also turning into a bird. His eyes darkened until his iris and sclera matched his pupils, eyesight sharpening, shadows turning from blobs into crisp images. He mostly used this new skill to ogle his shapely figure, running his ever more feathery arms over the sharp hourglass figure he was forming, rubbing his downy thighs against each other, and groping his thickening ass.

As he touched himself, his feathers finally encased his cock and balls. Once rather impressive, his balls deflated into folds and his cock retracted. He reached out to touch, noticing for the first time what was happening to his manhood. Of course, he couldn't quite remember how large it had been before.

He touched himself as it retracted fully, leaving only a sensitive spot where it had left him. Then, he snapped his beak in delight when a slit formed beneath her crotch, fresh cloaca opening up for the fingers at the tip of her wings to use.

The owl lady screeched her pleasure to the forest, bucking her hips and writhing in the leaves. It was some time before she regained her composure and raised herself to her feet, before crouching and taking flight.

Like the barn owl she took her shape from, she was a silent flier, wings brushing the air with a delicacy unrivalled by most other birds. It may not be night yet, but she enjoyed the flight, clearing her brain of the strange dream lingering in her mind; one of being with the human folk in their houses, one that seemed oppressive to her now that she was truly awake.

She glided over the woods before seeing an especially tall bough which would take her weight and dipped down, claws catching the rugged bark of an ancient oak tree with ease. It was a good place to lie down for the day, so she could fly the night refreshed.

It was as she had those thoughts that she heard him behind her, sharp ears picking up everything from the scrape of his talons against the bark to his thumping heart. "This is my land," he said, brushing his head against her, wings brushing low on her hips. "All here belongs to me." If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it; instead, he seemed pleased, smug almost.

A flush started under her feathers, making her shudder in submission. Instincts guiding her, she lay down, exposing herself to the male. He was oddly familiar; something in the shape of his face was like someone she had seen before, she thought dimly.

His cloaca rubbing against hers soon wiped all those thoughts away. She gasped at his rate, sheer enjoyment flooding her. It was a long time before the lovers parted, a little bulge already forming at her stomach from all of his seed. Nuzzling her new partner, the owl woman already looked forward to seeing the eggs which would soon come of their mating.