FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Lady Joan!" Godfrey's breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted towards the study, his nostrils flaring with the scent of musty stone and his armor clanking against itself. His deep, gravelly voice reverberated around the hallway, bouncing off the rough-hewn stones and filling the air with a low rumble. "La...Lady Joan!" He forced out of his lungs before heaving over at the doorway, gasping for air with histrembling hand grasping the stone doorway. At the center of the room sat an illustrious carved wooden table with a weathered map spread across the top of its surface, the edges tornand crumpled.Around the table stood three people; a male human with a wrinkled white tunic that hung loosely from his bony frame, its once-bright fabric now stained and frayed, and a brown-pelted mare dressed in chafed leather armor. Between them stood Joan, a female red fox dressed in similar armor with a torn blue cape draped down to her tail.

"What is it, Godfrey?!" The fox asked,her eloquent and silvery voice tinged with concern. She would have thought the world was ending based on the wolve's franticness. "It's King Leoric, his dogs are on their way to take back control of the city!" He shouted before collapsing into one of the unoccupied chairs next to the table. "We need to raid the armory in this castle for weaponsto arm the people before they get here." Joan's face broke into a wide grin, the stress of the situation melting away as she ran her furred fingertips across the smooth surface of the table. "That's what got you worked up?" The concern in her voice evaporated in an instant, her bushy red tail brushing her cape side to side."But...But Lady Joan, it's an army of hundreds of men. They'll massacre everybody." Godfrey stammered, perplexed by her reaction. Joan slid a wooden stein full of frothy beer with a smile, sloshing it onto the table after stopping in front of him.

"There's no reason to work yourself up, my dear Godfrey. I'm sure the Duke and the Duchess over there would love new company?" Joan's gaze turned to two mastiffs huffing as they rutted in the corner of the room, the female's belly and teats swollen to the floor. The dogs averted their eyes down to the floor from their onlookers, showing what was left of their royal modesty. Ashamed of what they were doing in broad daylight in front of an audience; however, not enough to stop, because try they might, they could only resist their new animalistic urges for so long."Now, help us come up with a way to evenly distribute the farmland to the people."

The sun radiated through the humidity against the chafed iron armor of the soldiers as they trotted down a battered dirt road on horseback, a thick cloud of dust following behind them like an apparition. The pleasant scent of morning rain hung in the air. Each carried a kite shield adorned with their city's heraldry," you could say "Each carried a brightly colored kite shield emblazoned with their city's heraldry, the colors contrasting sharply against the dull iron of their armor. At the front of the line rode Sir Reynald, the Earl Marshal sitting tall on his dark-brown furred Shire, towering over his men like a monolith. Plating strapped across the horse's upper half made it look like an iron giant that trampled on everything in front of it, the iron clacking against its muscled body. Next to him rode Sir Wymond, the Earl Constable, on an equally impressive horse. They trekked through miles of plains filled with emerald grass that swayed in the gentle breeze, dripping with dew before stone walls surrounding a hill appeared over the horizon. The walls belonged to the city of Vraford, an agricultural hub for the Kingdom of Thithen. Golden wheat and barley fields enclosed the town like a second palisade, yet there wasn't a peasant in sight. The plants were left unattended, standing several feet high, farming equipment scattered across the ground.

Sir Reynard came to a stop and raised his hand. His men halted behind in silence, waiting for his following command. They watched him push aside his red silk cape, grab a monocular from his saddle bag, and peer at the city. Not a single guard stood at the baileys and one of the heavy gate doors held ajar. Thick black smoke billowed from the chimneys, staining the sky and choking the air with the acrid stench of burning wood. The man collapsed the scope against his gloved hand and placed it back into his bag. "Do you think Duke Williams is still alive?" Sir Wymond questioned as he ran his fingers through his beard, his voice like a guttural growl that only a feral beast could replicate. "One can only hope, though god only knows what those savages did to him and his men." The Marshal strutted his horse around so that he faced his soldiers. "All right, men! King Leoric has tasked us with taking back the city from the hands of the peasants! We'll try to do this peacefully; however, have your weapons at the ready!" The man's voice was thick with pompousness. The men erupted into cheer with their swords raised in the air before galloping behind Reynard towards the gate, filling the air with the thunderous roar of hooves against dirt.

The crowded dirt streets of the town were alive with the hustle and bustle of daily life, as vendors hawked their wares and children played in the dusty alleys; however, as soon as the soldiers trotted inside, all fell silent. The people glared at the soldiers as they stepped aside, allowing them free passage toward the cobblestone castle that faced the city's center. The crowd grew ever larger the further they rode inside, surrounding them like a mob. Their glares caused the men to swallow hard as they gripped their sheathed swords with their sweaty palms. A humanoid wolf dressed in torn linen with dirt-matted fur stepped up to Reynard and spat at his horse's feet, causing the marshall's lip to curl in disgust. The towering castle loomed over the soldiers as they dismounted their horses, its walls covered in thick green moss that seemed to drip with moisture. As if on cue, the massive wooden doors groaned on their hinges, revealing a glimpse of the dimly lit interior beyond before Joan walked out with Godfrey following behind. "Who has the honor of gracing Vraford with their visage?" A devilish smirk crept across her snout while she peered at her uninvited guests, her tattered cape whipping in the wind. "I'm Reynard. Earl Marshal of Leoric, King of Thithen." The man walked with wide steps towards the woman with his chest out until he stood in front of her, his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword with a confident grin. Godfrey's hand tightened around the grip of his sword with his eyes locked on the man as he walked towards her. "Who might you be?"

The vixen stood in place with her eyes locked on his, unfazed "I'm Joan, but sadly, I'm merely a peasant so I lack a flowery title like yours." She gave the man a playful grin, causing Reynard's lips to curl and his hand to tighten around the pommel of his sword. "I presume you are the leader?" The soldiers stood in deafening silence as the two talked, looking over their shoulders at the crowd of humans and anthros behind them, their expressions tense and wary. Stray dogs barking in the distance and the men's horses snorting filled the void. "No" Joan scoffed. "I'm merely one of four representatives that were elected by the people. This city belongs to them as much as it does to me." Her eyes sparkled with amusement at Reynard. The marshall scoffed at the fox before turning and facing the horde of people standing behind his men. "Well, in that case, I'll give you all a chance to surrender or I'll have my men burn this city to the ground!" These threats only made the peasants glare at the marshal, burning his clothed skin. He swallowed hard as a bead of sweat rolled down his face. Something's not right, why aren't they fearful, he thought to himself. He turned back around to see Joan still with a smirk stretched across her snout, unfazed by his threats as well. "You can threaten all you want; however, you hold no power here. Now, kindly leave before you and your men share the same fate as the Duke and his guards." The vixen said before bringing her hand up to her face, the tip of her thumb firmly planted against her middle finger.

Reynard clenched his fist white around the handle of his sword, his face red with anger, and pulled his sword out of its leather sheath. Godfrey followed suit, withdrawing his weapon from its home in a single fluid motion, and readied it. But, as the marshal lifted his sword, intending to strike down the vixen with all his might, she snapped her fingers together causing blue magic to crackle and dance around her hand like flames. A roar of gasps broke out behind the marshal stopping him in his tracks. He turned around to see Wymond radiant with effervescent blue light that cracked and popped from his body before dissipating into the air. "Wha.. what's happening to me!?" The constable groaned as if his intestines were being rearranged within his body while he leaned against his Shire's side for stability. His chest heaved and his pale-skinned face turned crimson red before he collapsed onto his hands and knees, his armor clacking against the cobblestone street. The soldiers' faces contorted with horror as they watched the constable's back violently arch and his muscles tense as if being possessed by some demonic force. However, this thrashing grew difficult as his body bloated within his fitted armor like a balloon trapped inside its metal confines. He gasped as he tried to claw his armor off of his body like a caged animal to no avail, sweat pouring down his face. "Let me get that uncomfortable armor off of you dear." Feigning pity, Joan snapped her slender clawed fingers causing a flame of blue magic to erupt from her hand. Wymond's clothes disintegrated into ash underneath his palms and piled underneath his form, revealing the true effect of the vixen's magic for all to see.

The man's once chiseled and dark-haired chest and abdomen, a physique befitting of an experienced knight who has fought in many battles, bulged from his body like a beer belly. Any muscle he had was now buried under a thick layer of fat; however, thick muscle coursed down his waist and thighs as they widened apart, tensing underneath his skin. Reynard watched with widened eyes as his constable's flushed ears stretched like putty from his head; never had he seen such magic like this before. The man grasped his long equine ears with trembling hands and ran them up their length, short hairs pricking against his calloused hands like needles, his mouth held agape in horror. Similar magic erupted across the first row of soldiers standing behind Wymond, covering each of their bodies in crackling blue magic before rocketing to the next like electricity. The moral of the soldiers shattered like glass, many breaking out into panic as they screamed. Some of the men, those lucky enough to have been skipped by the magic, fell on their asses, dropping their weapons in the process before scurrying away on their hands and knees.

Wymond crawled to Reynard in desperation while the bones in his arms and legs snapped and cracked underneath his pale skin. The hair of his beard wilted away before being replaced by short brown hair across his face. Reynard recoiled in horror, his stomach churning at the sight of the constable's grotesque transformation, becoming something monstrous and otherworldly. The disheveled and chipped nails of his fingers turned black as layer after layer of keratin stacked on top of each other, thickening in mass. His middle fingers bloated and stretched out, dwarfing the other fingers as they shriveled. The bones in his hand crumbled together, masking the itching sensation caused by the prickling of white hairs from the flesh below his fattening nail. By the time he reached his leader, his hands fully transformed into the hooves of a horse, planting them against Reynard's chest. "Y-You got to m-make her stop this ma-madness!" Wymond cried; however, despite his pleas, he was met with disgust. The marshal grabbed the transforming man by his bony arms and tossed him to the side, causing his bloated body to slap against the cobblestone. "Get off me your freak!" Reynard spat, his voice thick with disdain. He could feel his fists clenching as he tried to push away the revulsion and fear that threatened to overwhelm him. While coarse black fur spread across his limbs and body, the magic began to start taking effect on the soldiers.

Joan showed no mercy to the soldiers, feeling a sense of satisfaction at watching the men that threatened her people writhe and transform within their armor. The sound of metallic clanging radiated through the air as iron helmets slid off from their altering skulls, and panting tounges spilled out of growing canine snouts. Greaves fell off their feet as lengthening claws tore through socks. Thick white fur covered their changing paw pads before spreading up their legs and the rest of their bodies. Their bodies eventually shrank to the size of small wolves, small enough to be able to worm their way out of their armor. Their pants and undergarments pooled around their paws exposing their red shafts throbbing out of their fuzzy sheaths. Once fully transformed, they wasted little time in taking turns mounting each other, fucking with wreckless abandon in front of the marshal and the townspeople. Those that had the miss fortune of not being able to find a partner took matters into their own hands and lapped at their shafts, matting the fur on their snouts in their own cum. Other soldiers vanished within their armor before emerging as beady-eyed weasels with brown and white fur, surveying their surroundings before scurrying away.

As this happened, Wymond continued his transformation. His thin lips twisted and contorted as they turned black, the skin rough and pebbled to the touch. His entire body itched and burned as short dark brown fur prickled out of his pale skin. His nose widened and flared as it took in the scents of his surroundings, the skin turning black as well. One pungent scent seemed to grow in intensity as the man's faithful horse trotted to him, its ropey tail flagging its pheromones in the air, and pushed on his growing body with its. Having lost the ability to speak, the marshal could only whiny as he tried to push his mare away from him; however, the aroma of its heat began to have the desired effect on him. The man's mind grew hazy as blood rushed to his flaccid shaft, turning a mottled black and pink with a marble texture as it emerged from its sweaty home. His foreskin turned a velvety black, smooth to the touch, as it grew in mass to better accommodate his growing length, and his petite testicles grew to the size of softballs.

I-I need... to resist, he thought to himself. But, GOD does the mare smell divine. His equine cock stretched across his furred belly, pulsing with a need to be buried into something warm as the tip flattened. The marshal's nose stretched out from under his eyes as they repositioned themselves on the side of his head, and his body reached its final size, that of a full-grown shire horse. Like a twig, his growing animalist lust broke his willpower, there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to rut. Like a newborn calf, he struggled to stand up on all fours, his legs wobbling underneath his foreign body. The mare turned its flank towards Wymond's face, lifted its tail in the air, and let out a warm yellow jet of urine laced with its heat causing the marshal's nostrils to flare. After scenting the horse's pussy, he stumbled onto its back and began thrusting; however, each one only managed to graze the mare's muscled rump. The man let out a whinny, drenched in sexual frustration, as he continued humping against the horse, desperate to sink his shaft into it to no avail. "Let me help you poor thing." Joan's boots slapped against the stone as she walked up to the rutting beasts with a mirthful smile. She reached down with her furred hand, grasped Wymond's shaft at the base of its crown, and guided the tip to the mare's winking cunt. Then, with one final thrust, the man felt the warm and wet folds of the horse envelope his shaft, letting out a whiny. "There you go, boy" Joan cooed while stroking his side as he began pistoning into the mare, snorting hot breath against its neck.

Reynard froze as the vixen turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his with a deceptively warm smile. She held her arms behind her back as she sauntered towards him, her movements smooth and predatory. "Now, what are we going to do with you?" she purred. Fear gripped Reynard's chest and he spun around to run, his heart pounding in his ears. But his feet betrayed him, and he stumbled and fell hard onto the floor. The vixen closed in on him, her eyes glittering with mischief. The sound of metal scraping against leather cut through the room as Godfrey drew his sword from its sheath causing Reynard's heart to sink, realizing he is at the mercy of them. "Say the word, Lady Joan, and I'll lop this lapdog's head off!" Godfrey snarled with his sword poised above Reynard's head, his voice thick with vitriol. The vixen regarded Reynard with a sly grin. "Don't be so hasty, Godfrey," she said, her voice low and sultry. "I'm sure we can come to a reasonable agreement."

She crouched down to Reynard's level, her body close enough to his that he could feel the warmth of her fur on his skin, and grasped his trembling chin with her hand. "Isn't that right, Marshal?" she said, her breath grazing his against his cheek. The man could only manage to nod as his heart raced within his chest, knowing he had no other option but to agree lest he ends up like the others. His men had been reduced to a pack horny wolves, taking turns knotting each other and matting their fur in a thick and musky white fluid. His constable dismounted his mare as his softening cock slipped out from its cunt, causing a torrent of equine cum to splatter against the cobblestone streets beneath them like paint. "I'll promise to let you go completely unchanged, but you'll have to do something for me." Her smile twisted into a sneer as she pulled the man's face towards her's so that they were almost touching. "I want you to ride your horse to your king and tell him what you saw, so he knows what happens to those that threaten my people" Joan snarled, bearing her teeth. "Understood?"

"Understood," Reynard said, his voice stuttering with fear. He shrank back as the vixen shoved him onto the cobblestone. He stumbled but quickly regained his feet, sprinted to his horse, and rode out of the castle. The crowd erupted into cheers as they watched the marshal ride past them. "You know they're just going to come back with an even larger army?" Godfrey's sword glinted in the light as he slid it back into its sheath. "Good," Joan said, a confident smirk on her lips as she surveyed the scene. "They can send their entire kingdom down here for all I care because the revolution is in full swing. We have the people, and we have the passion. They won't stand a chance against us." The wolve's eyebrows furrowed. "Alright, but remember, your life isn't the only thing at risk here," he motioned to the crowd showering Joan in praise. "Joan grasped Godfrey's hand, brushing her thumb across the top of his thick grey fur. "Hush, you worry too much," she said, meeting his gaze with a steely glint in her eye. The sound of her voice was like a balm to his worried mind, and Godfrey felt his tension release as he listened to her words. He knew that he could trust her, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him, infecting him with her confidence. "Now, help me round up the animals. I'm sure the Duke and the Duchess would love to have new company."