FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The dark and stormy night brews with thunder and rain, and through the darkness, a single figure rushes, covered in a rain-drenched cloak, their hooded lantern rattling and casting shadowy illumination throughout the storm-wracked hillside.

With each step, the figure speeds up, their rush transforming from a disoriented stumbling to a determined dash, each step causing the water to splash up around the boots that trod along the muddy path, heels digging deep into the hill as the traveler dashes over the flowing water of the flooded path. Under the hood, bright red eyes glare toward the glorious building above.

Upon the summit at the end of the drenched road sits the high walls of a fortified temple, beautifully sculpted in the likeness of perfect beautiful beings, their arms open wide in accepting gestures and embracing one another in the most intimate and perhaps even scandalous ways.

The traveler's journey stops as they slam against the large stone doors, their gloved hands flat upon the architecture, fingers scratching at the entryway, forehead striking against the barrier, a growl rising from the hood. With a desperate cry, the traveler curls their fingers into a fist and pounds the hallowed entryway.

The peal of thunder and the rush of rains drown out the sounds, leaving them alone to face the silent and welcoming gazes, which become mocking parodies of the kindness that they claim to give.

Through gritted teeth and a hunched back, the supplicant stands up, glancing at the tall walls. Determination to get in at any cost floods their mind, and soon, through a cracking and a groaning of pain, the figure twists and contorts, their hands scratching at the wall again, but this time, the leather of the gloves breaks at the seams, and elongated nails, pointed and clawing scratch and deface the stone.

One hand and then another clasps and claws at the stone, gripping the imperfections, even through the pouring rain, digging, clawing, climbing, and as the traveler, no, the intruder, passes the welcoming statues, they tear gashes into the perfect flesh, leaving their smiles a cruel mockery of the otherwise lovely art.

The guard dresses in loose garb, reading a passage by candlelight. The constant downpour and peals of thunder make for a good reading ambiance. The quiet learning on time is unceremoniously interrupted by a loud THUMP.

The elven acolyte stands up, her ears quirking as she grabs her lantern and heads out the door of the small guardhouse. She gasps at what she sees and rushes into the storm, where her delicate night garb is immediately drenched, clinging to her supple skin. Her long, flaxen hair clings to her shoulders, her skin shines with the reflections of the rain, but she braves the cold, pounding torrent to hold a hand out to the hooded lump lying on the ground.

“My hand!" the acolyte says, holding out toward the traveler. “Please, can you take my hand? I can lead you to a priest and healer!"

The form remains motionless for a moment, with only the patter of water bouncing off the hood.

The acolyte gulps, glancing at the doorway. Her heart falls as she watches the entryway, but her glance is only momentary as the furred hand grasps her by the arm, digging into the flesh.

She screams, swinging her lantern at the creature, crashing the glass against the side of its head. It loosens its grasp, whimpering, stumbling to its feet as she clasps her wrist, red trickling down her arm.

“Nnngh… please…" the creature speaks, its voice gruff, though high. “Help me, I can't… I can't…"

The guard relaxes, albeit a bit, stepping forward into the stormy night, swallowing her anxieties, and gently letting go of her wrist to reach out again.

The traveler snaps, large jaws biting just inches from her face. She falls on her back, splashing into the water with a scream that pierces the storm.

He's upon her, claws digging into her shoulders, his maw inches from her face, saliva and rain mingling as they fall onto her.

Red eyes pierce with black pupils down to the terrified creature, and a nose sniffs, pressing up against her neck.

She's frozen, terrified, her eyes open, but seeing nothing as pure anxiety runs through her chilled body.

That's when a palm thrust forward, striking the creature squarely on its black nose.

The lupine thing hops off the acolyte, snuffing and grasping at its face, while the acolyte curls up, rolling onto her side, clasping her face.

A hand rests on her head, providing psychological comfort and with the holy energies that empower his touch. The knight of love then steps between the beast and its prey, his long green hair pinned and his pristine chest glistening in the light radiating from his armor.

Rivulets of water run down along each muscle. Fiery red-orange eyes stare down at the creature reeling back from him. “This is not how one treats someone offering them aid," he chastises.

The traveler hunches over, his maw the only thing escaping from his hood. He breathes a few ragged breaths before roaring and rushing toward the paladin, swiping both claws at him.

The knight doges aside as thunder claps, a leg sweeping, catching the traveler and knocking him down to the ground, his muzzle smacking into the mud with a splash.

A moment later, the paladin is on top of the hooded creature, shouting over the storm's fury. “Have you come here for help or harm? Answer me truthfully.

Muddy claws grip his arms, but the armor keeps him safe, deflecting the scratches.

He tightens his grip. “Answer."

“H… help!" the monster roars.

With a nod, the paladin presses two fingers upon the beast's forehead, and with a command, a shot of pure energy zips through and into the monster's mind.

A moment later, it falls limp in his hands.

The twitter of birds and the sun's warmth are the first things the lump under the white sheets hears when consciousness finally returns. Soon, the soft skin rubs against tired eyes and lifts up from the bed. The lithe and slight figure blinks blearily, rubbing the sleepiness from his gaze. He shudders, feeling the slight chill of nakedness upon his breast, and pulls the covers around him as he looks over a room? It is a cell.

The prisoner sees himself as a blurry mess in the mirror. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs, and slips out of the bed. When his bare feet hit the floor, he blinks and glances downward.

He's greeted with the paleness of his nude form, yanks the covers off his bed, and creates a makeshift robe around himself, tucked under his arms, with such length as to make a slight trail behind him.

How humiliating.

He pads over to the vanity, fumbling through the still soggy material lying there—a traveler's pack with various kits and bags and a pair of spectacles in one of them. He rests them upon his nose and turns toward the light, gazing out the barred window.

A beautiful garden beyond this cell is filled with calming flowers and topiary cut in the shape of figures in various embraces. Walking through the garden in pairs are lightly-robed individuals, sometimes so unclothed as to only barely not expose their most private of areas. The young man blushes, his heart rate quickening as he watches the groups walking hand-in-hand, giggling and talking to one another. Some step to a small pool, where they undo their gowns with a simple tug, jumping in and wrapping their arms around one another, their bodies pressed tightly in warmth.

He leans in, gazing downward, desperate for more of a view of this place. He grasps at the bars and yelps, pulling back. His palms burn with a gentle rash that sizzles.

Suddenly, a scent wafts past his nose, and he whirls around. Standing right before him is the tall figure of the beautiful man with green hair and orange eyes.

Those eyes stared him down last night with such determination and passion.

The prisoner gulps, stepping back but jumping forward, not wanting to touch those bars.

“You should be careful about those bars," the paladin says. Today, he is not armored but dressed in flowing, translucent sleeves trimmed with a shimmering material and leggings that go up to his thighs.

The prisoner snarls, grasping his sheet and tossing it at the larger paladin. He swipes at him, only for the paladin to grab his wrist through the cover, holding him tight as he pulls the blanket off his face.

“The bars are silver," he continues.

“What does that mean to me?" the prisoner snaps.

The paladin sighs, letting go. “Was last night your first transformation?"

The prisoner's heartbeat thumps heavily in his chest. “No… I mean, I don't know…" He runs his hand through silver hair and sits on the bed. “You're a paladin of love, aren't you?"

“My name is Tybalt," the paladin responds, finding the space next to the prisoner to sit, his arm so close that the warmth radiates off it and onto the prisoner. “And you are?"

With a deep breath, the young man speaks. “Michlah. My name is Michlah." He raises his hand, seeing the burn quickly disappear.

“Healing fast is something you can look forward to, Michlah," says the paladin.

“I'm not looking forward to anything!" Michlah snaps, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. “I came here because I'm sick, and the doctors back home said I should come here."

“Few can handle your affliction," Tybalt says, nodding.

“So, then, you know what ails me?" Michlah asks, his high voice rising in hope.

“Indeed," says Tybalt, placing a hand upon Michlah's shoulder. He squeezes it, a sadness in his eyes as he faces the young man. The tears that well up on the half-elf's cheeks take Michlah aback.

“You are cursed," Tybalt says, placing a pillow on the supplicant's lap.

“Cursed! No, that can't be!"

“But it is. Lycanthropy is a disease and a curse, and it is one that you have contracted."

“Not likely! I've never seen a werewolf or anything in my life! He yips! “I'm no adventurer. My travels are strictly going from town-to-town!" He hops up, walks toward the mirror, and grasps the wooden vanity. “I've never been bitten, scratched, or harmed by a wild animal. Those are the only ways to contract lycanthropy! I should know. I study disease!"

Tybalt stands, draping the sheet over the young man's body. “There is another way to contract it," he says, “One that many textbooks shun to speak about, yet it is a terrible way to get it, as it proves to be a betrayal most foul."

Michlah tenses up, staring at the paladin through the reflection. “Are you insinuating… are you claiming I had, that I… and a monster… and because of that?"

“It's a possibility," says Tybalt. “But to be sure, you must tell me about any intimate contact you had before the first symptoms arose."

Michlah's legs give way, but Tybalt is there to catch him and guide him back to the bed.

“It isn't every day that someone finds out that they may have contracted a magical STD," says the paladin. “But please, tell me your tale."

Michlah focuses his gaze on the paladin in the mirror and sighs, shaking his head. “Can't I at least get something to wear, first?"

“Try the shelf below you," Tybalt says, stepping back.

Michlah pulls the thing open and produces from it a covering not unlike the loose-fitting robes of the acolytes out in the garden beyond his prison window. “This isn't much better than just wearing the bedsheets."

“You won't have to keep your hands clinging to yourself with it on. “The paladin responds, picking up the sheet and spreading it over the bed. “I shall avert my eyes while you dress."

“What's the point?" Michlah sighs, slipping the thing over himself. “You've already seen all of me, anyway. It's the way of your people, isn't it? Keep nothing secret from one another, and fuck whenever you wish?"

Tybalt fluffs a pillow, a soft giggle passing his lips. “You make it sound so crass, but I suppose you are allowed to think it if that's what you want to think. We provide comfort at the temple of love," Tybalt says, patting the pillow and then sitting on the bed. “It is the guiding force in many lives to seek comfort in all its forms. There are just those who would deny simple, intimate connection from others or, worse yet, abuse such a connection."

Michlah pats the flowy robes over him, the fabric soft and airy over his body. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, facing away from the paladin. “So, you don't blame a guy for wanting to explore his sexuality outside the bounds of his society?"

“I do not. As long as all parties consent and enjoy each other, there is no fault in expressing joy, passion, and love."

Michlah grips the fabric, his shoulders shaking. “Yeah, it was all well and good beforehand, but everything after that's been terrible."

“I do not wish to cast judgment on the one who afflicted you so soon," Tybalt says, leaning back, enough that his warmth radiates to the lycanthrope's head. “But if someone is willfully afflicting people, they must face punishment."

“Yeah, it's not like it was all her fault. I was a dummy, and I started it."

“Just tell me the story of your encounter and everything you can about the one you met."

—

I am a traveling merchant of poultices and remedies by trade. I often find myself in the poorly lit corners of inn rooms as I travel from place to place, seeking new reagents to make more potent potions. But it is a lonely life, with many relationships being fleeting things and the only companionship being the secret signs of those also in my field, which, admittedly, I do not see very often.

So, when she arrived at the tavern one foggy night, it was like an oasis in the desert. At first, I had thought her to be some manner of barbarian or warrior, as she carried a large pack on her broad shoulders, her armor straining against her bulging form. As she spoke to others in the taproom, pulling out her pack of poultices and concoctions, I knew I had found someone with whom I had some connection.

And though her canid form was exotic to me, I found it to be of the most intriguing nature, more than one that bothered me.

I approached her, having imbibed some local potions. I had a little courage in me. I noticed something about her: a rugged edge to her smile and a gruff growl in her voice. I immediately let my knowledge of my craft take control, guided by the unmeasured amounts of drink I indulged in with her.

“So," I said to her, feeling the courageous brew working through me, “I usually take the common rooms around here, but how about we share a suite?"

She flashed me the toothiest of grins and patted me on the head. “I'd just love that."

That deep, growling voice and the strength but tenderness in her patting paw were enough to get me to foot the bill for our drinks and the premium accommodations.

It wasn't long after we broke through the threshold of our room that I threw myself upon her, lavishing kisses on her neck and shoulder, which I could barely make it to, even while standing on my tiptoes. There was something to the fuzziness of her fur, its softness, and its muskiness—all elements served to drive me wild!

And in the heat of the passion, I threw off my garments before her, offering myself.

On her part, she mostly sat on the bed, hardly having removed anything other than her shoes. And that is when she asked me, “You got any concoctions to keep us safe, little man?"

I must admit my embarrassment. There I was, a man of medicine. Yet, I completely forgot about the chance to have an anonymous meeting with a powerful lady.

“That's okay," she said, rummaging through her pack and producing a glowing bottle. “I got a little something that'll make sure we're both able to have fun tonight and not have to worry. I got one question for ya, though."

I asked her, sincerely transfixed by the mysterious brew, and she responded, saying bluntly, “Would you fuck a girl with a cock?"

What would I say in that situation, alone and with a genuinely stunning creature, but the truth? I took a deep breath and spoke to my lover that evening, saying, “I often hide what I like for fear of repercussion. I don't want the more, let's say, traditional people to throw me out of town for my tastes.

“And here you are with a muscle-bound dog-gal, your clothes off, waiting to do my bidding," she chuckled. “Now, once I drink this, you'd better get ready because it doubles as an aphrodisiac." She stood tall over me, undoing her belt and letting her pants fall to the floor.

“So, the principle is simple, you see. I drink this, and then I grow something new and magical. And because it's magic, it won't transfer any venereal disease either to or from me, make sense?"

I had already sat on the bed, my eyes transfixed upon her fuzzy groin.

She downed the potion, gulping it with the expert imbiber of a master potioneer, wiping the remnants off her muzzle with a satisfied sigh and a huffing breath.

“You'd better be ready, little man," she growled, licking her lips and flashing bright white canines at me, “Because today, I'm gonna change your world!"

And you know what? She was right. From the moment she said that to the second moment, she threw her head back, gripping her face, groaning. I was hooked. The pangs of transformation fizzled through her body as the cock emerged, red and glistening like a thing of beauty.

I was drooling at the sight, a sight I couldn't take my eyes away, and one that hypnotized me so much that she had to grab me by the head and press my face up against it.

“You like this, little man? You wanna blow off steam by sucking off a chick's dick, eh?"

By the gods, what else is a man put on this world for but to wrap himself in the beauty of a woman?

I kissed that length, nuzzled against it, and moaned as much as my heart would allow in such a public place.

I sucked upon it as if drawing up life-giving water, glancing upward at her, watching her wide and knowing grin.

She thrust into me, sliding that tapered thing down my throat, blocking my air, choking me, but all the while, I thought it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in my life.

“That's it, little man, drink it all. Be a good boy and taste my magic cum!"

Perhaps I should be embarrassed by it now, sir Tybalt. When she fucked my throat and held me down, shooting that hot and sticky load into me, I couldn't help myself but swallow as much as I could before falling back onto the bed, where she painted me with more splurts of that magical semen, drenching my chest and my stomach, leaving me panting, gasping, and feeling strangely fulfilled.

—

“That's all I remember from that night. Afterward, it was the morning, and she had left me where I lay, sticky and without her name," Michlah says, tears forming in his eyes. “I didn't know until a week later that the rising of the full moon would cause me to black out again, and now, on my second cycle, I came here, desperate for answers, yet knowing, I suppose, in the bottom of my heart, that the answer was already there."

Tybalt is silent throughout the story and doesn't offer anything else yet. Instead, Michlah ran a finger over his forehead, recoiling at the jolt of remembrance the night before, where the paladin's touch had knocked the beast out. “I never thanked you, did I?" Michlah asks.

“There is no need. I was merely doing my duty," Tybalt responds.

“No, but the guard is she… I mean, did I?"

“We are monitoring her now for any signs."

“Damn it all. My horny ass got me into this mess, and now someone else may be paying for my stupidity."

“You are untrained in the ways of your kind," Tybalt responds. “Until a cure can be found for such a curse, you need to seek out another of your kind who has learned to live with their curse and learn under them."

“My kind… living under this curse… bah! I wish I never required such a thing!"

Tybalt places his hands upon Michlah's shoulders. “You are tense right now. You need to relax while I prescribe you the course of action."

Michlah huffs but rolls his shoulders, closing his eyes. “What do you suggest we do?"

“We must become comfortable with one another," Tybalt begins, massaging the traveler. “We must then set out on a journey—you to find a tutor and me to find the one who did this to you and punish her."

Michlah pulls away, spinning around. “Punish her? But she didn't? I mean, maybe she didn't know? Maybe she…" he trails off.

“She slept with you under the pretense of being a beastkin race. Hiding her true nature is a crime in the world of love. For that alone, I must confront her."

“You're saying there's more to it, though."

“That I cannot determine until I hear from her."

“Fine, fine," Michlah says, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his nose. “What do you suggest we do then? Pack up, get ready to go?"

“It is still within the moon cycle," Tybalt says, glancing out the window, “and the sun will soon be setting."

“By the gods, I slept that long."

“I must stay with you here for the night and ensure you do not harm anyone."

Michlah blinks, “But what about you?"

“Do you think you will harm me?" Tybalt asks, a soft smile on his lips.

“No, no, of course not, but… what will we do until I transform?"

“What would you like to do?" the knight asks, tilting his head gently.

“By the gods," Michlah groans. “What is wrong with me."

“Nothing," says Tybalt, “but if you need comfort, I can provide."

Michlah sits in the arms of the beautiful half-elf. The young traveler's cheeks warm up in the closeness they share. He shudders, holding onto those smooth and toned forearms, scooting closer to Tybalt, shuddering. “I'm scared," he whispers. “What's going to happen to me? I can't… I can't be a monster forever, can I?"

“To cure your disease," Tybalt begins, “requires much work. It is a quest in its own right, and the one who partakes of it is often doomed to failure as they fall to their animal desires."

“Can't I… control them?" Michlah asks, “At least long enough to acquire the materials I need?"

Tybalt squeezes Michlah tighter, nuzzling his head against the merchant's hair. “You need not be alone. We can travel together, first to confront the one who had wronged you and then to seek the necessary steps to save you. Of course, if you lose control of yourself, I should be there to keep you tamed using my powers."

A throb warms Michlah's head. He rubs it, and Tybalt takes his hand, kissing it. I will endeavor to keep it painless when more violent means are unnecessary."

Michlah's blush only deepens when he hears that. “Oh, I see, so when you say you will use your skills upon me, you mean the infamous touch of the Paladins of Love?"

Tybalt smiles, tilting his head, patting his partner. “Of course, our reputation precedes us, but know that the Knights of Love only do what is necessary and what is desired. How much would you desire would be up to you."

Michlah gulps, his tongue poking out, lapping at his lip. “I uh, well, that really depends, doesn't it? They indeed touch their targets and their lovers intimately to administer their healing. I never thought exactly what it meant if it was symbolic or how far things went."

“As you can see," the paladin says, motioning over his body, “I have a magical cloth here to keep my sword away until it is most needed. It is only ever used as a last resort. Palms and fingers always are uncovered so I may caress. My chest is bare, so those I tend to may be close to my heart. That is the nature of our code of conduct."

“I never thought I would be able to see such a treatment in person, let alone be the recipient of one. Are you sure what you can provide will not cleanse me of the curse coursing through my veins?"

“The most potent of my abilities would scour the monster from this world, if necessary, with a holy smite. Only those strong in mind, body, and soul could escape unharmed. I do not wish to put anyone through such a trial unnecessarily."

“If there's anything I can do to ease our worries, I will be happy to do so."

Michlah stands up, and Tybalt lets go with no issue. The traveler paces around the floor, wringing his hands, staring at the floor.

Tybalt sits back, his hands on the mattress behind him on either side.

“I'm not a slut," Michlah says, glancing at Tybalt with quick and furtive glances.

“I have made nor will I make any judgments."

“How can you say such things?" Michlah says, whirling around. “By having random sex with a stranger, have I not perverted the idea of love? Have I not broken some unforgivable taboo by simply seeking my own desires?"

Placing a hand upon his own heart, Tybalt shakes his head. “It isn't what we desire that causes us to pervert love, but what we do with those desires. People desire intimacy and connection. If it is love you desire, and it isn't tainted by fear, hatred, or greed, and if you do no harm in pursuing it, and those affected by what you do are not harmed, then there is nothing wrong."

“It sounds like so much,"

“Because Love, like any weapon, is powerful and dangerous. It asks us to let our guard down and to be our most vulnerable." Tybalt taps his breast. “And when we are vulnerable, we can open up to greater understanding, or we can be destroyed by the sting of betrayal. You were the victim, Michlah. This isn't your fault."

“How can you say that? I'm a victim to my own desires, uncontrolled like I'm some sort of animal."

“Let me ask you some questions. First, do you willingly or unwillingly cause harm and seek not to make reparations for the harm you cause?"

“What, no? I mean, not that I know." He gasps. “The guard."

“That remorse you feel? Is it genuine? Or are you putting on a show for me?"

“What?" Michlah snaps, whirling around to Tybalt. “Of course, it's genuine. What do you take me for?"

“Someone confused and scared, seeking desperately comfort and support. That is what I am here to provide you."

“And how will you do that when I could turn into that monster again?"

Tybalt pushes himself up, standing over the more petite man, his eyes burning with that dedicated passion of the knights of love. “I shall educate, train, and guide you as much as I can and as much as you are willing to accept."

Michlah grips his gown, biting his lip, his glance sliding down Tybalt's body, resting between his legs. “And you will use that? Please?"

Tybalt places his arms akimbo, showing his teeth in a grin. “If you wish and are careful, then we shall."

Tybalt, the Paladin of love, stands before Michlah, the traveler afflicted with lycanthropy, hands upon his waist, smiling down at the shorter male. “Are you truly curious about my holy sword?"

Michlah gulps, staring at the cloth hanging at the knight's waist. “Is that really what you call your dick?"

Tybalt chuckles, running one hand over his hair. “You make it sound silly when you say it aloud like that."

“That's because it is silly! It's a penis, a phallus, a cock. Not a sword."

“Every knight needs his trusted weapon."

“As if a penis is a weapon. It's a tool for pleasure."

“Every knight needs his tools," Tybalt retorts.

Michlah snorts. If I go feral on you and become a werewolf, you may have to use that thing to calm me down. Or is what I heard in my travels, a farce, a meme?

“No, you're correct," Tybalt says. “I can pacify many a monster with my hands and my weapon, and it may come to pass that I'll have to use this on you as well."

“Then… shouldn't I get used to it?"

“You make a compelling question," says Tybalt. “Perhaps some familiarity wouldn't hurt.

“Wouldn't you turn into a werewolf yourself?"

Tybalt's fingers play with the strings that hold up the sash. “Oh, you need not worry about that. My sacred vows and the holy magics of knighthood keep me from being afflicted with any venereal disease."

“But this is a curse!"

“You're correct. That is why I shall also apply a warding measure upon myself before we become intimate. Both should be fine preventions on their own, but there is one thing you should know: you can never be too careful when it comes to your health."

“I can teach you a simple spell of protection that should help cover the basics, but it requires some practice to get it down correctly."

Michlah gulps, eyes up and down and then up again. “Well, then, may I see it?"

“Yes, you may," Tybalt says, slipping his hands up his sides, over his chest, and then out, stretching wide as if ready to embrace Michlah. “If you want to reveal it, you shall do so."

“You t-tease," Michlah grumbles. His head pounds as he quickly steps up, his bare feet sliding against the cold stone floor. Soon, his fingers reach up to Tybalt's sides, trembling as they slip around the straps and strings that hold the cloth up around Tybalt's waist.

“Someone's excited," Tybalt sighs.

“S-shut up, I got this!" Michlah says.

“How high is your anticipation, Michlah?"

Michlah pauses, closing his eyes and pursing his lips together. “Fuck it all…" he grumbles, tugging the string loose!

The fabric falls from Tybalt's thighs, landing on the floor by his armored feet in a neat little pile. Underneath that cloth is the famous sword of the paladin of love.

It is massive, much longer than it is wide, but still of oppressive and perhaps intimidating length. It is the largest that Michlah has ever seen, outside the sizes seen on the more giant races. The shaft is as smooth as the rest of Tybalt's body, whether meticulously maintained or naturally bare from his elven heritage. It hangs low, but in its revelation and in Michlah's admiring of it, it soon peeks to life.

“Ah!"

Michlah stumbles back, hands clasped over his mouth, his eyes glimmering in the spectacle of its magnificence. “In… incredible…"

“It can be a bit much for someone to see at first," Tybalt admits, “But I've come to accept such reactions."

“No wonder you can bed monsters with this thing!" Michlah says. “Is this a trait that all knights of love share? A prerequisite to taking the oath is to have such anatomy? Or is this something you gain upon your initiation into the order?"

Tybalt shakes his head. “No. This is something I inherited from my…" he shakes his head. “No, it is of no concern. Please, do you wish to examine it closer?"

Michlah squats before him, eyes crotch-level to the paladin, licking his lips. “And, uh… did you cast a protection spell?"

Taking two fingers into his mouth, the paladin sucks on them momentarily, pulling them back, a spit dangling between lips and fingertips. He then presses those fingers to the base, sliding it along the tip as he motions his other hand up and down without touching it. He speaks in the ancient language of the gods of good, and soon, a slight humming glow permeates the penis.

“My cock is consecrated, so such precautions are not necessary. But that is the spell you would need to perform to protect yourself. An easier version is available to those not so gifted in holy magic."

“I… I see…" Michlah says, nodding. He reaches up. “And now, even if I were to chomp down on you, you wouldn't be affected by lycanthropy."

“Please don't bite me, Michlah," Tybalt says. “That would be most unappreciated. Unless you think it would relieve your stress."

“No, this is good enough for now," Michlah says, wrapping his fingers around the base of that shaft. Even engorged with blood, it flops down from the weight of it. The younger male has to step back a few steps to keep it from smacking him in the face.

“Will you enjoy it?" Michlah asks.

“Only if you know you cannot let me finish without consequence," Tybalt says. “My seed is only for the most potent of cleansing rituals. I shall use it on your wolf form if necessary."

'That's okay," Michlah says, gulping. “It's the feeling of a hot dick in my mouth I like the most."

And with that, he presses his lips to the tip, suckling upon it, sighing in delight at the prominent meaty member of the kind and gentle stranger. A moment later, a firm, gentle hand rests upon the top of his head, and he feels at peace with himself for the first time since becoming a curse.

Tybalt gazes longingly down at Michlah, the knight's lips parting as audible breaths exhale, inhaling a sustained rhythm of focus and delight. This delight, of course, comes from all of the attention lavished upon him by the smaller male and his delightful lips smacking at the tip of the paladin's impressive member.

Tybalt pats Michlah on the head, scratching behind his ear and reaching down under his chin to apply even more affectionate rubs.

Michlah instantly ceases his fellating to take in the wonderful feeling of affection that stems from such gentle actions. Something deep within him—primal and needy—flares to life at the intimate touches. None of them were anywhere near as lewd as what he was doing with his mouth, but they were even more loving than anything he had felt in a long, long time.

One could fall hopelessly in love with the tall, slender, and toned male sitting on the edge of the bed, and perhaps, he fears, that is the case with him as well.

“Hold on a moment," Tybalt says, scooting back on the bed.

Michlah whimpers, longing once again to be touched as he was. He grabs the edge of the mattress, his eyes peering over the top, his hips wiggling, licking his lips, savoring the remembered taste of the divine meat.

Tybalt scoots back against the headboard, patting the space between spread legs. In such a position, that holy cock of his stands high like a tower to delight, glistening slightly at the tip from the subtle kisses given to it only moments before. “Please, join me up here. I would rather you not hurt your knees."

“My… my knees are fine!" Michlah says, but the younger of the two males hops up to the mattress, crawling toward Tybalt.

“I'd imagine they are," Tybalt admits, running fingers through his hair while others swirl over his chest, focusing upon his stiffening nipple. “Your affliction grants you enhanced durability, which should prove useful in long travels and rough lovemaking sessions."

Michlah's blush burns at the suggestion, his hands placed upon Tybalt's knees. He leans in, though, a smile creeping upon his lips as he lifts his hips and lowers his back, his shoulder blades touching each other as he scoots in, sliding fingers up along Tybalt's thighs.

“You may wish to be a bit more comfortable," the knight says, “If you want to get so close."

Michlah pauses, his hands so close to the paladin's hips and groin, but he realizes the wisdom of those words. He sits up, gripping the outfit, peeling it off, revealing before the knight his smooth and unblemished form before the knight.

Michlah is a silver-haired youth wearing glasses. His shoulders are narrow, and his hips wide. There's a softness to his body, perhaps supernaturally. Yet, the fine silver hairs over his form give shimmering delight.

“I know it's not as impressive as yours," Michlah says, “but you would indulge a man to feel like he is worth admiring?"

“But you are," Tybalt says. “If you wish to partake in the cosmetic treatments we have available here at the temple, I can arrange it. Not many, especially travelers, can afford the time and effort needed to maintain themselves as we do. What's important, though, is that you adore yourself."

Michlah notes the subtle quickening in the paladin's breath, a smirk rising across his face as he returns to the initial position, his butt high in the air, his shoulders primed back, his fingers tracing up along Tybalt's thigh, his chest running along the cool sheets of the mattress. There's something natural in this position—something that feels just right.

His lips are so close to the paladin's orbs. His hot breath teases at them, causing a twitch in the pole. He giggles, raising his head, placing phantom kisses and gentle breaths over the length before hovering atop the tip.

He hesitates a moment, his breath brushing over the paladin's head, causing the thing to twitch again. Yet Tybalt sits back against the headboard, only the slightest blushes brushing his cheeks.

“Are… are you sure this is safe… for you?"

Tybalt nods, his hands resting now upon his stomach. “I thank you for your concern, but you are not the first lycanthrope I've had the honor of being with."

Michlah goes crimson at that, his hands squeezing the paladin's thighs. “I suppose experience counts in this field of work," he admits, but still… 'lycanthrope…' just hearing it. It…" he growls, gritting his teeth. “I just can't believe it. My whole life is so different, and why? Because of some stupid mistake. And even so, I haven't even gone through the worst of it, I'm sure!"

He squeezes Tybalt's thighs. I could hurt people. I could succumb to anger and destructive tendencies. I could be thrown out of civilization and forced to live as a monster in the wilderness.

Tybalt pats Michlah, rubbing his head. “Don't worry. Different doesn't have to be terrible," He says, bending his knee, rubbing his shin against the young man's cheek. “You can be safe and spread your love even with your affliction. You must take more care than you used to, but it is care that everyone should have in their intimate relations. In time, you will learn to fully control yourself if you cannot find a cure."

Michlah breathes deeply through his nose and exhales through his mouth. I don't care if I can cure myself and live the rest of my life as a monster.

His hands slip upward, wrapping around the shaft, and his lips press down, kissing the tip and pulling back with a resounding and loud smack!

Michlah wraps his lips around the thick and meaty head of the cock of the Paladin of Love, his tongue flicking at the tip, stroking back and forth over its entrance, up and down and side to side, and swirling, savoring every bump on the thing and the shape of the hood, from its flare to the sensitive underside. A soft sight rises from the young man as his worries finally disappear. His smaller member stiffens between his legs, dripping in anticipation, drops clinging to his thigh or staining the clean mattress.

His toes curl, and his rump wiggles, that feeling of delight rushing down from his mouth all over his body. It's beautiful to be lost in the joy of making someone feel good.

And he can tell that he's making Tybalt feel good. The cock itself twitches and sways, but the breaths of the knight get heavier, with hints of gentle gasps rising from him. Tybalt watches him with half-lidded and happy eyes, his palm patting and petting the subordinate male with encouragement and whispered praise.

“You're doing wonderfully. Keep up the good work. It feels so wonderful."

Tybalt wraps his leg gently over Michlah's back, sighing as he runs the hand over the long strands of hair keeping him in that strange and wondrous embrace for now.

The paladin's lids flutter, and he turns his gaze towards the window, where the sunset continues its descent into the horizon. “Ah, n-not to alarm you or anything," the paladin says, “but nighttime is drawing near. I just thought you'd want to prepare in case something unforeseen happens."

Michlah pulls his lips free from the paladin. A strand of the paladin's pre connects the tip and his mouth, but he licks it up, his eyes shifting to meet Tybalt's. “But we're going to try to control it, to tame it, yes?"

“That's correct," Tybalt says, scratching behind his ear.

The smaller male strokes along the shaft of that impressive member, sighing as he enjoys the warmth, stiffness, and girth under his hand. “Mnngh… and you can't cure me with this? Are you absolutely certain?"

“As you are now, it would probably deal more harm than help."

And what if I were transformed?"

Tybalt sighs, pulling the traveler in closer. “I've offered temporary aid to those afflicted but nothing more. I simply can calm the beast within when they lose control. If there is corruption, it is excised, but the horrible truth of lycanthropy is that it heightens base instincts. It is a reflection of someone's primal desires and the shutting off of the moral centers of the mind. I know not what might happen if I overcome you too much with my potent smite."

Michlah's palm presses against the shaft, sliding up to the tip and back down again. “It must be so difficult," he muses, “having such a wonderful cock and not being able to use it when you want."

“It was a bother at first," the paladin chuckles, a slight smile spreading over his lips. “But having such a thing is a burden in and of itself. I cannot wear regular clothing without discomfort, and most people of human size cannot handle taking a significant amount of it."

“And that's a reason you are a monster fucker?"

“Perhaps it has its perks," Tybalt admits, “But no, I was always raised in the church to be the piercing weapon of love."

“You didn't choose this life?"

“I did, once I came of age," Tybalt says. “But I suppose it is based purely on my circumstances. That, I shall never know. But it is a good life, and it is a life that I believe in. I've had my trials and tribulations that led me to this decision."

“You're such a man of mystery," Michlah purrs.

“I can be less mysterious to you if you wish. Even though I cannot fully use my front end to measure lovemaking, other parts of my anatomy can be utilized in the process."

“You're a bottom?"

“A switch, I suppose you would say," Tybalt says, nodding. “I've trained and appreciated many avenues of delight."

Placing his hands on Tybalt's thighs, Michlah presses his tongue against the base of the shaft and licks upward, an almost bestial growl rising up from his throat as he laps over that cock. “That's fun, but I don't top, at least… I haven't tried it… not with a guy."

“Would you like to?"

Michlah shudders. “Ugh, it's gross."

“I assure you, it's not when one is prepared."

Michlah blinks. “Are you?"

Tybalt nods, a soft giggle coming from those lips. He rolls onto his back, his cock down against the bed, his balls plump below his butt. He rests his cheek upon his arm, pushing his hips out, revealing his rear to the young man. “A delicate diet and ritual bathing procedure means I am ready whenever. It is a process that takes a long time, and many outside of the faith find it difficult to maintain."

“Y-yeah, I know that," Michlah says, sitting up. He gulps, squeezing those fat-toned buttcheeks, spreading them, and gasping. “That's the pinkest, prettiest star I've ever seen. E-even with women. It's unreal!"

“A knight of love must prepare his body for the pleasures of his lovers," Tybalt says.

“Y… yeah," Michlah says, his thumb approaching the thing, watching it twitch and puck under his stroke. “So, w-what can I do with it?"

“Anything you want. Just let me know what you'd like.

Michlah licks his lips and then bites his teeth, his dick practically bouncing. “Sir knight… may I, can I, should I… eat your ass?"

“You can. I have washed thoroughly, so you should be safe down there, but there is always risk in all you do."

“What's wrong with a little risk?"

“Nothing, as long as you know, and both are fine with it."

“Then, I'm going in!"

One truth taught by the Knights of Love is that one can be sure to discover many things about a person in their most intimate moments. When they let all their guards down and seek to be as close and together with a partner as they can. Indeed, this is demonstrated when Michlah's face presses against the presented rear of the offering Tybalt.

The paladin grips the sheets. His breath is heavy when he feels the muscle invade, delving around his pink star, lapping up and pushing inside. “S… so," he huffs. “You take a dangerous path… w-when it's presented as s… safe from a figure of authority."

Michlah pulls out, squeezing the knight's cheeks, frowning. “What are you saying?"

“I wonder if it's because the woman who cursed you is so persuasive or that you're so easy to trust that she was able to afflict you."

Michlah growls, his nails digging into Tybalt's rear. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me when I'm tonguing your boy hole?"

“I need to know everything I can about you should we travel together and the animal within takes over."

“I'm not sure it hasn't," Michlah says, looking at the glistening and quivering thing before him. “I'd never… never consider doing this before."

“You can stop if you'd like."

Did you enjoy it?"

“Only if you do."

Michlah snorts. “You're frustrating. You know that?" But before getting an answer from Tybalt, he dives right back in, his tongue pushing in further. It wasn't at all like he thought it would be. As his tongue passes over the lips, they give him the sensation of tasting someone's neck or shoulder. There's a hint of muskiness and a dash of excitement of taboo.

And the soft gasps that rise up from Tybalt's lips are enough to push him even further. Hopefully, he shuts the paladin up this time while Michlah does his work. He has one goal, and his hand trails down from the cheek to Tybalt's thigh and then down over his balls, fingers sliding up and down them a bit.

It's all so silly but all so wonderful. He wraps his fingers around the long cock pinned between Tybalt's thighs, holding tight, feeling the pumping of blood increase into that member.

“H…ah…. Michlah…" the paladin pants, tilting his head back, his back arching downward, his hips pushing toward the young man.

Michlah pushes further, from the insistence of the Paladin's movements and his curious desire. As he gets deeper, the taste shifts to a more buttery taste, his tongue pressing against the walls.

That's when Tybalt gasps.

He found it and wasted no time lashing over that spot, attacking it with his tongue.

“Aa…aaa h…. Aah.!" Tybalt's cries are so girlish. Could he be an alto or a soprano if he chose to sing? All that matters, for now, is that he's singing for Michlah. That control over this bigger and stronger man is enough to get the tingling sensation in his mind to fire off and expand its warmth throughout his body.

But this feeling isn't enough. It can't be enough.

“Grral…. Tybalt."

The knight peers over his shoulder, his face red with the delight of the attack on his prostate, but he sobers up when he looks at the smaller male behind him. “Your face…"

“My… face?" Michlah sits up, turning toward the wall, where he's greeted with his reflection. His eyes are bright and red, reflecting on himself with an intensity he hadn't seen before. And his cheeks have a fuzziness to them he hadn't seen before. He pats them, turning back toward Tybalt, shaking his head, and staring at the window.

“You're changing faster than I would ever expect."

“I gotta hide, I gotta."

Tybalt bounces to his knees, wrapping his arms around Michlah, pressing their chests together, his tongue delving into Michlah's mouth.

The transforming Michlah tenses up before he melts against that embrace. When Tybalt lets go, Michlah falls onto the bed, taking deep breaths, his elongated fingers tearing at the sheets. “I'm going to be dangerous."

“You're going to control it."

“If I can't?" he snaps.

“Then I'll control you," Tybalt says. “Now focus. What do you want."

“I want to be normal!"

“What do you want before your anxieties get to you?"

“Huh? To… to make you feel good."

“Focus on that feeling," Tybalt says, lying on his side. He lifts one leg, demonstrating his flexibility. He clasps onto it, holding it high in the air, watching the smaller, fuzzier male with his fluttering eyes.

Michlah lunges forward, grabbing Tybalt's leg, gripping tight, claws digging into his flesh. “S… sorry," he grunts. “I can't help myself."

“Is that the curse talking?"

“N… no, it's me! I want to be stronger. I want to be confident in myself."

“You can control the beast within, Michlah," Tybalt assures him with a smirk, “and as your reward, you may have your way with my body.

Michlah's ears, sliding up his head ever-so-slightly, twitching as they get pointier. He yips to the paladin, thrusting forward, pressing the head of his cock against that lubed-up hole and entering him.

It is paradise. Simply beautiful to be wrapped around that snug entrance into the depths of the paladin's body. At the same time, he almost feels as if he's traversing into his soul, a connection of body and mind unlike anything the traveler had experienced. What is this experience? And can he hold onto this without fully succumbing to the monster he believes himself to be?

Michlah thrusts forward, his cock delving deeper inside Tybalt's welcoming ass. The adventurer cannot help himself but rock back and forth, pushing deeper and deeper with every thrust inside of the older male, and with the view he has of Tybalt's body, it is like paradise to be here, to enter him, and to claim him.

With each thrust inside, the paladin's impressive cock flops around, its pre oozing out, flicking off and drizzling onto his toned abdominal muscles. His smooth and muscled skin reveals to Michlah blemishes the traveler hadn't noticed before. He holds tightly to Tybalt's thigh, pulling the leg against his chest as he grunts and growls. Even in his half-bestial state, he's humane enough to reach forward, press his hand upon the stomach, and reach the scars, stroking along the nearly faded but glistening patch. “Ah… ha… did… did you… get these p… protecting someone?"

Tybalt clasps the semi-furred hand, pulling it to his lips and kissing it. A blush rushes over his face, but he shakes his head, a soft frown appearing on his sighing lips. “No," he huffs. “It was… a terrible time… when I… had fallen."

“Y-you?" Michlah stops, catching his breath, letting his cock rest inside that warm and welcoming hole wrapped tightly around his meat. “You were a… a fallen paladin? But you're so… so…."

“No one is perfect," Tybalt says, closing his eyes and nuzzling his cheek against Michlah's palm. “I fell to the whims of a dark power because my resolve could only be so strong. We must steel our minds for the potential to fall and be corrupted."

The half-transformed Michlah nods at this, his breath getting heavier and heavier. “You are perfect, even in your imperfection."

Tybalt smiles. “I'm afraid my love is not an enduring kind. I cannot be anyone's soulmate. That is my burden to bear."

Michlah yips, squeezing the thigh. “D-don't talk like that! I didn't think that—I mean…" he growls, fingers digging into Tybalt's leg.

The paladin hisses.

“S-sorry!" Michlah loosens his grip. He leans forward, pressing his tongue against the shallow scratch, lapping up the coppery-tasting fluid that seals the insignificant injury. As he presses his tongue to it, a jolt shoots up his brain, freezing him in place and tensing him up.

The waning sun gives way to the darkness of dusk. As it disappears over the high wall of the temple, Michlah pulls his tongue away from Tybalt's thigh and thrusts his hips forward, pushing deeper inside into the paladin than before.

“Ah!"

Tybalt rubs over his chest.

Another thrust forward, Michlah gritting his teeth, leaning lower, pushing Tybalt's leg towards his chest.

The Paladin gasps at the strike to his p-spot, closing his eyes and pressing his head against his mattress.

Another thrust and another growl rise from Michlah, just as the hairs rise on the back of his neck, increasing in number and thickness.

Crack! Followed by Pop! Followed by the groaning from the pit of Michlah's soul.

Tybalt grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him in, lips pressing against lips even as the maw elongates and the teeth sharpen.

Lupine drool rolls out of his mouth, dousing the elf in the slobber of a beast while his cock throbs and pulses and digs further inside than before.

Nails lengthen, teeth sharpen, bones strengthen, and muscles tighten. The feral thoughts of the man on a top rush through his mind, a memory emerging of the previous night's transformation along the road, stumbling along the rain-soaked path and falling against the wall, unsure of his own identity, let alone his true purpose.

But he made it here. Michlah found his way to this sanctuary, even if the beast threatened to take him over.

He yanks his mouth away, licking his jowls, his voice hoarse, whimpering. “Protect yourself!" he warns.

Tybalt kisses him again, thrusting his tongue inside the transforming wolfman, his chest pressing against Michlah's. The lupine ears sticking up, the eyes shooting wide open and then narrowing as he leans into the kiss, his mouth accepting Tybalt's tongue, his tail, now bursting out of his spine and fluffed with fur, wags.

He lays on top of the elf, pounding away at him, the slick meat and lube hole sloshing with the fluids of their delight.

And as the wolf boy continues his horny humping, he finally falls over himself, plunging deep into the domain of delight, but he remembers the rules. He heeds the warnings, and he pulls back to save Tybalt from the seed of the curse.

But he can't escape. His cock has formed a knot that swells at the entrance of Tybalt's hole, keeping himself locked inside.

He whimpers, mouth wide, back arched, eyes rolling back, and he bursts, shooting out lots and lots of his cum into the elf's body.

“Noooooo!" He groans, collapsing onto Tybalt, shuddering with each shot that bursts out of him. It is like a canon of cum that fires over and over, sending hot jolts of delight through his spine and tensing up his muscles, curling up his toes, gritting his teeth, until he finally, finally collapses.

Through his orgasm-addled mind, it takes a moment for Michlah to even register the warmth upon his tummy. He groans and pushes himself up, his cock still locked into the elf's hole.

Tybalt pants, his body coated in glistening perspiration. More than that, the two of them lay there with matted fur and a soggy stomach coated with the paladin's cum, which shot out of him from the orgasm that Michlah didn't know that he had.

The wolf raises a paw, looks at himself, and then glances toward the mirror. It is the wolf—the monster, and yet, Michlah recognizes the face, those eyes, his soul.

“I hope…" Tybalt says, gulping, his hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, “You've made it through, alright?" He pokes the wolf's heart and nods. “Just keep focused… on yourself… as long… as you can."

And Michlah smiles, nuzzling against the elf, licking his cheek.

The night is still young, but something itches at the back of his mind—a monster ready to escape at a moment's notice.