FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: So here's where we start to go down the proverbial rabbit hole. No cookies for you if you didn't guess where this story was going anyway. Hint: there's a reason the plant can't get its paws off of her chest. Though, I tried to keep it from going beyond the laws of physics, be prepared for the unconventional. If the tags make you go arghblah then you've been warned.]

The Exchange 2: Turning Point

So many days had passed that she was generating many different figures as to how many she'd actually been away. She spent a few searching, but returned whenever hunger began to gnaw at her. She found little to occupy her mind. So she spent whole days reclining lazily beneath the plant, top open and breasts presented upward. She accepted its tender embrace constantly in return for its sweet nectar. She often found herself enjoying their intimacy. Even though it was shallow, there was a basic joy in being tended to by another and never dealing with the secondary emotional consequences.

She toyed with the fruit as if it were a hanging bunch of grapes. She set it swinging as her tongue lazily explored its surface, then locked her lips around its blunt tip and took a single, long draw of nectar. She wasn't particularly hungry, but she was enjoying the attention.

Atop the earth-colored, white-spotted curve of her chest, two feelers bobbed, rhythmically squeezing and releasing her softening skin. She whimpered in the back of her throat in spite of herself. In her mind, she smiled wryly about the contact. But, in the here and now, she simultaneously dreaded and hungered for the overwhelming contact.

It ceased suddenly as the feelers stilled their movements, having suddenly and arbitrarily, but simultaneously decided their work was done. Bereft of any other movement, the heaving of her own chest was clear. As she anticipated new happenings, her breath grew sharp and eager.

The flesh they revealed as they slipped from her glistened with mostness, fat and blushing in the open air. Her nipples were like barrows atop her piebald hills, larger still than she'd ever seen them. She'd always assumed cervine morphs were like humans, except with superficial differences. However, she'd learned over the past week of the plant's tending that those differences reached certain other parts of her. Her teats looked almost equine now, pointing skyward and rising more than an inch from her chest. Somehow, she hadn't been surprised by these gradual changes. She was built to accommodate the long muzzles of her people, even there.

Unprecedented as it as, she'd learned to embrace the freshness it brought to their repeated meetings. The pleasure the plant could bring down upon her now... It was enough for her to be tended there, to never let a hand stray downward, yet she would still climax.

As the mouths found her again, a thrill ran down her deliciously tired flesh and she arched herself greedily into their grasp. Almost as if surprised by her eagerness, the feelers burbled over their mouthful, twisting over her skin with confusion. She mewled as they regained their composure, finding her shape by touch and settling down over her circular borders to completely eclipse her flesh.

Their effort had increased with each meeting, as if the subtle changes slowly overtaking her body were some cue. Their disorderly groping had become a noticeable motion, a constriction that traveled up her newfound definition. They drew nothingness from her in definite movements, waves of motion traveling up her teats. As the unmistakable behavior had emerged, she'd begun to accept what she'd already anticipated, though she hadn't expected it to be possible. She was being groomed and prepared for milking.

She scolded herself for it, but lustful anticipation rose in her whenever she thought about such things. To think that something fantastic remained within her sexual frontiers and to be guided by this anonymous being.

Though she'd become calm enough to stay silent through her frequent liaisons, she still couldn't control her bestial writhing. Unconsciously, a hand landed beneath her left breast. She cradled and squeezed herself in an attempt to aid the feeler latched onto her. Part of her wanted that nothingness that it drew from her to be something else. However, she'd begun to suspect that wasn't far off.

Even now, as she gathered and squeezed soft, yielding flesh, she felt the developing curves cupped in her hand. Her breasts, previously a small swell no larger than her nipples, had rounded out over the weeks. She had her guesses as to why.

She felt a cold streak of wetness collect on the top of her hand. Her eyes opened with surprise as a white rivulet escaped from beneath the mouth at her nipple. She squirmed as another milking squeezed upward. As it released her, a few drips retraced the rivulet. The chorus of popping slowly grew into a wet slurping. She'd been subconsciously anticipating this event, and now it had come.

She smiled as the pace of her milking began to slowly build, the plant had finally tasted her.

***

Hours later, she'd lost track of time. Her sore back had forced her to change positions in the short space between when she was released by the massaging, handlike extensions and reclaimed by the feelers milking her. Her hands pressed on the solid wood above the plant, her arms reaching upward above her head. Her breasts hung beneath her as she leaned forward against the tree for balance.

Now she felt as though she would collapse, her flesh blushed at the touch of the feelers that greedily inhaled them and resumed their suckling. The tempo had grown maniacal, but she loved every moment of it. Her breasts swung and bobbed beneath her, pressed and sucked upon by the mouths that seemed eager to drain every drop from her. In the back of her mind, worry laced its way through her wavering senses. What if this was too much?

As she lost her balance, blacking out for the briefest second, she felt the first thrill of panic she'd felt since the plant had first trapped her. That feeling took her back to the storms, to surviving on a thin thread of decisions. But, as she tumbled, new feelers shot from the plant and intercepted her fall. The feelers greedily milking her began to weaken their pace, as if they recognized a folly in their decision to so exploit her. For her part, she was just thankful to be alive. A fall from this height would be deadly, no question.

She was turned. The feelers at her breasts contorted to remain intimately attached. One passed under her arm as she rotated, gently twisting around her nipple. The sensation made her head loll blindly as she collapsed backward against the plant. The feelers pulled gently taut from their source at her flanks. They slithered against her stomach, drawing her breasts apart.

She felt herself recede backward into the plant. It didn't occur to her to think why, but she was lowered until she reclined partially inside the knothole. The warmth of the plant filled the air around her and she suddenly felt the urge to rest weighing down on her.

She drifted in and out of sleep, occasionally waking whenever the mouths released her to find her teats dexterously massaged by the fingerlike starburst of extensions at the ends of two other feelers. She realized that these were the ones that usually preened her. By either some trick of her mind or growth, they'd changed to accommodate her.

She was gently tended throughout the night, released by the suddenly gentle mouths only long enough to have any ache eased from her by the others. Their rhythmic draws slowed to match her breathing, as if it would somehow become closer to her through the act.

The sun shining into her hollow awoke her in the morning. She didn't dare stir. The mouths still embraced her, and she drank in the well worn feelings they traced up her flesh. She let them milk her for a while,losing herself in introversion as she watched them expand and contract atop her. Behind the form of her gently round breasts, her stomach was, surprisingly, distended. A whole night of feeding on the nectar left her feeling slightly bulky, and now she knew why. Where once she'd had a vaguely hourglass figure, congruent with her slight frame, her stomach had become a gentle dome. The definition of her muscles had given way to a smooth bodyscape. The change was minor at best, but she'd never let herself slip this way before.

When she finally made to get up, the mouths suckling her responded almost immediately. As if they were some lurker, ashamed at being caught in the act, they hastily released her and fled. The stimulation of their quick retreat made her gasp. But, she was more surprised by what they withdrew to reveal. Her teats had grown from modestly odd proportions to flatheaded buds of flesh filling out the length and girth of her thumb.

How long had she stayed here? A week, weeks? Weeks that she would be missed. She imagined her Father, perpetually running freight shuttle runs beside flat images of a daughter he would never see again. If word got out of the expedition's failure and she never returned, father would think her dead. He'd already lost mom. What would he do with no family save her niece? And, what would her niece do? She would be gone to them. And what if she came back like this? She winced at herself, suddenly feeling so ashamed of the changes she'd permitted to the form over which she'd once practiced such exacting control.

She sighed and rose from her perch within the plant, fervently brushing a small dribble of partly dried nectar from the tuft of fur at the nape of her neck. For a moment, she stared with disgust at the buds of flesh peering past her safari shirt, moist and reeking of the sweet metalic tangs of plant resin.

She tried for a few moments to press them back from whence they'd came. Instead, she saw spots and nearly blacked out. She was angered by how sensitive their shining forms had grown. She huffed and shook her head, moving to distance herself from the plant. She wanted to forget for a while. She'd grown soft, forgotten her goal. She had to make contact with the expedition. She had to ensure her life beyond this place existed. Indeed, she'd spent so long in this one place she was beginning to doubt it had ever existed in the first place. Distant memories, she could lose them forever.

***

She discovered, much to her relief, that time would allow her bizzare new afflictions to die down. Away from the plant's stimulation and freed from her own thoughts of anticipation, she approached normalcy once again. As quickly as she was able, she fastened her shirt. Her depleted breasts were unassuming under the fabric. As such she felt no desire for her abandoned lycra undershirt, though it might have been prudent. Her safari shirt's fabric wasn't entirely pleasant upon her tired flesh.

She'd covered quite a bit of ground over the course of the day, patrolling her immediate area for obvious places to wait for rescue. The tree cover was uneven, but she found no flat places. She did remember one landmark of her nearly forgotten campsite, however. Flowing water.

There were no rivers in a forest like this. Or, if they were, they were far below, likely clogged into some primordial swamp amidst the mangrove-like roots of these gargantuan trees. However, all around her, the evidence of the monsoon weeks ago flowed ever downward. The canopy had long ago become dry. But, below, where the canopy leaves and treelimbs partly shadowed the lower leaves, a drizzle of water trickled constantly downward. Bromiliads the size of flyer cabs, formed into a whirl of plumbing, collected, slowed then released the water in a slow flow, their seeds dangled in their exhaust, discarding away and falling into the abyss like rock climbers down watery ropes dissapearing into the distance below.

She knew they had been near a permanent source, one that had never slowed for as long as they'd remained near. Like snow above the treeline of a mountain, the water there remained forever in supply by function of its scale and natural momentum.

Her sensitive, highly adapted ears flicked above her head as she focused her awareness toward them. Amongst the chorus of hissing waterfalls, she heard a boom in the distance, so constant she was surprised she had discerned it at all.

She felt she hadn't wandered far in her escape from the storm. It was exceedingly likely, she felt, that if she found that sound, she would find base camp.

***

Days of travel later and things hadn't gotten better. Though her stomach had regained its original slightness, she'd regained something else. Her hunger. It was still dull, but she felt it coming like a distant hurricane surge. For now it was minor, but its arrival would be horrible.

On the morning she'd left, her breasts had been virtually normal, save the ridiculous changes the naked flesh at their ends had taken upon their own accord. Now, her breasts had gained their old definition once more. Their round profiles were clear as they pressed against her shirt. Her nipples ached against the fabric and she'd been forced to free them once again.

They'd fallen from her open shirt with newfound weight, bouncing with some bastard mix of youthful perkiness and intense momentum. Though this freedom brought a certain comfort, what suffering she spared herself was immediately replaced with the nagging ache of her stomach.

The pain only expedited her travels, giving her a concrete reason to push onward. It took a certain type of person to go to a virgin planet with unknown terrain and dangers and explore with little technological assistance. Now she was beginning to miss it. She anticipated the island of civillization that was their camp, hoping against hope that it would not be wreckage.

What she found was a lovely mess.

The form of their utility flyer was strewn across a waterfall, utterly disintegrated. Crates sat within the water, shelled or smashed apart. She could tell by eye alone that many were missing. She gathered what she could from one intact crate. She eased her hunger on some rations and took a large sack full of technological detrius from the wreckage.

She didn't linger, none of her compatriots would have remained long, either. By the looks of things, the rations were now virtually depleted. Maybe they'd come and gone many times. Maybe she could find them with the beacon. She thoughtlessly triggered one, then threw it back into the crate. At least then there would be a sign of life for them to find.

Meanwhile, her breasts hadn't ceased to fill out. She'd grown entire cup sizes and she had no intent of seeing how far up the alphabet she could get. She could waste what her body had labored to create, or she could do the only constructive thing that remained to be done. She could return to the plant.