FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Anthro Sex Squad Story 2 - Winfred's Story By Killenor Arc 1 - Origins Chapter 12

_I remember the first thing I saw upon waking was Wethers' armored backside. Somehow we had made it a great deal of distance outside of the city in only half a day. He had carried me through the entirety of the night and morning, tirelessly and bearing wounds I could not immediately identify. Even after I came to my senses, he carried me onward until I demanded he put me down.

My rage was gone, but not my desires for eroticka. However it was that he knocked me out, it hadn't caused me any injury... actually I recall it being rather pleasant to tell the truth. But the burst on magicks his sword had released could only sate my addiction to lust for a short while. For the time, though, I was content to walk in silence, knowing that he was far stronger than me and somehow remembering that he had my best interest in mind.

It wasn't until mid afternoon that I was able to get a word out of him_ ...

***

"If you are hungry, I'll have to regretfully inform you that all my supplies are gone." Wethers stated plainly as he took a seat next to a shady tree overhanging the path. "Meaning no disrespect, but between you and my gear, there wasn't much room for a travel sack."

With reluctance, Wethers unbuckled his shining armor. Exercising extreme care and reverence, he placed each piece of armor beside him. Only then did Winfred notice where the blood she had seen was coming from. The removal of his black undershirt revealed at least a dozen shallow cuts adorned his hairless, burn-scarred flesh. Idly, he dabbed at the cuts, muttering to himself.

"Wha... what happened to you?" Winfred said, awestruck that any being could have survived to bear such scars.

"Hm? Oh, some law-loving interloper decided to try and stop me from helping you. Don't worry. She won't be tangling with me anytime soon." Wethers admitted idly, "Fast though... she might end up being trouble in the future."

"I... I didn't mean that... but now that you mention. Your armor didn't look damaged at all. How were you cut?" Winfred said tentatively.

"My armor is special. It contains bound magicks granted to me by Aaluran hirself and was made in a process that I cannot remember. My sword is the same, in fact. But my armor has the ability to repair itself if damaged. Trust me, if that little robin had been attacking anyone else in normal armors, she would have done much more than just these little pinpricks." Wethers explained, indicating the rather painful looking punctures. "Fortunately, those little stickers weren't magicked in any way. But then, dealing with the Untouched has that benefit."

"Did... did you... I mean she's not," Winfred stammered.

"You're asking questions. I take that as an excellent sign that the binding spell that was upon you is now gone... though why it should remain after you crushed his throat... anyways. No I didn't kill her, or even much harm her. Even though she harmed me, I believe that she did not deserve to suffer for the conflict of our beliefs. Obviously she didn't agree on that point." Wethers explained, "I just left her knocked aside much as I had to do to you when you attacked me. Sadly, I doubt she found the strike as pleasurable as you did. Actually, from accounts I have from others without any interest in pleasure... I believe it felt like being hit with a large weight of metal."

Wethers broke from his narrative to chuckle gently at his own dry joke.

"You... you talk a lot." Winfred pointed out.

"I like to talk," Wethers said with a chuckle, "My heart and soul are free. I suppose that tends to make me run at the mouth."

"Now what?" Winfred asked, "What am I supposed to do with freedom?"

"You don't want to know about why I look like I do anymore?" Wethers chuckled, "No matter, I don't really feel like telling the story now anyways. To answer your latest question. You do whatever you feel like doing! It's that special! You can choose to do ANYTHING, even if you can't actually do it!"

"But... I..." Winfred started uncertainly.

"You can do anything you feel like!" Wethers interrupted, driving his point home yet again, "What would you like to do, if you could do anything right now?"

"S-s-sex. I want sex... right now." Winfred said firmly.

"That's wonderful." Wethers said earnestly, "Anything else?"

"No... I need the energy. I need the eroticka and I want sex. How about you? I can give you sex if you want it. Right now if you want." Winfred said with growing excitement.

"If that's what you need." Wethers said placidly, "Though I must caution you, just because you can choose to do anything you wish does not mean you will like the results. But, none the less, if you wish me to help you with your desires, I will allow it."

With that, Wethers stood and shucked the remainder of his clothing, setting his massive blade delicately next to his armor in contract to the careless manner that he tossed his trousers, belt, and undershirt into a pile. He stood proudly, more naked than a newborn thanks to his furlessness. Winfred found that she could not tear her eyes from his reddened, hideously burn-scarred form.

Internally, Winfred faltered in her lust. Though a burning need for eroticka and gratification was intense, she simply could not get past Wethers' body. It was like watching a pit-fight between two elder females, terrible yet powerful and morbidly captivating. He was strongly muscled, to the point that Winfred wondered briefly if he had ever even heard the word "fat". Years of swinging that sword, she imagined. On top of that, his body was simply a maze of scar tissue, from his face down to his delicate hoofed feet. He had no horns at all nor did he have ears, just horrible nubs where once they had been.

Still, she could not ignore her cravings. Ugly or not... well no, she hadn't done worse actually. None the less, this was her only option, perhaps for miles around. She moved to take his member, but stopped her had a mere finger-length from it. There was something very wrong here.

"Were..." she started.

"I don't have any anymore." Wethers said matter-of-factly, taking the scarred and withered mess of his own shaft and lifting it to show off his empty, ragged scrotum. "Lost 'em a long time ago... about the same time as when the rest of this," he gestured from his head down, "happened. It's probably best not to ask. Especially if you still wish me to pleasure you."

"But how will you..." Winfred tried to say.

"I won't," Wethers interrupted, not a note of irritation in his voice, "But that is not the only way to pleasure a woman you know."

"I... Hreugh told me about many things... but I was never actually shown them." Winfred admitted, "I was just a tool to him."

"Well then, if you're willing, I will guide you as much as I am able." Wethers said with a smile. "For once, this will be about you, not anyone else. And you can do it without hurting anyone this time. Just touch me when you're ready and we'll go at your pace. I've got as much time as you need and have no desire to rush you."

Lust and need could not allow her to say no. She needed the feel of eroticka coursing through her, pulsing in her veins like lifeblood. If the deformed man could give it to her... then so be it. Nervously, she placed her hand on Wethers' broad chest. A slight gasp of surprise followed her discovery that the mottled scar tissue that was his skin was not hard, but actually very soft and delicate. Yes, it had a texture to it, but if she closed her eyes she found it felt more like a bunched satin sheet.

A hand moved around her shoulder, soft and gentle, and then another. For the first time in more than seven years Winfred experienced something that she had been secretly craving. It was a hug. A simple show of affection bereft of lust or vicarious pride. Something inside felt like it was squirming deep inside... something that shoved aside the black beast and the potent hold of eroticka.

A wetness around her cheeks... what could it be? It didn't matter to Winfred at the moment. Her inner child leaping to the surface of her being, she threw her arms around Wethers and hugged back. Sobs came unbidden to her and she cried into his shoulder, releasing all her pain and frustration onto him.

Wethers directed her to sit beside him, pulling his clothing beneath her that she might rest comfortably. She held him tightly and wept.

"Don't worry," Wethers said softly, taking a moment to stroke her extravagantly long hair, "Once I get you back to our compound we can help you and make things clearer and easier for you."

***

"I'm... I'm having trouble controlling my emotions," Claret said sharply, "I... I just... I want to attack that..."

"Remember your oaths," said the doctor evenly, "Do not allow anger to cloud your judgment. You failed to stop him, but be thankful you still live."

Claret screamed out in pain as the doctor suddenly jerked her arm, snapping her hollow arm bones back into place. He held her arm steady as she thrashed about in agony, waiting for his nurses to apply a splint.

"You will lose some feathers." the doctor said matter-of-factly, "Unfortunately, I know of no way to mend a bone without tightly wrapping it. The loss is unavoidable."

"They... They will grow back after my next molt." Claret said, gritting her beak in pain. "How long?"

"I would estimate three fortnights, though your arm will be week for a while after. But thanks to this new splint-and-plaster dressing design, I'm certain you'll make a full recovery and fly again."

"Thank you doctor. I will see you again in six weeks." Claret said, fighting to keep her tone even.

Without another sound, she walked out of the surgery. Yet despite the silence of her movements, her mind was a turmoil of thoughts and actions. Clarity was clouded by angry, vengeful thoughts. Worse yet, she found herself reliving the sensations of the fight. Her daggers rushing swiftly forward, guided by righteous intent, only to glance harmlessly off that lustrous armor. Those hits she did score had not stopped him, indeed most that did manage to get through the metal failed to scratch the skin beneath.

Easily a dozen blows in as many seconds, just as she had practiced, rained upon him. But yet that grim-faced monster had advanced. More horrifying, his armor seemed to heal itself, flowing like water around the cuts until the surface was as new as if it had just been forged. A fortunate strike had driven a point home, deep enough that she knew she had bitten flesh, followed soon by another. But to her horror, these hits had stuck, binding her to him. A sweep of the scarred beast's mighty arm had snapped her forearm as surely as it snapped her blades.

She remembered the pain flashing through her mind as her arm broke. Enough, surely to dull her to the impact as she hit the cobblestone alley floor. Gasping against the hurt, looking in shock at her arm, bent at an unnatural angle, she struggled to return her gaze to her attacker. Her eyes met his as he prepared to sweep that monstrous blade down to end her. She considered whether it was fear or true evil that made his eyes seem to glow with fires.

Then the blade hit her. To her surprise it was not with the sharp end, but rather the broad flat of the blade. Worse, to her remembrance, the strike had not been painful. In fact it had been... wondrous... addictingly pleasant. It wrapped her in feelings akin to chocolate and silk... joy and pleasure... setting her every nerve alight before sending her into the void of unconsciousness.

By some miracle, she had awoken the next morning, covered in trash and boxes. Somehow, some kind heart had shielded her from the predations of the night-patrols that surely had passed this way, searching for miscreants and childless women to imprison, torture, or worse. Cradling her broken wing, she made her way to an Untouched safe-house.

'Why is the only thing on my mind revenge,' she thought angrily at herself, 'That devil! He violated me! He gave me unwanted pleasures, touched me with magicks! That must be it, I am yet again impure!"

So focused was she on her own feelings that she had not watched where she was going. Luckily, someone else was watching. Using her innate knowledge of realms greater than reality, Irianorella guided her errant follower away from the doctor's hallway. To the mortals of the Divine Game, there were no 'goh' or 'nagh' directions, and yet they still existed for the folk of the fey-realm alongside many others. This made the movements and actions of the fey-folk seem odd and impossible to those poor limited mortals.

Gently rotating the distracted robin a bit nagh and tilting her slightly twilight-ward, Irianorella was able to guide Claret down a hallway that ought not to exist. This was a secret sort of hallway that she kept in each of the Untouched safe-houses and hideouts that she might easily and mysteriously travel between the gathering places of her subordinates. Through this means she could easily convey her ideals far and wide with a minimum of effort.

"Claret," she said with a lyrical, harmonious, and unearthly voice, "What troubles you sister?"

Claret snapped to attention, knowing well the voice of the leader and chief idealist of the Untouched, and the penalty for gazing upon her without consent. She bowed as best she was able, making sure to keep her eyes beneath the cowl of her robe. A flicker of thought marveled at how quiet her mind had become in the presence of the Most Serene Untouched One.

"I... I was lost in thought your Serenity." Claret admitted without even considering speaking an untruth before such a one.

Irianorella moved carefully, aware that though she now stood out of the three directions Claret could see in, the corner of a mortal eye could still betray her otherwise invisible presence. She would not reveal herself until she was good and ready. For now, she felt it best to seem omnipresent to this follower.

"Such a jumble of thoughts it is," Irianorella said knowingly, using her practice in cold-reading to give the illusion of mind-reading, "you dwell on your wound, on its source. You feel shame at your personal failure that allowed this injury and think of revenge."

"Yes!" Claret said in awe, "Yes, that devil wounded me as I tried to save his victim. An innocent woman that the deformed monster obviously had planned to have his way with. I saw that when she fought back against him, he wounded her with his sword. It was only by fortune that I avoided my own death by catching the flat of his blade instead of the intended edge."

Her aura spoke of truth, Irianorella saw. However she sensed that the facts, the flow of veritimil magicks, were tainted with mortal perception. In a land full of folk with such subjective minds, the truth was often as fickle, and potent, as a lie. Of course, she had seen enough failures by her Untouched to know what would come next.

"You seek to purify yourself now," she said softly, "to regain the wholesomeness and peace of mind that we all strive for. To let go the anger that grips you, binding you to the path of hatred, violence, and revenge."

"Anger, yes... and..."

Irianorella froze a moment, a chill shooting up her spine. What else could one feel after a lost fight? Wounded pride? Humiliation? ... no, these weren't likely... no, a woman who fights a devil might feel...

"Longing?" she said with a practiced sigh covering her questioning inflection.

"Yes." Claret said shamefully, "Longing... he struck me and I felt... I felt... pleasure."

At this, Irianorella nearly burst out laughing. What could mortals truly know of pleasure? As a nymph, she had known experiences that transcended mortal life and concepts of time! True, she had given herself over to self-denial, and taught this to her mortal followers... but this whelp was so smitten with, what, being smitten?

"Look upon me and know me sister." Irianorella said as she slid into the common space of length, breadth, and height.

Claret hesitantly raised her eyes. She knew of the Serene One's true identity as one of the fey-folk. She also knew the rumors that one glimpse of a nymph without her permission could blind or kill, the viewer having seen something so beautiful that they no longer wish to see or live. But the Serene One was different. The founder of the Untouched, she had renounced those pleasures, passions, and magicks of the world to lead a pure existence and to teach others the way of transcendent existence.

Her eyes fell upon skin and feathers as pure and white as anything could ever hope to be. No shadows dared mar her perfection. She stood, perched on talons that seemed to float a quill's width from the ground. Completely sky-clad she was, completely confident and comfortable with her body that she abstained clothing of all kinds, though the thought of garments made Claret realize that even the finest gown would surely hinder her beauty. She looked as a robin, but more as the ideal of a robin. A single word described her. Perfect.

Claret was awestruck and completely without words. Knowing this reaction from a thousand times before, Irianorella took the initiative and spoke first.

"Our ideals are what separate us from lower beings. Without them, you might be nothing more than a feral bird, fluttering about pecking worms, relieving yourself from whichever perch you take, running in fear from the large predators." she said with force. "The ideal of purity cannot be truly reached, neither by you mortals nor we fey. It is something that must be striven for, knowing that you can never truly attain or regain it."

"But... these feelings."

"You let them go." said the Serene One, "You must use them only as an affirmation of why you pursue your ideal."

"He follows Aaluran..."

THAT caught her attention. Irianorella hid her surprise with practiced implacability, but inwardly boiled at the mention of the divinity of sex and pleasure. The deity whose influences had wounded her most directly and set her upon the path of purity to begin with. If Aaluran was meddling in things...

"You mentioned a woman with the 'devil' as you called him." Irianorella said firmly.

"Yes," Claret said, her mind trying to grasp a greater calm, "A wolverine woman, looked to be young, but adult. Not with-cub that I could tell so probably running from the Soldier's Academy patrols who would use her for breeding stock. Why this man would choose such a woman is beyond me, but for certain he would not be able to woo a normal lass with a face as his."

"I want her." Irianorella said, "Bring her to me. Bring her that we may teach her the ways of the Untouched and help her into peace. We cannot allow her to fall to Aaluran's decadent and debauched ways."

A look past the mortal realms showed Irianorella all she needed to know about the break. An etherealized touch, moving through the directions only known to fey-folk, she reached within Clarets arm, smoothing the bone from within and without as if it were naught but soft clay. Satisfied that her follower's arm was whole and strong, she pulled the newly hardened cast away, making it seem to simply pass through Claret's wing, leaving the arm, feathers and all, completely untouched.

"Now go, do as I have bidden." she said forcefully, pushing her goh, dawn-ward, and out of her secret hallway. Without perception of these directions, Claret found herself suddenly standing just outside the doctor's surgery, wing healed, with those perfectly intoned orders still ringing in her head. A fierce determination filled her breast as her hands fell to her scabbards, finding them filled with brilliantly shining new blades.

A smile worked its way up her cheeks as she slipped silently away, off to fulfill her duty.