FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Jack wriggled his lithe body between the tree roots, the cramped crawl through them the easiest way up to the small plateau he had found. The jungle was stickily hot, and humid enough that his glasses fogged with just the extra moisture from his breath. Sweat ran down his tawny skin in rivers, soaking his supple back and hips, and leaving his penis trapped in a humid, constraining pair of underwear he regretted wearing. He turned around and reached for his backpack through the network of roots that seemed to almost protectively encircle the hill, tugging the knapsack inwards to join him.

With the scraping sound of nylon on mossy bark, the backpack wedged itself between the roots. Jack cursed and tugged at the straps with all his strength, but he just didn't have the muscle to free it. It was a familiar problem for Jack. Short, slim, graceful, and more than a little nerdy, he had never been mistaken for an athlete. It had gotten worse when he had realized he liked boys. Words like "twink" and "sissy" had been thrown at him, and even now his ears burned in shame at the memory. He hadn't been manly enough to satisfy his boyfriend in bed, let alone his friends or family in daily life.

That was why he was here, after all. It had all started with a mouldering old book in the university library, Legends of the Jungle, that spoke of a "Tree of Might". It would supposedly transform "the least stripling youth" into "a warrior of unsurpassed potence and virility". A normal person would have shook their head at an ancient fairy tale, but Jack had been intrigued enough (and smart enough) to follow through with some research. He had located a few other references in the legends of other nearby tribes, and a tantalizing account of some explorers who had encountered many of the landmarks mentioned in the legend. It had all led to the private diary of an anthropologist who had tracked it, and supposedly found it, though the last dozen pages had been ripped out, leaving Jack with a cliffhanger of the anthropologist finding the small hill encircled with tree roots that supposedly held the tree, and planning to scale it the next day.

Given such a clear record, Jack had decided to spend his Spring Break investigating the trail. He had invited his boyfriend to come along, knowing he would be interested in men of "unsurpassed virility". His boyfriend had responded by dumping him and going out with the captain of the football team, a huge, muscular, hairy man that Jack would have sworn was on steroids, if not for having seen how incredibly hung the guy was. He still wished his ex hadn't sent him pictures of the guy's package, though. The fact that they were likely fucking on the beach while Jack dragged himself through a drippy, humid jungle had given Jack the motivation to press onwards.

With one last ineffectual tug on the backpack, Jack stood, sweating and sticky, and turned around to scale the rocky slope. The dark grey granite was blocky and easy to scale, moss having covered all the sharp edges. It was only a good twenty or thirty feet up, and he found himself in a small valley, or perhaps caldera. An emerald, mossy carpet coated most of the area that he could see, interrupted by trees erupting from the sea of green at irregular intervals, reaching into the canopy to compete for light. Somewhere out of view water burbled softly. Jack licked his lips and thought fondly of his canteen. He had been sweating a lot and could definitely use some water. Clambering up over the berm and to his backpack, he grabbed his canteen, a small pot for boiling the water, and a lighter for starting a fire. Thus equipped, he circled around the blind corner formed by a huge tumbled boulder towards the sound of water.

Jack smiled in pleasant surprise as he looked over the small pool. Water was dripping out of a cleft in an outcropping above, and forming a clear pool beneath. The pool in turn drained down into the moss, keeping the water from growing stagnant. This was a pleasant find indeed. He immediately set about building a small campfire for boiling the water.

Looking up at the cloudy sky he tried to guess how long he had before dark. It was early afternoon now, which meant he could probably get in a few more miles before he had to stop for the night, but he doubted he'd find a place as nice as this. That pool could even be used for bathing. He eyed its mirrored surface with unadulterated greed. It had been a good week since he'd had a bath.

What's more, he didn't know how badly he needed those miles any more. About four days ago his phone had started behaving oddly. Its GPS no longer worked, but his compass app did. He couldn't get reception, but had still received a few more insulting pictures of his ex taking his new boyfriend at both ends every few days. Strangest of all was that he couldn't access any of the records he had stored of the anthropologist's diary. He had been reduced to scribbling notes in his class notebook from memory, and he should be within a day's hike of the Tree at this point, but it was all guesswork. Assuming it even existed.

He heaved a sigh and shook his head. He was on a wild hunt for a fairy tale, but the slim hope that there was some sort of truth to the legends (coupled with the desire to be out of town to avoid his ex and the football captain) kept him going. He had food for another day inwards, and the whole of the trip back out, but if he didn't find anything tomorrow night he'd have to turn back or start being risky with food. But would a few extra hours really matter that much? He decided to mull it over as he began gathering the driest deadwood he could find.

An hour later he had been able to remove most of his effects from his backpack, laid out his sleeping roll, built a fire, boiled enough water for drinking, and was finishing an early supper. Something about the place soothed him and he wasn't sure he wanted to leave it quite yet. Plus, a bath to rinse all the salty, musky sweat from his body would be very nice. He strung a line between two low, curving branches, and peeled off his sweat-sodden shirt, followed by equally sticky pants. He looked down at his underpants in disgust. Tighty-whities. He'd appreciated the support while scrambling over rubble and roots, but even his modest package produced a large bulge as the tight, wet fabric strained over his crotch. They were hot, confining, and stinking with sweat. He doffed them happily as he grabbed a bar of soap and went over the small pool.

The surface was mirror-still, and he took the opportunity to check himself over. His dark brown hair and pale golden skin were a strong contrast, in the few places he had hair: his chest, arms, and legs were perfectly smooth, and his pits and pubes were laughably sparse. Even his chin was in on it; after a week in the jungle, he didn't have stubble. He traced a finger down his front, annoyed that after religious workout sessions for years, his form still said "not particularly athletic". He didn't have defined muscles, and he didn't have bulk underneath fat. His gentle flabbiness was bone-deep. He splashed the water in frustration and looked down at his pride and joy.

His cock wasn't special, by any means. Five inches long with unremarkable girth, his tawny skin tone made his penis seem washed-out compared to the dark-brown pubic hair it was nestled in. While his dark-pink glans contrasted nicely, unless he was aroused it stayed sheathed inside his foreskin. While it was on the small side of normal, he was quite happy that at least in one area he was normally-sized, and even flaccid it felt nicely warm and pliable in his hands. He rubbed his length idly, enjoying the smoothness of his cock, contrasted with the rapidly-growing firmness inside it. After so many hours trapped against itself in a cramped, hotly sweaty environment, just letting it swing freely in the humid jungle air felt amazing.

He stepped into the pool, pleasantly surprised at how cool the water felt, though a little disappointed that even at the deepest it barely went above his waist. Even in hygiene nothing ever seemed to go his way. He dipped the soap in the water, lathered, and began scrubbing himself down. Working downwards, he stroked the slick foam over his chest, his nipples stiffening at the sensation, and then lower to his stomach. With a quick scrub into his armpits and a once-over of his arms, his top half was done. He shut his eyes and knelt, lowering his body into the pool and rinsing off.

Rising again he stepped to the shallows, and began at his feet and worked upwards. As he stroked the slippery suds between his thighs and cheeks, he blushed as his cock throbbed slowly and swelled slightly. He had been neglecting it: the heat and hard pace he had taken had left him with little time for treating himself. It hadn't helped that his favorite fantasy fodder, his boyfriend's naked body being used and abused in various ways, had left a bitter taste in his mouth since the breakup. Admittedly, the pictures he had been sent had given him erections, imagining himself rather than the football captain in that position, his hugely muscular, hairy body grinding his little bitch of a boyfriend against the wall until he squealed...

His hands slid over his balls, the cool water having driven them up high on his body, though even in the water his rapidly swelling erection felt almost scaldingly hot. He cupped them firmly, feeling their modest weight and potency, two firm round orbs the source of his manliness. Every wisp of aggression, every flare of competitive desire, every dream of mounting and fucking and roaring his dominance and success to the world atop a challenger came from here. His finger slid slowly inside his foreskin, stretching and tugging it as his hips started bucking slowly into his hands as he groped himself, reaffirming his manhood and virility. He growled softly to himself as the water splashed slightly about him, his entire body slowly joining the thrusts. The humid air perfumed with the sweetness of flowers and the musk of rot soon carried the sweetness of pre and the musk of fresh sweat dancing atop the more familiar odors. Jack stroked his cock firmly, just another animal in the jungle giving in to his bestial nature.

The stimulation coaxed more fluid from his manhood as he gripped the base and squeezed tightly, moaning softly. His fingers continued sliding and stretching the velvety skin around his tip, spreading his lubricating pre over the darkening and swelling glans. He shut his eyes, imagining himself strong and powerful, one foot atop the fucker who stole his boyfriend as the defeated male stroked his tongue submissively over the victor's tip. He imagined his boyfriend, panting in lust and spreading his legs submissively, a prize to the strongest man and knowing it and accepting it as natural. He gripped his hotly pulsing erection and began jerking himself firmly, his breath coming in deep, firm gasps as he savored the brutal makeup-fuck he'd inflict on his bitch as the captain of the football team lay watching him submissively, waiting his turn to be used.

Jack savored the smooth feeling of his soft skin sliding back and forth over his painfully-hard erection, each jack of his cock stretching his foreskin firmly over the tip and then pulling back, drawing him methodically closer to release. He moaned and grunted as his erection pounded in his hand, any decorum he might have while masturbating discarded as he writhed and bucked in the water like a beast. His chest heaved in lust and fury as the jock who stole from him was reduced to a whimpering, blubbering bottom, reamed hard until he understood who would be in charge here.

He yelled as he came, his back arching upwards as his orgasm thundered down on him and his cry echoed throughout the jungle. Gooey spatters of his own fluids coated his chest and face, the distinctive fragrance of his semen and sweat perfuming the air as his forceful orgasm rained back down onto him. He writhed, uncaring as his body shivered in release, letting his own scalding cum speckle him.

He opened his eyes slowly, strangely embarrassed and a little annoyed that he had undone his cleaning so swiftly and firmly. A quick lather and a cursory rinse handled his outburst and he rose to reach for his towel. The towel he had forgotten to pack. He punched the water and cursed for the second time tonight. He had been so excited to clean off he hadn't even considered the ramifications. He stepped out of the water, his bitter grumbling only partially muted from the excellent orgasm he had just given himself. His only idea was to let the jungle air-dry him, a barely-tolerable option. The overcast sky and late hour would only reinforce how slowly he'd dry in the heavy humidity.

He stepped over to the fire, still dripping. It was nowhere big enough to dry him well, but it was better than nothing. At least, that was what he thought for the first half-hour. Still damp enough the idea of slipping into clothes to be laughable to him, he threw up his hands in disgust. He could stay up after dark drying himself by the fire. For now at least he'd benefit more by scouting a little before nightfall. He was a good enough hiker (forgotten towels aside) and the mossy ground soft enough he could handle short excursions naked. In this tropical heat, so different than the seaside tropics he grew up with, even naked he'd have to worry more about heat stroke than hypothermia. Checking the clock on his phone and guessing he had about 3 hours until it grew too dark for him to see his way back, he decided to scout the first hour of his trip tomorrow. Arbitrarily deciding to follow the washed-out rocks the pool drained into, he headed out along the mossy canyon.

A mere half hour later found him still following what he was now certain was a dry riverbed. It curved an awkward, looping course through the tumbled rock, the debris oddly square and thoroughly moss-covered. The grey-and-gold evening light lent long, faded shadows to the deep canyon, making Jack shiver for reasons he couldn't quite explain. It finally dawned on him as he rounded yet another corner: ninety-degree turns were rare in nature, and he had easily done a dozen during his trip. Even the stones, tumbled as they were, had been set in orderly lines. Only his awe at his discovery kept him from palming his face at his stupidity. He was in a set of ruins! He eyed the river path he was taking. The turns had been growing more orderly, the canyon deeper, and the moss thinner. Bit by bit he had been entering some ancient and unmarked city. The jungle rapidly and aggressively reclaimed all things, but jungle-dwellers like his ancestors knew how to delay the inevitable. His pulse pounded as he imagined his hundredfold-great-grandfather striding down the street above him, dressed in nothing but the simple loincloth and brilliant bird feathers of a scribe. Or, he imagined dreamily, the lion mask and leather kilt of a warrior. He smiled in the slowly encroaching gloom. He had never been here, and yet felt strangely at home.

He walked slowly along the path laid out for him, perhaps a sewer that erosion had revealed, or maybe once a part of a network of canals. He gently let himself be led off of it, climbing the rocky mounds and feeling the warm forest breeze caress his naked form. He walked towards wherever the ruins seemed less degraded, as near as he could tell towards the center of the ancient city. Bit by bit he watched entropy undo itself: the rocks untumbled from mossy piles to firm interlocking walls, the jungle's green claws loosened their grip until only grey volcanic granite remained. Bit by bit, he was soon walking amongst a ghostly, empty city. He caught his breath as he saw the delicate, ancient carvings that had been sketched into the old notebook: dozens of the nearby stones held the pictographs of the Tree of Might. In each, a naked young man, held by two of the lion-masked guards, was presented to the thick, clumsy representation of a tree. Further stones detailed the rest of the ritual, as the bound boy was placed against the tree, and a short picture of the boy shortly thereafter, the bulging muscles and lion mask of a warrior marking him as having been chosen to join the other soldiers of the ancient city. He shivered softly. The Tree was real...and nearby.

He understood the rational decision would be to hike back to his campsite and search tomorrow. Given a full day he certainly would be able to search the ruins closely. He gritted his teeth. He couldn't bring himself to walk away from the dream that had driven him into the jungle, into this place, even if he walked back just a few hours later. The whole city seemed alien, dreamlike. Deep down he wondered if he was asleep in front of the campfire right now, save the immediacy and precision of the city all around him. Even more, he might not have the body of some implacable leonine warrior of his ancient people, but he had the spirit. He had come here to find the Tree of Might, and he wouldn't back down. Not to the boyfriend who humiliated him, not to the jock that had robbed him, and not to the reedy voice of caution in his own mind. He looked to the direction the pictures seemed to indicate, and strode purposefully into the huge and ancient cathedral it indicated.

The interior of the build was large, but open to the sky, either from a fallen roof or intentionally built that way. The walls had blocked out the tall stately overstory trees, but the interior was filled with forbs and bushes and even a few smaller looming trees, more like oversized bushes than the normal plants. He would have turned right around if he hadn't seen the same round tiered altar featured in the pictographs. In the exact center of the ruined building was a set of three concentric rings, scribed over and over with pictographs too small to read, raising up to an altar or dais that would hold the tree. He stepped up the rings slowly; some deep desire in him to treat this with all the dignity a young initiate would receive, ages ago. He finally reached the top, and looked into the hole. The broken, dead stump of a tree long since dead stared back.

His roar of frustration into the growing night echoed wildly through the forgotten city, scaring birds and shaking debris loose. He stood naked and furious, each breath heaving his chest as he tried to figure out a way to wreck the city by raw frustration alone. Why couldn't something go his way, just once? Just once! He unclenched his fists as he stepped past the dais, still panting in abject rage as he walked further into the building. There was nothing for him here, if there ever was, but he couldn't bear to just meekly walk away. Instead, he compromised and walked towards the far end of the ruin.

He didn't feel the vine snare until it hooked tight around his ankle. He tumbled forward, bloody nose averted by landing on a thick mat of some fragrant plant. With a grunt of confusion he looked back, wondering who would be setting snares here, especially ones thick enough to grab humans. The vine looked very fresh in the low light, deep green and slimy. Slimy? He looked closer and realized there was no knot, the vine had instead somehow encircled his ankle several times. His eyes widened as he saw it slowly curl around his leg again, adding another loop.

Further study was interrupted as the snare tugged him up and back, towards the collection of small trees in the corner. As he was tugged, a second vine, even slimier than the first, slickly roped around his other leg. Hanging upside-down he was pulled close to a writhing, viny tree that glistened in the evening light. He kicked his legs, trying to pull free, but the vines were as tough as steel, and each kick he gave made them tighten their grip a bit more. He was actually a little relieved at the sliminess, the extra lubrication was preventing him from getting rope burn. Closer in now, more tendrils were crawling up the two vines that held his legs, their cool, mucilaginous tips leaving sticky trails as they slid up his sides. He reached out to pluck one away while his hands were free and felt it rapidly thicken and toughen as soon as it neared his right wrist.

Cursing, he tugged harder with arm and leg alike, feeling the unctuous lianas tighten further. With only one free hand he wriggled and tried to move it around, away from the vines. The slippery tendrils crawled up his side, leaving gooey trails as they curled inexorably about his arm. He shouted and thrashed and wriggled, the tree growing closer as he was finally bound tight. The tree spread-eagled him, stretching each limb as far from the others as it could, as it pulled him closer, until he could have reached out and touched the crown of the tree if he could reach out at all. His struggles continued to tighten the vines about him. Realizing his panicked writhing was merely making escape harder without any benefit, Jack stopped to formulate a plan.

The tree was a squat, thick thing, shorter than the nearby trees and without leaves that he could see, the bare, viny branches encircling a squat trunk. The top of the trunk was swollen, and as he watched, it split open like an overripe fruit and a profusion of new vines, each dripping ropey slime, rose up to meet him. As he felt their clammy, syrupy tendrils encircle his limbs, working inwards, he forgot his plan and began thrashing anew.

Several of the vines were tipped with odd protrusions, and he felt the weirdly-swollen, knobby bulges as they slid between his legs. The cool, slippery sap drooled from the tip as it prodded his testicles, making him gasp in shock. It slowly ground upwards against his taint, rooting about like a boar in the mud, searching for something. Jack tried to squeeze his legs shut instinctively, but the vines ignored his resistance easily. He didn't have the strength to fight. Instead, he moaned as the thick, probing creeper found his nervously clenching hole, and forced itself in slowly. The runner inside him began to thicken and throb as it continued grinding in deeper, filling his insides with the chilly, slimy gel the entire tree was leaking now. It burned like cool fire inside him, making it harder to struggle as the ropey liana squeezed his prostate. He whimpered in shame as his cock swelled erect at the pressure inside him, suddenly aroused even as he felt his limbs lose some coordination. Were the plant fluids intoxicating? His concentration was shattered as another vine pressed against his sac, moving forwards this time.

He looked down to see a swollen green-and-pink flower bud, softer-looking than the firm vines. Slowly it slid along his painfully-needy length as he gasped and wriggled in pleasure. It fitted over his erection with a shamefully large amount of room to spare, and he began thrusting into it slowly, the narcotic effect of the sap and the firm penetration of his rear driving him wild. As his dick pressed firmly into the soft half-open blossom, more of the slippery plant juices dripped out, coating his balls and trickling into his urethra. The intense sensation already filling his guts suddenly lit up the inside of his manhood as he moaned, still trying to fight but so limply uncoordinated from drugs and pleasure that the vines weren't even pinning him anymore.

The more normal-shaped runners were busy as his will to fight faltered, encircling his body and reinforcing the vines already holding his limbs, dozens of searching, writhing tendrils pressing against him slickly. Jack gasped and moaned as a vine that he could swear was as thick as his arm fucked him bonelessly, writhing inside him deeply and pumping loads of some aphrodisiac narcotic. His knees shook and he felt too weak to even lift his head, let alone struggle against the hardened vines. As another blossom slid up to face him, he barely was able to pull his face away.

Before his eyes the flower unfolded, dripping more of the slime, and he barely got a chance to see the miniature tree at the tip of the stamen before the whole thing was forced into his mouth, the floral bittersweet flavor of the slime making his mouth numb. The thick white petals closed about his face, wrapping wetly so only his nose was exposed to breathe. He tried to cry out as the thick, meaty stamen was slowly forced down his throat, unleashing a torrent of muskier, stickier sap as it did so. He did his best not to swallow, but the petals covering his mouth and the stamen forcing his throat open meant the juices slid down his throat anyway. It reignited the fire in his loins and he bucked more forcefully into the slimy, inviting blossom around his cock.

His guts churned as he felt the vine inside his bowels turning and twisting, throbbing so powerfully now it drowned out his own heartbeat, the juices the vine was leaking into him growing hotter now, feeling almost like an antidote to the numbing slime he'd been coated in and pumped full of up until this point. The flower in his mouth redoubled its output, more of the musky, gelid fluid pouring into his mouth. The vines he had felt at the tip of the flower were climbing down further into him, violating him utterly from both ends.

He squealed in pain and pleasure as he felt something firm and ropey and wriggling slide into his cock, another tendril like ones at the end of the flower in his mouth filling the inside of his cock and growing deeper. He could swear he felt its probing caress brush against his balls, his hips never slowing down in their instinctual breeding motions. His own thick splashes of pre merely made it easier for the vine to slide into him, as the heat from the larger two increased further. He felt suffused with warmth from both ends, almost to orgasm from the stimulation. His breaths were coming easier now, the hot fluid burning off the drug haze the previous slime had inflicted, but leaving the maddening arousal enhanced further. His chest heaved with each breath, feeling held tight by the vines in a way it wasn't before, his muscles burning in exhaustion as if he had been swimming for hours. More of the hot, protein-rich slime stinking of animals and sex was poured into his throat and rump, his lust-crazed state making him drink it eagerly as his rear did its best to clench around the invasive vine.

His body felt lighter and it was much easier to move now, even though he felt sore and overexerted. Wherever the slime had touched his exterior was starting to feel itchy, and a little distant like something was covering it up. He wondered if he was allergic to the contents. His head pounded, feeling slightly sore and swollen as he felt the powerful tendril force-feeding him more of the musky slime. He lapped at the salty, sticky fluid eagerly, licking his chops and fangs.

Fangs!?

He began thrashing again, feeling the vines snap around him. His arms, legs, chest, and even his cock burned and ached like he had been exercising with them for hours. The hot slime that reeked of sex and musk had neutralized the narcotic goo from before, and while he felt weak as a kitten, the wet snap of vines from around his arms and legs told him his struggles were now effective. He snarled as he flexed his right hand and yanked with all his strength, the vines ripping as he overshot and hit himself in the face, his claws deflected by the thick mane coming in about his head. He grabbed the flower covering his face, and with a retch yanked it out of his muzzle. He looked down upon himself in a mix of horror and awe.

The transformation had already fully completed on one leg, the large, muscular digitigrade paw covered in a thick golden pelt. Without even thinking he flexed his foot and watched as claws extended and retracted. His other foot hadn't fully transformed yet, looking short, slim, and gimpy by comparison. The muscles underneath the skin of the leg rippled and swelled, stretching the skin as definition appeared between each on his leg. He growled in pain as his leg grew slowly to match the other's size. That at least explained the weakness and burning: doubling in muscle mass was probably the most exhausting thing his leg would ever need to do.

He grunted in alarm, looking over the rest of his body. His arms were fully changed too, the same lustrous golden fur and rippling, defined muscles having grown in over them. The vines holding his limbs were becoming weaker and more brittle, and almost without thinking he flexed his claws and slashed himself free. The wood was punky and soft, shearing under his grip easily. With a thrash and a roar he shredded the main vine holding him up and felt it snap as he weakened it. With a growl of shock he fell to the ground, spryly landing on his feet and standing. His far-broader chest heaved as he panted in effort, great gulps of air filling his massive torso, his pecs stretching back at the apex of each breath. He watched in horror and amazement as his stomach rapidly grew dark gold hair and became ripped enough to wash clothes on, his abs rising to prominence out of his soft stomach as they grew in size and strength. He watched them surge as he panted in exertion and fear, more than a little in wonder of how strong and easy his breathing was, his diaphragm more powerful than before. His abs slowly disappeared again, this time under a thick mane that went from crotch to face, the same dark brown almost-black his hair had always been, a visual sign of his intense health and virility as a true king of the jungle.

He shivered as he looked down on his pride and joy, still in the throes of change. His foreskin plumped and grew thicker, becoming furred and tight upon his manhood. His cock pulled inward, no longer loosely framed but tightly gripped and held more up into him by his sheath. He snarled in horror as he saw how his dick had grown smaller, until he slid it out to look more closely, and the thick roll of meat complied by flopping down, swaying slowly nearer his knees than hips.

His dick was still mostly familiar, far longer and somewhat thicker than before and his glans recognizable, but it was now stubbled all over with stiff, spiny bumps that made him moan in delight as they were rubbed. His cockhead's color was now over his entire manhood, and it pulsed and throbbed slowly in his hand. Soothed but still concerned, he reached down to cup his balls gently. He grunted plaintively as he felt they were no larger in his hand than they had been when he had masturbated in the spring, and then snorted in amusement as he realized that his hands were now about the size of dinner plates. He likely had grown at the source of his maleness on the same scale as everywhere else. After all, they felt huge, hefty, warm...

And very, very good. He moaned long and low as he just stroked his balls. Now that his shock and adrenaline were fading he was left with the remaining embers from whatever aphrodisiacs the tree had pumped into him. His new body felt strong and powerful, primal and vital and bestial and ready to fuck. He could probably cum just from savoring the feeling of his leonine heart thumping in his broad, statuesque chest. Fortunately, he could do far more than that.

He walked up to the squat, warty tree that had effected this change. He felt grateful, somehow, for the tree doing this to him. Isn't this what he wanted? He purred softly as he nodded to himself. Even if this was a dream, this truly was *his* dream, and he wouldn't trade feeling so healthy and alive for anything. He leaned against the claw-scarred bark that oozed some of the same warm, musky slime that had woken him out of his narcotic haze earlier. His paw stroked it affectionately, and he instinctively knew what to do. He gouged his claws across the bark, adding another set of slashes that began leaking the sap. His clawmarks were the most recent, but some of the cuts were recently healed-over, merely a few years old. He lifted his nose and scented the air, suddenly aware there were several other males with territories in the area, and knowing while he wasn't in danger, it would be best for everyone if he left. His pulse quickened in excitement as he spoiled for a fight, but with a snarl and feral smile he tamped down the urge. There was a football player he intended to take it out on, not men who might as well be his brothers, even if he had never met them. Rubbing his paw clean on his half-flaccid manhood, he retracted his penis and dashed off eagerly towards his campsite.

The jungle was a new entity on the return trip. The darkness was of no concern, the faint moonlight through clouds illuminated the place like noon. His ears twitched at all the new and alien noises that were too faint to ever pick up before. He panted as he loped through the emerald maze, partly in exertion but just as much in the thrill of the world of scent breezing over his nose. He cut across the ruins in a beeline towards his camp rather than retracing his steps, able to smell the smoke of his cookfire, and as he grew closer, his own body odor too. He clambered over the deep ruins almost effortlessly, his body feeling light and powerful as he used his claws to grip sheer faces and help himself up, barely slowing down as he bounded gaps twice his height.

Walking over to his drying clothes, he guffawed at the idea of wearing them. He slid his hand into one of the legs of his pants, his bicep thicker than its thigh seam and getting caught. He tugged it off his arm and smoothed his fur. He'd need new clothes, certainly, but for the rest of spring break he'd be in the jungle. Lifting up his worn shirt, he extended a claw and slowly sliced it down into a loincloth to protect his more dangly parts from the thorns and irritating saps of the jungle. Stretching cloth once meant for his entire torso over his crotch worked, barely, but he was left with no slack for tying it up. His ears pricked as he suddenly remembered.

Bounding down to the trees where his backpack had become wedged, he ripped the backpack out casually, tearing it some but keeping the straps intact. With a snarl, he ripped the branch off with less ease but far more satisfaction. Pleased at the score being evened, he headed up to make his new loincloth, walking by the pool as he did so.

As he glanced, he froze and looked at his face. It was clearly that of a lion's now, strong and regal, and wreathed in a mane so thick and dark he looked like he was emerging from a thundercloud. He licked his pearly fangs, twitching his whiskers in amusement at his new vanity. He was glorious. Let that strutting jock bastard try and cause trouble with him *now*!

He leapt down into his pool of water happily, splashing everywhere, but was amused to see he had gained height too, and the water once up past his waist now barely brushed his balls. He purred as the cool water kissed his weighty sac and, unthinking, let his thick cock slide out. Its prickly head dipped into the water and he shivered. Tossing his backpack next to his new loincloth, he stroked his manhood happily. The cool water was reconstituting the dried slime the tree had smeared on him, and he happily lubed up his thick, spiny leonine cock with it as he enjoyed the revenge he was going to inflict.

He lifted his muzzle and roared softly, low and deep in his throat as he shut his eyes in pleasure. His thick paw pads grew slimy with sap soaking up the water, the slick fluids tingling and burning slightly with aphrodisiac echoes. As a lion, he could breed dozens of times an hour, his body adapted to servicing those he mounted swiftly and efficiently. As a man wracked with chemically-imposed lusts, he was going to test drive that fact.

His heavy paw stroked up and down the growing erection, the dark, regal red-purple of his maleness lifting entirely out of the water. The slime had swollen to a thick gel from all the water, and his pawpads were smooth, arousing bumps as a result. His powerful thigh muscles flexed over each other as he leaned his hips back, aiming his cock towards the canopy. His balls dipped fully into the cool water, drawing up only partway in reaction, and letting the gentle waves as his legs flexed drive smooth, sucking waves over the sensitive scrotum. The spines prickled along his fingers as he grunted and moaned, imagining forcing his flighty, petulant little bitch of an ex-boyfriend onto his cock cruelly. The bastard would whine and whimper, squirm and struggle, and the entire time secretly adore being taken and shown who the real man was. He imagined those gentle licks of water to be the subservient tongue of the bastard that had stolen his boyfriend, forced onto his knees by a stronger, sexier man and now lion who knew how to take control.

He savored the heaving of his powerful, animal chest, breathing deeply as he worked himself up, his muscles thrilling at being moved and preparing to fight for a mate. His cock was at full size now, taking his entire paw to wrap around its veiny bulk, and so long it took both paws to fully cover it. He bucked his hips roughly with each jerk of it, loving the way his beefy, feral form shook the entire pool from the force of his thighs. He could pick up his ex and the guy that cuckolded him with one paw now, and use the other to line his cock up as he penetrated them. He snarled in pleasure and licked his chops as he imagined that beefy jock of a footballer split in half by his massive leonine dick, fucked raw and whimpering for more. His toe claws scraped the rocky bottom of the pool as he flexed his toes in lust and satisfaction. He'd show them both who the real king of the pride was.

His arms flexed and blurred as he jacked himself roughly, their new strength and speed a pleasant shock to him, their ropy muscles bunching under his golden pelt as he felt what it was like to have a herculean body. He could squeeze his cock so tight with his monstrous grip his vision blurred and his sandpapery tongue lolled out. He did so once more, adoring how much raw power his body had, and with a shiver felt himself pushed over the edge.

His balls finished their ascent, drawing tight to his body as it prepared to spray his seed, and he shut his eyes and roared into the emerald sea of the jungle as he climaxed. Hot, thick jets of his semen shot from his spiny tip, splashing loudly into the pool, or geysering silently onto his inky mane. The third wave splashed across his face, the explosive force now only as high as his head, and he shook and roared again as his orgasm slowed down. After another half-dozen pulses, he could open his eyes and stare at the now-milky pool. While this was hardly the first time he'd covered himself in his own cum, in a sudden bout of fastidiousness he began licking his mane clean, curling inwards and downwards to reach his belly, and then without thinking, his cock.

He stopped and pulled off the tip, already rehardening with leonine stamina. This was an exciting fringe benefit. Still, he was honestly dirty from the amount of semen he'd inadvertently coated himself with, and the sweat he had worked up doing so filled the campsite with a rough, musky odor. Stepping out of the pool, he added another few sticks to the fire, shook as best he could, and lay down atop the waterproof shell of his bedroll to clean himself properly.

His new lion body was as flexible as it was muscular, and he stretched easily to lick much of his mane clean. What he couldn't reach directly he knew instinctively how to wet his paw and stroke it firmly across the relevant spots. As he dried and tidied up by the fire, he eyed his plump, golden sheath with excitement. He tried his hardest not to rush, but once he felt satisfied he had cleaned his mane and body sufficiently he almost moaned in pleasure as he pressed his muzzle against his sheath opening. His newly sensitive nose could take in smells even through his mouth, and he could smell his own strength and health as his slimy cock flopped atop his nose. He slid it into his muzzle gratefully and quivered as his prickly tongue and prickly cock grated against each other wonderfully. Carefully, salivating heavily and aided by plant sap and his own orgasmic drippings, he tongued his rapidly stiffening manhood.

His erection was more than even his generous muzzle could handle easily. While he could open wide enough and his ruddy cock slotted perfectly between his fangs, he was far too long to fully engulf, and unlike his whore of an ex he still had a gag reflex. He settled for bobbing powerfully and rapidly along his length, growling in pleasure as his meaty, musky cock parted his lips and buried itself in the warm wetness of his muzzle. His mouth watered as he licked away the ropy, salty remains of his last orgasm, eyes shut as he worked rapidly towards a new one. His abs crunched him together easily again and again as his lower half pumped into his face easily and tirelessly. All around him his new half-lion body flexed and rippled as he exerted his all towards orgasm yet again.

The second orgasm came slower, not from less enthusiasm between his legs, but rather his inexperience with cocksucking even before he got a new mouth. He settled for bobbing along his eager dick as fast and as firmly as he could without painfully scraping the skin with his rough tongue. While it came slower, he in turn was able to enjoy it more as his cock began rapidly jetting his own hot, sweet seed into his muzzle. He bit down on his roar to keep on his cock, and nearly bit down on his own manhood in turn. Compromising, he yanked off and let loose the pent-up roar as his hips bucked and his semen rained down on his mane for the second time today. His claws ripped into his bedding as he thrashed his body in wild release, loving the feel of his new orgasms.

As his body quieted down he sighed, tail flicking a bit in annoyance. While feeling that hot, rough muzzle around his cock had been wonderful, having to yank out to avoid his own teeth had been a minor annoyance. It looked like his boyfriend, among others, still had a use, with those soft tongues and flexible throats. He stretched and with a soft, happy grunt, curled up. Tomorrow he'd begin the hike back. For now, he would sleep, as the King of the Jungle.