FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Shattered Shards: Myshelle's Medicine

By Von Krieger

Myshelle tossed he auburn hair over her shoulder, looking with a scowl at the methods of conveyance parked outside the club, though in some cases the term 'stabled' would be more accurate.

She wrinkled her nose at the scent of horse, not horse dung, merely horse. The air was thick with it here. She hated coming to what 'normal' humans referred to as 'Grimmtown' in some circles, a place where fairy tales came to life. Myshelle came here after work because it seemed that leaving the comfortable modern world behind and jumping head long into a place where the extraordinary and strange was the norm was the only way that she could drink in peace. Every time she would go to a bar, someone would either recognize her, or try to hit on her. Before the strange events that changed the world forever, Myshelle had taken to visiting strip clubs, where the focus would be on women who were most definitely less pretty than herself, but made up for that in the eye of lecherous males by being bereft of clothing.

The glowing sign above the door read "The Amorous Satyr," the glow from magical enchantment rather than neon lighting. Beside it was an image of a well hung, hoofed individual.

The brunette sighed, doing her best not to grab a strand of her long, gorgeous hair and start pulling worriedly at it. Even despite her going to Grimmtown, eventually people started learning what bar she frequented and began their creepy stalkerhood anew.

That was one part of her celebrity that Myshelle absolutely loathed; the drooling, adoring, mindless masses of fans. Get yourself a recurring role on a popular television series and appear monthly in the pages of several fashion magazines, and all of a sudden you can't walk down the street in a big city without some fat, BO-scented idiot recognizing you.

The model wrinkled her nose again, it was probably her imagination, but she could swear she could smell the faint hint of sex upon the air. Though any trace of it once she recognized it was buried under the scent of horse and fried food.

She hated looking for new clubs; she'd been banned from the last one after throwing a drunken patron across the room. The place mainly served the shorter Aerthan races. Apparently it was an unforgivable crime to toss a midget when he was pawing her leg and making comments about 'wanting to go make some three-quarterlings.'

Myshelle's heels clicked on the pavement and she got over her trepidation and marched into the club. The scent of horse and fried food only got stronger, as well as a strange, sharp scent in the air that made the model sneeze.

She immediately made her way towards the bar, and took a stool. The place was set up to look rather like an Old Aerth-style inn, though it had all the modern conveniences, and most of the bottles on the shelves were Earthen brands.

Though Myshelle thought they went a bit too far with the rounded, over-buxom bartenders and waitresses. Or wenches, she supposed. She ordered her drink, tossed down her money and leaned on the bar, nursing her drink while she thought over her day, as she usually did.

Her day had been ruined by a particularly ugly backdrop, and an incompetent gofer who seemed chronically confused at Myshelle's insistence that the coffees she instructed him to get for her were all wrong. Did the idiot think she couldn't tell the difference between one shot of cherry syrup or two?

And then there had been...

Myshelle spun on her stool, feeling rather anxious, wanting to lash out for her mistreatment during the day. Her eyes settled on the stage for the first time, and her brain seemed to lock up and shut down. Her drink glass fell from her hand and shattered on the floor.

Her mouthed opened in a gape that was only slightly wider than the size of her eyes at the performer on stage.

"What the hell?" she said to herself, though anyone close to her could hear.

She stared in shock and bafflement at the 'stripper' on the bar's central stage. She wasn't human, that wasn't a surprise. The most surprising thing was the Myshelle was rather sure the performer didn't count as a 'she.'

Not with the two foot long equine phallus and grapefruit sizes balls between 'her' legs. Myshelle shuddered at the sight, she had no idea she'd walked into one of those 'weird' clubs.

Made even weirder by the stripper's size, well, not her size, but her build. She was as hefty as the serving wenches. Myshelle winced, trying not to lose her lunch. She couldn't believe that people came and paid to watch he-she porkers wobble their fat rolls about.

She turned and stood, preparing to dart out the door, when she found one of the wenches in her way.

"Watch we're your going, you disgusting blob!" Myshelle growled, putting a hand on the shoulder of the obese server in her way.

A latex-gloved hand gripped Myshelle's wrist and blazing emerald eyes met her own. There was something in them that immediately sent a shiver down Myshelle's spine. Only when she looked down did she notice the woman, or quite possibly 'woman' was dressed in a latex outfit, rather than a blouse and skirt. Her bright red hair hung down her back, contrasting starkly with the deep black corset, gloves, and thigh-high boots she wore.

"I... I'm sorry..." Myshelle stammered, the satyr's eyes seeming to see into her very soul.

"No, you're not." The latex-clad satyr said, "You're not sorry at all, and I think you need to learn some manners."

Myshelle scowled and tried to pull her hand away, "I'm leaving." she said, trying to walk away from the creature. Instead she found a hoof pressing down on her toes with a portion of the satyr's potential weight, enough to cause pain, but more of a hint of what was to come.

"Get off my foot you bloated hulk!" Myshelle snarled, not at all used to treatment like this.

Her words seemed to anger the satyr more. For a large, hefty individual she moved rather quickly, ducking behind Myshelle and gripping a handful of auburn hair in her gloved hand, pulling the rude patron along.

Myshelle screamed all the way as she was dragged out of the public portion of the club, literally dragged, as she couldn't walk backwards very well in her heels.

She was tossed unceremoniously into a room behind the kitchen. No wonder the place smelled like fried food, the staff of the club probably ate chunks of lard for their meals.

The model was tossed into a strange looking chair. She stood, ready to fight back, to jab her lacquered nails into satyr's eyes, but the chair made some strange clinking noises, and she found her arms and legs restrained by padded clamps.

"What the fuck are you doing, you bitch? You can't do this!" she growled, trying to break free.

The satyr grinned, grabbing something off of a shelf and forcing it into the model's mouth. The gag made it impossible for Myshelle to form words, but there was a hole in the middle, which still meant she could make loud sounds.

The satyr smiled wickedly, "Honey, Aerthen land, Aerthen rules. One rule you need to learn is to never piss off a sorceress. I can do whatever I want."

The model's protests were dimmed as the satyr attached a large, thick plastic tube to the front of the gag. Some clamps hung down from the ceiling, to which she attached to the tube at various points, to hold it up. At the top she inserted a huge metal funnel, sticking the end in the tube. It too was clamped into place.

"You think you're better than the girls and I just because you're thin, hmm?" she asked, caressing Myshelle's cheek, "Well, we're going to change that."

The satyr went to the back of the room, pressing her hand against the wall, using the force to push a board up into the ceiling. Behind it was a small safe, which she rapidly turned the dial to, inputting the combination.

The safe popped open and the heavy shemale reached in and pulled out a jewelry box containing a pendant. It sported a large, white-yellow, opaque stone on a rose gold chain.

It was fastened around Myshelle's neck. It felt strangely heavy, and almost obscenely warm.

"Now that little beauty is going to take everything that passes your stomach, and will channel it directly into body mass. It'll be slow going, but I think we can bulk you up nicely in a few days."

The satyr turned and walked to the door, leaving Myshelle to continue to struggle in the chair.

"Oh Stephanie!" the satyr called, sticking her head out the open door.

"Yes, Kora?" came the soft, sultry sounding reply from the cook.

Myshelle couldn't see anything save for lilac hair, white, tapering horns, and a pair of mint green ears with the fat satyr, Kora, apparently, in the way.

"See that she gets some good hearty food in her. Start her on milkshakes and malts." The satyr said with a chuckle.

"Yes ma'am!" the cook said, chuckling also.

Myshelle didn't understand what could be so funny, but she expected that the joke was about to be on her.

-o-

Myshelle was left sitting in the chair alone for several minutes, fuming in anger as she tried to free herself, get the gag out of her mouth, or at least knock that stupid plastic tube out of it.

But try as she might she couldn't budge. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, binding her up and leaving her alone for a few minutes to scare her. They wouldn't actually do anything to her, not someone as important as Myshelle.

A few minutes more passed before the door opened, but rather than Kora or horned cook, instead Myshelle found herself strapped to a chair, alone in the room with the very performer she'd insulted.

The shemale looked very cross, her pink eyebrows bent into a scowl. Myshelle couldn't believe that she hadn't noticed how... loud the creature was. First had been the bubblegum pink horsecock, next had been the rolls of fat beneath pale white skin. She hadn't had time for her mind to process the bright pink hair and tail and the equally bright, intense blue fur on the creature's lower body.

The dancer had a bucket in her hands, which was spotted with condensation. She smiled and with a cruel laugh spit into the funnel before pouring the bucketful of milkshake within.

The girl seemed content to sit and watch, as she pulled up a stool, sitting beside Myshelle.

"There's no reason to insult other people just because they're different." She said softly, almost shyly.

To Myshelle's disgust the satyr began to stroke her half-hard cock, "Mmm... it never goes all the way down anymore. I'm too horny." The satyr said with a giggle, "I love it! It's so much fun when you're dancing. When I dance good, I feel good, and when I feel good..."

She sighed happily as a thick jet of precum spurted from the flared tip of her cock, it splattered on Myshelle's arm and chest. The captive looked at the satyr with wide, frightened eyes; they couldn't possibly be planning to...

No, that would be inexcusable. When this band of kidnappers and freaks were caught and brought to justice, and they knew they would be, they wouldn't want to have charges of rape added to kidnapping and torture by... by...

Chocolate-marshmallow swirl?

The thick ice cream-based treat had begun to slowly leak down the tube, coming closer and closer to Myshelle's mouth. She'd only gotten the first taste of lighter liquid. It seemed more like a malt than a milkshake. Whatever it was, it was rather delicious.

The taste took Myshelle's attention off the satyr, who continued to stroke herself, "I just love it here, you know? Getting to dance, getting all the cock I could ever want and... mmm... Mistress Kora makes sure I feel so good when I dance. The customers love my lap dances. I get into the rhythm and I move all sexy, and sometimes.... ooooh." She moaned.

"Sometimes I'll get so worked up that I cum all over the client. Oh they love that. Oh yeah, oh, OH!" she cried.

Myshelle closed her eyes and turned away, but still her face was splattered by the hose-like torrent of seed from the satyr. She shuddered, it was disgusting! The bitch had just... covered her in inhuman spunk.

The captive growled and renewed her futile struggles with the chair. It was then that the ice cream mix finally made it to her mouth. Myshelle found her mind going more away from struggling and more towards how to swallow the stuff without choking. It was taking all of her concentration to do so.

Concentration that was broken when the satyr licked her cheek. Myshelle coughed and sputtered, or at least she tried to, rather than choking, the act merely seemed to make her unable to control the muscles in her mouth and throat, resulting in a massive flow of the stuff down into her belly. The rapid flow of chilly ice cream also gave her a terrible cold headache.

Myshelle wailed her discontent at her treatment, trying to keep her head away from the satyr, who continued to lick until Myshelle's face and hair were free of spooge.

"Mmm... don't you go anywhere, cutie, I'm going to be back in a bit with your next meal." The satyr said with a giggle.

-o-

Myshelle wasn't exactly sure how she was managing to breathe while gulping down a mouthful of malt every second or two; it was rather difficult, and exceptionally uncomfortable.

With the gag making it impossible for Myshelle to get a perfect seal, she couldn't stop the flow of the stuff; she had to keep gulping it down. Chilly, sticky chocolate ice cream leaked from the sides of her mouth, dripping down her neck and staining her expensive silk blouse, another thing that angered Myshelle.

But she couldn't focus her anger for long, somehow every time she tried to struggle, the ice cream slid down her throat faster and faster. Her shirt had begun to feel tight around her midsection, she wondered how much she'd swallowed.

The big plastic bucket the satyr had brought in looked like your typical 5 gallon bucket. Myshelle's stomach couldn't possibly hold that much! But she'd been gulping the stuff down constantly for minutes. Maybe the thing around her neck really was enchanted after all.

Myshelle felt weird, like someone had knocked the wind out of her and she was about halfway to recovering. Her belly felt tight; did she dare look down to see what had happened?

It was at that time that there was nothing else coming into Myshelle's mouth, save for a low trickle. Her eyes widened and she looked down at her belly, finding it hideously disfigured, rounded and bloated, sticking out of her body with the presence of 5 gallons of ice cream and milk inside.

It took Myshelle a few moments to stop instinctively swallowing, accidentally gulping down several mouthfuls of air that came up in a massive, incredibly embarrassing burp. The captive model was thankful that there was no one around to have heard the sound.

Once more she was left alone with nothing to do. The mingled scents of the sticky things on her clothes made her feel weird. The mix of satyr cum and ice cream shake made her mouth water. Soon Myshelle had to start gulping to keep herself from drooling. Stupid pendant; Myshelle began to wiggle her head, trying to get the chain caught around her ear, so that she might be able to shake it off.

Though after a few tries she realized that likely the pendant was the only thing keeping her stomach from rupturing from being massively overfilled.

Myshelle sat for a long time, unsure how much time had passed, before she felt her belly... bubble. It felt like she was a water bottle with a tiny hole poked in the side, except without the leaking part, more the bubbling up part.

Turning bright red she kept burping and burping. She could feel the ice cream filling her belly moving around, being digested maybe?

All of a sudden the tiny bubbles became a huge torrent, and Myshelle couldn't help but let forth with one massive, continuous burp as the ice cream seemed to vanish into a bottomless pit.

After a few moments it was all over, though Myshelle still sported a rounded tummy, it didn't look like she was smuggling a watermelon. She sighed, hoping that this would be all the worse things would get.

As if taking a cue from her, things got worse.

Her body felt warm, unpleasantly warm. Myshelle began to sweat, water virtually pouring from her pores. Her pants felt tighter all of a sudden. Looking down at her legs, Myshelle could see them thickening, the slight slack in her jeans vanishing as they became skin tight.

Her bra similarly felt a little too constrictive, it didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable. Myshelle prided herself on keeping her weight down to a svelte 110. What got added onto her was perhaps around ten pounds.

As soon as her body stopped swelling with the addition of fat, so too did Myshelle stop sweating; all of sudden she felt cold. She began to shiver and kept doing so until the door open, a blast of thankfully warm air from the kitchen accompanying Kora as she walked in with two buckets.

She chuckled as she looked over Myshelle, "Hmm... looks like the calorie method." She said, reaching down and giving the model's arm a bit of a pinch, "A good ten pounds, I think. We'll take things faster a bit later on, but for now I think that's a good rate."

Kora set down the buckets and pulled the tube from Myshelle's gag; she giggled and gave it a lick, grossing Myshelle as the satyr lapped at the mixture of ice cream dribbles and Myshelle's saliva.

"Now, let's get you cleaned up for your next feeding. We can't have you all sticky and uncomfortable now can we?"

Myshelle made unhappy sounds into her gag, struggling a bit at her bonds. Kora laughed and reached into one of the buckets, removing a washcloth dripping with water. With gentle care she cleaned off Myshelle's face and neck.

"Hmm, this is no good. That shirt is going to have to come off." She said.

Myshelle would've grinned if not for the gag. She would have to be removed from the chair in order for her shirt to be taken off.

The satyr began unbuttoning it, and then stroked her chin with a latex gloved hand, "Hmm... actually, I think I have a better idea."

Rather than take Myshelle out of the chair and remove her shirt, the satyr reached back behind the captive and unhooked her bra, tossing it into the bucket of water.

Rage burned on Myshelle's face, her underthings were one of a kind! That top cost more than some dumb Grimmy would make in a lifetime!

Myshelle's rage was ignored, as Kora clicked her tongue, "My my, what a messy eater you are. Sticky all the way down your breasts."

Myshelle howled as the satyr gripped her breasts and then lowered her head, running her tongue over the bare skin, her tongue stud tickling Myshelle's nipple.

"I can't wait to see what these will look like once you've bulked up." Kora said. The satyr hmmed softly, and then tweaked Myshelle's tits again, "Implants!" she burst out with a laugh, "No wonder you're so bitchy, you've got one hell of a self-image problem!"

Myshelle growled through her gag and tried to head butt her captor, who merely chuckled and gripped her head in both hands, her long tongue slipping into Myshelle's mouth.

The model tried to spit, to rid herself of the taste of the creature's saliva.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, there was a bit of ice cream left, and I have no idea what getting soap suds in your mouth will do with that pendant." Kora said, going back to washing Myshelle.

Myshelle wasn't sure what it was, something in the satyr's spit, perhaps? Enchanted lipstick? Or maybe even the strange, mouthwatering scent that wafted out of the other bucket, but a shiver went down her spine after their lips broke.

The washing done, Kora tossed the washcloth onto a pile of laundry in the corner and hefted the bucket, not noticing as Myshelle began to squirm. She felt... strange; an odd itch in her loins. The satyr hefted the bucket, and Myshelle winced, presuming that she was about to be doused.

"Oh stop it." Kora said with a snort, "I'm not going to get you all wet, yet."

She poured the soapy water into the large funnel, holding up the end of the tube, spinning the funnel around on its hooks. After a few moments she placed the tube in the bucket and let the water drain. She repeated the process a few times before dumping it out into the nearby sink. The bucket was quickly filled with new water, which was run through the feeding apparatus several times as well.

"There we go!" Kora said happily, hooking the tube back up to Myshelle's gag.

With a sinister grin she lifted the other bucket.

"This ought to be a bit more fun. The pendant prevents excretion, which makes this much more fun for all parties involved."

Rather than pour it in, Kora took the bucket over to a bench nearby. She went to a cabinet and unlocked it by uttering a few words that Myshelle couldn't hear. It was filled with strange bottles, filled with even stranger liquids. The satyr chuckled and selected a trio. She put a drop of a weird part black, part white fluid into the bucket, a carefully measured spoonful of something glowing blue, and then another carefully measured spoonful of some swirly blue-pink-purple stuff. She seemed to think about it for a moment, then laughed and poured in the entire thing. She shook the last few drops out of the bottle, and then stuck her long, dexterous tongue inside, apparently enjoying the last dregs of the bottle herself.

Myshelle found herself blushing, thinking odd thoughts at the sight of Kora performing some acrobatics with her tongue.

The satyr began to pour the mixture of unknown substance and magical potion into the funnel. It was thick, but more of a fluid than the ice cream had been.

The captive found herself a little bit curious as to what it was, its smell was absolutely delicious.

It was only a few moments before the stuff slipped into her mouth. It was rather strange, salty, but also pleasantly sweet. There were strange under-tastes that seemed to come and go, one strong, heavy, and reminding her of steak. The second even heavier, also meat-tasting. But the most common, and most delicious was a mixture of flavors, all absolutely wonderful, too many to individually pick out. While she had been trying to keep the ice cream from going down out of principle, Myshelle found herself trying to prolong this feeding for as long as she could, loving the wonderful taste. She didn't even flinch as Kora's hand stroked her cheek; she merely ignored it and continued gleefully drinking, "Well my pet, I've got business to attend to. But I trust you'll sit here and enjoy your meal. Ought to be delicious with the special potions I mixed up just for an occasion such as this."

The satyr knelt and looked Myshelle in the eye; the model returned the gaze, finding herself thinking that although incredibly heavy, Kora didn't look all that bad. Somehow the black eye liner and black lipstick meshed with the latex outfit she wore to make her look rather stunning. It seemed to have been tailored perfectly to fit every curve, every turn and fold of her body. If circumstances had been more... pleasant Myshelle would have asked who her tailor was. Since if he could make a nearly five hundred pound satyr look stunning, Myshelle could only imagine what sorts of beautiful clothes that could be designed for her. The satyr and herself were about the same size. Well, height wise, weight wise the satyr was probably four and a half times her size. So likely she could even use similar designs.

Myshelle wondered why she was thinking about fashion at a time like this, as well as wondering why she'd been having strange thoughts about Kora, what with the tongue, and now thinking she looked somewhat pretty, and the whole wanting to run her fingers through the gorgeous red hair of the satyr's head and tail.

Kora grinned, "They say you are what you eat, and with some things you consume when you wear this pendant, that turns out to literally be the case. Put a little magical focus into a few things smuggled out of a hospital and you have some interesting magical potions."

The satyr rested her head on Myshelle's shoulder, placing a hand on the captive's breast, her latex-covered thumb tracing circles over the nipple in a way that made Myshelle quiver and long for something more. "Bovine growth hormone for one. Testosterone for another. And a very liberal dose of a mixture of site-targeted testosterone and estrogen. Magic and science are so very much fun to mix, and with neat results."

Myshelle began to slow her rate of consumption even further, not to prolong the enjoyment, but rather to prevent more of the strange hormones from flooding her system.

"After all, now there's a genetic way to get proper shemales. All girly on the outside, with a delicious creamy center." She said, her studded tongue tracing over Myshelle's cheek, lapping up the rear that had began to trickle down. "You'll love it, sweetie. Now, I really have to get to work. I'll be back later to check on you. You enjoy your big bucket of horse cum now, you hear?"

Myshelle let out a sound of rage and disgust, trying her best not to swallow now. All she accomplished was sending about a tenth of what went down her throat down her front instead.

It made her skin tingle and her nipples ache, and still it dripped lower. She blushed deeply, terrified of what would happen when it would soak through her pants and reach her groin.