FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Shattered Shards: Myshelle's Medicine

By Von Krieger

Myshelle leaned against Melissa the entire way, her hand gripping the full satyr's own. They dripped and dropped, leaving quite a mess behind them.

"Who's going to clean that up?" Myshelle asked, curious.

"Imps, sprites, brownies, lesser gnomes, we have a great deal of tiny fey living around in places unseen. We're a strip club, we're a restaurant, we're a tavern, we're an inn, and we're a home, so we get all sorts that are willing to keep things tidy in exchange for leftovers, free shows, and the occasional pair of panties to make a tent out of."

Myshelle laughed, hugging Melissa as they stepped into the bathroom, entering one of the shower stalls and drawing the curtain closed. The hot, heavy spray felt heavenly upon Myshelle's equally heavy body.

Without being asked she instinctively began to help Melissa wash, working shampoo into her scalp, rubbing soapsuds over her soft, plentiful flesh. Melissa did the same for Myshelle, the two trading playful caresses than left both of them partially erect, but neither was interested in sex at the moment, just affection cuddling, kissing, and being close.

"What's Motzenger's Syndrome?" Myshelle asked as she rubbed lather into the fur of Melissa's lower body.

"It's a problem in you get occasionally when you transform an individual whose race isn't intrinsically magical into a fey. Their magical wiring isn't really set up to handle all of what's going on. You see it most often in satyrs and nymphs, since we pretty much can't shut off the magical effects of pleasure and seduction that we have."

"It's kind of a feedback loop where you start doing the things common to that sort of fey more and more to the exclusion of everything else. Eat, drink, dance, sleep, fuck, that's what the satyrs in the old myths pretty much did. They weren't natural satyrs, but rather transformed ones."

Melissa grinned and patted her large belly, "I think it's one of the reasons why Mistress Kora has us get so big. The more of you there is, the more it takes for you to develop Motzenger's. There are a few treatments, but they all involve a bit of a... donation from another transformed individual of the same race."

Myshelle hugged her friend and lover tightly, enjoying the way their wet, bulky bodies slipped against one another, "I'd do anything to help out. I think it'd be fun hanging out with you, even after this is all over and Kora changes me back and sends me on my way."

Melissa giggled and returned the hug, "Oooh, don't say something like that around a fey, hun, they'll take you at your word!"

The two kissed deeply, bellies, breasts, and cocks pressed up against one another, the feeling making Myshelle blush.

"I... I'm starting to wonder if the punishment is getting to experience all this for a few days and getting kicked out of it all at the end."

Melissa kissed her lover deeply, the action bringing both satyrs to full arousal, "Sweetie, if you love it here, Kora won't kick you out. There's always more room for new girls. Once your changes are done, you're going to be one incredibly sexy satyr. Most of us here were just normal girls, and a few guys, but the more attractive the raw material, the more powerful the satyr that results from the change. I bet you'll be able to make a busload of hockey players cream their jeans from a mile away."

Myshelle backed away and shivered, looking down over herself, "Th... this isn't normal, Melissa. I shouldn't enjoy being like this, I'm two and a half times my original weight with a foot long horsecock between my legs, and I can't believe that not only am I enjoying it, but I want more. I'm scared, and what scares me is that I want this all to happen."

She looked up at her lover with watery eyes, prompting the neon satyr to forget her seductive advances and merely hug her new friend to comfort her.

"Honey, don't worry about it. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here, and when that pendant comes off for a whole day, you'll pop right back to your boring, bland, bitchy, bimbo body any time you want." Melissa teased, drawing a laugh from Myshelle.

"Sure we recruit, sure we sometimes force the change on folks, sure as hell we're cheaters and seducers and just love to 'corrupt' so-called 'innocent' hot boys and ladies into taking on the fuzz and flab and joining our ranks. But we're fey, hun, and that means we've got rules to follow. You're worried that your mind is so fogged by magic that you can't tell what you actually want, right?"

Myshelle nodded, and Melissa laughed.

"Then you idiot, take the pendant off!" she said, doubling over.

The new satyr blinked, reached up to her neck, following the chain around to the back to find the clasp. To her surprise it popped open easily. She stared at the removed pendant in her hand, dumbfounded.

She felt the pendant's presence upon her mind fade, she was no longer filled with overwhelming need to eat, to obey, and to fuck. She playfully hit Melissa in the shoulder with her fist.

"It's not funny!" she protested, "I thought this was some sort of horrible cursed artifact!"

Melissa laughed all the louder, "Sweetie, if an item is cursed and you're wearing it, you'll never notice, it's what they do!"

Myshelle couldn't help but begin to chuckle at her friend's mirth. With the pendant removed, her feelings for Melissa were still there, just not as sexual, or as urgent.

"And what about the satyr seduction magics?" she asked.

The gothic satyr flicked the flair of Myshelle's half-hard cock in reply, "You're satyr enough that you're not going to feel anything you don't want to. Just close your eyes, take deep breaths, and try and imagine a bubble around you, then pop it."

Myshelle did so, and to her surprise she felt a weight vanish from her mind, and heat from her loins. She felt... oddly normal. She took a few deep breaths, looked herself over, and found that her feelings hadn't changed. She still liked her body, her cock, her cute lover who looked at her expectantly.

"Well? I'm not suddenly some sort of hideous blob, am I?" she asked, grinning.

Myshelle laughed and fastened the pendant back around her neck, "No, I think you're a rather cute blob." She said with a giggle, giving Melissa an eager, lusty kiss.

She rubbed her belly and looked down at her furless legs and toed feet. "It's not going to hurt, it is? I mean your legs bend in a completely different way. Below the waist we're built totally different."

Melissa chuckled and took Myshelle's cock in her hand, leading her out of the shower, "Not too much different in places," she teased, "It feels a little uncomfortable and weird at first and it takes some getting used to, but I like my satyr legs lots more than I liked my human legs. Ingrown toenails all the time, bleh!" she said with a giggle.

She led Myshelle to the towel rack, picking up a fluffy white towel and playfully using it to dry the new satyr's breasts. Myshelle let out a soft moan, her nipples leaking milk.

She giggled and tried to push Melissa's hands away, "Stop that! You're going to make me all messy and horny again!"

The neon satyr grinned and brought her lips to a thick nipple drawing out a mouthful of milk from within, "And that is bad because?" Melissa said, punctuating her words with a soft nip.

With that small action, Myshelle suddenly found herself fully aroused once again, her body and will soft and malleable, easily coaxed into performance by the hands and lips of a trained sculptor.

As Melissa suckled upon her breast, Myshelle felt something seem to give way, she suddenly felt a long tongue equipped with a tongue stud within her nipple. She looked down and found that her breasts were... changing.

The areole upon the breast she could see was growing, spreading, becoming thick and puffy, but also pale, losing the coloration that made it differ from the rest of her skin. In a few moments it was the size of a teacup, then a saucer.

She brought a hand up, running a single finger over the smooth, sensitive flesh. Her nipple had grown along with it, but not to the same scale, it was larger and thicker, true, but it looked tiny compared to the rest.

"Wh... what's happening?" she asked softly, awed as her body changed before her eyes.

As Myshelle stared in rapt fascination, her nipple... moved. Slowly moving downward and toward the middle of her body. The model stared at it, puzzled, until a trio of new nipples appeared, aligned in a square-like configuration upon her swollen areola.

Her bust also began to expand slowly as things seemed to shift around within her. Myshelle now sported what looked like areole-less breasts capped with four large, flesh colored nipples. Though they weren't hanging and saggy they looked...

"M-m-melissa? I have u-udders!" Myshelle squeaked.

"Mmm... and what delicious udders they are! I bet they feel wonderful." Melissa virtually purred bringing her hand to Myshelle's other breast, caressing and coaxing streams of milk from her nipples with gentle squeezes.

Myshelle blushed, they did indeed feel wonderful, the larger areolas meant more sensitivity, which meant more pleasure, which meant more fun, and easier, more plentiful climaxes.

"Melissa, stop!" Myshelle panted, "Please stop!" The new satyr shuddered as a thought went through her head, a thought that frightened her, once more from her completely lack of fear. She wanted to change more, wanted her body to develop into something more sexual, better designed for feeling pleasure. She wanted huge tits, a big fat equine cock, and huge, heavy balls.

Melissa continued to gleefully suckle, and it took Myshelle some pushing to get her head away. It was only then, deprived of the milk, that Melissa realized what she was doing. "Sorry about that." She said, her pale body reddened with a blush, "Once I get a taste, it's kind of hard for me to stop."

Myshelle nodded, "Is it... Normal to want bigger...You know?" she asked, "The more I change, the more pleasurable this gets, the more I want it to keep happening. The bigger my tits get, the bigger I want them to be. The bigger my cocks gets, the more I can't imagine going without it. The more my body is changed, the more change I want."

Myshelle hugged Melissa tightly, pulling the neon satyr against her, Melissa sighed softly and began running her fingers through the model's hair.

"Yeah, at the start we're all like that, it feels so good, so wonderful and liberating it's only natural to yearn for more. But the bigger you go, in boobs, balls, or body fat, the more difficult it is to do some things, to find clothes that aren't spellcrafted, to manage to hide a hard on..."

"For the first few months your libido is pretty hard to control, and if you end up with Motzinger's like I have, it's never in control. I can't go out in public without fear that I'll get horny and end up using my dance to have some cutie on their knees, sucking my cock on a street corner."

Myshelle gasped softly, "Oh... that doesn't sound bad at all."

"Yeah, but the mundane folks frown upon sex in public places and using mind-altering magics. I'm one of the best dancers here, and if I get real carried away, things might go beyond a little loving on the street corner." Melissa said, blushing.

Myshelle cried out as a strange numbness swept over her feet, accompanied by a gentle pressure at her temples. She clenched her eyes shut at the weird sensations, the muscles on her face giving small spasms as something grew at her temples.

"Wh-what's going on?" she asked, unable to keep herself from blinking, her bust and belly making it difficult to see her toes as well.

Melissa grinned and began to rub Myshelle's feet, "Well, it looks like you're getting a bit more of the moo-cow rather than just the udders. You've got some small bumps on your temples that are going to be horns, eventually, and I think you're well on your way to having to throw out your shoe collection."

The numbness suddenly overtook Myshelle's fingers, "W-wait! What's going on? Why are my hands changing?" she asked.

Melissa giggled, "Well, it's probably because you've had a lot more animal cum than satyr cum than is usual for a transformation. The ice cream we use for controlling the change has a good dose of bull seed in it. We've never gone with the ice cream as the first catalyst before. Don't worry about it."

The neon satyr took Myshelle's hands in her own, her fingertips gently tracing over the digits, stroking where the first two and last two fingers upon each had begun to merge, teasing the thickening flesh in the middle.

"You're going to have two fingers now." Melissa explained as her growing horns still made Myshelle unable to stop blinking.

"I've always thought that was kind of sexy. Big, thick fingers," she said, bringing the tips of what once had been Myshelle's right middle and index fingers to her mouth, suckling on the as they thickened, flesh and bone growing to become one large, thick digit.

"I'd love to have a hand like this; I keep imagining wrapping my two fingers around a cock, curling my nice thick thumb, coaxing the shaft gently into my mouth, curling my tongue around it."

As Melissa mentioned it, Myshelle couldn't help but picture the image in her head, so wonderfully sexy, beautiful, and exotic. Her tongue slipped from between her lips, curling around the imaginary cock, only there was a bit more of it to curl. She felt a bit of tightness in her jaw and lips, like muscle flexes, her facial structure altering just a bit to accommodate the new tongue.

It was long and thick, extending a good ten inches from her lips, and a bit wider. Her teeth felt funny, moving around a bit, and taking on a more boxy, bovine shape, though not transforming so far from human that she would be chewing grass.

Melissa ran her tongue over her lover's fused fingers, now a little bit longer so the two inch thick digits could bend properly. The satyr's tongue curled around each thumb in turn, also grown thick to match the size of the new satyr's fingers.

The neon satyr leaned forward, kissing each of the new satyr's horns as they gently poked through the skin, pricking her tongue on the small point adorning each tiny black horn.

"Mmm, I just love seeing the changes in a newbie, going from the mundane human to the more exotic." She said, pulling away, allowing Myshelle to look over her altered form.

The model looked down at her three fingered hands, flexing them experimentally, admiring the shiny black nail upon each.

She reached up and felt her small, bovine horns upon her temples, and then stuck her tongue out as far as she could, moving it in the air, admiring its dexterity. She shivered with arousal as a thought passed through her mind; she couldn't wait to wrap it around a cock.

She stood, raising a leg and peering at the altered foot upon the end of it, her toes merged into two larger ones, once more topped with a thick, black nail. Stray strands of hair rested upon her ears, which new muscles made twitch, sending the tickling strands away. The motion was instinctual and she did not notice.

"You look so sexy right now, Myshelle." Melissa said with a grin, handing her a towel so that she could finally dry herself, and remove stray droplets of milk, as well as a few more of precum.

The new satyr grinned, "You think so?"

"Honey, I know so." She said, planting a kiss on Myshelle's cheek.

"Breakfast will be served soon; the dining room is down the hall to the left." Melissa said, drying herself off as well.

"As much fun as breakfast is, I'm going to have to grab something later. If you're really serious about helping me with a cure for my condition, Mistress Kora will have to set something up. You'll keep your word on that, right?"

Myshelle nodded, "Of course! I'll do anyth..." she grinned, "I'll do what I can."

Melissa laughed and gave her lover a playful swat on the rump, "You're already the sexiest satyr in the club to me, Myshelle, and you're only going to grow more beautiful as the change progresses."

The model blushed and looked over her figure, shoving aside her old prejudices. The weight suited her, the roundness padded out just the right places, and just as Melissa had said, the touches of bovine upon her body, the udder-like breasts, the odd hands, made her look exotic.

"Maybe not the most beautiful, but I..." she blushed; she'd never gotten into a casual discussion about her beauty before. "I think I'm pretty sexy." She admitted.

The gothic satyr nodded and stepped behind her lover, placing the pendant around Myshelle's neck, not fastening it, merely leaving the central stone between her plump breasts.

"See? And you feel that way without a drop of magic, satyr or otherwise." She said, tickling Myshelle's elongated ear with her studded tongue.

"I..." Myshelle's eyes widened, "I guess so." She said with a smile, turning to a shocked giggle as Melissa pinched her sides and tickled her.

"Now don't eat too much, hun, I want you to save some room for me, you hear? I want to try out that new tongue of yours." She said, giving her lover a nuzzle of the neck before she headed for the door.

The pet quivered with delight, licking her lips at the thought of sweet, tasty Melissa-cock in her future, "I'll try," she said as she fastened the pendant around her neck and began to dry herself once more, "But I think I'd like to be up in your weight class when we have some fun."

Melissa giggled, "Oh you will be, I just know it!" she said as the two walked out into the hall and parted ways.

-o-

Myshelle was about in erotic overload as she sat at the table. There were several dozen satyrs, all shemale, all naked, all in various states of semi-arousal, all varying degrees of heavy. There were some that were merely curvy and plump, and a few that rivaled Kora for bulk.

They were all very touchy-feely, giving Myshelle hugs, pats, rubs, and gropes. She wasn't sure she could make it through breakfast without moistening the hooves of everyone present with her plentiful climactic fluids. As it was she had a raging erection hidden beneath the table.

The two girls pressing up against her did not help at all. As many were very wide individuals, typical chairs would be constricting, pressing into their sides with discomfort, and with so many three hundred pound individuals, chair backs would quickly be bent or broken.

Thus even at the dinner table they all sat on bar stools, which allowed the black skinned, black furred, white haired, comparatively thin satyr on Myshelle's left and the large, hefty, thick-boned Clydesdale satyr on her right to scoot up so they were hip to hip, belly to belly, and breast to breast.

Myshelle could smell the scent of oatmeal wafting from the kitchen; it didn't smell particularly appetizing compared to what she had been fed so far. She wondered why something so healthy and bland would be served to a bunch of hefty shemales.

As soon as the carts were wheeled into the room, Myshelle got her answer. Servers began pulling all sorts of toppings for the oatmeal and placing them upon the table. Jellies of all sorts, sliced fruit, thick, rich cream, butter, brown, white, and powdered sugar, cinnamon, honey, raisins, nuts, and flavored syrups of all kinds. There were also pastries covered with frosting, buckets of ice cream to mix with the oatmeal, thick slices of butter-crisped toast, crispy bacon, boxes of sugary cereals, eggs prepared in a variety of ways.

It almost seemed like the scent of the oatmeal had overwhelmed the new satyr and prepared her for disappointment. But what was being presented before here wasn't merely a bowl of bland mush, but a virtual breakfast cornucopia. She took a few pastries and munched on them as the food was placed on the table, big ladles placed in the pots for easy and plentiful access. She waited patiently for her turn, but found that the girls next to her were selecting her portions for her.

The new satyr noticed that her bowl seemed to be much larger than anyone else's, and that oatmeal was only a fraction of what went into it. The oatmeal went in first, followed by the pre-melted butter, fruit, cream, sugar, chocolate syrup, and crushed peanuts, more like a sundae than oatmeal.

Before she could fully grasp what was happening, she found a straw pressed against her lips, and with her pendant-driven hunger, she wrapped her lips around it and sucked, finding delicious cream. She'd never thought of cream as a beverage before, but before she knew it, Myshelle had slurped down an entire pitcher.

Myshelle found her stool pushed over to the corner of the table, to better allow the other satyrs room to have fun with the newbie. She quickly found herself to be the center of attention.

She didn't have the first clue how to best feed the furnace that her portly new form seemed to be, but the other satyrs did. She was given huge serving spoonfuls of the oatmeal mix, her mouth opening wide enough to take a horsecock in order to accommodate them.

But each big ladleful of deliciousness was easily swallowed, the sweet deliciousness spreading across her tongue. A spoon occasionally replaced with a straw, or a pair of lips. The other satyrs petted Myshelle, caressed her, one even brushed and braided her long, auburn hair, making sure to keep it out of her face, and out of the food.

Oh the wonderful, wonderful food. Myshelle wished every breakfast could be as plentiful and delicious as this one, such a wonderful variety to sample, and a belly that could take so much. It was almost erotic, the manifold vibrant tastes and textures of breakfast. She couldn't help herself; if something was brought before her mouth she gobbled or gulped it down, giving little regard to what it was. Her body told her to eat, eat, eat, and she was powerless to resist. It felt so good, being fed like this, being caressed like this.

It was a little messy, but the other satyrs did quite a good job of cleaning her off, giggling and leaning down, using long equine tongues to lap a stray dollop of whipped cream or a fallen cherry from her chest. It all fell on her chest; after all, her breasts were huge. Or were they her udders now?

Either way, they began to leak milk as they were licked and caressed. Were they growing again? They felt like they were getting bigger, their weight more and more upon her belly. Not just her breasts, but her cock and balls as well. It felt like getting an erection, but it never stopped erecting, the more blood flowed into her shaft, the larger it got.

Soon the length began to press up against the table and Myshelle couldn't help but thrust, especially as her thick nipples were gently taken between expert fingers, having the milk coaxed out of them and into bowls, which were poured upon her meal. Oh how perfect and delicious her milk tasted, far better than anything that she had tasted that had ever come out of a cow.

She giggled, letting out a low, playful moo, relaxing, letting herself become enraptured with the orgy of eating and caressing. The slow expansion of her body came quicker now, more natural now that she had ceased resisting it. She felt each mouthful of food slide down her gullet and reach her belly, only to be quickly whisked away to pad her prodigious frame.

Her tits leaked, her cock leaked, her body swelled, and still Myshelle longed for more. In her haze she didn't notice that the oatmeal had been left behind, the mixture she was being fed a thick slop of butter, cream, frosting, sugar, and blueberry syrup, seemingly designed for expanding her body at a rapid rate.

Myshelle found herself having to push away from the table, so large had her belly become. Her erect equine shaft now rose above the height of the table, and thus became fair game for the other satyrs to play with.

The former model's revelry was broken by a feeling of intense pressure upon her feet, not painful or uncomfortable, merely strong. The giggles and words of the satyrs around her seemed to fade away, and all Myshelle could hear were the loud pops and cracks of the bones in her feet altering.

She looked down, only to find her view blocked by her own girth, she leaned to the side, trying to see, but there were satyrs in her way.

Myshelle felt suddenly like she'd been kicked in both knees by a mule. She felt her knees break painlessly, or at least that was what it felt like, as bone and tissue grinded together. The intensity was so great that she fell off her stool in surprise.

Her hefty body was protected by a generous layer of fat, but her head still only had the smallest amount of flesh between floor and skull. Myshelle saw stars for a moment and she rolled onto all fours, feeling dizzy.

But her changing legs would not cooperate, and all she managed to do was to press her cock against the floor, sandwiched by the heavy weight of her belly. She moaned with pleasure, but it came out as a lowing moo.

That seemed to snap her from the haze of lust and hunger that had overcome her. With wide eyes she leapt to her feet... hooves... and ran from the room, darting back to the bathroom, her bulky body bouncing against itself as she ran.

She began to pant, not from exertion, as even though her three hundred some pound frame seemed out of shape and flabby, it didn't hamper her at all. Well, except for the pleasurable sensations that filled her as her milk-filled udders wobbled and her cock bounced off her belly.

She burst into the bathroom, looking for a mirror, her hooves sending loud, hard echoes through the large room. She found what she was looking for between two banks of shower stalls, flanked by two potted trees was a full length mirror upon the wall.

Myshelle's eyes widened at the sight of her reflection. She didn't recognize it. The creature in the mirror was not Myshelle, but rather something that had snuck up upon her and devoured her.

The former human could see no familiar features in the mirror, not even her eyes. Her blue eyes filled with an unnatural lust. Her corpulent body had to be well over three hundred pounds. Her tits... udders... whatever they had become, were a pair of massive, milk-filled orbs that would look right at home on a fetish porn star. No, not even a porn starlet, but a milk cow.

A big, fat milk cow stripper. No one would believe her if she had said she was, Myshelle, THE Myshelle, the cover girl, the budding actress, the sexy, svelte starlet who had a career in film ahead of her.

That life seemed like a distant dream, a bad dream. There was nothing warm and comforting in Myshelle's all of it cold, distant, prickly. How sad was it that the bloated milk bag that she'd become had gotten more sex and affection in the past three hours than Myshelle had gotten in the past three years?

It would be so easy to let it go, just throw it all away and embrace the life of an amorous satyr stripper and whore with open arms, and open legs. The very thought of being paid to fuck made her loins ache with desire.

She was a satyr now, a fat, slutty shemale satyr.

Myshelle approached the mirror, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to see the horns upon her head, the hooves that had replaced her feet, the blotches of tan discoloration upon her legs, the nearly three foot long, throbbing, delicious beast-cock. Oh how she wanted to wrap her lips around it, probe its depths with her... oh gods, with her thick, fat, cow tongue.

She let out a cry that was half pleasure and half despair, her long-teased member finally erupting at the thought of oral self-satisfaction. The offending reflection was banished under a torrent of Myshelle's seed, the new satyr dropping to her knees, unable to keep from wrapping her thick, clumsy, bovine hands around her throbbing, spurting manhood and jerking herself off.

"I... I don't want to be a cow." Myshelle sobbed softly.

"Liar." Came the soft, seductive voice of Kora, the lead satyr standing in the doorway, "Tell the truth."

Myshelle winced and bowed her head, unable to meet her mistress' gaze. "I don't want to be a cow!" she protested, voice wavering.

"That's not it, hun." Kora said, kneeling beside her pet in the thick, sticky mess that was slowly spreading across the floor, "What is it that really has you upset?"

Myshelle wrapped her bulky arms around Kora, hugging her mistress tightly, "A part of me knows that I shouldn't like this, like being a cow. But it's getting smaller all the time, and I'm not sorry to see it go. I... if I change all the way, I don't think I'll ever want to change back. I don't want to make that decision."

The red-haired satyr grinned, nuzzling her pet's neck, "Would you like me to decide for you, Myshelle?"

Myshelle closed her eyes, a tear trailing down her cheek as she whispered her answer, "...yes..."

"It's so telling that you break down, not by captivity and forced feeding, but by gentle, loving affection and free will. You'd rather have this forced upon you than go along peacefully with it, wouldn't you?"

Myshelle found herself nodding, "Why is that? What's wrong with me?"

The satyr laughed, "You get off on being forced to do something, even if it isn't entirely forced."

Kora slipped a finger through the ring of Myshelle's collar, "Let's get you strapped back into the chair and get you marked as my property then, my pet."

Myshelle moaned softly as she stood, following along obediently behind Kora, her face and chest red with a shameful blush. The thought of being strapped into the chair, the gag in her mouth, food poured down her throat, it made her so very, very horny.

-o-

Much to her surprise, Myshelle was not lead back to the small room behind the kitchen, but rather to a very pretty, well decorated room. The floor was coated with rubber, and metal hooks rose from the floor and lowered from the ceiling in places.

In the middle of the room was a large, plush, comfy looking chair, comfy save for the fact that it had thick, padded, restraint straps placed on it. Looking like solid black leather at first, but the light glinted off runes painted upon it, the leather magically enchanted for strength. The straps would hold, despite them being merely sewn onto the arms of the chair.

It looked halfway between a recliner and a barber's chair, save for the large black dildo rising up from the middle. Kora led her to it and gave her a shove, forcing her into the chair, the huge, thick, equine-molded cock slid easily into Myshelle's tailhole, making her moo softly with pleasure as she sunk down on it, her mistress placing straps around her ankles, wrists, neck, and waist with practiced ease.

Kora grinned, something metallic glinting in her latex gloved hand. "Stick out your tongue, my pet." She said with a grin.

Myshelle did as she was told, and found her long tongue within Kora's latex grip. An instrument looking rather like a pair of pliers was gripping in the satyr's other hand, pinching down upon Myshelle's tongue.

There was a cold pinch, a soft popping sound, and a momentary flair of heat. Kora removed the device, allowing Myshelle to see the golden stud that now ran through her tongue. There had been no pain at all, merely a sense of pressure. The new satyr pet didn't even taste blood.

"I mark all my pets with orichalcum adornments; I can afford it, after all. They'll be staying where they are for quite a while, hun." She says with a grin, placing it upon Myshelle's lip as she stared at the decoration upon her tongue.

With a quick squeeze and another cold caress, Myshelle's lower lip sported a ring.

"W-wait!" Myshelle sputtered, getting her tongue back in her mouth, "If these can't be removed, what about if I want to go back to being a hmmmph!"

Myshelle's protests were silenced by the return of the feeding gag.

"It doesn't matter what you want, pet," Kora said with a grin, "You wanted me to make the choice for you, remember?"

She gave the lip ring a gentle tug, and then with a quick motion of her hand added a ring to the side of Myshelle's nose, and then a trio to each elongated, bovine ear.

The satyr giggled and leaned down, her tongue slipping in through the gag, curling around Myshelle's own tongue, Kora's tongue stud meeting her pet's own. The former model found herself a little angry that her body would be altered like this without her being told. But she also found it exhilarating, something permanent beyond her transforming flesh, being made Kora's property.

It was something forced upon her, something that marked her even more as a pet, and it sent a thrill through her loins, making a thick trickle of precum begin to pour from her cock.

A wicked grin appeared on Kora's face as she brought the device down to Myshelle's cock, placing it at the top of her flare, just above the slit. The former human shook her head, not wanting such a sensitive place to be adorned with such invasive jewelry, but her wishes did not matter.

She cried out into her gag as Kora squeezed the device, a thick golden ring forever made a part of her cock. She didn't climax, but she sprayed a rather large gout of pre-cum that left the latex-clad satyr dripping with it.

Kora laughed and licked her fingers clean. She turned and walked from the room, returning a few moments later pulling a rather strange contraption upon a wheeled platform. It was an old fashioned, claw foot bathtub with the drain connected by plastic tubing to a hand pump, which had more plastic tubing leading out, which was promptly fitted to Myshelle's feeding gag.

The lead satyr smiled, and stroked Myshelle's cheek with a gooey hand, "You might find this a bit strange, but I'm sure you're going to love the end result." She said with a chuckle.

Kora turned her head, "She's ready for you now, Melissa."

A side door opened and the neon satyr stepped into the room, black runic drawings upon her pale white skin. She smiled and strode over to the captive Myshelle, removing the feeding tube for a few moments so she could properly kiss her bound lover.

"This may seem a bit strange and scary, but don't worry. Everything will be fine. Once this is all said and done, I'll never have to worry about Motzenger's Syndrome ever again, and neither will you." She said, replacing the tube and stepping into the tub.

"Mistress, if I have your permission?" she asked, bowing to Kora, who merely nodded and stood at the pump.

Melissa smiled and brought a strange gemstone to her lips, dark green shot with veins of black, about the size of a robin's egg. She placed it in her mouth and swallowed, humming to herself as she did so.

The gothic satyr began to dance, not like the lapdance Myshelle had gotten earlier, nor something of a stripper. This was more beautiful, more graceful, rather like ballet. It was bewitching and Myshelle found her eyes focused upon her lover, found herself instinctively humming the song.

As the satyr danced her skin slowly took on a shiny sheen. There was a fluid grace to Melissa's movements, and as Myshelle watched the dance, she could swear she saw beads of perspiration begin to drip from the tips of the satyr's hair.

Only the droplets were not sweat, they were mostly white, with small specks of pink and blue coloration. More of the droplets began to form upon Melissa's body, falling around into the tub.

Myshelle could only watch as her lover's cock stirred to arousal, whiteness dripping from the tip, not cum or precum, but something else entirely. She didn't understand what was going on, she would have asked Kora, but the gag prevented speech, and she could not bear to take her eyes off the beautiful dance for even a moment to try and catch her mistress' gaze.

Dark blue droplets began to fall from Melissa's legs, and as the satyr danced she seemed to be growing thinner, smaller. Her bulky body appeared to be thinning before Myshelle's eyes. Was her lover somehow donating some of her weight to make Myshelle even heavier? How would that help to solve her illness?

As the dance continued Melissa's flesh grew transparent, not showing muscle and bone within, but a single color all the way through. The droplets became rivulets of moisture, dripping down Melissa's body.

Myshelle cried out as her friend and lover began to melt before her eyes. All the while Melissa continued to dance. Kora began using the pump, pulling the shed essence of the pale satyr into the clear tube, which immediately filled with the swirling white-pink-blue mixture.

The pounds literally melted away from Melissa. Myshelle was forced to watch as Melissa's rounded belly and plentiful breasts faded away into flatness. She danced as her tail dripped from her body, the beautiful color fading from her hair, leaving it a washed out brown. The white seemed to leech from her skin, making it darker, giving a spattering of freckles.

The fur upon her legs faded away, bereft of bones, they took on a human shape. Tears filled Myshelle's eyes as she watched her lover's lips part in a moan of pleasure that turned into bubbling as fluid from within oozed out of her, cascading down her chin and neck, over A-cup breasts, over a flat belly, and down over a rapidly shrinking cock.

For a moment Melissa appeared as she had been before she had become a satyr, a blend of human and elven, her eyes meeting Myshelle's. She smiled, the sight stirring a memory from within the former model's head, something from several years past, an assistant, a shy, girl next door whose pointed ears showed her elven that had once, with a red face, asked the model on a date.

Myshelle had been offended, disgusted, outraged, she'd had her fired immediately, and had taken delight in seeing the over-reaching sub-human lesbian whore storm out in tears. Tears like the ones that filled Myshelle's eyes. How could she ever have delighted in being so cruel to this wonderful, sweet, beautiful creature?

And she was sweet, oh how she was sweet. The smooth, silk fluid that had been Melissa's body reached her lips, pouring into Myshelle. She could not describe the flavor, knowing that it was sweet, and that the merest taste brought tears to her eyes and broke her heart into a million pieces.

And even as she melted, Melissa continued her beautiful, heart wrenching dance. Her cock had vanished, leave smoothness between her legs. Myshelle didn't want to watch, didn't want to see the love of her life melt away into a rail, fragile wreck. She didn't want to eat her.

Myshelle pulled at her bonds with all of her might, but the enchanted leather held easily. As she danced Melissa began to sink into the fluid that had been her body. She broke her gaze from Myshelle as her face began to lose definition. She raised a melting, mitten-like hand to her lips and blew Myshelle a kiss as no part of her existed below the hips.

She turned her back upon her lover, her fingertips meeting the muck that had once been her body. One arm fell away, flesh turned to fluid no longer able to keep it held to her body.

Her torso began to sink into the multicolored fluid that had once been flesh and bone. Her hair fell away, transformed into oozing clump, transformed into goo as they dripped down her back.

Her face began to smooth out, melting like a wax figure, eyebrows, lashes, nose, and lips turning white and dripping away, leaving only the suggestion of a face; the black void of the mouth and eyes, now visible from behind.

The head and neck merged as shoulders melted away, the head tilting back, the face moving around, lipless mouth forming a smile, a translucent eyelid sliding down in a final wink atop a gentle bulge atop the fluid.

And then Melissa was gone.

Tears poured from Myshelle's eyes as she clenched them shut. She didn't understand why Melissa would do this, why she would destroy herself. Was it revenge for Myshelle's mocking scorn of her past adoration? Myshelle deserved it. Why had she ever done such a hateful, cruel thing? Why had she banished such a kind, loving person? She could've had years spent with the love she felt for Melissa if she had only opened her cold, icy heart.

And now? Now it was too late.

She lowered her head, a terrible wail of emotional agony rising in her throat, muffled by the candied treat that had once been her lover as it was pumped down her hateful, loathsome gullet.

She deserved it for what she had done, how she had behaved, to everybody. For a few short hours she had known what love was like, and for the rest of her life she would mourn its loss.

Myshelle would be all the more alone and worthless having had a few moments of joy and affection.

She sat and swallowed her punishment, which seemed to amuse Kora greatly.

"Good thing you have those four stomachs now." The lead satyr said with a heartless laugh.

She wondered how the satyr could be so cruel, to casually throw away the life of one of her satyrs and laugh about it, merely to take revenge on a small, petty, worthless being.

"You're not worthless." Whispered a voice in Myshelle's ear.

A gentle warmth spread over her body as it began to expand, putting Melissa's mass to use. It wasn't merely the usual swelling of her flesh; it was soft, gentle, like a loving, tender caress.

"That's because it is." Said the voice again, "Don't be sad, Myshelle. I'm not gone. I'm not dead, or dying, or anything even close." Said Melissa.

The former model felt the sensation of a loving, lustful kiss, "One spirit might not be enough to accept the strongest satyr magic, but two can easily take anything that the Fey can dish out. I'm not leaving you alone, beautiful, I'm not hurting you; I'm making sure that we'll be together. Forever."

The more of the fluid that was pumped into Myshelle, the larger her body became, the more she felt Melissa's presence, the loving satyr's spirit entwined with her own. She opened her eyes, looking down at her body. She watched her tanned skin go pale, the color slowly leaching out of it.

"One flesh, one soul, one spirit, eternally." Melissa whispered.

Myshelle could feel something tickling her mind, memories that weren't her own, a past that she had never experienced; an unpleasant, hurtful, human life that she had made all the worse. Pain magnified pain, Myshelle's guilt mixing with Melissa's suffering, the result unbearable.

And then it all went away, all that had been human seemed suddenly distant now, something that was not even worth thinking about. There was love, love of the other satyrs, her sweet, beautiful sisters, they had taken her in from her life of human misery, and made it go away. She lived life to its sweet fullest now; the human world had nothing to offer her.

"Do you want that, my love?" Melissa said softly, giggling as their shared body began to complete its transformation into satyrhood, their fur tickling as it grew from their legs, their long equine tail sprouting from their rump.

"Yes!" Myshelle said in her mind, "Oh please, yes!"

"Good." The neon satyr purred, "It'll take a few hours before we get settled in. Just enjoy your first day as a satyr, mmm... g'night."

Melissa yawned, her consciousness wrapping itself within Myshelle's as if it were a blanket. The new satyr remained in this state, disconnected from her body, psychically embracing her lover, until a dull ache drew her back to wakefulness

Myshelle opened her eyes and stood, no longer strapped to the chair. She looked over her body, smiling as she found that she was perhaps half again as heavy as she had been before. She loved the way it felt, thick and hefty, her flesh rubbing against other flesh, so soft and smooth.

Her auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders, the tips transformed into a navy blue just above her thick, luxurious tail, colored just the same way. Her body shape felt different, retaining the large belly and bust she'd had before, but adding Melissa's shapely hips and butt to the mix, giving her an extremely exaggerated hourglass figure.

She strode happily on heavy cloven hooves. Unable to see over her girth, she kicked out a leg to the side, delighting in the sight of her fur. She ran both of her three fingered hands through its sweet softness. The pure snow white of her fur was just a few shades off from her now naturally pale skin. But rather than the black of the typical bovine blotches, Myshelle sported the gorgeous navy that Melissa's fur had been.

The satyr let out a soft, happy moo, the noise making her giggle. She practiced walking, shaking her big bovine booty. Something tickled within her mind, but she ignored it. She took in a deep breath, sighing softly at the throbbing arousal from her loins.

Her cock hadn't changed much, perhaps a few inches of thickness and length, some minor changes in shape, and the alteration of the color to a very pale pink with navy blotches.

Myshelle was horny as hell, and she knew exactly where to go to slake her lusts. She went there all the time, after all, to help with her...

Oh right! She wasn't the one with Motzenger's that had been Melissa's problem, thankfully gone forever now that the two were one.

Her cock didn't ache anywhere near as much as Melissa's had in the throes of a Motzenger's lust fit, but it was still rather annoying, and something that she was very eager to have quenched.

She smiled, admiring herself in one of the mirrors that studded the bondage room's walls. She took pride in the fact that she looked about as big as Kora now, though the lead satyr had more of a belly, whereas Myshelle had bigger boobs, butt, and balls. It wasn't enough, though. She wanted to be bigger. As big as her gorgeous shemale satyr body would allow her to be and still be able to keep dancing.

The thought made her quiver and gasp with delight, she couldn't wait until Mistress Kora allowed her to dance again. Her cock throbbed, a few pints of precum splattering onto the floor.

The bovine satyr giggled and strode out into the hall, the cowbell placed around her neck giving off low, melodious tones as she walked. She didn't remember it being there before, but it had the same vaguely magical warmth of her orichalcum piercings. She reached down and gave her cock ring a playful tug, making her moo with pleasure.

She needed to reach the stables quite quickly, before she made a mess.