FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

What happens next is a stark sight, as you're bound by roots around your feeble forepaws, and your armor is shorn from your naked skin, scooped up to be plant food, as it transforms. The warmth of fresh dung peppers your bare form, and while the vines scoop most of it away, you're still surrounded in the potpourri of animal stench. A lousy way to lose.

You squirm, and kick as 'she' touches each of your leggings in turn, and they both turn brown and fall off in numerous clumps and coils, to the floor. She continues to graze spots of sharp, steel shell, that are sliding helplessly like lost children, off your frame. At mere contact with her nails, each shard turns eagerly into filth, and one by one, they roll down your sweating chest, onto the hard soil.

Finally, her disrobing is done, save for one spot. Her change has left your helmet intact, covering your head. Undoubtedly, the rounded headpiece and slot visor that gave you a stoic and fearsome image to your foes, now makes you look like a complete idiot, as she slides over you, and fixates her hands on the thing.

You brace for the disgusting moment, but your last refuge of anonymity remains cold, firm, and smelling of metal--albeit still doing little to mitigate the odor coming from the rest of your sundered gear, as vines and roots squirm and coil, scooping from heaps of fox crap that surround the pair of you.

Instead of casting her spell, she pulls her face in, toward yours, and peeks through the slot with both eyes, so that emerald green with slits is all you see.

"Would you like a keepsake, of your time, bound in steel?" she asks sardonically.

All you feel is a defiant anger. You meet her question with silence.

"I'll make a special exception, since you're so quickly maturing into my equal." she quips, thumbing the gap in your splitting tail, which has by now, nearly divided your one bestial appendage, into two warm, movable new limbs extending from your spine. You try not to recognize their existence--try not to tense and twitch, or rub them against the floor in an effort to scratch your itchy new skin.

"Why don't you just get it over with, witch. Leave me to my humiliation, and go sow your seed among mankind--I am powerless, and you have won."

She lifts up and squats over you from above, wearing a faint smile of triumph, and shakes her head

"You deserve a little humble reminder, of your defeat here." she replies. "I can't let you go, thinking you're still a man, after this. A human one, anyway. Something inside you needs to change... so let's see that you have a way to remember what you've lost--and also what you're about to gain, should your old friends tempt your soul with fear of perdition."

"Save your words then, and work your magic." You groan. "Then, perhaps I can remove myself from your foul latrine."

"Share in it with me a moment longer then," she growls, picking up fox scat and smearing it over your helmet. Then, before you can react, she sprays you with a squirt of her own hot urine.

Immediately, you wretch from the odor pervading the confines of your metal headgear--but there is something strange that occurs next. Your world goes black, as your visor seals shut, melting together as her raunchy expulsions moisturize the metal. The horrendous animal odor is trapped in against your face, and it does not leave, as you feel your last remaining piece of armor tighten and heat against your brow and cheekbones. Soon, the entire helmet is moving, warping, molding around your face, contracting in against your body, simply from contact with her piss.

"Hold strong for but a moment longer, dear hunter." you think you hear her say, through the muffled confines of your helmet.

You feel as if you'll suffocate, as your bare body squirms, and vines writhe and snake, striving to clean you, but leaving animal musk behind, on your body. You feel an itch all over, that you'd beg to scratch, if you could let out more than a muffled 'mmmph' through the tightening, compressing helmet. It grows so hot, as you feel her press her hands against it, and conjure what you are certain is magical fire. You grow fearful that your skin will burn away from your face, leaving you scarred like your elders, who have used a similar method to wipe away their own converting contagions, from past cleansing and crusade.

But what the Gypsy does is not to wipe you of the brand of beast-flesh that tendrils through your skin and organs, but to spur its conquest of your muscles, mind, and loins. Soon, you feel a whiff of foul, fresh air, joining the old stink, inside your mask, as a vent of some sort opens before your lips and nose. Then, you feel the loosening of the earth and unwrapping of restraints, about your ankles and wrists. Eagerly you pull yourself up, squishing into yet more waste, as you try to plant a hand, before reminding yourself of the useless paw it has changed into.

When you finally stand free, fox spoor still somehow finding a way to roll off your bare and athletic form, you can only fret in confusion, at the light that filters in your new mask, through twin pinpricks where your visor once was. As you reach up to feel your last bastion of anonymity from this shame--it becomes clear you will never rejoin your own kind.

What was once your helmet, has taken the parodied shape of a canine's tapered snout and pointed ears, and, try and pull as you ultimately do, will not leave your face.

Your pair of posterior limbs split and fur over, as you hunch down, tugging and pulling at your new fox mask with shortened, awkward limbs. What had begun as an infirmity and a disturbance only now gets ready to tumble into a landslide--

--your unarmored body trembles with frustrated shame and arousal. Your garments having been converted, your own change now begins to take hold.