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The Riverbank

It had been less than a day since Larry had arrived at his holiday destination, not some luxury hotel in the midst of a thriving and culture-filled city, not a backpackers hostel in some far flung country with countless sights to see. The joys of this holiday came from a place of quiet simplicity, a simplicity defined not only by the small and solitary cottage he had rented out, but by the gorgeously wild, overgrown riverbank upon which it stood.

Larry had barely spent an hour settling in before he was drawn out to the garden at the rear of the cottage, and not even another half hour after that, he had found himself shedding his clothes and slipping, red faced but grinning from ear to ear, naked into the slowly flowing river for a skinny-dip. He didn't know why he had felt so compelled to do so, why it had seemed like such a perfect idea when it occurred to him, but as soon as he slipped into the water, the human male knew it had been the exact right decision. He swam. He floated. He allowed himself to drift a little way downstream before splashing and paddling his way back to float alongside the cottage garden once more.

The water was surprisingly warm despite the autumnal hue of the leaves and the cool breeze that occasionally rippled the river's gently meandering surface. Indeed the more of his body that was submerged at any given moment, the more warm and cosy Larry felt. For that reason, he wasn't quite sure at exactly what point the physical changes began to exert themselves. He didn't know when webbing appeared between his toes, or at what point the tail began to sprout from between his legs. He didn't know when the fur began to spread across his smooth skinned form. He was so content, so happy just floating and swimming around with his body almost wholly submerged, that it was like he was entranced by the water by which he was surrounded. Enchanted to such extremes that it was only when he lifted an arm to perform a brief bout of front crawl, and saw the lush, glistening brown fur mid-way through sprouting in a rippling wave down the length of the limb, that he noticed anything remotely strange was going on.

The change didn't hurt. It didn't feel like anything was changing whatsoever. If anything the more he changed, the more cosy, the more secure and safe and right he felt. Larry didn't cry out in shock or terror. He didn't weep. Didn't mourn the loss of his humanity as he watched his hands turning to paws, and peered down into the water to see his face contorting, a whiskered muzzle bursting forth from the face that mere minutes before had been beaming with the carefree joy that could only be found from the combined liberation of solitude, swimming, and casual nudity.

In fact, by the time the change was complete, Larry wasn't just free from fear or sorrow, he was overwhelmed by a new and buoyant glee. He splashed his tail as he dived underwater. He broke the surface with a loud, chittering chirp, flailing his little forepaws in the air for just a few moments before splashing back down again and disappearing beneath the surface. He still possessed his mind, his intellect, his human ability to reason. But now... now he was free, and wild, and... for god's sakes, he was an otter! He chirred and barked in elation, barrel-rolling underwater, sweeping his tail from side to side while using his hind legs to kick with more manoeuvrability. He floated on the water's surface, flat on his back, waving his limbs in the air and letting the cool autumn sun shine down on his fluffy white belly and large, rounded, thoroughly exposed balls. He dived back under and felt the water rushing all around him, across every curve and crevice of his bare, furry form. He felt his whiskers reacting to every ripple and swirl of the currents and eddies, and his head span at how easy it was for him to understand all that sensory input, how to use it to best propel himself through the water. This body... he knew it so well. It all felt so new, so much more than it had before in almost every sense, but at the same time, he knew exactly what it could do.

Except... there was one thing, one factor of this new form, where that awareness seemed limited. Yet even that did not worry the otter. Indeed, not knowing actually pleased Larry. Not knowing was exciting. It was thrilling. It was intoxicating. For it provided him with a golden opportunity to learn as any wild animal had to learn such things. Through trial and error.

The otter pulled himself up onto the riverbank, shaking his body dry and scampering through the bushes onto the grassy lawn of the cottage's garden. Close by where his former form's clothing lay scattered upon the ground, he rolled over again and again, chittering playfully as he relished the cool grass against his fur and the flesh beneath. Finally he stopped rolling, still squirming and wriggling happily, but only doing so from side to side, remaining flat upon his back. His head rose, peering down the length of his sleek, lithe form. He looked at himself, at his fluffy belly, at his twitching hind legs and the thick rudder of a tail beyond. But before that tail, between his legs, there sat his manhood. His eyes widened slightly, and he craned his neck up further, curling his body around to allow himself a closer look at this familiar yet wholly new part of himself.

There was no member visible, nothing but a small sheath-like pocket of fuzzy fur just before those balls. At least, not at first. But as the otter watched, as he thought about and wondered about his genitalia, something began to happen. A feeling. A feeling of warmth. Of familiar desire. Arousal. A low, rumbling churr escaped the otter as he watched a pink point protrude from his sheath, swelling and thickening into that with which his former self had been all too familiarly acquainted. An erection. He may have been of a different species now. A whole different form of creature. But still, he knew an erection when he saw it.

What the otter had not expected, however, was the engagement of his other senses with that newly emerged arousal. Sight of course, and touch, the feeling of it throbbing and twitching, stretching out several inches from the sheath to quiver over his fluffy white belly. But smell too. A rich, slightly musky aroma that was enthralling and overwhelming, despite being immediately identifiable as his very own scent. He pressed his nose closer, and closer. At any moment he expected to feel his straining body reaching its limits in terms of movement. He waited for the ache of his back being stretched and twisted too far, this new body reminding him that slinky as it was, it too had limits. He waited, and waited, and...

With a shrill, almost keening, dog-like whimper, the otter felt his nose smoosh unexpectedly against his swollen and fluffy furred balls. He felt his cock twitch and rub up against the underside of his chin, but didn't draw back, didn't pay almost any attention to that portion of his intimate regions. It was his balls that had transfixed him, not with their visual appearance, or their size relative to his body, but rather... their scent. It was so much more intense here, this close up and personal. And not only was it intense, it was overwhelmingly delicious. Musky, but not unpleasantly so. Rich and deep in an almost earthy sense, not at all diminished by the fact that the balls in question had been immersed in water mere minutes before. He inhaled. He inhaled again, shuffling and nuzzling forward even further so that his delightfully flexible form could not just brush, but press its snout deep into the fuzz of his genitalia. His eyes rolled in their sockets. His whiskers twitched with glee, as did the straining length of his erection, practically forgotten as Larry nuzzled at his own testicles, yet so very intimately connected to every wave of arousal and delighted desire that surged through the otter's trembling form.

Quite when the otter began to lick, rather than simply nuzzling and sniffing at the delectable aroma of his nether regions, he wasn't sure. His tongue teased and tasted. It explored the curve of his balls, their firmness and girth, it tasted the fur upon it, making no pretence of simply cleaning or exploring. This was masturbation. Simple, teasing, slow paced, but delicious and undeniably highly pleasurable masturbation. He stimulated himself with the most delicate sweeping strokes of his tongue and the most playful of nuzzles and nosings. He pleased himself until his whole body was trembling, begging for more. And then... then he kept on teasing for longer.

Just like the actions of his tongue, it was only when Larry was helplessly and totally caught up in what he was doing that he realised his tongue and indeed the whole of his muzzle had changed its target. He shuddered and chirped as he licked at the base of his cock, feeling slick yet thick, translucent fluids already drooling down into the fluff upon his stomach over which the erection twitched. He licked. He teased. He did all the same things he had done to his balls, only with what was now a far more powerful and undeniable physical response. He began to shake. To quiver and squeak and churr uncontrollably with every strike of his tongue's rough surface against that hot, throbbing pink length. He could feel something building. Slowly... well, not so slowly in fact, but surely, and while he knew exactly what that something was, it didn't change how incredible and unique a feeling it was.

Larry knew what he was, and knew what he had been. He knew that this body was still him in so many ways. But still, this was a new form. A new self, much as his mind may have retained all that he had ever been. And thus, in a very real sense, that made the otter a virgin. And that, in turn, meant that the sensations now building inside of him were wholly and completely new. He wasn't just pushing himself towards orgasm one lick, one taste, one more deep inhalation of his musk at a time. He was pushing himself towards his first orgasm.

It was that realisation, that and the fact that he was now so close his lickings had diminished in frequency just to draw things out a little longer, which forced the otter's lithe and agile body to leave its current position. He pulled his head back with a strained, whimpering chirp, and rolled over onto his belly. He gasped as his feet pushed him up and off the ground, but still his belly dragged over the grass, and his erect cock along with it. It twitched. It quivered. The otter shuddered and chirped as he spilled his pre-cum out over the grass with every blade that teased his cock and balls as he moved across the lawn and up, bounding up onto the porch of the small cottage.

The back door was open, after all, Larry was the only one around so why bother closing it after him? The otter rushed inside, and through to the bedroom. His bedroom. He clawed and scrambled his way up onto the bed, and plunged under the covers like he was diving underwater.

In the dark beneath the comforter's soft weight, Larry curled up once more. He pressed his face down to his crotch, and inhaled the scent now enclosed and rapidly growing thick and all consuming all around him. He couldn't see his cock or balls now, but they were there. Waiting. Eager to be teased. To be touched. To be stimulated. His tongue flicked out yet again, brushing the very tip of his cock and tasting the rich, slightly bitter fluids that dribbled forth with every twitch of the pink shaft. His thick tail thumped against the sheets beneath him, and the digits upon hands and feet curled and flexed with delight at the intensity of the pleasure.

His body begged, it pleaded for more as he teased himself again. For minutes. Five. Ten. Twenty. More. His pre-cum didn't just dribble out onto his tongue, it began to spray, to force itself out in slick ribbons, lashing his features and sticking between his whiskers. Every lick was both heaven and hell. So intense it felt like the heavenly release of orgasm in its own right from what Larry's mind recalled of his human sexuality, and yet without release, without satisfaction. Agony in knowing that no matter how good it felt, his form was capable of experiencing so much more.

In the end though, it wasn't the pleasure that forced the otter to act. It was the smell. His own scent, building and growing ever more potent trapped in his cosy little cave of body heat and saturated, airborne sexual chemistry. He sniffed. He gorged himself on his own musk. He gulped down lungful after lungful alongside a belly-load of pre-cum over goodness only knew how long. And then finally, with one last ragged breath, it was all too much.

The otter whined. He churred. He shuddered, and scratched at the bedding in a sudden frenzy, and after a panicked moment of terror, like he couldn't remember how he was supposed to react to the feelings currently and violently surging through him, Larry pressed his head further forward once more. He wrapped his lips around not just the tip, but the entire twitching, quivering length of his own cock, and gave a muffled chirp of giddy relief as his hips bucked, humping uncontrollably for just a few seconds before freezing, and straining once more as they pushed urgently forward against the otter's warm, soft lips.

Larry's new body shuddered in absolute silence, stunned mute by the intensity of the pleasure as he filled his muzzle with thick ropes of cum that flooded and gushed out over his tongue from the twitching cock that lay across it. His first orgasm. The only one this body had ever known, and it was everything he could have asked for. Powerful. Deliciously warming, soothing, and yet in no way diminishing the erotic passion that burned inside him, ignited by the scent of his own musk. He licked at himself. He suckled at his twitching and spasming cock as it unleashed that which lay within his hefty balls, and even as the pleasure began to fade, he kept going.

Finally unleashing a pleading, hungry whimper, that otter did not stop. Did not even pause in his attempts at continued self-pleasure. He felt his hips thrusting and jerking against his mouth once more. He felt his fingers and toes wriggling. He felt and heard his tail thumping at the bedding that surrounded and trapped him on all sides. The pleasure didn't turn to the pain of overstimulation. It didn't linger in a diminished form. It faded from the heights of orgasm yes, but only to rise again. Fast, unceasing.

The second time round, less than twenty seconds after the end of his first orgasm, the otter squeaked as he came.

The third time, not a minute later, he wailed around the cock he was suckling more urgently and forcefully than ever.

And the fourth... and the fifth... as Larry began to realise that this wasn't some factor of otter biology he simply hadn't learned of before, but rather some impossible miracle granted to him alone, he gurgled. He gurgled in giddy pleasure through his muzzleful of cum, gulping it down barely as fast as it was being poured into his hungry maw.

In that cottage by the riverbank, the otter learned the truth of his new body one orgasm at a time. But it was outside that quaint little holiday home, on the opposite bank of the river, where the whole truth lay. Or rather, where it sat.

A creature, glowing faintly, smiling, sitting with her toes dangling over the bank's edge. She dipped her bare feet into the surprisingly warm water, and watched the cottage on the far bank, with a gentle breeze rustling the forest trees on her side.

The Naiad smiled as she listened to the otter's faint, distant, but to her still clearly audible barks and chirps of pleasure.

First, she had given the gift of fertility to the animals of this realm.

Then she had watched as they carried her message far and wide, spreading this forest far beyond its original limits, and freeing her movement within its enchanted borders.

Humans had stayed away at first, but then some... a special few, had begun to approach not with fear or malice, but curiosity, with desire. Seeking to join in, and experience the same fertile pleasures as the animals that lived under her protection.

And now, at last... she was strong enough to grant them more than the pleasures of the animal kingdom. Here, in this very spot, in that cottage by the riverbank, she had performed a miracle even by her own standards. She had birthed an animal, a living and gloriously lustful wild creature, from the transformed body of a man.

The first, yes.

But not the last.

The first of many. Of many, many more along the banks of her river, along the borders of her forest, and soon across the whole world.

There would be no war. No violence. No death.

Only pleasure. Only fertility, and new life springing from the old.

The Naiad giggled, and slipped a hand down between her legs as she listened to the otter's chirping squeaks of pleasure. Larry was deeply enjoying being the first inductee into her new world, over, and over, and over again. And right now, though she still had lots of work ahead, all that the immortal spirit wished to do was to enjoy a little time just like him.

By Jeeves