FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Meeting the Master

By Danath (July 1, 2018)

Featuring Jayce (https://jayce.sofurry.com/)

All options were determined at random a few minutes before I wrote the story:

Wuxia/Kung Fu

Human x Furry Relationship

Tentacles - Magic

Hybrid Species +roll - Werewolf

* * *

“You wanna be 'is student?"

Arthur stopped dead, one hoof still hovering above the next step along the path through the village. He turned his head and lowered his leg as his pointed ears swiveled. The stallion, of average height, was more distinguished for his glossy, immaculate white hide and the incredibly colorful rainbow-colored hair and mane running down the back of his neck. His tail, of a similar gay shading, flicked across his blue jeans.

“If you mean the Master, then yes," he said, eying the person who'd stopped him.

She was a little old badger, ancient and bent-over, leaning heavily on a walking stick outside of a worn-out mud hut, one of many forming the tiny community at the foot of the mountain. Her stick lifted into the air and pointed.

“You're not the first. Some don't even make it back, but the ones that do say there's no one else up there."

Arthur gripped the straps of his backpack and shook his head, causing his colorful mane to wave side to side along with his long muzzle.

“I don't plan on failing," he said, hoping his voice had more confidence than he felt. He turned away from the badger and took another step, and then another, always towards his goal.

“If'n don't see ya in a week, I'll assume the worst! Heeeee heee hee!"

Arthur shut his ears to the noise and trudged forward, his spirits slightly dampened by the encounter. But he was too far along to stop now. Besides the days of awkward and uncomfortable travel in a foreign land, he'd spent the last several years training and learning and sharpening his body into the lithe, muscular figure he cut today. Too many long hours… to many sleepless nights… a little mocking from an old hag wasn't going to run his mood.

The stairs almost did.

The steps never really stopped once he got into the village. There was hardly any flat surface around. The houses were built into the walls of the mountain, taking advantage of crevices and caves formed over thousands of years. Art grimaced as he took another and another. The heavy mist surrounding the mountain prevented him from seeing just how far the stairs went, but he could make out the outlines of criss-crossing banks of steps going as high as the cloud cover.

Before long, the stallion's thighs ached. His hamstrings pushed against the fabric of his jeans as he climbed and climbed and climbed. By the time he lost count of how many steps he'd taken, he decided to lighten his load and dumped a few of the heavier, non-essential items from his pack. The idea hadn't come to him out of the blue - the path was littered with the detritus of a hundred other seekers who decided to similarly unburden themselves.

His pace didn't exactly increase, but he didn't slow down either. The white stallion wiped his arm across his eyes and brow, clearing the sweat dripping from his skin, as his tail flicked behind him. The silicon shoes on his hooves blunted the impact of the stone at least, or else dealing with the mountain would have meant several chips in the white keratin.

Hours passed before Art reached the clouds. The gray masses swallowed him up, warm and humid, as he trudged ever higher, sometimes able to see only the next step in front of him. The stairs grew steeper and shallower as he went, until he was scaling them using his hands and leaning forward as though on a ladder.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to go on, having to rest several times throughout the ascent, but when he broke through the cloud cover and into the sunlight, a welcome surprise greeted him: flat earth. The stairs ended abruptly at the peak, which was flat and wide, stretching all around. Several taller mountains rose up around it, partly shading the circular top.

Several structures occupied the space, all made of massive beams of lumber. Art couldn't imagine how they'd been carried up, or by who. One building was long and wide and occupied much of the western side of the expanse, while a smaller structure along with a few outbuildings sat on the other side, near the eastern curve. Lush green grass coated every square inch, unbroken by even a single stone or out-of-place weed.

It was magnificent - everything Art could have imagined, especially as the sunlight dazzled his eyes, bouncing off the shiny timbers and waving grass.

Hauling himself over the last step, he landed on his side and rolled out of his backpack, chest heaving as the strain of the climb caught up to him. He stared into the blue sky, a dumb smile on his long muzzle.

He'd made it. He was here. The home of the Master - the most powerful kung fu warrior in the world.

Or the home of a crackpot hermit, depending on who you'd ask. Art was banking on the former.

His introduction to the Master didn't take long. As he lay on the ground trying to catch his breath, a long shadow appeared and blotted out the sun.

The Master was human. Tall, bald head, and simple woven clothes similar to those he'd seen the villagers wearing. He looked unusually normal, if that were possible, and Art suddenly doubted his resolve.

The human looked the horse up and down, eyes flickering side to side, absorbing every detail, before he grunted and turned away.

“Maybe in ten years."

Art sat up, mouth hanging open.

“WHAT?"

He scrambled to his feet and chased after the Master, who was walking at a slow pace back towards his hut.

“You can't be serious! Just like that? No test or anything?"

The Master said nothing and continued to walk. Art, confused, stopped for a moment. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He jogged after the human again, pleading.

“You have to let me try, at least!" he said. “All those stairs… it can't be for nothing! Those years I trained!"

The human's expression didn't change as the stallion followed close. He didn't say a word as he climbed the steps to the small building on the east side, or say anything as he opened the door and stepped inside. He didn't say anything when he closed it in Art's face, and he definitely didn't say anything when the stallion rapped his knuckles across the glossy brown wood.

“C'mon, at least tell me why!"

There was no response, but Art was stubborn. Retrieving his pack, he sat himself outside the small house on the grass and waited.

Already late in the evening, it was soon evening. There was no movement in the house, no light, no flicker of a candle. Art watched carefully, but as the sun disappeared and the stars came out, he found himself falling onto his side. Wrapping himself in the lightweight blanket he dug out of his pack, he fell into a deep slumber right outside the Master's door.

He woke up to the sound of the hinges creaking. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he leapt to his feet. The human appeared, looking no different than the day before, and stepped out his house and down the stairs. He didn't acknowledge Art in any way and neatly sidestepped when the stallion tried to get in front of him to talk to him.

“Please," the white equine said, trotting after the kung fu genius - supposed genius, at any rate, he thought, “what do I need to do?"

“There's a full moon tomorrow night," the human said, interrupting the stallion's next question. “You shouldn't be here."

With that, he disappeared into the main building and slid closed the large wooden door, which ran across ingeniously engineered tracks carved into the wood itself. Art lowered his head and leaned against the frame before trotting back to his pack and packing up his blanket. Rather than leave, though, the stallion resumed sitting and watching, waiting for any sign or clue.

There was none. And there was no movement at all until late in the evening when the door slid open, the human emerged, and walked back to his house, taking the same path as he had in the morning. Art leapt to his hooves and rushed over, but the human ignored him again as he asked the same questions.

Pausing at the entrance to the door of his small house, the Master rested a hand on the doorknob. His head turned only slightly as he spoke to the stallion in a low voice.

“It is a full moon tonight. You should not be here."

“Why? Are you a teacher or not?"

“I…"

The human's hand clenched around the handle until his knuckles showed white through the skin. Art's eyes widened as the human's body rippled beneath his clothes.

“I am n… not. And you should not be here."

The Master hung his head and pushed inside his hut, slamming the door behind him.

Confused even more by the human's strange behavior, Art returned his position by his pack and pulled out his blanket. There was a small well behind the house, which he used to refill his water while he snacked on some dried vegetables. Before long, the sun had gone down and the moon had come up, and Art sat cross-legged on the ground wrapped in his blanket, eyes drooping once more. Fortunately, the top of the mountain was surprisingly warm, so even the night chill wasn't enough to deter him from his vigil. At least until he got some answers, he planned on staying.

The scream echoed through the night and kept on going, full of rage and despair. Art rolled over twice, heart thumping out of his chest as the shock of the sound rang in his ears. The source was obvious: the Master house. A strange purple light pulsed from within as Art, blanket still clinging around his hips and legs, stumbled his way to the window.

Despite sitting outside the dwelling all day, he hadn't looked in, not wanting to do anything that could disqualify him further in the Master's eyes. The room itself was plain and unfurnished, just a small bed, bookshelf, and table, all in one room. There was a door out the back to the toilet.

Standing in the center of the room and clutching at his head as the horrible howls ripped out of his throat was the Master. A dark purple aura surrounded him as he leaned forward, shaking back and forth.

“No! Nooooo!"

Art's eyes widened when he saw thick black hair growing in around the Master's skull. And not just hair - fur. A full glossy pelt of deep black formed within moments, encircling and wrapping around every part of the human's body. His face distorted as he clawed at his lips, trying to push the growing fangs back in, but it was fruitless. Strands of saliva dripped from the massive fangs as they pressed over a pair of full, glossy lips. A wet nose twitched, scenting the air, as the purple aura intensified.

Art froze when the Master's head turned towards him. The wolf's body swelled into the woven fabric, ripping it apart at the seams around his shoulders and arms. His chest billowed outwards as power and magic filled his body. Massive yellow eyes glared deep into his very soul as he felt a tremble overtake him.

“Not good, not good… not good!"

Stumbling from the window, Art fell onto his backside and crawled, desperate to reach the stairs - his only chance of escape.

The door to the house slammed open and a massive, eight-foot-tall werewolf loped out, landing with a skid on the grass on all fours. He used his claws to halt his movement and then rose on two legs, hulking shoulders and incredible biceps rippling. Tatters of fabric clung to the wolf's hips, the last remnants of the Master's clothes. The purple aura disappeared at the same time four obsidian snakes rose up around the wolf, two on either side.

Art somehow managed to get to his feet and backed away on unsteady hooves as the wolf's head dipped. The four lengths appeared to grow out of his lower back, above the base of his tail, and each tendril glowed with an otherworldly purple. The tips were smooth, but, as Art watched, eyes wide with shock and fright, a bright purple ooze dripped from the blunt tips.

The werewolf's snarl echoed through the night as the beast lunged. It took every ounce of strength Art had to dodge, rolling to the side and finishing in a sprint towards the house. If he could get inside and close the door, barricade himself…

The stallion was quick. Years of physical training and endurance exercises helped him push himself to the limit. And that limit had to be exceeded to escape the long, silver claws of the werewolf quickly making up grown on him. His white hooves dug into the grass as he powered himself forward, tail streaming behind him.

He dared a glance over his shoulder and wished he hadn't. The wolf's snarl, yellow eyes, white fangs, they all burned into his retinas as the silver moonlight flooded the mesa, allowing him to make out every little detail of the wolf's fury and anger.

Art nearly made it, too, but a long black tentacle lashed around his ankle, tripping him up and sending him sprawling into the grass. He rolled onto his back, legs up, and kicked out immediately. He was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as the werewolf's chest took the brunt of the impact, sending the large monster stumbling away, which gave Art enough time to get to his feet himself by pushing off the ground with his shoulders and flipping upright.

The werewolf didn't relent and came at Art again. The monster's paw swung towards him, fist balled, so the stallion ducked, twisted, and grasped. His hoof shot out as he used the werewolf's own speed and strength against him and flipped the beast over his shoulder and into the air.

It was a good move. He executed it well. But very few people, if any, were experienced at fighting four tentacles capable of independent movement, and even as the wolf sailed overhead, all four surrounded Art and squeezed.

The Master landed on his back and rolled onto his side as he slid to a halt. Art grunted and then yelped as the tentacles around his lower back clenched hard enough make something crack when they were jerked forward. Arms pinned, legs kicking uselessly in mid-air, Art could do nothing but squirm in the jet purple appendages while the werewolf groaned and shook his head, claws digging into the earth.

The huge male's jaws opened as a primal roar sent saliva and hot breath blasting inches away from Art's face. The stallion's eyes closed and he turned his head to the side as the tentacles pulled him within inches of those fangs, each one of which was as long as the stallion's hand. The terrifying roar dropped off after a few moments, replaced with heavy breathing.

Terrified to look, Art did so anyways, peeking out of one eye at the werewolf's hulking body. Large yellow eyes stared right back as the beast's nostrils quivered. A huge claw reached up and scratched the top of his head between his ears where he'd landed after the equine threw him earlier.

“That was good," the werewolf said, his voice a guttural growl. “Nice instincts."

Still hanging from the tentacles, Art struggled to breath.

“Th… thanks!" he gasped.

The appendages loosened and Art felt his hooves settle back onto the grass.

“Sorry," the Master said. “Sometimes I… with the full moon it is difficult to… you see, I…"

He stopped, took a breath, and then shook his head.

“It's a long story."

Art stood his ground, waiting for whatever came next. The werewolf didn't seem to want to eat him for now. Was it still the Master? Was this a trick?

“But that throw… where did you learn it?" the Master asked.

“Uh… Northside Martial Arts Club," Art said. “When I was a kid."

“Interesting."

The huge wolf slowly paced around the stallion and Art recognized the look in the large yellow eyes as the same the human had given him when he'd first arrived.

“And if I do this?"

A massive black-furred arm shot out straight towards Art's long nose. The white stallion dipped to the side, spun inwards, and ended with his back to the werewolf's chest and his fist an inch from the large male's soft nose.

They remained that way for a long moment as Art's eyes widened the biggest they'd been all night. Against his backside, he felt the unmistakable outline of a masculine arousal - a large one. The werewolf, for his part, sucked in his breath as the stallion's hips squeezed against his crotch. His arm wavered, then pulled back as he stepped away.

The contact freed the last shreds of fabric clinging to the impressively large wolf's thighs, allowing Art to see, in the silvery light of the moon, the onyx shaft stretching down from the wolf's full sheath, complete with a matching pair of oversized, plump testicles.

“Uh… sorry, I didn't mean-"

“No, I must apologize, as a teacher I am-"

Both stopped, then Art nodded in deference. He listened as the low growl of the werewolf's voice rolled through the humid air.

“Many years ago, I took on a student who I thought I could help. I taught him control, both of his self and of others."

The werewolf's red tongue licked across his black lips as he turned towards the moon, eyes dilating and showing the reflection of the bright orb.

“He betrayed me. And left me as… this."

All four tentacles weaved rhythmically behind the werewolf as he turned his yellow eyes back towards the white stallion.

“I have failed myself and my students. The control I built after so many years was gone."

The male's body shuddered, rippling, as the length hanging across his thighs lurched upwards.

“It's all… I can do right now to even speak with you," the Master said, as a strand of drool ran down his fang. “The bestial impulses… are difficult to contain on nights of the full moon."

Art took a step back, realizing the Master was trying to protect him after all - that he'd been rejected not for what he was, but for what the Master was.

“Is there a cure?" Art asked.

“No, and… control… is difficult," the Master said, his voice going lower and deeper as his head dropped, yellow eyes locking onto the stallion. Again that large red tongue swept across those black lips as the wolf's fangs glinted. “It's why… I cannot take you on… as a student. I cannot… teach like this."

The beast's onyx arousal lifted higher, pointing from his hips, reaching almost to the shelf of the muscular pecs above the werewolf's hard stomach. The deep fur hid much of the muscle tone, but as the wolf's left paw moved towards Art, the stallion was sure it was there based on the way the pelt shifted.

“You had to come… on the night… of the full moon?" the Master asked, his voice growling sharper now. “I can take this form any time… but the impulses… are strongest… when the moon is full!"

Sharp claws raked the grass as the Master's huge body flew towards the stallion once more. This time there was no chance to run and Art found himself pinned beneath the groaning, panting wolf. The beast's enormous stalk pressed along his belly and chest as a huge tongue slid across his cheek, leaving a trail of saliva in his white hide. Two of the tentacles swept down. Art tried to push them away and block them, but they dodged his hands and grasped his wrists, pinning them back and pulling them to the sides. The wolf's tongue slathered his neck and cheek once more as sharp claws grabbed at his chest and hips, groping him.

Art shuddered as his body reacted to the musk and heat. This was not going the way he'd planned. The Master was a werewolf? A horny werewolf, on top of everything else? And yes, his cock was impressive… Art tried to think as the wolf's wet tongue pressed between his lips. His eyes went wide as the huge male's muzzle spread over his own. One of the tentacles squeezed into the stallion's pants and squirmed around his cock and balls, smearing them in some sort of warm, tingling liquid.

The stimulation answered the stallion's question as the werewolf's claws shredded his pants, freeing his horsecock to rise upwards, fully erect. He groaned around the large tongue stuffed in his muzzle and squeezed his fingers into his palms as the tentacle stroked his arousal hard and fast, making his hips squirm and lunge.

The growls intensified as the stallion's smooth, muscular body reflected the moonlight. Sharp silver claws traced down the equine's chest and belly as the tentacle continued stroking the male's long, flared horse-stalk. Another tentacle slid up to join the fun, so that all four squeezed and stroked around the squirming white horse's body, coating him in a fine, slick purple goo. The tentacles acted semi-independently, it seemed, doing vaguely what the werewolf wanted as the male's tongue shoved to the back of Art's throat. The intense musk made Art's nostrils quiver as a paw slid up his chest and wrapped around his throat, pinning him in place. The werewolf leaned back, legs between the stallion's thighs, huge cock draping across the equine's shaft and belly.

There wasn't much in the way of foreplay beyond that. The wolf's fat tip ground forward against Art's plump, toned rump, stretching his cheeks apart for the onyx slab of meat. Art could only moan and wriggle in place as the paw around his neck squeezed and the tentacles holding his wrists pulled tighter. The werewolf's other paw pressed flat to the stallion's belly as he pushed deeper, taking the smaller male roughly. Art's whinny of strained pleasure as the massive length squeezed ever deeper was matched by the Master's rough, low growls and moans as he felt the outline of his cock through the horse's hard belly.

The tentacles clutching his wrists suddenly released as the brute pumped in hard, burying the rest of his length, stopped only by a ball of flesh as yet trapped in the male's packed sheath. Art's breath caught in his throat as his thighs gripped the knot, feeling the size and power. His stallion-shaft kicked as he thought about it pumping into his stretched rump, eliciting another heady, dazed groan. The tentacle so recently holding his right arm dove for his open lips, spearing into his mouth and filling his throat, pumping wetly and filling his throat with the purple goo. The other tentacle from his left wrist joined in, both pumping next to each other as his cheeks distended from the girth and weight of the powerful appendages.

The wolf's hips drove forward, pounding deep, dragging the fat length in and out with little regard for the stallion's well-being. Art held on as best he could, fingers digging into the beast's black fur, as drops of saliva splattered across his smooth white chest. The stallion's stomach bulged as the giant werewolf pumped him harder, filling him beyond measure, all while the beast's thick knot slowly worked its way out of the sheath and ground under his tail.

The rainbow-haired stallion kicked his legs as the fourth tentacle joined the third around his maleness. One wrapped around the base and balls, squeezing and stroking with a delicious rhythm, as the other pressed around his tip, opening and stretching to accommodate the stallion's flare. Art's eyes closed as it finally grew around the tip and squeezed lower, pulsing hungrily to the base and rippling with warmth and heat. The horse whinnied again as he came, unable to stop the surge of pleasure as the shaft obliterating his rump drove deep again.

Huge claws dug into his hide as the beast leaned back further. The Master's biceps bulged as he dragged the horse down, holding him around the hips with both paws, thumbs digging into the white pelt. Up and down, up and down, the werewolf sated his desires as his head tossed back, shaggy pelt growing taut around his flexing muscles. His hips surged upwards, forcing the ball of flesh at the base of his cock against the stallion's ring. As the wolf's howl of pleasure echoed into the night, the white stallion's belly rounded out with the bulge of a massive knot, causing another powerful orgasm to ripple through his body. His paws reached up, grasping at the bridge of the werewolf's muzzle, holding on as his body shook, wiggling up and down as the wolf's hips went into overdrive, tugging the too-large knot one way and another inside him until…

Back in the village, the old badger sat up straight in bed as a bone-chilling roar echoed down the mountain. Shivering, the ancient lady leaned back and sniffed.

“Tol' him…"

The next morning, Art woke up, much to his surprise. His whole body ached, like he'd been put on a stretcher and pulled in every direction at once. He was laying in a patch of grass covered in dried seed. The stallion looked around as he felt a hand on his hip and saw the Master on the grass next to him, blinking awake himself.

Ashamed, the human leaned away as he sat up, his muscular nude body impressive in the morning light, though far smaller than the wolf's. He looked away, head in his hand.

“I am sorry… I can't… control… myself," he said, shoulders shaking with anger at himself.

Art shuddered as his cock, still half hard, flexed weakly against his thigh. Memories of the previous night flashed through his head… the werewolf's muzzle around his neck… the claws on the back of his skull as the hips pumped against his lips… the large tongue sliding across his belly…

“If you practiced, could you control it?"

The Master glanced over, shoulders going still. “What do you mean?"

“You said you can change most of the time, but you have to when it's a full moon," Art said, getting slowly to his feet. He stretched his back and arms, working out the stiffness of sleeping in the open for many nights straight. “If you practice, can you control yourself better?"

The Master nodded. “Sometimes. Maybe. But why? Aren't you leaving? Aren't you angry?"

The white stallion grinned and licked his lips, still tasting the wolf's essence and musk on his tongue.

“Let's just say I've been around," he said, his voice coy. “To be honest, that was a lot of fun."

“Fun?" the Master repeated. Then, with more anger: “Fun?! It is not fun to lose control of yourself and inflict your base desires on someone who wants merely to learn!"

Art held up a hand and shook his head. “I'm sorry, I just meant… I mean, you were enjoying it too, you know."

The Master stopped at that. The human's cheeks turned slightly red as he tried to retain his composure.

“All I'm saying, Master," Art said, approaching the sitting human, “is that if you doing that once a month is why you won't take on a student, I think you just never had the right student to teach."

“You… you're willing to be my pupil? Despite… what I did?"

“To learn from you? It's nothing." Art's belly churned as he pressed a palm to his stomach, feeling the bulge of seed still lodged inside. “Well, not nothing. But I could handle once a month."

The Master was on his feet in a flash, then right back down onto his knees in front of the stallion. He reached out and clasped the equine's fingers in his own.

“Then I promise to teach you as much as I can, as well as I can, and to impart all the secrets of my school to you. But you must also promise your allegiance. I am a teacher - I must teach. If you are a student, you must be patient and learn."

Art nodded and squeezed the human's fingers, then pulled him up to his feet.

“I promise."

“Then come, student… your first lesson will be this afternoon, after we clean ourselves and eat."

Art's grin stretched across his long face as he followed the naked human towards the well, his shaft slipping back and forth across his thighs as he watched his Master's smooth backside. Even in human form, the kung fu teacher was very attractive. And he'd learn quick if he had to dodge not just two hands, but also four hungry tentacles during training.

The stallion's spring increased in his step as he followed behind the Master. The journey took an unusual turn, and it was far from over, but he was on the right path. As long as his rump held out, at least.

The end