FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Sirs! Sirs! Calm down! I know this is a unique situation! But I must ask of you to remain calm and collected! We mustn't let panic throw this meeting into disarray!"

“Stay calm? I lost three guards yesterday!"

“Three? Most of my employees refuse to approach that damn pool!"

“Hah! That's rich! You haven't heard about the customer's complaints! Something must be done!"

“ENOUGH!"

The last word was uttered, shouted even, in the relatively large conference room. The only one that could be found in the higher levels, dedicated to the staff, within the Cornucopia ship. That place was supposedly set for weekly meetings to ensure the reliability of the services so that no one or nothing would hinder the ship's schedule. All the while, it would jump from planet to planet like a space cruiser, gathering passengers from all species.

However… Nobody would expect the Cruiser vessel to end up as a sort of battlefield, nor to have all those races of aliens share a common opinion on a single threat.

Azurians, Noxians, Minosins, even humans, and more! All were sitting at the table, with the Ship's captain at the end of it, scornful and on his feet.

“Enough! Are we petty children fighting over who had it worse? No? Good!" shouted the seasoned human, his rugged and bearded face befitting someone of experience, hence his stature at the Ship's helm. As well as his commanding presence as he stepped back and lifted a hand toward the screen panel behind him.

“First… I see empty seats. Who have we lost, Syran?" he asked, letting the screen load as he turned to the HR manager.

The little Azurian, six foot tall at most, held up a tablet and scrolled through it. Blue-scaled head, fish face closer to a shark, he wasn't the most intimidating of his kin. Especially with his tiny goggles over his broad muzzle.

“Pleik and Durand, from engineering and logistics, respectively," said the fish, adjusting his goggles.

“Great!" sighed the human, throwing hands before he returned to the screen. “You and I, Syran, we will have to find replacements. But for the moment, let's focus on the main issue."

Finally, the information appeared on the screen and loaded up. First came a list of potential crimes and issues, as well as a tentative plan to pull data from one of the colonies' databases. But nothing was kept. Finally, after one minute, there it was.

That pest, that creature, that demon. Some passengers heard him call himself Mr. Scribbles; hence, it was the nickname that was given to the stout creature.

Well, stout or rather dwarf-like, as the creature's overall height barely went beyond three feet. Beyond that, it didn't meet any criteria to fit within any species of the alliance: head of a human goat with a prominent snout, floppy ears, and rectangular pupils in those red eyes.

The creature also possessed horns, and a red skin or fur that reinforced the demonic impression of those hooved legs, clawed fingers, and demeanor gave off.

Yet… It wore a yellow Hawaiian shirt like many human vacationers. And nothing else. Thankfully, the rest was blurred.

“Are you sure he's not human with mods? He speaks your language, right?" offered a Leonine employee, Jakar, the head of security. He crossed his arms, looking all formal in the gray-wear of his section while his eyes went over everyone as his twin tails swayed.

“He is not. We checked thoroughly," answered the captain, sighing.

“Okay. Just to be sure."

“Any further questions before I start? ... None? Great. Let's keep going."

Soon, the screen flickered and was replaced by video footage. White noise peppered it, something impossible with the newly-established codec… Yet. The video had been corrupted, and someone could hardly make out the wide corridor to the main conference hall. Yet, the veteran crew could distinguish the red mat and the golden statues of feral beasts from all horizons.

However, what surprised them was the red swirling shape forming on the mat, like a ripple, a rift, or a rupture within. It grew and swallowed the ground, enough to attract the attention of hysterical passengers.

“My ears! Can't we turn down the volume? "

The sound remained the same. The scowls answered, in return.

On the screen, the video continued, and soon, the swirl stopped. And out of it, like jumping out of a puddle, came the “creature." Mr. Scribbles had appeared out of nowhere, carrying his usual open Hawaiian shirt along with two suitcases adapted to his size, tiny.

The rift's red substance dripped off him the second he was out. And it closed behind him.

That was how Mr. Scribbles arrived in the Cornucopia. Followed, on the screen, the approach of a bellboy. The instant before, there was a human in a red costume, the second after he was a massive Horse-like creature neighing and sucking off what seemed to be the invader or Demon's short but girthy Malehood, the angle obscuring most of the view.

“This happened five days ago. This was our first case of… Hmm. What's the term?"

“Corruptive Anthropomorphism, sir," countered another cat-like Alien in charge of the medical team on board, his coat similar to a leopard except for his four red eyes, a prominent characteristic among his kind.

“Let's just call it corruption. That guy was the first case that happened. Authorities have never heard of that case before… hence, our ship is considered as the first foyer of propagation."

“WAIT! THEY CAN'T QUARANTINE US! MY FAMILY!"

“They can, and they will. Please, we mustn't let panic spread around. Imagine if our passengers were aware of this?"

“I- Right."

“For the moment, our ship can handle a Quarantine. However, the danger is that illness if it's spreading. And that Creature sowing more chaos."

“It's not spreading, from all our results tell. It's closer to complete DNA recombination; it's fa-… it's awful." Commented the leopard-like, raising a digit and lowering it. “But no spreading. Only the… Mr. Scribbles produces that effect."

The Ship's captain sighed, massaging his forehead as he snapped. There, the previous footage disappeared, replaced by another one.

“This event happened three hours after Mr.Scribble's arrival and was quickly handled… But it may shed light on what that creature wants."

The video rolled… And thus unfurled the strange scene at one of the many Beach-themed bars along the Cornucopia's pools. Amidst the chaos of Aliens, the creature could almost pass as a normal individual except for his lack of attire.

In fact, no passenger seemed bothered by the dumpy, red-skinned demon, and he sat at the counter, despite the struggles, before a pimple-faced human.

“Hello, where might a beau find beverages to assuage his poor old soul?" asked the Demon, his voice quite clear and clean in the speaker. There was no file corruption this time.

“What? You mean Alcohol? We only serve softs here. The regulation doesn't allow it and other intoxicating substances near the pools. What do you fancy?"

“Do I look in my youth? You ought to serve me! Where am I? In a penitentiary? Servant, miscreant, bring me some whiskey!"

“Sir. I must ask you to remain calm and not shout in public. And to put on sensible clothes."

“And, I," said the creature, jumping on the counter and provoking an uproar. “do not condone insolence nor impudence. Give me my fill, give me some swirl!"

“I can't! There is no alcohol here!" cried the poor barman, his hands up.

In the meeting room, only the silence remained. By all accounts, that kind of abuse wasn't so surprising in a big cruising ship. But… Well, the following events unfurled and elicited surprises in the face.

Before the camera, they saw the human's held-up digits begin to darken and fuse. Worse, gray fur sprouted on his face and body. A body that, before their eyes, seemed to change and contort.

Upright and rigid, the barman bent over the counter while its back seemed to grow and the clothes strained to keep up with the sudden changes.

Breaking bones, falling hair, and hooved stomps followed as the human looked… less and less human. The poor guy mooed and cried while its face was disfigured. A large gray snout formed where his mouth was, with two wide nostrils joined by a golden ring. Horns sprouted on each side of that temple while the human's stature shifted… He rolled over the counter to fall on his back.

There, the camera fully saw how the clothes were ripping due to the incremental volume, while Mr. Scribbles seemed rather joyful and snickering at the bemoaning barman.

“Do not fret, do not feel upset for there will be no privation, just consumption!" chuckled the demon as he jumped off the stool to walk around the nascent corrupted before ripping the poor man's pants away.

The outcry came from the video and the meeting as the camera was focused on the Corrupted's genitals.

Instead of a typical set of genitals, the corrupted possessed a tiny pinkish dick barely pushing from below what remained of his scrotum… His gonads had grown, swollen, and the skin had taut so much, turned so pink, it looked like he had udders instead of testicles. Four teats poked out of his scrotum, four that dripped with white fluid onto the ground and what seemed to be a vulva right beneath it. A bestial vulva, Mr. Scribbles went to stroke and caress with his digits.

“Good cow, maybe some alcohol you'll allow?"

Before the remaining crew could react to this, the footage shifted onto another camera view. That time, the camera showed Mr. Scribbles up front with that devious smile. The former employee, lying on his back, looked closer to a farm pet with its revulsed eyes and stupid mooing. Moreover, it didn't fight back as the diminutive Demon leaned to grab one of the teats on that scrotum with his mouth and suck on it.

“Bah! Milk!" he spat, letting go of the teat to catch another one. “Cum! Are you ailing or failing? Something else but scum?"

Finally, the Demon seemed to settle onto a third teat, which brought, this time, an earnest smile on his face. “Finally! Wine! … That's not the best, but way my incline!"

Endure it. That's what the corrupted employee did. Mooing, crying, waving its hooved arms while the passengers yelled and fled in pure hysteria, it also suffered from Mr. Scribbles decidedly breeding him.

It wasn't particularly sexy or erotic, more like some compulsory action while the tiny Demon drank from the teat. The employee grimaced, he grimaced, and all crew members grimaced as those tiny stubby legs and hips went to town on that man's newfound vulva.

“This is sick," commented a young woman, a cobra-like alien, before slithering away while holding her mouth.

“Syran… Count her down," mumbled the Captain, massaging his forehead while the scene kept unfurling in a parody or even insult of all principles. Nobody in the room enjoyed it, but there was something important to learn from this, whether it was knowledge or disgust.

Either would be fine.

“Silly servant, don't you know how to fulfill your clients' wants?!" shouted Mr. Scribbles, fulminating while its muzzle turned at the camera and the crew members.

For a moment, even Jakar the leonine froze and sweat. The instant after, the creature went back to his labor.

In and out, in and out. The camera's high-quality micro picked up the squelching made from that hole as the creature rummaged within, slapping that bestial labia with his testicles, a dripping vulva much like the one Mr. Scribbles sported between his ass and balls.

The footage shifted again, displaying another angle… That time, almost from between the Demon's legs.

“How? What's that angle? Are we watching some weird porn?" asked Jake, head of IT. A human like the ship's captain, except for the implant overtaking the side of his head and artificial hand with two more digits.

It wasn't far-fetched to ask that when, between those hooved legs and behind those orange-sized testicles, cum poured endlessly and formed a puddle.

“We don't know how, but he can also modify footage and… Displace cameras while we're watching him. But you get the gist."

With a finger on the panel, the ship's captain fast-forwarded the scene. But through the change, the crew were able to see how Mr. Scribbles mounted that Minosin-like creature's mouth, sucked on his nipples, played with his dick, abused those balls turned into udders… And those two orifices.

At the end of the footage, only one lugubrious scene remained.

The poor employee was still on his back, cum dripping from all the orifices used by Mr. Scribbles. But the striking detail on him was the creature's distended belly, the navel popped out, as well as the strange symbols on that taut stomach.

“Can someone read those symbols?" asked the Ship's captain, going back and forth on the few seconds when the creature's skin looked untainted…To the end of the scene, when the purple tattoo appeared, forming an elaborate and rather complex symbol with, at its center, a reversed heart shape.

“No idea, sir," “Nada," “Is this important?"

Nobody in the room seemed aware of it or willing to answer, leading the captain to sigh and release the control. The footage unfocused and left that belly. It drifted away, further from it, until the scene incorporated Mr. Scribbles again.

Not exhausted from his thorough abuse, the diminutive Demon seemed rather energetic. Enough to brandish a club adapted to his size while trading his Hawaiian shirt for a typical white polo shirt and a tweed golf cap. However, again, the Demon wore nothing below the waist. Thus, as he moved his club and swayed his hips, the crew had the full view of those plump, shaking cheeks as he gave a stroke and…

[I]MOOO!

[/I]“Becalm, Cow!" shouted Mr. Scribbles at the corrupt employee. The creature was holding onto his scrotum after a ball hit it, and it would have rolled except for that belly… Or that sudden ejaculation from his almost concealed cock.

With another Whack! A second ball appeared and went, hitting the creature on the ass.

“Let me aim, or it is you I'll maim!" he ordered, without a hint of anger… But… Worries?

Oddly, the creature stopped shifting altogether, almost frozen in time within his writhing and orgasm. The Demon returned to his aim, hitting ball after ball… Until he managed to get them into the creature's vulva.

“Any… Questions?" asked the Ship's captain as he passed a hand to cut the feed.

Like most of his crew, he looked disgusted and sickened… Some had even left the room, gone to the toilets to avoid further revelations.

He couldn't hold it against them.

“Hmm! If I may ask? What… Happened to the employee? Is he still here?" asked Syran, the Azurian. He adjusted his goggles, glancing at the tablet he held up while he scrolled.

“Yes. His name was Joshua Filbert. He joined our crew earlier this month…"

With a grave tone, the captain pressed another button to reveal a sort of… Monitoring systems that displayed the anatomical shape of said Joshua. But as his new form.

“After we recovered and quarantined him, we established contact. For all accounts, he seems to have remained sentient. However…"

“However?"

“He seems to be utterly loyal to Mr. Scribbles. More than that, he appears to be… Pregnant. Of multiple creatures that are almost entirely developed."

“How?" asked Jake, one of the remaining few.

“I don't know. I imagine our on-board-doctors have more information. However, we do know Mr. Scribbles' influence is more pervasive than expected. And whoever is “corrupted" by him displays an intense loyalty to him as if they have been “illuminated". It can also impact others indirectly."

With a flick, the grizzled captain erased the medical display to put forth another footage instead. One of a security room, one amidst the hundred spread on the Cornucopia to protect passengers.

In it, there were two people. One Azurian, built like a brick shithouse within his uniform, and another human, a balding guy in his forties.

“Meet Sendar Erkn and Desmond Howard," he started, much to Jakar's growling displeasure. “Two former employees within the security division, currently in quarantine. Until now, they were considered married, and each had their own families."

“They were fine employees… Now, I can't even let my crew alone in those booths."

“I know, Jakar. I know. Still…" the captain started, stopping, taking a long breath. “We might learn something."

With a button press, the footage started on what seemed to be a standard discussion. Sendar was reclining on his chair and sipping some coffee while Desmond sat at the control panel, going from one feed to another.

“You've heard about the bar incident? One of the employees was fucked by a rando."

“What? Fuck. That's sick. Was that guy caught?" asked Desmond, visibly disgusted.

“Nope… Still, it must have been funny to see that."

“You're sick."

“Not my fault if you like my videos. Did I tell you I scrounged records of the swinger party last night?"

“What-“

“What?!" exploded a Minosin in the meeting room, Ansen, a lithe and androgynous bovine whose horns had been shaved and fitted with golden balls at the tip; his blue eyes darted at Jakar. “You are not deactivating the cameras during the parties? Do you know how difficult it will be to ensure our clientele's anonymity if it's leaked?!"

“Relax. It's just a few videos. It doesn't hurt anybody."

“Anybody? WHAT ABOUT LAST YEAR INCIDENT? My head is on the line! Cat!"

“CAT? DO YOU KNOW WHAT WE DO TO BEEF LIKE YOU WHERE I LIVE?"

“RECORD THEM WHILE THEY'RE FUCKING?!"

“GENTLEMEN!"

The Ship's captain shouted, his voice cutting any answer Jakar might have said before he coughed and pointed at the screen.

“We will handle those issues ONCE we finish our current cases. Got it?"

Two ayes followed, as well as a button press. The recording then resumed where it was left off, though the little éclat from the two crew members had pushed the discussion a tad further.

“Hey, Sendar?"

“What?"

“The fucker… The guy that wasn't caught? Do you know what he looks like?"

“Little, bald, goat face? Why?" retorted the Azurian, his snout pointing at the screen. “NO WAY!"

The Shark man joined his partner at the screen, and for a moment, the two individuals seemed enthralled by what they were watching. Or hearing. The camera could catch a few of the reverberated words, but it seemed closer to the abuse the first employees had received. However, the camera was entirely on the two security guards… And how they were… Stroking their bulges.

“Fuck. What he's doing to that gu- oh fuck," mumbled Sendar while pushing against the bulge he sported between his legs. A wet spot formed at the tip of it.

“How is that possible? That ass… He's bigger than my wife," retorted Desmond.

“Mine too. I can smell and taste it from here. Waters, that's strong!"

“What?"

Desmond turned to his colleague, only to see the massive Azurian undo his buckle and zipper to pull out his dick. The Shark-faced man was heaving, sighing… And. Were there horns poking atop of his head?

“Dude, knock it out!" spat the human, without even peeling his eyes off the junk and hands his groin.

“What? That's hot. I- I like that! Why shouldn't I crank one? Not like it hurts."

With a silly grin, Sendar gripped his massive mushroom-tipped cock and started to stroke it while massaging his testicles, ignoring the precum pouring from his shaft.

“Dude, you have a wife!" countered his partner, him too undoing the buckle and pulling his dick out to stroke it.

“A wife? Huh. Okay. And? That doesn't mean I can't have some fun."

The rhetoric was dubious, but Desmond wasn't one to counter it. Rather, he nodded while he pulled a stool so they were both sitting near the screen, masturbating and groaning as horns sprouted from the sides of their heads.

Such details didn't seem to bother them as they kept stroking, their hands going over their hairier and bigger bodies. Until.

“Hey, dude. Don't touch me! Go get your girl or something!" said the Azurian, yet not stopping the human from stroking that mix of blue scales and growing dark hair.

“I can have some fun. That's what you told me, dude," retorted the human, his hand going up and down.

“Are they?" cut Syran, adjusting his goggles and avoiding looking toward Jakar and Ansen. They were closer and… Why were they talking so low? “Are they transforming, captain?"

“Yes. We suppose it necessitates an indirect contact with Mr. Scribbles, but it doesn't affect recordings."

“So… Anyone who's watching the cameras is unsafe. Jakar's explanation makes sense," added the Azurian, keeping his hands to himself and himself only.

Before his, and everyone's eyes, the scene kept unfurling. The Azurian and Human were tangling together at that moment, their hands joining and exploring their bodies while they kept stroking themselves… And then each other, both uncaring for the footage… Or for their suits slowly bursting at the seams or for their boots slipping up to reveal black hooves.

“Fuck… Why haven't we done this before?" asked Sendar, his flattening teeth rushing to meet with the human's mouth in a kiss, their tongue tying and tangling again while a red glimmer passed over their gazes.

“Mhmm… Dunno. Our girls? I guess?" said Desmond, heaving and catching his breath.

“What girls?"

“Uh… Dunno. Cunts, probably. Never happy, always nagging us. We're better between us, uh. Knowing what we need, right?" chuckled Desmond, giving the Azurian's blood-red dick a squeeze before going over the blossoming red scales on the groin… And belly.

“Damn right. Gimme more," added Sendar, throwing himself into another kiss as those furred hands were over the Human's lush hair, that paunch belly, that coal and ember equine dick, and those massive balls to caress. All the while, minding their horns.

Too tangled to focus and see, both men quickly shifted position, with Desmond lying on the ground. The horned red Shark stood above him, his legs and cheeks spread to sit on the corrupted Human's face. He sat on it, hiding the bestial muzzle beneath a mix of red scales and black hair while stroking his dick and round hairy belly.

That face, so shark-like before, was completed by a tufty beard, horns atop the head and on its side, making the Azurian look like a reptilian predator. Other bone growths sprouted from his shoulders and arms, piercing and dragging through the scales to form, twist, and shape while he rode Desmond's face.

Whatever happened, it even made the Captain cringe as the camera picked up the audible cracks from twisting bones and breaking articulations. However, neither Sendar nor Desmond seem pained.

Instead, they were both pleased, both happily stroking themselves until, in a roar, they both ejaculated and drew white lines all over the security booth.

But the worst was, as the scene finished and the tension within their room declined, they spoke again with low-growling voices.

“Hey, Desmond," said Sendar, grabbing that sweat-caked face and forcing it into a long kiss, with that long serpentine tongue throat-swabbing the caprine-like muzzle. “Let's invite our bosses."

On that note, the Captain sighed and stopped the footage as he glanced at the crew. Most women had left it and the few remaining seemed sickened. As for the men: those who remained looked shaken as well but took it better. Jakar and Ansen were still talking, Syran no longer fiddled with his tablet… As for Jake, he seemed rather bothered but normal.

Clearly, not everyone was made to handle the crises.

“AHEM!" coughed the grizzled human, suddenly getting his crew's attention: all hands, even Syran's, joined on the table. “Any question before we continue on the following topic? Requests? Breaks? Nothing?"

Nothing. People were watching him with frightened, angry, bored, stoic gazes. The faces, alien or not, contorted with different expressions he put on the revelations. But nobody asked anything. Hence, he turned on the next footage while ignoring the small blabber and dull whispers growing in the room.

The subsequent footage was from near the nudist pools within the upper levels. Limited to the wealthiest customers, the pool provided all the amenities for anyone sunbathing under the facsimile of a sun at the center of the Cornucopia.

Hailing from all planets, nobody batted an eye in the presence of the diminutive creature, closely followed by the cameras. But the crew members' eyes were riveted on him as he progressed through the crowd.

Here, the sound was terrible due to the efforts made by the Ship's systems to filter out the constant exchanges from the passengers. With the white noise muffling any sound from the meeting room, everyone could listen to Mr. Scribbles's groans.

“What's this ship? The best place to be in the whole galaxy? My cheeks!" said the diminutive Demon, his voice almost pleading as he kicked one of the fake pebbles before he was approached by one of the employees, another human who wore nothing to cover himself but a necktie to confirm his service to the Ship and its passengers.

“Hello, sir. I heard you were displeased by our services. Is there anything we can do?"

The demon stopped, cocked an eyebrow, and looked up and down.

“My, my… Maybe you could if you would lend me a minute of your time. I wish to dine on those glutes!"

“To… What? Sir, are you suggesting something inappropriate?"

“Not at all, nothing alike! I merely propose you'd sit on my spike!"

The human blinked, surprised, but turned and left.

Probably, that was what saved him from the Demon, as his expression soured and his steps continued around the pool.

“What did I say? No pleasures, no hustler, no satisfaction give my way. This is no hellish cesspit but a pile of horseshit. All lying, all smiling, all hiding their cravings."

Rumbling, his hands sliding against his furred legs as if he had pockets, the stout demon continued. Sometimes, he approached a group of humans or another, but none seemed to deign to address him or care. In the end, the footage led closer to the pool and closer to a springboard. Nobody stood around as he approached it, stepped on it, bounced on it as if ready to dive. But he stopped.

“Why was I coming? What folly am I brewing? I shouldn't the mortals respect if my needs they neglect! I'll teach them a lesson about satisfaction."

With those words, the Demon seemed to have found a new conviction as he stood on the springboard and grabbed his demonhood: Four inches and yet girthy like a beer can; that was the details had revealed… But that stubby prick was enough for the creature to stroke himself and groan out in the open, uncaring for the other passengers who looked disgusted and eager to swim away.

But the surprise came as the creature's dick turned into a hose of white and steaming cum. The tacky and sticky liquid spurted out of that organ like a jet before hitting the water and adding to it. Or replacing it.

That's what it looked like from the outside as the pool's water lowered and changed in color, passing from the azure hues to an opaque white whose stench could even be smelled through the screen. Raw, musky, and intense, it made the Captain's nose frown as he waited for questions while observing that horrendous display.

Nobody from the remaining crew dared to speak up, leaving him with few words to tell as the scene went on and on.

As expected, the cum pool didn't please the employees or the passengers that had been lounging around. A good part ran away, following that hysteria. A few others, shadowed by the shaken crew, were searching and finding the source of such changes. They were only a handful to rush to the creature, fists raised and their recrimination in mouth.

Perhaps they hurled insults or berated Mr. Scribbles, but the AI had removed their voices from the exchange to select and focus on the Demon's words.

“Disgusting? Isn't it you, fooling around and picking at, who are disgusting? Lying? Criticizing? Mimicking?" said the creature with a scowl followed by a finger snap.

Like frozen or hit by lightning, the passengers stopped and froze… Before they fell, holding onto their groins. Cum dripped from their dicks, whatever the species they were, and their expressions shifted to bear a wide grin. One that didn't leave when the little Demon decided to hump their backsides.

As big as a hung Azurian, a powerful Minosin, or even a lithe Noxian, it ended with the same results: every male who had jumped to intervene was pounded with their faces rubbed against the soft sand. Grinning, drooling, smiling, begging for more: there was not a sign of an end as the poor sods rolled on their backs or their sides, their stuffed bellies adorned by the same tattoos as the Demon's second victim.

Sighing and getting nowhere, the Ship's captain cut down the feed, stopping the video from progressing. But his nose was still burning, and his legs agitated as he turned to the remaining few… IT, HR, Security, Accommodations, Medical… Only five left. Only five from the myriad of departments. Yet, they were all looking busy or talking to themselves.

But there was a seat further in the room, one turned away from the view. Perhaps that last person would be of use?

His eyes half-closed, rubbing his nose, the captain walked by Jakar and Ansen, seemingly stuck in an embrace as they were talking with a suave tone, as if making up. Jake's eyes were glassy like when he browsed data from the ship's systems. Even their medical specialist, the Panther-like alien, had his hands too busy in his pockets.

Finally, he approached that seat.

“Okay, who in the room has any way to handle that Demon? Whether to kill or restrict him? People?" he asked, grabbing the chair's back to turn it and… “MOTHERFUCKER!"

“Fatherfucker. Is this how you welcome passengers? With forks and torch? What are my misdeeds?"

One arm raised, the Captain darted his frowning eyes at the creature that had been reclining on the chair and now jumping on his stubby feet to point his fingers at the human.

“You have been mistreating employees and other customers! And spying! And corrupting them!"

“Mistreating? It is they who have been lying and concealing. I decided to aid, despite them being afraid. The changes, the sex, the breeding, it was all their yearnings!"

“What?!" cried the human, no longer backing off but leaning forward. “They cannot be changed, and you broke families. What about those… Spawns you put in their bellies?!"

“Children, youth, juveniles, they shouldn't live like me in exile! This is a fruitful arrangement; I sire; they become a parent, and they get what they desire. Some were tired, troubled, or disheartened, but I was fair and square in the relief I provided. Don't you see their gibe, glee, or gayety?"

“They have families! They have responsibilities! They cannot-“

“What of a vacation if those issues you cannot abandon? What about you, human and already graying? So lost in your fears and always scowling? Shouldn't you be happier? Merrier? What about them? Of what will you them condemn?"

With an outstretched hand, the Demon pointed toward the table. No, further, the crew. A sweat droplet on his temple, the old human turned and slowly saw them, heard them, smelled them. The embrace had turned into a kiss, a caress, an exploration. The hidden hands were working beneath the table to please and touch something that wasn't called. The glassy eyes betrayed the excitation and the scent of stimulation completed by the pockets ripping apart from the movements.

They were all corrupted, all broken, all embracing the perversion in the air and from that creature. They didn't care about their responsibilities but rather the sex, as the hands were no longer discreet in their masturbation, and the bodies were tangling over the table as the conflict turned into love.

This was obscene, as well as the moans and little words.

There, the captain turned to the Demon, who had merely joined his hands together and waited.

“Undo that! Leave that ship! This is no place for you!"

“But it is. I am a provider of pleasure, much for your displeasure. They don't want to fight, to maim, to slay. But let's not delay," the creature jumped off the seat, his movement followed by the Ship captain as those red digits outstretched and… Touched his groin.

His bulging, drippy, damp groin.

“I propose a pact, an accord upon which we act. You yield the power, so I wield. Upon that agreement, I apply those commandments: no evictions, no mutilation, no execution, no repercussion. Changes will be requested and arranged. Once said they depart, they choose their better part."

Unable to tell or to react, the captain solely sensed those tiny hands undo his belt and open his zippers, pulling onto his briefs and peeling them off. He should have been able to react, but his body didn't. Neither did it when the creature pushed him, making him fall onto his hands and backside.

In such a short distance, it was impossible not to notice all the details of that stout male: those lustful and angry red eyes, the dilated nostrils, the scowl. More than that, there was that malehood the creature employed like a club to smack against his bulge, hitting it without any hint of gentleness.

“Truth was, Cornucopia was known of my kind and I. A ship cruising the stars, I asked myself why? But the reason was clear: the options out… I suffer from burnout. Long have I tired to give peasants the spear and the pyre. Centuries, millennia, how long 'til I give in to dementia? I hate them; they loathe me, but here I could be their best company. No more pain, no woes, no more bloodstain. Is there more to explain?"

The captain didn't know how to answer as the creature's tone shifted from anger to a sort of need. The same need… no different. But similar to the need he felt as his briefs were torn and his reddish equine dick popped in from between his legs. Long like a spear, decorated by a median ring and ending with a flared and flat tip, he looked at the monster of flesh that didn't exist a few moments ago.

It was big, musky, drippy, and about to explode as the creature started to climb on him. It was quick; Mr. Scribbles's weight was pressing on his guts and lungs as he saw those red eyes open with another emotion.

“I… Think I can understand, Mr. Scribbles." added the captain, through hissed teeth as he felt those hairy cheeks rub against his overly sensitive dick. Enough for a jet of precum to hit the ceiling.

“Do you?"

“I… Know what it feels like to be crushed by your job. Everyone here does or has. We are no different than those who paid a fortune to be here. We… Too are working," he said, heaving and breathing while the sounds of his crewmates grew closer. Feline, Bovine, Marine, or human. The five others were coming closer, their clothes stripped and away, leaving instead their manhood dripping and dropping forward.

“And?"

“If… You assure this place will become… Better. Maybe we could work together. You really meant your words, did you?"

The Demon cocked an eyebrow, watched the human hiss, and was about to explode again. The groin contracted as another jet of precum went up and hit the ceiling, only to fall back as a sort of rain onto them both. The room… Reeked, dripped of sex. Especially with the crew lining up by each side of the laying captain.

Finally… Mr. Scribbles nodded: “Aye."

“Well. I cannot give you what you desire exactly, nor the title. But… You could be part of the crew. But please, make it so our lives aren't ruined. Our families mustn't know," he said, outstretching a trembling and needy hand as he felt that demonic and warm ass against his dick…

“Aye. We are agreed."

The tinier hand shook the larger one. Soon after, the crew leaned and went on their knees by the stout demon as he somehow jumped and landed on top of the equine shaft.

“I- I won't get udders, right, Master?" asked the Captain, half-chuckling as he felt that warm labia press against his cocktip, squeeze it… And yes, slip around it.

His talents for curses and corruption were equaled by the sumptuous sensations of those hermaphrodite lips closing onto the equine demonic shaft and kissing it. Kissing and sucking, taking it inside while the stout creature slipped down and down.

“Suffering like the lot, you shall not. Milk might be desired but not acquired, yet you will sire and be there entire."

The demonic chuckle, all growling and encompassing, was completed by a snap as the crewmembers seemed to heed an order the captain didn't hear. As if moved by one soul, Jakar and Jake's hands moved to grab the girthy and hirsute creature by the shoulders to push it along the length. Not to pull Mr. Scribbles from that spear, threatening to split him. But to make him. Take It.

Inches by inches, that pole slipped and disappeared within the stout creature without a sign of discomfort that appeared from Mr. Scribbles. Quite the opposite as he offered a large and broad grin, vicious even, when their hips met together at the bottom.

From that demonic cock? The only trace was a slight bulge forming at the front of the dwarf… But the Captain was well aware as he experienced the delightful, overwhelming presence and pleasure from that tiny stud.

That demonic cunt, nestled behind the round testicles, was a source of excitement as it tugged, squeezed, and massaged. Like thousands of caresses and touches, it swarmed the sensitive cock's tip and the throbbing length. It went down the median ring until no square of skin was left untouched, uncared, undesired.

“Hhh… S- Sir!" mumbled the former human, feeling the sting of canines pushing from his gums, his jaw reforming to adapt as he started to look… Different. His face contorted, his skull reshaped, all to look like… Mr. Scribbles. But taller, bigger, yet weaker as the creature dominated him with crossed arms and sheer authority.

“The youngling shall learn the throes and blows of bucking," chuckled the Demon, his attitude betraying a rogue wisdom motivated by need and lust. With a snap, then, he made the crewmates advance, kneel, and forward their groins until lines of cock, red and monstrous, pointed on each side of the captain's vision.

Equine, spiky, prehensile, drippy, sticky, amorphous. They were there, offered and gifted for both to perform some oral worship.

Right away, Mr. Scribbles turned to the prehensile one, eagerly kissing the tip as Ansen broke into a gloat: “Thank you, Master! Let me serve you!" blurted the bulking Minosin, his horns sprouting in a multitude forming a crown above his head.

His fair fur remained the same, but it bulged from below, from the growing muscles.

As for his dick, it sprouted from the sheath like an average Minosins dick, yet bent and moved without any effort.

Without further ado, Mr. Scribbles pointed his open mouth. And with a gargle, the dick slipped through those lips and flat teeth; It pushed, forced onward, stretched the dwarf's throat in a noticeable bulge yet without ever so bothering the Demon.

His red eyes gleamed with a thirst only that strange cock seemed to satisfy.

Swiftly, the Minosin's face contorted, tensed like the Captain's clenched bestial face, and a shiver went through his loin. One, then another, then a third that culminated in a thunderous mooing. It shook the whole meeting room while the demonic satyr didn't seem bothered by the constant pulses going through the organ and emptying right into his throat.

Gulps after gulps, the Bovine's semen dripped from the Demon's mouth onto his beard, satisfied and giggling… All completed by a side glance turned at the captain.

No words were uttered, could be uttered. Nonetheless, the Captain knew what was expected of him. His Master and Elder, his provider, urged him to choose one of those dicks.

He glanced at them, watched the vibrant and glimmering sigils etched on the groins, bringing a discreet gleam to those men's junks from all shapes and desires.

Then… He snapped.

“Thank you, Captain, I won't disappoint you," said Syran.

His cock had penile spines all over it, but the contact was softer… And the aroma was intense as the former human leaned his head forward. He closed his eyes and tried not to overthink about this. His mouth watered with anticipation, his heartbeat in thunderous chaos within that tufty red chest and horned temples.

The tip passed beyond his lips and teeth, the spine grazing the tongue and split cleft. It pushed beyond, the angle shifting when plunging within the old captain.

He-… he didn't gag.

Contrary to what the former Human had expected, taking it in wasn't difficult. He didn't feel the pain of asphyxia. What Remained, instead, was his surprise as the small Azurian pushed inside and hammered his throat, ramming within. Should he gag? Should he suffer? Should he gargle?

In a moment of clarity, he knew he didn't need air to breathe. What Mr. Scribbles had done to him meant that he could solely focus on sex and nothing else. Hence, he bent and accepted his duty.

Two snaps continued from the Captain. A multitude more as the crew joined them, corrupted and almost-corrupted alike. All men whose shafts dripped, cunts ached, and bodies had been reshaped to fulfill the perfect vision of a masculine male.

Whether the species, whether the role, whether the names… They surrounded both Satyrs and began to masturbate and offer their manhood in unison. One mind in unison, it almost looked like an obscure and perverse liturgy and a baptism in semen and fluids.

In the mind of the Captain, embracing his life as a Satyr, he heard distant praise from his Master. The one who slobbered on a dick, then another while maintaining a vice grip on the former Human's one.

Pulling out or ignoring his manhood was impossible… Folly even.

Even as their minds joined and exchanged, one the need and the other the dominion, there was no relinquishing. Those labia would remain, and the poor human would be baptized. In cum, in fluid, in those sweet honey juices.

In one instant, he was choking on the tendril Mr. Scribbles had been perusing, then another one whose size should have dislocated his elongated jaw. However, it didn't. In truth, no pain or issues came. Breathing, needing, suffering, dislocating; nothing came as his body shifted and remained only the satisfaction, taste, pleasure.

The semen flooded into his stomach, closer to an endless well. Yet, he kept ordering for more. Once, twice, thrice: snaps and corrupted followed, eager to please Master and apprentice.

Master that hadn't left his current throne and didn't seem keen to do so. Rather, it was the opposite as the Demon stayed, his inner walls clenching and tugging in impossible and crazy ways. What the Captain required, the Satyr provided an ample amount. But no peace.

Orgasm, ejaculation, climaxes, they rumbled and wracked onto themselves, piling against the former Human's mind: redone by lust, redone by gifts, redone by unveiled truth. Restriction, inhibition, locked feelings; all were gone, erased, leaving bare what sentient beings were at their core and source: wants.

---

“Welcome to the Cornucopia, lay down your worries and the pain of the old bones behind! Embrace your true self while cruising between Sigma Perodo and the Congregation's Homeworld!"

The cheery voice blared through the speakers, its origin unknown: could it be a man, a female, a human, an azurian? The sound resonated, distorted and manifold, for the boarders.

Around them, the employees wore the most skimpy clothes, at the limit of decency among many worlds, yet enjoyed themselves while leading their customers from corridors to Atrium. Horned, painted in red, and clad with make-up, the different species showed their pointy teeth, gloved hands, bare chests, and bellies as they ushered, welcomed, and thanked.

A sort of need, of exacerbated lust, emanated from them. Their fingers slipped on their bulging red pouches covering their nethers, or the passengers' arms, or fellow workers.

“Welcome! Welcome! Thank you for joining us in that grand adventure. But before you avail yourselves of the amenities; one word from our Captain on behalf of the Cornucopia's new owner!" continued the misshapen voice, its echoes pushing to the depths of the ship as the last newcomers sat within the dim, red-and-gold-themed hemicycle.

A spicy scent, earthy and musky, hung in the air in displeasing wafts eliciting frowns and groans. Worse, the lights were turned down, provoking an outcry from the passengers. They cried, trying to make sense until one light turned on… And pointed at the scene.

On it, remained one hooved man. Or Demon? Black horns atop the head, a split cleft, an elongated muzzle, long drooping ears. He had the corpulence of a human, the height, the developed but sinewy muscles.

Yet, clad in a tight sleeveless suit without any pants, he looked like a parody of an announcer. His white-gloved fingers held tightly onto a retro-styled microphone when they didn't slip over the bulging and obscene red latex pouch between the legs.

“Welcome! Welcome! Gentlemen! Gentlewomen soon-to-be gentlemen, too, welcome!" said the Captain, his voice strangely bombastic as he outstretched the hand.

“Today! The Cornucopia welcomes you in its embrace. You come to us weary, tired, depressed! Your lives are tedious and plagued with worries. Yet, here, we offer and provide a touch of relief. But!" said the Demon, chuckling as he turned and listened to the resonating cries within the crowd. Outrage, fear, anger stampeded: the overhanging musk and the captain's sight were already worming their way within the mortals' inhibited brains.

“But with us, you can become your best self! Let go of those worries and the pain of the old bones! Live like you always desired! Taste the freedom until your stay is over! Enjoy the sweetest nectar, appreciate the most perverted callings, savor the impunity! This is the will of our Master and our will as well!"

The cries grew as the crowd was reshaped. Cries of imagined pain came as people observed their bones twist and grow. Their organs displaced, and their needs unleashed until remained a pyramid of bodies piled on one another in total impunity. A vision the Satyr admired before he grinned at a camera at his side.

“Was it enough?" asked the Captain, knowing his Master would be watching from afar, sipping on some fancy cocktail while massaged or fucked by one member of the staff.

To this… Only answered a snap.