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This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially. These stories have been public for some time, but I am slowly uploading my back catalogue of stories currently.
The night was overcast and mild, a miserable drizzle falling over the luscious, green, Welsh hills. Sheep huddled within their folds and cried out forlornly, their ‘baa’s’ echoing across to distant farmhouses where sheepdogs rolled beneath thick duvets, mumbling within the trapped, nightly warmth. Hedges bordering the fields bristled with leaves and spread protective fingers over scampering field mice and hedgehogs, intent on going about their nightly business; rain brought the slugs out, after all, making a veritable feast. Deeper into the hills, where mountains rose, rough and scraggy with scattered rocks, there were fewer dwelling places for various furs and fewer sheep still. It was across this uneven terrain that a cloaked figure strode with purpose.
The black mare was one with the night, only her white markings setting her apart from the swathe of impenetrable blackness: one white sock on her right fetlock and a stripe down her muzzle, both traditional, equine markings. Though her head was concealed beneath the dark cloak, lined with warm, cream fur, she had the appearance and stature of a Welsh Mountain pony, the Arabian blood visible in the dish of her cheekbone. With her thin coat, the mare was grateful her warm cloak, which hung down to her calves, retaining precious body heat. Cloaks such as hers were inherited, not bought, and Gwen shivered at the memory of her dying mother handing it to her on her death bed, her wasted paw shaking terribly. She had wanted her daughter to continue on her work.
Her work was dangerous, yet rewarding on a most personal level. Gwen smiled secretively, the misty rain her only witness. Summoning those lesser beings to do her bidding took time, patience and deep magic that ran in the veins of very few mortals that were still alive. She was, what many would call, a witch, despite not holding any love for the term. Demons were the clay she moulded to her will and those who opposed her had met many nasty surprises in their time; she was not one to be trifled with. She was preparing one of those nasty surprises that fateful night. Oh, how she looked forward to it! Her pace quickened and her breath misted from her nostrils in a heady snort; she eagerly anticipated reaching her secluded destination, a place that she had visited only once before under less compelling circumstances.
She had chosen a nook in the mountain side for the act to take place. A broad overhang jutted out from a steep, not sheer, cliff that dripped with water; it would provide the necessary shelter. Gwen trotted under with a gentle sigh, the music of the rain melancholy to her twitching ears, which she freed from the heavy hood with the flick of her narrow, feminine wrist. A string of white beads dangled from this wrist, carved from the bone of a horse that had had the misfortune to canter into the path of a rampaging demon. The horse, of course, had fallen prey to possession in a matter of seconds but Gwen had managed to send the demon back to his lair, taking the bone of the dead equine for future protection.
From inside her cloak, she withdrew ten, small, off-white candles from several cleverly concealed pockets, placing them in a circle that boasted a great enough circumference for an anthropomorphic creature to stand comfortably without being touched by the flames. A touch of melted wax at the top of each candle suggested that they had already been used and Gwen meticulously lit them with a tilted match from another of her hidden pockets, stowing away the matchbox afterwards. She did not want anything to sully her plans for the night.
The preparations were made.
And so she paced a circle.
The words that tumbled from her tongue were as familiar as a draught of cooling spring water but they would be foreign to any native of the land she so roamed. They were neither Welsh nor English and not even one the old strains of Celtic or Gaelic that served droplets in their offspring languages. Her words had a deeper meaning that caught at the very core of being and bade those with listening ears to do her will, clawing their way forth into her ring of candlelight with a hungry snarl. But not that night. She would do her own will that night and cut down all that sought to stand against her. She merely had to hold this one.
Something stirred the dust in the circle of candlelight, making the flames dance and snap to and fro with burning life of their own. Beneath the hard, before impenetrable stone, a snout pushed upwards against the fabric of existence, warping the barrier and howling furiously when it could not immediately be broken. Keeping up her soft chant, Gwen narrowed her eyes illegal bahis in concentration, intent upon completing the chant and ritual that would allow him, for she knew this demon on a personal level, to enter into her cold, damp world.
With a final, brutal roar, a purple form erupted from the rock, leaving nothing but smooth stone in its wake and a flutter of lucid candle flames. Gwen stepped back and patiently let her arms dangle loosely at her sides, relaxed and comfortable with the proceedings, which were progressing as planned. Roaming her eyes over this one’s scaled, purple body, for he was a draconian demon, her eyes wandered to his black front and muzzle, split by narrower bands of purple. He had acquired a few new scars since she had seen him last. She permitted the demon one circle outside the overhang, his wings beating powerfully, and snapped her fingers, using her mind and will to call him back to her side. Straight away, he returned and landed in front of her, settling his wings behind his back and snorting derisively when he comprehended who had summoned him.
“You?” He snarled, showing his teeth and backing away from the circle of candles, flapping his leathery wings wearily. “Why have you summoned me? Did you not get enough last time, little mare? You are not my master.”
“Quit your yowling,” she said calmly and, just like that, the demon’s jaws snapped shut as if bound by an invisible rope. “I am your mistress, now and until I choose to release you.”
He shook his head and growled furiously, unable to part his jaws but fighting to vocalise his disapproval. Gwen laughed, the light noise echoing reverberating off the quiet overhang walls. Oh, he was a funny one, all right, all talk at first but quick to be subdued; he had submitted to her will so easily, coming to her call like a trained hound to its master’s whistle or mistress’ lap. There was a score to settle. Guarding herself, Gwen clip-clopped around the demon, noting his fine, downward curving horns and broad body, a treat if she had ever seen one. She was not one to be caught unawares, although this demon had been part of a searing disgrace and the memory still burned white hot in her mind.
“You violated me, Arkanum,” Gwen said slowly, her voice silken with threat. “You wronged me. Do you remember that? Oh, I’m sure you do. Do you remember pressing my chest to the ground, forcing the breath from my lungs? Do you remember slapping my muzzle? I bit my tongue when you did that. Did you smell the blood? Did my body excite you? Was your master pleased with your report? Did he masturbate to your retelling? Did you like spilling your filthy cum inside me? No need to answer, beast. You wronged me – that is all we need to cover for this night. And now I shall extract my revenge.”
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he mumbled through the verbal gag, arching his back against her overpowering will even though he knew in his bones that resistance was futile: she had too strong a hold on him already. “He made me do it. My master.”
“What was that?” Gwen cupped her paw to her ear, pretending that she had not heard his mumble. “I thought demons were able to fight off weak mortals, isn’t that right? Big strong demons are untameable, not house pets to half-breed dogs?”
He groaned and shook his head. He would have fought off that dog mortal, the time-scarred wolfhound – he would have! He would have fought him off if he had not been so desperate for a carnal release… That male had been too clever for him and had chosen Arkanum specifically for his involvement with Gwen; demons absorbed traces of Summoner magic whenever they were beckoned and Gwen’s invisible traces criss-crossed his body from his muzzle to his clawed toes. She had not bade him to empty his burning balls, for they did indeed burn for a demon kept chaste, so he had grown increasingly restless, though content to do her bidding once soothed by the usual calming touch of her mind. That was why the other master had commanded him to go to her and violate the mare against her will in a brief moment of weakness, when she was in season. She had not miscarried or aborted, Arkanum suspected, for who would be able to carry or would desire to carry a demon spawn, fire in their belly? The wolfhound master had been especially cruel and considered the orders ‘an act of revenge’; Arkanum was clueless as to what manner evil had transpired between the two Summoners, yet he was the one to be punished for it.
“That’s right,” Gwen continued, bringing her paw to his muzzle in a swift, sharp slap. “You’re a weakling demon. I had the goodness of heart to bring you up from the pits and that was how you repaid me! I will teach you to cross me, mark my words, dragon. And then your bastard of a master can get some very special treatment, courtesy of Gwendolen.”
Baring her blunt teeth at the cowed demon, Gwen cast off her hooded cloak with a flourish, revealing a pink, lace thong and brassiere that left nothing to the imagination; her nipples and velvety pussy were shockingly visible through the sheer material. Arkanum moaned and tipped illegal bahis siteleri forward wishfully, recalling the time that he had taken this mare… He had had not choice in the matter but he fleetingly wondered if he would fuck her again, willingly or not, if he had such opportunity.
“I don’t normally wear these,” she said by way of explanation, removing both bra and thong from her body with quick, practical movements. “They are far too feminine for my tastes, but for yours… I think they are just right. Don’t you agree?”
His eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly, grunting anxiously. She couldn’t be serious! Yet she was and she manhandled his arms up and through the thin shoulder straps of the bra, fastening it around his wide, masculine chest with a nicker of charmed difficulty. The garment would undoubtedly be ruined – it was far too small for him – and the neat cups stretched flat across his pectorals. The demon tried to look away, muzzle heating up as if he had never suffered the course of a blush before, and wished to disappear back into the ground that he had emerged from.
Worse to come was the thong, which Gwen stretched up over his long legs, which were built up with muscle and oozed strength that he was unable to utilise. She yanked it up without mercy over his hips and settled the thin back piece between his rear cheeks, smirking when it dug into the outer part of his tail hole and, agonisingly, between his balls, separating them within the plump sack and bulging out over his soft cock. Huffing, Arkanum blew a cloud of smoke and winced almost immediately afterwards; Gwen had poked him in the balls, her hard nail digging in for a shocking second. He shouldn’t be dressed like this, shouldn’t be dressed at all. The dragon closed his eyes and willed himself away, though his cock stirred at the sense of the admittedly beautiful, wicked female so close to him. He was still a male when all was said and done.
“Please stop,” he muttered, able to talk a little as Gwen was enjoying the repulsed sounds that he made. She pretended to consider his request.
He hung his head in defeat, unconsciously accepting whatever was to happen to him.
It will be over soon, he told himself, strengthening his mental resolve. Just hold out, take whatever she throws at you. Look at you though, a big demon whining and begging like an imp. You should be ashamed of yourself. Damn her!
“On your knees, dragon,” she ordered, watching with pleasure as his legs buckled and he collapsed, shaking, to the required position.
Muttering a quiet, well known spell, Gwen placed her paws behind her head and linked her fingers together to better channel the magic, which left the aftertaste of red berries on her tingling tongue. This step had been planned from the beginning. Her hips suddenly bucked, out of her control, and the flesh writhed, changing form and shape. Arkanum watched in fascinated horror as a pair of large, surprisingly white nuts the size of grapefruits – how was that even possible for a mortal? They were too big! – dropped from between her thighs, in front of her female sex, which remained, though her clit swelled into what could only be described as a monster equine member and sheath, also white in startling contrast with her dark coat.
“You can’t do this to me…” He growled, twitching his triangular tail tip as if to swat a pestering, biting fly away. Gwen stared at him levelly, running her forefinger along the upper side of her ghostly shaft.
“Oh, I do believe I can.”
She placed one dark hoof delicately upon his shoulder and kicked him to the ground, insisting with her mind alone that he not resist. The dragon grunted as his chest slammed into the hard-packed dirt, his snort of anger raising a puff of dust, stone and rocks surrounding him like a minefield. He wrestled with the fist around his mind, begging and screaming at it to let go, to let him go, but that was never going to happen. Gwen smirked with a cruel, smug glee and pressed her hoof to his cheek, forcing his muzzle into the ground until he groaned from the dull throb of pain that could not be escaped.
When the hoof was removed, he believed that his rape was imminent and Arkanum ground his teeth together, powerful jaws able to do little more than remember their strength. He did not expect the arid splash of liquid across his muzzle and he shrugged as if to pull away, forgetting the mental hold upon him as instinctual reaction tugged at his muscles. Blinking rapidly, the dragon wrinkled his muzzle and hissed between his teeth, keeping his jaws firmly together for he had concluded what was being done to him, even if he could not roll his eyes back far enough to clearly depict the mare above.
She was pissing on him.
The bitter stream of fluid was directed carefully over his muzzle, neck and shoulders, dripping off his scales with a vile scent that he doubted he would ever find means to scrape from his hide. Breathing shallowly through his flared nostrils, he closed his eyes and waited for her to stop. Her chuckle when canlı bahis siteleri the stream tapered off only made him flinch back, burning shame colouring his scales; he was increasingly conscious of the lingerie that he was wearing too, hugging his curves and portraying him as a slut when he wished to be anything else.
“That’s more your style,” she told him, folding her knees gracefully so that she crouched low enough to wipe her dick dry on his scaled muzzle. “You should remember your place.”
His place… Servant of Summoners. Servant of the Summoner, Gwen.
As Gwen toyed with her conquest, the candle flames flickered wildly, minute shapes and forms dancing within them and crackling eagerly, spitting sparks. Whimpering, Arkanum clenched his jaws tightly together as if to hold back a scream – they were no friends of his, those little imps. Growling from the flames, they writhed and hissed, beings whose bodies were living flames, pleading with their beloved mistress to be released, to join her. Gwen smiled fondly, beckoning her dear kobolds with one, crooked finger.
“Come forth, my friends,” Gwen murmured, watching the flames leap higher and higher. “Come forth and join me in my revenge!
No further encouragement was needed and the fire kobolds leapt from the element, condensing in midair into male figures no taller than three feet, their skin red, rough in texture and hissing with steam. Their bodies were warmer than was natural for any mortal but would be painful for touch, for Arkanum had come into contact with this particular brand of fiend before, to his discomfort. The demon stared wide eyed at the hunchbacked creatures and their narrow, snapping jaws, neither demon, mortal or myth, but something that combined all three – the most dangerous combination of all. For a moment, he forgot Gwen and her fierce hard-on, which was set to penetrate him at her earliest convenience.
The dragon crouched low to the ground with his gaze fearfully turned away from the leaping kobolds, displeasing Gwen greatly; she grabbed and twisted his tail, demanding his attention and earning a scream that made the kobolds dance, drinking in his pain.
“Arse up, bitch.”
His muscles jerked to obey. Humiliated, Arkanum tried to relax, telling himself that it would be over soon, he just had to blank out proceedings until… A small paw drew the back of the thong to one side and a large, fleshy object rubbed the underside of his tail, close to his tail hole. It was a distraction if nothing else, but far from a welcome one. The kobolds made obscene gestures with their paws, showing him in graphic detail what was going to happen to him, their dirty crimson cocks swelling with fire from their veins. As every unwilling fur or demon would, he clenched his tail hole down on nothingness, hoping against hope that she would thrust and accept ‘no access’ as an answer – he had never witnessed a spell for that at least! Bolstered by the idea that he could yet escape his fate, Arkanum squeezed down even more, tightening his anal ring into a pretty, little bud, inviting in its tightness.
The mare drew her paw back and slapped his rear with all the force she could muster, delighting in the frightened yelp, more like something a cub would shriek than a demon. To feel her power and dominance over him was more pleasurable than being fed with a gourmet selection of her favourite dishes but, for that night, a demon was her dish of choice. His screams were like a fine wine, rarely had and a joy to taste on coloured lips. She would have what she wanted from this demon and from his master… His master would learn to keep his distance from Gwendolen and his minions far from her eyes. Clicking her teeth together, Gwen shoved the dragon’s tail up and out of the way, making him raise it like an eager slut, and drove the first inch of her white dick into his tail hole, tightness and all. He howled.
Inch by inch, the monster horse cock thrust into his tail hole, tearing him inside so that a trickle of crimson streaked the mare’s cock, brilliant in the candlelight. Cavorting wildly, the kobolds watched every moment of his degradation and bent forward with their arses in the air, mimicking him with mock screams from a dead man’s grave. The medial ring on Gwen’s cock, traditional to all equines, proved a wonderful challenge to sink into the tight orifice, but she rose to it, digging her hoof-tipped fingers into the dragons hide and thrusting with every ounce of strength in her body. Arkanum panted and wriggled as if he was literally, not mentally, restrained by invisible bonds, which were loose enough to allow futile struggles but not escape.
As her cock sunk deeper and deeper into his stretched hole, the kobolds circled like hyenas around a kill, screeching and scrambling amongst one another; their excitement escalated in tangent with Gwen’s. Babbling incoherently, they reached lustfully for Arkanum with long, grasping fingers while the mare leisurely pumped her smooth shaft within the demon’s loosening tail hole, taking her time to enjoy herself; there would be no swift climaxes that night. The fight seeped out of the demon-creature like water flowing downhill and he twisted away from the hot fingers of a brave kobold, it’s jaws gaping wide to show a black, pointed and flickering tongue.
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