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Limewah’s Hypnovember 2024 Read more work like this at t.me/Limewah If you enjoy these, send a tip to www.subscribestar.adult/limewah

1 - HAT (Dozzy)

You’ve been anxious since you got up on stage. Well, no, anxious might not be the right word. Anxious implies you don’t wanna be here. You do. If you didn’t, your hand wouldn’t have shot up when the pink bunny magician called out for an audience member to join her.

“Now, at the start of every show, I like to warm up by getting a few of the old classic tricks out of the way. When you think of a stage magic show, so many things spring to mind. Levitation, teleportation, sawing someone in half… and you’re going to see all of them, just in the first ten minutes!”

She doffs her top hat and rolls it down her shoulder. With a flick of the wrist, she sends it tumbling through the air. You wobble but remain still, and it lands atop your head.

Funny, you’d think it wouldn’t stay on atop your head, but it feels oddly snug!

“But this first trick isn’t for me to perform… it’s for my lovely assistant here~!”

The cartoon rabbit’s green-and-blue eyes sparkle with mischief as she hops over to you. You instinctively reach up to take off the hat.

“Ap ap ap ap!” she hops up to eye level with you and baps you on the nose. “Leave it on, it’s exactly where it needs to be for the spell to work!”

“Uh, okay,” you say, nodding nervously as your face splits into a grin.

“Now… just hold still, wiiiggle your fingers around the brim like so…”

She demonstrates, her fingers moving with the speed of a virtuoso pianist. You copy.

“And repeat the magic words. Abracadabra… Abracadabra… Abracadabra…”

“Abracadabra” stumbles out of your stammering mouth, but the next one comes out a little more confident, clearer.

“Abracadabra…” you watch her demonstration build speed, and the pace of her chant increases too. So you try to catch up.

“Here today, Toon Tonight!~”

“Here today,” you repeat, on the ball. “Toon to-nIIGHT-!”

No sooner is that last syllable out of your mouth then you are suddenly pulled upwards, like a claw machine’s appendage grabbing a toy. You only feel the pressure of your body clogging up the hat’s brim for a moment before you’re sucked through.

You scream and yelp as you tumble through a vast, spiralling abyss of blue and green. The same colour as her eyes. As you fall, the spirals of colour separate and spread out into two separate pinwheels. Your fall slows, and you take in more of the ever encroaching abyss.

Pink fur rims each of those spirals. The rest of Dozzy’s face takes shape, enormous, grinning, as her eyes spin, and spin… and spin… and spin…

“You don’t need to be afraid of falling anymore…” she croons to you sweetly. “All you’re doing is falling into me, letting all your fears and worries and cares melt away in my eyes. Aren’t they pretty~?”

Her eyes are so pretty and spinny, and it feels like your mind is sweet and tingly and her words and her spirals are slowly spinning it around and around into cotton candy. Your body spins with the spirals too, and you feel a smile curl and creep along your face.

As you revolve and twist through the spinning abyss, your mortal fear turns to that same excitement you had when you first set on stage - the stage that now seems so far away, so distant. You fall deeper into this expanse.

You divebomb closer and closer to that enormous bunny-face, feeling your body almost distorting as you shoot closer and closer to catch up with the enormous, mind-melting spirals. Dozzy grins wide and opens her mouth, her tongue lolling out. Another spiral, a mixture of all the colours, awaits you. You dive straight through, you feel the end approaching -

And you’re back on the stage, suddenly right side up, your whole upper torso sticking out of the upturned top hat. Your head still feels all dizzy and sweet and spinny. You reach down to the rim, grab, pull, and twist.

Your hands feel bigger. Your arms feel a little bendy, like they’re made of rubber. As you look down at yourself, at your body emerging, you realise that’s not the only part of you that’s gotten squishier. Your fur’s a lot glossier now, similar to Dozzy’s. Your proportions are squatter. Your clothes are gone, but as you pop out of the hat, you see there’s nothing down there anyway.

“Ta-daaa~!” Dozzy calls out triumphantly. “Why pull a rabbit out of a hat when you can pull out an entire person~?”

The audience applauds. You look at Dozzy, a little confused; especially since you’re now about the same height as her. But when you see your reflection in her big eyes… your longer snout, your exaggerated features - you begin to put it all together.

She’s wearing a top hat again, and has the one you emerged from in her paw.

“Well, assistant? On with the show?”

Yes, on with the show! You’ve got a master magician to assist, and an audience to delight!

2 - MICROPHONE (Sabin)

“How’re you fuckers doing? Alright, this first one’s a cover from Fish in a Birdcage.”

Riff takes one last in-breath at the moment before his cue to sing. He relishes the feeling - the flooding of air, the expansion in his chest, the tightening of his diaphragm. His barrel chest and broad stomach push forward just a little. He wipes the long white bangs away from his red furred face, and sweeps his red-ringed gaze across the audience.

Up comes the microphone to his lupine muzzle, and he snarls out the first lyrics.

_I have you strung.

Strung in my web.

A candle burning slowly by the bed._

The original singer had a softer, silkier tone, quiet dominance. But Riff’s take on ‘Rule 34’ is aggressive and inexorable, more Beast than Beauty, but no less intoxicating.

It’s that tone and timbre that keeps the audience coming back. It’s what’s making their legs already start to go weak and make their eyes start to glaze and glow. Riff’s voice is more than just a metallic, bestial growl. It taps into something primal. Taking hold of the heart and the hindbrain, finding and squeezing the prey-animal instincts they have.

And they all have that instinct, whether or not they realise or admit it.

They’re his prey, and he’s going to take what he wants - only inasmuch as they’ll be buying him drinks and buying his band’s merch after the set.

His voice is low, though. To get that register requires a level of control and a lack of volume that would normally mean he’d have to sing right into a plaything’s ear to get the right effect.

The microphone is the conduit. His predator-song slides through the condenser and pours out of the speakers that surround the dark, dingy dive and resonates with its old wooden floors and plaster walls. Whether they’re close to a speaker or right in the middle, they all get the same feeling - that ‘holy shit’ moment when you realise that the song you’re hearing is going to consume the next few minutes of your life - and hang on long after.

The audience’s eyes are glittering more brightly than the scores of studs and piercings dotted amongst them. As he sings, the glow in the audience’s brightens and flickers like candle-light, in concert with his carnivore song.

Shadows tangle like a vine.

Crawling up the posts within our shrine.

He can see some of them squirm and sway with the music. Hooked on his soundwaves, on his mesmerising rumble filling every chamber - it spreads from the performance space into the main bar, it coaxes captured revellers on their way back from the bathroom, and it fills the space in each and every cochlea, spiralling into the space and taking up a ringing residence they’ll keep for weeks.

This song’s a slow one. That’s by intention. Starting with a seductive, smooth cover loosens them up like flame on candlewax. Ready to melt and dribble, turn into something more fluid, ready to mosh and crash like waves against one another.

But now comes the chorus. The guitar and bass behind him rise in volume, the drum beats rise, and his growl becomes a burning hot scream.

And Right now, you're mine

All mine

Give in, you're mine

All mine

On the nose, sure. But when was punk ever subtle? And when was Riff, for that matter?

They are all his. They are giving in. They’re smiling up at him, baring their teeth in big wide smiles - primal instincts, hackles raised, fight or flight or freeze or fuck. His song’s bringing this out of them.

His scream peaks the volume and explodes out of the speakers, distorted and almost incomprehensible - but the important message is still conveyed. It makes everyone bristle, fur standing on end and shifting like wheat in the wind. Their snarling smiles get brighter, their eyes turn to gleaming red beacons. Like a pack of feral beasts. They’d riot for him if he told them to.

Their heads bob, their bodies weave, and the wooden floors rock and creak like a ship’s deck in a storm, or a chapel full of revellers in religious ecstasy. All of them look to him, their captain, their pastor, for guidance.

He gives them their orders. He anoints their ears with his amplified anthem. They are in communion with him, and nothing else. Relieved of the burden of the past or the future, of all their cares and frustrations. There is only now. There is only him. There is only his song. And that’s all he wants to give them.

They drown in the vibrations, thrashing like sharks fighting over fresh meat. They haven’t even gotten to the harsher, more pulse-pounding parts of the set. By the end of this hour, they’ll be exhausted, glistening with sweat, his voice seared and spiralling through their ears.

His bandmates play on as he moves away from the mic and exhales.

In one fluid motion, he reaches down for the pint-glass full of water, takes a swig. That cute boar with the black septum piercing catches his gaze, and her collar’s got a convenient ring to hook into. He pulls her by that collar ring and shoves his tongue into her mouth, tasting smoke and moscow mule.

He inhales as he pulls away. He doesn’t take his eyes off her as he gets back up in time to continue to weave his enchantment.

She’s the first of many he’ll taste tonight. But for now, he’s got the rest of the flock to tend to with his snarling sermon.

3 - CHAIR (Professor Wolf (Anonusr))

Brain Bird was proud of his affability; he called it his ‘secret superpower’. He did not fit the stereotype of a cold, unfriendly savant. Aside from being a genius, he was warm, and affable - partly thanks to his understanding of the anthro mind, and how to cater to it.

Others might have thought he was a fool if he knew he was talking to the Professor on a regular basis. Having regular tea-dates with a villain - let alone one with a penchant for controlling minds and collecting heroes like they were figurines - would have seemed like an idiotic prospect to anyone else.

But Brain Bird knew better. He knew himself better, and he knew the Professor better. That was just not the relationship they had.

They had nice chats and philosophical discussions, and in return, the heroic hoopoe kept the Wolf’s primary abode a courteous secret.

As usual, the window to the Professor’s parlour was wide open. Just as he passed through the threshold, he deactivated his cloaking device, his bright orange plumage announcing his presence.

Professor Wolf was already waiting, one leg crossed over the other as he sat in a soft, plush chair in front of a little round table. A teapot, tea cups and a plate stacked high with baked treats sat on it, tempting the bird closer.

“Ah, hello!” The grey wolf’s soft, tired tenor voice was a far cry from the dark, devious tones the Professor was known for. “Good to see you. Have a seat in your chair, my friend.”

“I think I will,” Brain Bird said, removing his cowl and sighing with delight as he headed to the seat opposite. “It’s been a long week.”

The chair was a dark maroon colour, upholstered in velvet and filled with something firm yet pliant. Something he could easily sink into. He always meant to ask the Professor what the filling was, where he got it… but he forgot to ask the moment he sank into it. His tail feathers tucked into a little nook at the base of the back. His rump and thighs sunk into it. His shoulders rolled back as his arms draped on the armrests.

“Tell me about it,” Professor Wolf said with a sympathetic laugh. “I don’t know how either of us juggle our day jobs and, well… all of this.”

“We do it for the love of the game, I suppose!”

The chair always reminded Brain Bird just how tired he was. The old ‘I just flew here’ joke was based on a little truth. The chair’s textured caress drew the hoopoe’s attention to it, before seeming to leech it away from him as his body sank slowly down.

“Comfy?” Professor Wolf asked. His voice was soft and sweet. “Sink a little deeper into it, my friend.”

“I think I will,” Brain Bird replied. “Mmh… Being comfy and unguarded was easy around the grey, handsome wolf. His eyes closed for a moment, and his whole stream of consciousness focused, for a moment, on how the cushions rose to meet him and paradoxically pulled him down. How he knew he hadn’t been sinking, but still felt it.

When he opened his eyes, things were a little dark. Spots in front of his eyes? Or a brief flash of two glowing blue headlights? Like he was somewhere else…

But when he blinked again, he was back in the parlour, back in his chair, still looking at the Professor.

Another figure stood over the table, just between the wolf and the bird. The butler was grey-furred and tall, with a long, oblong, featureless blue display panel in place of a face and a snout.

“Wesley, serve our guest first.”

“As You Wish, Sir,” Wesley said, with vo-coded politeness.

White gloved hands lifted the pot and poured steaming amber liquid into Brain Bird’s little cup - the fine china reserved for guests.

He began to lean forward to take it.

“No no, don’t get up. Stay right where you are, my friend.”

“I think I will.” Brain Bird knew better than to insist on doing things himself. Not when a tall, silver-furred synth could deliver the teacup and saucer directly to his hands.

He looked up into the dark screen and smiled.

“Thank you, Wesley.”

“It Is My Pleasure, Bird Brain. I Beg Your Pardon. Brain Bird.”

Brain Bird’s smile grew wider, and he tittered. Wesley’s little joke never got old.

“Now, tell me about everything you’ve been up to,” the Professor said. His glasses caught the light and gleamed, and Brain Bird’s gaze focused on that. “What’s going on at the Guild these days? Give me the gossip, my friend.”

“I think I will,” Brain Bird said. He’d been looking forward to this all week. Gossip and a healthy dose of carelessly leaked secrets spilled from his beak as he sunk deeper, as the chair’s comfort continued to slowly and steadily claim him.

3 - CHAIR (Nyeogmi)

Hello! I’m so glad to see you again.

Yes, I let myself into your parlour. You invited me in before, remember?

Oh, of course you don’t. I took that memory away from you. But that’s okay. That’s good. You wanted me to. I asked you if you wanted me to while you were staring into my eyes, and you said yes.

You’ve forgotten a lot of things because you’ve asked me to make you forget them. It’s more fun for you to remember, so you can just stumble upon a cute little undead kobold with pretty eyes and experience submission to me all over again.

This chair’s really comfy, by the way. It’s probably my favourite one to sit in. It’s your favourite chair for me to sit in too. By now you associate this chair with me, don’t you? That’s why you never sit in it, and you keep it clean for me. It’s like a proper throne, and every vampire worth their salt needs a good throne.

No no, don’t call for help. Come here. You don’t need to get your guards or your servants in here. You’re safe with me, and you know you’re safe with me because you’re staring into these eyes and feeling so very good as you do.

Look at that, there, though. You’re aroused already, because you remember how good my voice and my eyes make you feel, and you love how good they make you feel, which is why you’re aroused, so very aroused, isn’t that right?

That’s right, come closer to me and closer to my stare, food.

What did you come into your parlour to do? It’s not important anymore, because you’ve come into your parlour so I can drink your blood. I’m very thirsty, and you don’t want me to be thirsty.

Offer me a drink.

Thank you, food. Come closer.

This chair’s so comfy. Did I tell you how comfy this chair is? I’m so glad you got this chair and set it aside for me. I love how soft the upholstery is, how my scaly backside can just sink right into it. It’s so fluffy, like a cloud. The armrests are nice and firm too, I can rest my elbows on them and lean right back, and… ahhh.

Look at that, though. When I sigh, you sigh. When I feel relaxation, you feel it too.

Kneel in front of me. How do my eyes look from this angle? Having to look up instead of down feels better. It feels better to be beneath me, because it’s like my eyes are smothering you, pressing down on that head. It feels better because it feels more like you’re showing your proper subservience to me. It feels right.

You want to feel my cold undead body, right? My fangs against your neck?

I want that. I’m very thirsty. And you want to offer me that drink still, right?

That’s good.

The angle’s going to be a little awkward from here, and I don’t quite want to get off the chair just yet.

Do you want to sit in the chair? You don’t, not without permission anyway. But this is me giving you permission. You can sit in the chair and I’ll sit in your lap, and you’ll like that very much.

Pick me up, food. You know how light I am, I’m just a little kobold with nice eyes and sharp teeth.

Good. That’s good. Sit down, please, be my guest, food.

Good. See how nice the chair feels? Sinking right down into it? You’re bigger and heavier than me, so you can really sink right down, feel the squish of the cushion beneath you the same way my eyes and my voice squish your mind down and make room for me.

Now, are you comfortable? Are you in a good position to let me drink your blood?

That’s good. Thank you, just bear your neck for me. Good, food.

Hold still.

KHHH!

Glp.

Glp.

Glp.

Mmmglp.

Glp.

Glp.

Glp.

Ahhh. Delicious as always. Look at that there, the two little dots where I punctured you and the little bit of blood weeping out of it onto your neck. That’s okay. I’ll clean it up. You just sit right back in that chair and think about how nice my eyes are, and how nice it is that you’ve got a cool undead body clinging against you. It’s very warm in here, so the least I can do to thank you for feeding me is to cool you off.

Now hold still, let me lap up what’s left. You’ve got very tasty blood by the way. You like that I like the taste of your blood, because that means I come here more often, and it means you get to see my eyes and feel my fangs, and you like that very much.

You could listen to me talk all night, but I do need to clean up that mess.

Hhhhah…

Mmh.

Slrp.

Mmmh.

Mmnh.

4 - CUFFS (Cat)

In the space of 2 seconds, Cat was gripped by the scruff of her neck, disarmed, and manacled.

“What the kupo-!”

She wouldn’t let herself be caught on the back foot for more than a second. The golden-furred moogle with a tightly tied bun of brown hair flipped herself backwards, and felt her booted paws connect with a broad stomach. The hand slackened enough for her to wriggle free, and she began to run.

Her arms were still cuffed down in front of her as she ran through the street, weaving between confused rubberneckers. She knew the best routes to lose the fuzz intrinsically; her body could move on autopilot. A weave down an alley, a hop skip and a jump over some crates, and she was alone and sequestered in a secret place where she wouldn’t be disturbed. She glanced down at the cuffs. They were soft, made of leather, connected by a very small, thin golden chain. It looked fancy… not to mention flimsy.

She snickered.

“How’s this supposed to hold me, kupo?”

The cuffs felt pretty comfy on her wrists, honestly. Once she broke the chain, she could keep the cuffs as accessories. One good yank would do the trick.

She brought her wrists together, letting the chain slacken. Then, with a sharp breath in, she pulled them apart sharply.

As she did, the gold chain held. Not only that, it began to gleam brightly, radiating its own light. The light spread into the cuffs themselves, filling up the embossed grooves and spirals in them like molten metal poured into a mould. She felt a little shock of pain - like hundreds of tiny lightning bolts. It made her squeak, and made her fur stand on end.

“Ah! Uh oh, these are enchanted…”

She was in trouble now. She tried to pull the cuffs apart again. The gold gleamed once more, and she felt another shock pulse a bit further up.

Her life flashed before her eyes as she thought, for one ghastly moment, that she was about to get electrocuted to death.

Wait, no. Why would these cuffs kill her? That made no sense. It was too much effort for a lowly thief like her. She had to relax.

The cuffs squeezed her wrists. But it was a comfortable squeeze. Her wrists began to feel warm, like her veins were filled with honey. The golden chain gleamed again, and the gleam spread. She felt another zap under her wrists. The tingly warmth spread. She could see golden ribbons spreading beneath her skin. She watched with growing fascination, and growing calm.

There was nothing for her to worry about. Why did she think otherwise?

The cuffs zapped her again, and the electric tingles spreaded further up her arms.

They were headed towards her head. She wondered what that would feel like. She imagined it would feel quite nice…

Another zap, and she giggled and wiggled herself down into a sitting position. She was comfy and safe amongst the boxes. She felt safe with the cuffs on. She felt very nice.

She found herself anticipating the next zap, seeing how far it would go…

“Kupooo…” she giggled to herself. The cuffs chimed and pulsed, and the zaps radiated as far as her shoulders. “Heehee~!”

She squeezed the cuffs again and again, letting those punishingly pleasurable shocks go further up. A zap up to her neck, a zap up to her chin…

And then ZAP! It stung her right between the eyes and turned her mind to pudding.

She squeaked and shivered with exquisite pleasure, gasping and giggling with idiotic bliss.

“Ahha… Kuuuupoooo~”

She sighed and sank back against the box, too stimulated to force the cuffs to zap her again.

Another burst of enchanting electricity made her spine straighten and her feet twitch. Maybe sitting still wasn’t the right call. Maybe it would be better for her to get up, and go back to find the nice guard who put the cuffs on her.

She slipped up to her feet. Vaulting and leaping out of her little nook was as easy as it was getting in. Especially now that her mind was so comfy and quiet.

The moogle thief stepped back out into daylight, walking with a stiff, almost martial posture. Her eyes were glowing gold, and she wore a broad smile on her face, like the smile on a child’s doll.

She marched along, each zap putting a little hop and spring in her step. Her body knew which way to go. The cuffs lead the way. She was headed straight for the guardhouse to answer for her crimes. She didn’t mind, as long as she got to keep the fun zappy cuffs on.

4 - CUFFS (Milkshake + Lumi)

“Yeah, they’re too big for me too.”

Milkshake frowned. Lumi shared the same disappointment. The big soft cuffs they’d ordered online were huge - too big for both Lumi, the petite pink dragon, and for Shake, the bigger, fluffier Arcanine/Rapidash hybrid. The Love-Cuffs were supposed to be one-size fits all, based on the listing, but it was looking more and more like they were just big pink novelty wrist-cuffs that were destined to be left in some cabinet until a suitably macro-sized friend they could give it to came along.

“I guess we could fit them around your tail,” Milkshake said with a shrug.

“Hah! It’s called fashion, sweetie.” Lumi closed the distance between them and rested their paws on the soft, yet firm material of the cuffs; like stiff memory foam. “I bet we could fit both of our hands in here.”

“Yeah, there’s probably enough room.” Shake raised their paws up so the cuffs, and the chain connecting them, were level with Lumi’s face. Before Shake could stop them, Lumi put their hands right into the empty spaces. There was still loads of clearance, enough space for them to explore.

“Tickletickletickletickle~!” Lumi’s fingers dug into Shake’s sensitive wrists, and grabbed tightly.

“H-Hey! HEY!” Shake squawked and laughed, trying to pull their wrists free from their dragon’s grasp.

“Tickletickletrap, gotcha trapped, you can’t get away-!”

Just as Milkshake was about to get free, the fabric contracted, inflating and pressing their wrists together like a blood pressure monitor. It happened so abruptly, it stopped the partners dead in their tracks.

“....huh.” Lumi giggled nervously. “That’s, uh… interesting, heh…”

“Ok, you can let go now…” Milkshake laughed. “Just, uh, squeeze out…?”

“I’m trying-” Lumi grunted. Their slender hands should have had no problem slipping free. But the more they pulled, the more the cuffs tightened, like a finger-trap toy.

“Okay, wait,” Milkshake said, “Before we get too panicky… maybe we need to get a little closer to each other.”

“You just want me to kiss you, don’t you?” Lumi stuck out their blue tongue and winked.

“When do I not?” Milkshake said. “Just… push your arms towards me.”

As they tried it, the cuffs still didn’t budge. In fact, it felt like they were getting tighter… pushing their hands together.

“Maybe our tails can wedge it open?” Lumi suggested, their tail already snaking up to weave its needle-thin tip in.

“I dunno… we can try it.” Milkshake’s fluffy, billowy tail was more of a tight squeeze. But they each attacked an opposite cuff, going for the one on their left side.

Sliding in was no problem, the cuffs seemed to slacken to let them slide with buttery smoothness. But there wasn’t enough time for them to pull their hands back out before it tightened again, with a third appendage trapped in each one. The fibres of the cuffs bulged but held fast.

“Ohhh, this isn’t good…” Milkshake grimaced, starting to breathe slower to keep themself calm.

The cuffs were starting to glow. Rivers and brooks of pink and white light pulsed through the fibres of the fabric, rhythmic like a heartbeat. This change somehow escaped the notice of the pair. They were more focused on each other’s eyes. Their hearts thumping a little to the beat of the cuff’s pulses as those same pink lights sublimated through their skin and fur, and through their bloodstreams.

“...Do you feel that?” Milkshake asked, their head tilting to the side as their eyes went a little glassy. “Like… a vibration, or a fizz?”

“Uh… oh, yeah…” Lumi nodded along. “Yeah, on my arms… your hands feel pretty nice, too…”

“Yeah?” Milkshake murmured softly, their pupils turning pink.

“Yeah… nice hands…” Lumi sounded a little drunk, and their pink pupils shifted from round to heart-shaped.

“Heehee…” Milkshake gurgled. “I love you…”

“I luv’y too,” Lumi said back. The pair practically fell into each other, lips to lips, muzzle to muzzle, kissing each other lazily as the cuffs squeezed them tighter still. Each pulse cinched them tighter together, each cinch made their hearts pulse with joy and love, and soon they were completely squashed together. The connecting cable between the cuffs slowly shrunk down until the two wrist-pieces fused together into an awkward, yet cosy vice of loving bliss.

When the pair fell over (mercifully landing on a carpeted floor) they barely noticed. Their heart-eyes pulsed, and their lips remained locked… almost fused together in their own right. The Love-Cuffs really did fit them. As well as they fit each other.

5 - MASK (Hazel)

Hazel knew more than of the people who were going to be at the party already - the dress code felt like a formality.

Even so… the ‘anonymity’ of it all was an exciting prospect, one she was more than happy to play along with. She knew that people would recognize her from her height, and her curves. But everyone had made a collective promise to play pretend.

“You’re not joining in?” the cow-horned dog asked as she unbuttoned and shrugged off her blouse, baring her straw-and-cream coloured skin.

“Nah, I’m happy watching from the cloakroom.” the red panda grinned and winked at her from their nook behind the make-shift counter in front of the penthouse’s walk-in closet. They knew something she didn’t. She returned the smile.

Once Hazel had slipped out of her skirt and took off her heels, she was down to sheer black lingerie.

“Underwear’s optional by the way,” Leem said. “Just be careful not to lose it~!”

With that, they handed her the only clothing item she was allowed to wear. The half mask was vaguely equine, with thin pointed ears and a long, boxy snout - with no lower jaw, to allow access to her mouth. It was painted in a venetian style - ebony black, with golden filigree around the edges, eye-holes and nostrils.

“Alright, you’re good to go! Just bring the mask back on your way out and I’ll give you your stuff back.”

“Thanks, hon!” Hazel smiled, slipping the mask over her face as she slipped through the beaded curtains into the penthouse proper, and was plunged into ocean-blue darkness.

The mask blinkered her vision ever so slightly, and she could see little flecks of gold in the corners of her sight - almost illuminating her way.

The tap of her hooves on the lacquered wood floor made it easier for her to get into character than others might. Maybe she’d play into it a bit.

She whickered tentatively as she began to wander, looking for someone who was unattended. She didn’t feel like just diving into one of the groups; she wanted to work her way up.

The gold glimmer around the eyes seemed to shine brighter when she focused on them, like a hand on a bridle gently guiding her towards someone reclining on a chair off in the corner and spectating, for now.

Hazel wanted to say hello to them first. That felt like the right place to start.

The mask gleamed as if it was agreeing. The golden spirals framing all the masks gleamed in the darkness.

Maybe it was the bath-house heat radiating from all the bodies, or the scent of sex, or the thump of the music, but Hazel was feeling the ambience really start to overwhelm her - in a good way.

She became less aware of the mask. Save for that glow ringing around her eyes, encroaching ribbons of those filigree spirals pushing extraneous details away and focusing her on the sway and swing of bodies. Before she began her approach to her first partner, she took in the room, the totality of the growing orgy.

She looked towards the pit in the middle of the dark living room, the ring of couches around it, and all the writhing, grinding bodies. Not only did the filigree in those masks gleam - so did the eyeholes - opaque and gleaming like searchlights.

She had a sneaking suspicion these masks had some secret sauce…

Her attention returned to the wallflower, and her vision was further blinkered by the gold, guided to focus on the stranger’s lap. The mask guided her vision like a gentle hand, and she was grateful for it.

She couldn’t see anything above the figure’s dark-furred stomach. They were still wearing briefs… though they weren’t containing a thing. A long, thick shaft pushed out from it, a glistening golden pole in the dim penthouse orgy.

It matched the golden gleam in her eyes, and each time it throbbed in the dark she felt the gold in her vision throb.

She stumbled towards it. Her knees felt weak. Her throat felt empty. It throbbed again. She felt her heart throb out of her chest.

Her knees gave way and she began to crawl. Hands brushed against her - gripping her thigh, stroking her wagging tail - but her destination was clear.

The beautiful shaft, throbbing in time with the gleam of her mask, was all she cared about.

The tiniest speck of her mind that wasn’t already in trance was thrilled. She wasn’t expecting to go under so quickly… and for someone she definitely didn’t recognize.

Whoever it was turned towards her, legs spread wide, and waited. Throb. Pulse. Gleam. The mask felt less like a mask, and more like a perfect part of her.

“Hi there, ponygirl,” the owner of the cock said.

She definitely didn’t recognize the voice.

She introduced herself with her mouth around the shaft, and her vision turned pure gold.

6 - SEA (Blunder) NSFW

There was something new on the sea-breeze, an unfamiliar scent amidst the pungent seaweed and salt smell.

It didn’t give Errol much pause. The black-furred fox was taking in the horizon, as he had done for the last week or so since arriving on that small island as part of a long fetch-quest. He bundled himself in his violet poncho, shielding himself against the chill of the breeze.

That smell was certainly noticeable. It smelled like a fishmonger’s stall out here. Like fresh, well seasoned fish. Rather appetising, really. And it was getting stronger, too.

He hadn’t eaten fresh fish in a while, come to think of it… why not see if he could catch something now? It’d be a good way to keep his magical skills sharp at least.

His curved wooden staff tapped on the rocks, the gleaming beads and the lacquered wooden cups attached to it clacking together. Magic poured through the grain of the wood, sprouting off of it like blooming saplings. As Errol chanted, those ribbons of pink light formed into a long, large spectral hand with long claws.

He used to catch fish like this all the time. It would be easy to reactivate those muscles, surely.

As he settled, he noticed another addition to the atmosphere. His ears twitched to pick it up. Were there some natural acoustics at play, waves beating against rock to make a subtle serenade? The more he listened, the more he strained to hear. The more he strained to hear, the more the music rewarded him. His ears began to twitch.

…Something was wrong. He wasn’t thinking straight. The sound was making him lose focus, but not in a natural way. Something was pulling at him, slipping in to ensorcell and ensnare him…

But he didn’t mind.

The spectral claw began to lose shape, bits of itself flaking and drifting away like a burning paper lantern.

He had to actively remind himself to hold on to his staff, as well.

The more Errol concentrated, the more he noticed that the sound had a source - and the source was moving back and forth, making a figure eight shape parallel with the shore. As the sound travelled, it gave each of his ears a little bit of seductive solo attention.

The enchantment in the sound had snuck up on him.

His fingers slipped, and his staff fell from his paw to clatter to the ground. But he continued to follow the weaving, wafting sound. His head swung slightly, swinging like a conductor’s baton. His body soon joined in the revelling sway.

He shrugged off his poncho and let it fall aside. His sleepy paws worked at unbuckling and unfastening everything else.

He wanted to get closer to the beautiful sound. He wanted to swim towards it, let it enfold him. He wanted to feel it on his fur. No clothes in the way.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted it that way - aside from the obvious. The wall of sound was so beautiful.

He would do anything to keep listening, and to commune with it.

-

Shanty had caught his prey. As the siren continued to lazily swim, he snatched glimpses of the fox stripping down and stumbling closer, his eyes now pulsing with little rings and ripples of electric blue. His rows of sharp teeth gleamed as he sneered.

“Clooooser, closer to meeee, oh yeeees~” there was no tune or rhythm to the creature’s song. Shanty wasn’t putting any real effort into it. But he didn’t need to anyway. The land-thing was hooked. He broke his pattern and pushed against the waves, back-stroking his way to shore while humming along.

As his quarry shambled into the water, Shanty let his long finned tail slide out and caress his now wet ankles.

“Come into the deep, come get your treeeat~”

Dang, that was the closest thing he’d had to a rhyme so far. He really needed to spend a bit more time writing some material.

The siren rolled his shoulders back and rested his head on his hand-claws. His cock unsheathed from his cloaca - its glistening pinkness stood out like a beacon in the grey evening.

“Come on, little fox, get to woooork~” Shanty cajoled.

The fox nodded slowly, and blinked even slower. Shanty continued his lilting song. The land-walker’s head was lolling to the side, like a confused puppydog’s head. That continued all the way down until he was knelt in the water, his body soaked all the way up to his chest.

It was a good thing the water was still warm from a long, hot summer. The chill might have snapped him out of the musical trance.

It was just temperate enough that the fox didn’t miss a beat, Shanty’s claw pointed to his cock, and it throbbed for good measure.

Errol’s gleaming, glassy eyes fixated on the shaft. The mortal’s slack jaw continued to its destination, and the Siren’s body surged to meet it with the waves. He was submerged - in the song, in the sea, and in the Siren’s crotch.

He wouldn’t be leaving for quite some time. When one became a Siren’s plaything, it wasn’t just a weekend arrangement.

His quest (what quest?) would have to wait.

7 - HAMMER (Vinyl)

At this point, every tap on the door was like a tap directly on the Director’s skull. The migraine took hold of Vinyl Faustus’ right temple and squeezed tighter. She had switched off all the lights in the room, not to mention all the screens. She was hoping the painkillers would kick in, and soon. The research into toonification technology had been going in fits and starts… tapping into the physics and reality warping properties that those delightful creatures possessed could catapult the good doctor and Faustech to her first Nobel Prize, if she played her cards right.

But the dark-furred, purple haired wolf couldn’t even think straight right now. Her head was throbbing too much.

Not to mention, there was the sound of banging just outside her office. A minor incident involving the physics of a dropped grand piano and a hand-held transformation mallet had knocked a fair few signs off the walls.

…So why was that assistant of hers hammering the signs back onto the wall?? They had a printer. They had blu-tack. They could have used that instead.

THUMP THUMP THUMP.

Maybe they’d been hit with some residual toon energy that was impairing their judgement - the last experiment had given off at least 2.3 Averys worth of toon-radiation.

The banging was getting closer, too, accompanied by the sound of whistling. That assistant definitely didn’t know how to whistle. They were headed right for her office door, next. She could anticipate how angry the sound would make her.

Her patience was wearing thin. She didn’t like how angry she was getting.

If her hypothesis was correct… a good whack on the assistant’s head would not only get some of that anger out of her, but it’d also test the transformative efficacy of the radiation, and get their assistant back on the straight and narrow. Win, win, win.

She headed towards the door and flung it open, peeking her head out into the hall.

She opened her mouth to berate, only to see the head of a mallet heading straight for hers.

The hammer-head wasn’t solid chrome and metal - it was another material, firm, grey and rubbery- wasn’t that the-

BONK.

The hammer was squishy and squeaky. But the blow felt harder, so hard that the squishiness was transferred right into her own head, and suddenly she felt like she was floating high above the sky. She was knocked backwards, her legs jutting out as she stumbled back into the room and the door flung closed.

Her eyes were spinning around and around - clockwise in the left, anticlockwise in the right. Sparkling stars and planets were dancing around her head, before her swirling eyes. Tweeting canaries were amongst them too, fluttering about with their sweet tittering song. Her tongue couldn’t stay in her mouth, and it draped down out of the corner of her now-grinning lips.

Her feet scrabbled at the floor as she stumbled around like a drunkard, knocking things off of her many shelves and her desk. All of her poise and grace was gone, replaced with a delirious clumsiness.

There wasn’t much going on upstairs, either. The erstwhile genius wasn’t able to analyse or marvel at how instantaneously the hit on the head had changed her physiology, or her mental state, or the implications. No thoughts in that head.

Her rubber-hose synapses were completely focused on one word, one state of mind - Dizzy.

Dizzy felt so nice. Dizzy made Vinyl’s head all fizzy. She forgot what she’d been so mad about. The lovely lump on her head was a much nicer thing to focus on.

“Ahhehehehuh…” Vinyl gurgled, her hands limply trying to reach up and catch the birds. “C’mback here, butterflies…”

She bumped into her office chair and fell right down into it. Her ergonomic throne spun from the momentum of her crashing weight, spinning slowly.

“Wheeee~”

She lay limp in the chair like a puppet, catching a glimpse of her face in a reflection. Her pupils and purple irises were dilating and shrinking. She giggled at her gurning expression, her jaw set in a tight grin- though her tongue was still wagging and drooling out the right corner of her lips. Her head was swaying just a little from the still-swimming swirly momentum in her half-toon’d skull.

Her already-unfocused gaze relaxed even further, and she just stared into space, her legs splayed out, her body slowly sliding down until she had almost fallen off her chair. She stared happily at nothing in her mind still spinning on a woozy, fizzy axis of bliss. Footsteps got closer, but she paid them no heed.

“Director!” The voice of her assistant was distant, but it sounded relieved. “Boy oh boy, this room’s a mess! But it’s good to see you’re getting some of the ol’ R&R!”

Vinyl didn’t even process who the assistant was, only faintly noticing the face close to hers as her eyes continued their slow, lazy dilation and shrinkage. Her assistant seemed to pay no heed either.

“Don’t you go anywhere! Lemme make you a coffee while I’m in here, doot doot doo…”

As her half-changed assistant clattered around the room and began to make an even greater mess of the place.

Vinyl smiled a little wider, not caring a bit.

After all, her headache was gone.

8 - GUN (Outlet)

The park was quiet. Quieter than Socket was expecting. Quite empty, too. Outlet had brought her out here specifically so they could dog-watch, but so far she hadn’t seen a single one - not even another pet-owner!

The two tuxedo cats stuck out in the vast expanse of green. One could have mistaken them for siblings.

“You sure this is the right park?” Socket asked, her hands still jammed in the pockets of her hoodie.

“Uh-huh!” Outlet had a sort of half-smile on his face. He looked at least half-certain that he hadn’t steered them wrong. “This is a dog park, promise.”

“It took us a while to get out here,” Socket said. “Doesn’t seem all that practical, you’d think it’d be a bit more central.”

“C’mon, Socket!” Outlet swept his hand out over the vast expanse of green.

Look at all this open space! So much room for a dog to run in, play fetch…”

Socket sighed, stepping ahead of Outlet and squinting. “Yeah, I can see that. But why’s no one out here…?”

“Look! There’s one!”

Socket wheeled to look around, and found herself staring right into the dish of a very familiar gadget. Before she could react, Outlet pulled the trigger on the device, and the red spiral painted on it began to revolve. Waves of yellow energy scintillated outwards and expanded to fill Socket’s vision.

“Outleehhhht…” her frustration was gone in an instant, and the words tumbled out of her open mouth. She slumped forward, arms dangling like noodles, as her eyes widened to take in more of the whirling hypnotic radiation. Her pupils vanished, replaced with twisting little red spirals. Her eyelids drooped, the left travelling further down than the right, while drool leaked from her open mouth.

“There’s a puppy…~” Outlet said, sneering mischievously. “I found one! She’s right here in front of me, isn’t she…”

“Ahhhnnuhn…” she wasn’t trying to say anything in particular - the groan just sort of fell out from her relaxed vocal chords. The sound was somewhere between a growl and a purr, her open mouth failing to contain the sound…

“Wait, hang on…” Outlet squeezed the trigger a bit brighter - the flashbang pulse of hypnotic power made her stop in place like a statue, her face suddenly snapping back to a neutral mask.

“Dogs don’t purr! Remember?” Outlet explained gently. “What do dogs do?”

“RARF!” Socket’s face exploded into a bright, guileless smile, her tongue lolling out the front of her mouth as she began to pant. “RRRARF!”

Her barks were gun-shot loud, and Outlet recoiled, his fur puffing out. The bark was so life-like it triggered some old feline instincts of his. When he saw she wasn’t about to pounce, he relaxed and slipped the gun back out of sight.

“Whoa, yeah, this really suits ya… okay, SIT!”

He snapped his fingers and pointed down towards the ground. Socket instantly dropped into a low squat, her knees making a 90 degree angle, her paws resting just in front of her chest.

She stared up at him with eyes full of spirals, and full of adoration. Her tail was swishing back and forth too - normally a sign of annoyance, now a sign of total happiness.

“Ready for some fun, girl?” Outlet asked. “Ready to have some fun?”

“RARFH!” Socket barked and nodded her head, rattling around what few brain cells she had left.

“Great… STRIP!”

Even if she was just a silly puppy dog, Socket understood how clothes worked. She shrugged off her hoodie and wriggled out of her leggings. She pushed out her chest, showing off her ample breasts with those already-puffy nipples, and she made sure her legs were spread wide to show off her slit.

“That’s a good GIRL!” Outlet grabbed the top of her head and ruffled it. Socket barked and growled contentedly, her eyes closing.

“Looky here. Look what I’ve got…!”

Outlet held out a bright green tennis ball, just in front of her snout. Her swirling eyes crossed to stare at it. Her whole body wiggled like a roiling wave, and her breaths and heart rate quickened.

“You want the ball?” Outlet asked. “D’ya want it?”

“RARFH! Rrrrhh…” she began to whine.

“GO GET IT!” Outlet flung the ball as far as he could, off into the distant green. Socket hipchecked him as she bounded obliviously on all fours.

“AUGH!” Outlet fell to the ground, rubbing his now-sore hipbone. “Oofh… dang, should’ve given some more space before I threw that…”

When he sat up again, Socket was on all fours, directly in front of him. Her tail was still swishing. The tennis ball was perched cutely between her teeth. She opened her mouth to drop the slightly damp ball into Outlet’s lap.

“Aww, good Girl- gah! Whoa! S-stop…” Outlet’s praise was interrupted by the puppy-cat-girl’s sudden attack. She tackled into him, her bristly tongue lapping at Outlet’s face in an excitable attempt to get into his mouth. She smothered him with her weight, pressing her warm, wriggling, aroused body against his. He was going to pass out if she kept this up…

He had no regrets.

9 - SCENT (Alexx) NSFW

“When can I open it?”

Alexx tried to keep their smile as casual as possible as they stared at the screen. On the other side, one of their many subs was looking back at them through their webcam. Said subject had a small padded envelope in their paws, clearly itching for permission to open it.

“Hold up, be patient… we just gotta wait for the others, first. You did arrive early.”

“Fiiine…”

While Alexx could see the sub’s grin widening along their snout, they also could see the frustrated desperation in their eyes.

Another jaunty chord chimed through Alexx’s headphones. Another webcam switched on, another of their friends/subs joined. Then another. Then another.

“Hey everyone!” Alexx took their time greeting everyone, checking in on them. And naturally after a bit, conversation broke out between the subs. They were all friends, after all. It was important to have that proper rapport at first.

Soon, the room was full - a dozen subs, all ready and waiting. The server said 13 out of 12 slots were filled; no chance of anyone joining in to interrupt.

Each and every subject had one of those little bubble envelopes to hand.

“Okay, everyone ready to go?” Alexx leaned backward, bringing one of their legs up to rest across the other one’s knee. Their white sock was grey on the underside, carrying some of the detritus and sweat from a long day’s work.They knew that was where their subs’ eyes were going. After all the conditioning Alexx had put them through, why would they want to look anywhere else?

Alexx giggled and sniffed. They could see at least four of their subs instinctively do the same. The salty, savoury musk filled their nostrils. They had been able to smell their paws since they’d taken their shoes off after getting home, and the scent was even more pronounced now. They splayed their toes wide, letting their subs stare at the crevices between each one and wish their noses and tongues could be in there too.

“It’s a shame you can’t all be here with me right now. I bet that’s what you’re thinking. You’re wondering how ripe and musky these socks are… I’ve been wearing them for, oh, about ten hours now. So you know they’re full of my scent, warm and slick with it…”

Some of them visibly shivered. Some of them were blushing wildly. Some of them were very still, trying to contain their obvious lust.

“You wish you could smell them right now, couldn’t you? Open your packages.”

A messy chorus of tearing paper and bubble-wrap filled Alexx’s ears as each and every sub ripped their bags open.

Judging from the slight recoil, followed by dazed, lustful grins… the scent had stayed intact. That was good.

One by one, they took out their gifts - each one of them had a sock inside. Alexx had made sure to really get these ones well-saturated with the scent of their paws; they’d worn them all day, then wore them to bed, a full 24 hours of prep time for each one.

Some of the socksluts were already in trance, judging by the glazed looks in their eyes and the way their jaws hung open, paw still half-in the bag. Others held their socks by the ankle, up in front of their face, mimicking the way Alexx had done the same for them many a time.

“Socks out, socksluts.” Alexx said, their voice firm and domineering. “Hold it in front of your faces for me.”

One by one, they did so. Some of them, the ones who were more excitable and less conditioned, were quick on the draw, eager to drop into an even deeper trance. Alexx’s longer running subs did it with slow, gentle ease, their bodies moving without any input so they could focus on sinking for Alexx’s scent. Some who were in between were a lot slower, working sluggishly through the trance. One dropped their sock, and slowly dipped out of frame to pick it up again.

Alex giggled, letting one paw rest between their legs as they felt arousal build.

“How are they?” Alexx asked. “Nice and musky? See how easily they held my scent, even through their long journey? It’s just like my conditioning. It lingers, no matter how long it’s been since the last time you submitted to me. My hypnosis sits deep in your mind. You’re all my socksluts, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Alexx…” they moaned in unison - as close to unison as one could get over 13 different internet connections.

“Good socksluts. Sniff and rub. Don’t hold back. Show me how much you love my scent.”

Alex could sit back and relax from there, enjoy the show. Twelve voices, gasping and whimpering. Twelve sets of nostrils breathing in deep and committing Alexx’s scent to even deeper memory. Twelve minds that were Alexx’s to play with.

9 - SCENT (NickyLion) NSFW

You wake up to a familiar texture around your throat, and a less-familiar scent.

Your fingers reflexively move up to feel the choker - its tight leather hug, its glittering sturdy ring at your throat. You’ve had this one for a while, it’s soft and well broken in from many little trysts, but right now it smells newer. Freshly cured, with a hint of sweetness to it.

You know you didn’t put it on before bed…

You catch the back-notes of the perfume at that point, and all the other sensations work in concert to paint the rest of the picture. It paints in perfect clarity, and you’ve transported back in time - who knows how far, it feels like now in this moment.

You’re between her thighs.

You’re making eye contact past the curvature of her body, and she’s looking back down at you. A familiar smile on her face.

Between you and her, a pendant swings in a slow circle like an incense-filled censer. It radiates a glow, too, smoky and glistening. Your eyes return to it, and it becomes your world. It’s wafting a scent of its own over you too, dipped in some sweet aroma. Vanilla and cloves, lavender and jasmine, dancing their way into your nose and settling in the crevices of your mind.

“Deeper than that,” she purrs. “A little deeper. Eyes so heavy, and they can close if they need to. The scent can take over for it.”

The scent of her lingers on the leash, too. The sweet scent isn’t enough to hide the scent of her body - by design, of course. Her pheromones are washing over you, both in this memorised past and in this blissful present. Darkness subsumes you.

You’re out of bed, your body puppeteered by the memory. You’re kneeling on the floor. You’re breathing in the scent. Your head lifts a little as if trying to catch the scent of smoke on the wind. You’re detecting another source of her scent, very close by.

Your head swims with lust, more and more absorbed in the memory.

This one’s less perfume, more Her. One that has a more visceral reaction, one that makes your cock throb at attention.

You stumble on your hands and knees - in that petspace where you can’t not be on all fours - and seek it out, hungrily.

The closet’s your destination. You pull it open on shaky knees, and push aside all the dresses and coats to find the hook on the back.

There’s the same leash from the memory - also leather, reeking of her.

It comes back to you again.

You’re opening your eyes, startled by a sudden tug that pulls you forward.

She’s pulling you closer, on the taut leash. Your eyes are straight ahead, now. The space between her thighs, the place of worship. She’s threading the leash beneath it, in the crevice of her thighs, where all those pheromones that drive you wild are stored.

You lean in nearer to her, the scent of a day’s exertion coming ever closer to your helpless mind and dizzy body.

“Such a wonderful kitty,” she says, the fingers of her free hand sliding through your mane and tickling your scalp. “So deeply hypnotised, so deeply Mine. Commit me to memory, just as you always have.”

Muscle memory clips the leash to your collar and crushes it against your face The combined scents of it and your perfume-spritzed collar knocking you onto your back. Hot pleasure floods your body, making you spasm.

How long do you stay in that place? Time melts into nothing, each new second just becoming one more part of the ‘now’ as you coil the leash around your face and sniff it like a dog picking up a scent for its master.

Your reverie ends when you feel a familiar pressure on your belly. You mewl and look up.

She’s standing over you. She’s got nothing on below the waist. And as she slowly squats down, her scent tempts you to sit up. The leash sloughs off your face and pools around your thighs, while you breathe in deep straight from the source.

“You missed me, kitty,” she says, warmly and sweetly. Her sweet-scented wrist caresses your chin as she guides your face into the warm flesh.

Your mouth is soon put to work. Next time it will be what transports you back here, guiding you right back to her. Each sense slowly being twisted to revolve around your Mistress, just as it should be.

For now… the leash wraps around you again, tugs upward and pushes you deep into her. And it feels as though the scent will linger on your face forever. You hope so.

10 - WHIP (Sheep) NSFW

Mistress’ whip has a melody all its own. The opening stanza comes when she enters, after you’ve been chained in place by one of your fellow rainbow-eyed slaves. They still bear the criss-crosses of fresh cuts and welts all along their back. You’ll chain up the next one once Mistress has refreshed your own markings.

But back to the opening stanza. The creak of the enchanted leather in her squeezing paw, pulling it taut. It’s quiet.

“Disrobe him,” she says. Your fellow slave obeys, unbuttoning and tugging open the back of your shift.

Your back is completely sheared. It has been kept bare and smooth for a very long time.

Her sigil is still there on your back, but faint. Its ensorcelling magic is beginning to fade, and you can feel your free will starting to encroach upon you again. You’re afraid of it coming back. You don’t want to imagine the hangover of sentience. You want to stay intoxicated for her.

But the scars are getting more pronounced. Soon these sessions will not be needed; they’ll be done as a formality, as a constant reminder of who you belong to, and the magic seal on your mind will be permanent.

Then the second stanza. Leather kisses stone, licks slowly along as she moves closer.. It makes your ears twitch and your hooves tiptap against the dungeon floor. You can’t help yourself. You look forward to the painful pleasure of her beating back your will like barbarians at the gates.

She steps closer. Her breath caresses your ear. Her glove traces along your welts. You feel no pain. Which is painful in its own right.

“Are you ready, my darling little lamb?”

“Yes Mistress.” the words leap from your throat. She kisses your ear. It’s tender and soft, a preparation for the strikes that are to come.

Your body tenses with anticipation as you hear the needle-thin rush of air as the whip is lifted, and -

The canticle begins.

The whip connects and reopens the first wound. You arch against its glorious sting. The new injury glows and chimes. The welt rises, and with it, pleasure rushes outwards and spreads - to your belly, your pelvis, your arms and legs. It makes your whole body freeze, as though petrified… then you slump and crumble as the pleasure enfolds your head.

You bleat very softly, afraid to raise your voice too much without being bidden.

“Louder, please.”

Mistress strikes you again, and this time you moan with full-throat - just before pleasure paralyses it again.

When your throat can move, you bleat, singing your submission in concert with whip after gash.

Glimmering smoke pours from your mouth. It splits the light into its component parts, dancing rainbows before your eyes as little motes of magic sparkle and twinkle out like dying stars before you. With the next strike, more of it exits your mouth. You’re exhaling those built up pockets of resistance, of free thought.

With each new strike, the pleasure increases fivefold, tenfold, hundredfold. She completes the sigil once, then starts again. The sharp strikes call, and you respond. Your mind swims and swirls with pleasure. Your vision swirls as the smoke spirals, anointing your gaze with their aurora. You take deep, long breaths, each exhale bringing a plaintive bleat and a long billow of magical vapour.

The song repeats, again, and again. Twenty repetitions, as always.

When it’s done, you’re quivering, head turned towards the floor, body so limp. You’re dripping with sweat. Two large pools are beneath you. One beneath your drooling mouth, and the other below your dripping cock. The sigil is cut a little deeper into you. Her spell ingrained a little deeper into your mind.

Her lips are at your ear again. She kisses you and kisses you and kisses you.

“Well done, little lamb. That feels better, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you cry quietly. She wipes the joyful tears from your face.

The whip traces one last journey - a slow gentle stroke along each mark, stinging you with its caress. It kisses you better. You’re able to get back to your shaky feet, held up and braced by your Goddess’ body.

You smile brightly. The shift remains open, just so your body and your brand can remain bared.

There is a mirror close by. You look over your shoulder at it - guided by your mistress’ hand as she holds you.

A long, angular zig-zag starts from the shoulderblades and moves down towards the middle. A jagged heart, upside-down, is attached to the end. Curls and curves branch out from it, down to the base of your spine above your lamb’s tail.

It glows - with magical lustre, and with the glisten of your blood.

Mistress is beautiful too. Her curves press to yours, her cock pushes against your thigh.

“We’ll give it time to settle,” she said. “But tonight you will join me for dinner, and then join me in bed afterwards. I will be back in 15 minutes for the next lashing.”

The other slave removes your shackles as your heart soars with excitement.

When the next slave to be branded arrives, you have an extra spring in your step as you leash and chain them. When Mistress returns again, not acknowledging you with her gaze, you feel so lucky to be in her presence. She doesn’t need to look at you for you to know how much she loves you.

You look forward to the next time she opens your wounds.

11 - PILLOW (Aerosparks)

There’s a big dragon in the bedroom, waiting for you, looking at you with crescent moon eyes and starry scales. He’s reclining on the bed, sinking into the sheets, his arms up over his head in a relaxed shrug. He has a star-speckled hat off to the side of his head, and his robes are opened to bare his broad, muscular chest and thick muscle-gut

You nearly jump out of your own green scales before you realise that it’s not, in fact, a stranger in your room.

The body pillow is propped on the bed, its design angled towards you just so this figure can get a good look at you with its screen-printed eyes. It’s a ‘come back to bed, darling’ sort of look.

The character looks like someone out of some obscure gacha game. Cute, too…

though, how did it get in here?

Was it a gift?

Your partner’s nowhere in sight… you might have mentioned that this character looked cute off-hand, and he must have impulse-bought it as a little treat.

Maybe.

It’d explain why it was unwrapped and slipped around a pillow already…

He has a very handsome face, a sweet smile. While his eyes are lidded, with thick sleepy bags beneath them, there’s a sparkle in those multi-shaded irises.

So lifelike, so big. And they seem to grow even more the closer you get.

You look at the rest of him, feeling as though it’s almost impolite to stare him in the eye for too much. The curvature of his thigh, the roundness of his stomach, the slight glisten of moisture on his scales… it’s vivid. You can imagine what it might be like to wrap yourself around him. The texture. The scent. Maybe the sound of his rumbling breaths, like a lullaby.

You could swear, from this distance, that it looks like the character has actual depth to him. Like you could feel the curvature of his body if you gave him a hug…

The space between your arms and your chest feels empty. You need to wrap yourself around that pillow.

Your knees squish into the foot of the bed, as you crawl towards the unblinking smile and the soporific grin. Your eyelids feel heavy just looking at him. The day’s exhaustions are catching up with you. Never mind that it’s your day off and you just stepped out for a bit before noon. You shouldn’t feel tired. But it’s nice that you are. For some reason, being tired feels like the only thing you want to be.

Oh, you’re at the foot of the bed now…

You don’t wonder why or how that happened. You just pitch forward and let your hands sink into the bed, crawling your way towards the beautiful dragon, and his comfy body.

The pillow’s texture is so much nicer than your creaky mattress. The foam is firm yet pliant like warm clay. And you swear there’s a warmth to its core too, like a hot water bottle… or someone’s soft stomach. You find yourself straddling him, sitting on his lap and looking down on him. As though you were about to tumble around in the sheets together.

He seems to look right back at you, and his body is even prettier up close.

It’s a shame he can’t hold you back.

As you stare at his slightly parted muzzle, you note that it sort of looks like he’s just about to yawn. So you yawn, long and slow and loud, and the tension you didn’t even notice you had just falls out of you, sinks into the bed…

You fall into him, lips first

You push your face against the pillow, and it enfolds you. Not so much that you can’t breathe. Just enough so that your vision is blocked out.

The softness is expanding, enlarging, and it enrobes you like moisture crawling over a stone.

You don’t feel heavy, though. You feel soft. Like the pillow is lifting you up, taking you away from the oppressive pull of gravity. Your head feels lighter than the rest of you. This soft, memory-foam amoeba caresses you, and pulls you deeper, lifts you higher.

Your mind is full of softness and stars.

You twist and turn, cradled in warmth. Sleep coaxes and calls to you.

Sleep has a voice. It’s a low, gentle rumble that you instantly realise belongs to the handsome dragon. Where’s he gone…?

“Go to sleep, little darling.” His voice is like warm milk flavoured with cinnamon.

“Sleep.”

You swear you can see Sleep’s lips before yours. Forming into a pucker. You kiss his lips. The more you kiss, the more your lips and face dampen in turn.

By the time you’ve kissed your way to sleep, the pillow’s positively soaked with your saliva.

Not that you care right now. You’re floating away, caressed by T Sleep.

12 - CAVE (Circ) NSFW

The little black cat knelt very still, and watched the shapes on the wall of the cave. A cool blue flame crackled and flickered a ways behind him, projecting a sharp beam of cool light against the cavernous wall. It bounced and refracted, every so often hitting the cat directly in the eyes like a glimmer of sunlight bounced off a shield.

The little black cat did not remember what sunlight was. He only knew what was in the cave.

He wasn’t alone. He had friends to entertain him and teach him.

Pretty friendly shapes danced along the walls, back and forth along the plane in an endless series of plays. They conversed, they capered, they duelled and quarrelled. The cat simply watched them, for that was all he knew how to do - they were his whole world.

A bipedal cat emerged from the left, and the watcher’s eyes were drawn towards it.

“I am the Good Cat,” the cat announced. “Today I will learn a new lesson.”

The cat smiled. He liked seeing the Good Cat. He felt a kinship with him, and wanted to be exactly like him. He always perked up. He sat forward and leaned in slightly.

“What should I do if I am in trouble?” the Good Cat asked. “What if I stole something and tried to run away, what would I do if I was caught!”

The little black cat’s eyes widened with sympathy and sadness. No! The Good Cat never stole…

Other shapes approached and emerged, surrounding the Good Cat. They towered over the Good Cat, and were wearing very little.

“When I am surrounded,” the Good Cat said, “I look down at my paws to show I submit.”

The little black cat nodded. He did not look down at his paws. He would rather look at the flickering shapes. It was too dark to see his body anyway.

“Do not fight, Good Cat,” one of the bigger figures said.

“Do not run, Good Cat.”

“Let us touch you, Good Cat.”

“What shall I do when I am touched?” The Good Cat asked.

“You will chirp and lift your tail.”

One of the larger shapes rested a hand on the base of the Good Cat’s torso.

“Prrp!” up went the tail, like a flag going up a mast.

The little black cat giggled, and his tail shot up as well.

“Good Cat. Will we do it again?”

“Yes, I love to practise my lessons! Prrp!”

The shapes began to intertwine. The little black cat stared and took each new part of the Good Cat’s lesson to heart. The lights danced in his dark, empty eyes. The flames caught a little glimmer of clear fluid oozing from the corner of his mouth, and between his legs.

When the Good Cat was touched, the little black cat writhed. When the Good Cat was taught how to moan, the little black cat did the same.

The lessons were very important.

Oh, how the little black cat wanted to join in though. He wanted to play with the Good Cat and join him in submitting to all the big nice men. But he remained still, remained knelt exactly where he was.

At one point, there were manacles around his neck and wrists. They were no longer needed. The little cat couldn’t imagine why they were needed in the first place. He didn’t need to be shackled to kneel still and watch. The cave and the shapes who talked to him were all that existed, where would there be to run?

A hand rested on the small of his back. He chirped and lifted his tail, the way the Good Cat had just shown him to do.

There was a voice behind him - closer, not echoing the same way the rest of it was.

“So this is what’s become of the great Rose-Blade Roil?”

Who was that…? Wait, Roil… Rose-Blade… wasn’t he…?

Two fingers pinched the back of the cat’s neck, and he went still and quiet. He forgot what he had heard, and did not hear what came after

“Shh. We told you, no talking, lest the enchantment breaks.”

When the little black cat’s neck was released, he had forgotten it all. He watched the Good Cat serve all the nice men.

“I keep my lips over my teeth,” The Good Cat announced, “And keep my claws sheathed. I must be soft, not sharp, when I am touched and used.”

The hand rested on his back again.

“Prrp!”

Something wet and warm slid between his cheeks and into his rump. It was tight, and uncomfortable. The little black cat looked up at the wall, at the Good Cat for guidance.

The Good Cat was bent on all fours, and his tail was raised higher as another shape thrust in and out of him.

“I am relaxing,” the Good Cat said, “And welcoming him in.”

The little black cat could do the same. He relaxed, and the wet warm thing pushed deeper. Someone groaned behind him, a very close voice, one that didn’t echo the way the others did.A hand on the back of his neck helped guide him, as his torso pitched forward and his head craned upward to keep watching the flickering shapes. He couldn’t miss the Good Cat’s lessons.

13 - UNDERWEAR (Kaz) NSFW

The red sabertooth’s eyes were just on the verge of closing, fluttering over his glassy pupils. His vision swam. They were so very heavy. The more his head dipped down, the further he had to cast his eyes up to follow the shimmering shapes dancing before him.

THROB.

“Eyes open,” came the hypnotist’s deep, commanding voice.

Kaz’s eyes shot wide open again.

“Hnnh? Wha… yeah, I’m here, I’m herrre,” Kaz slurred dizzily, trailing off into a purr as his eyes refocused on the bulge.

“Are you sure? You’re so sleepy, by the looks of it. So. Very. Sleepy.”

Kaz yawned. The moment his eyelids touched, they felt glued together, like they might stay stuck forever. And Kaz wondered how wonderful that would be…

THROB.

The glimmer that came from each throb penetrated right through those eyelids, and Kaz was once again ‘awake’. Though the metric for that was quite fuzzy at this point.

Another throb. The bulge almost touched Kaz’s nose. His heart skipped a beat or two. It was like he was coming close to a cursed artefact, and when it touched him he would disintegrate from the pleasure…

The trunks’ fabric was flesh-tight, and the fabric was black and sheer and see-through like luxury tights. Kaz could see the curve of the tucked-in cock, making that beautiful bulge. Each time it pulsed, the underwear shimmered and rippled, like sunlight glinting off a mirror. One of the horse’s hands was grasping and

He couldn’t take his eyes off of the bulge, waiting for the next pulse and glimmer. Each one sent a thrill through him, a jolt of electricity that stiffened his tail and made his legs melt. His own cock throbbed in response to each of master’s throbs, trying to keep up with each new flex.

“Good kitty.” the horse’s low chuckle made Kaz mewl submissively. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Kaz’s body was swaying gently on the spot, his hands draped on his knelt thighs. The only movements were coming from his head. Following the fingers tracing along the curvature of that sheer bulge - guiding his gaze to the tip, down to the base, lifting the balls so he could get a good, close look at them…

“Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“hnn?”

Kaz tried to look up. But the horse’s cock-massaging hand shot out to grip the top of his head and yank his gaze back to where it needed to be.

“Tut tut tut. No looking anywhere else, kitty. Just say what I want you to say.”

“Ssssorry…” Kaz slurred.

“The other one,” the horse said.

“Thaaank you…” a giggle chased the words from his mouth.

“Thank you, what?”

“Mmmaster…” Kaz moaned.

“Better. Cum.”

He was face first in the bulge. The soft fabric, damp from sweat, clung to his face. The cock throbbed and throbbed against him, bombarding every sense and battering what was left of his conscious thought into oblivion.

Kaz had forgotten his hand was down his pants. No stopping himself, even if he wanted to. Hours of pent-up pleasure smeared all over his own underwear, matting the fur of his knuckles.

“Nnnhn…”

“Make a mess, kitty.” the horse whickered. “I’ve got a fresh pair, just for you…”

Kaz stared at the bulge in the mirror. He wasn’t able to look at anything else. The black trunks were velvet-soft. It would have been easy to forget he was even wearing them, if he wasn’t marvelling at how they caught the light, how every movement and sway - not to mention every touch - was deliciously dazzling.

Master towered over Kaz. His warmth was draped over the cat’s body, and his own bulge was pressed against the small of Kaz’s back.

“Perfect fit, don’t you think?” he reached down and gave Kaz’s cock a possessive squeeze.

“Yyyess Master…”

“And what do you say?” Master gripped and stroked the tent, and the shimmering fabric took Kaz’s thoughts away all over again.

“Thank you, Master….”

13 - UNDERWEAR (Card) NSFW

How had Leem’s underwear ended up in Card’s room?

The blue canine felt like he would have noticed the panda’s garments among his - besides, they always washed their clothes separately.

Plus… wasn’t this one hand-wash only?

It was a very pretty jockstrap. White and silver, soft to the touch on the inside and covered with glitter on the outside.

He held it between his paws, giving it a testing little stretch. The right thing to do would have been to bring it back and leave it in the panda’s room - they would be too oblivious to notice.

A thought slithered seductively into the back of Card’s head.

“Leem?” Card called out, waiting for a response that did not come.

That’s right… Leem was out for the afternoon, for work or somesuch.

And besides, if they didn’t know they were missing a pair of undies, he could take his time wearing it around.

He couldn’t help himself - the little pouch seemed to be begging for him to slip his junk into it. The way the glitter caught the light and created little dancing shapes… he didn’t want to just imagine what it would be like to wear them. They were limited edition, after all, no chance of getting his own pair.

“Fuck it, let’s go for it…”

He slipped out of his clothes and sat on the bed. As he stretched out the waistband and lifted his left leg, one last pang of guilt and nerves emerged. What if Leem did find out? Visions of the panda’s angry face intruded on Card’s mind’s eye, but only for a moment.

Then again, if they were going to find out, it wouldn’t really matter if Card wore them or not. In for a penny, in for a pound…

He slipped his legs in through the leg holes, and pulled them up. They hung surprisingly well on Card’s hips; Leem was a bit broader than him, but the jock felt pretty snug!

Especially around the important bits…

Card squeezed his thighs together, just to push the pouch upwards a bit. He could see the outline of his half-hard and still-growing shaft, the glans pushing upwards and making the glitter sparkle.

The canine couldn’t help but giggle with nervous excitement. He looked sideways towards his bedroom’s full-length mirror. He admired exposed rump in profile beneath his wagging tail. It pushed up his butt pretty well… same as his bulge.

He shimmied towards the mirror and turned towards it, opening up his thighs to let his bulge be on full display.

“Damn…” Card whistled. He looked great. He almost was tempted to grab his phone and take a few snaps… documenting evidence of his little crime. Maybe not the best idea.

He rolled his hips from side to side. The sunlight from Card’s bedroom window bounced off the sparkly bulge, creating little rainbow flashes, barely perceptible.

The jock fit really well. The more he sat in it, the more he realised what a perfect fit it was…

Unaware of himself, Card began to lean forward and slip off of the bed. Just to get closer to the mirror, and closer to his reflection. His eyes were cast downard. His shaft pulsed, and the colours burst through his vision.

Card moved right up to his mirror, the tip of the shining tent pressing against the glass. His head tilted straight down to look at his cock, throbbing to kiss its reflection and redoubling the sparkles and twinkles.

Card didn’t even realise he was blocking the sunlight. The gleam was coming from the fabric itself. It had already got its hooks into his head. He slowly moved to a kneeling position. His cock smeared squeakily against the glass, glittering and pulsing with each heart-beat.

Each pulse wiped away another minute from his consciousness. Each throb made the smooth, soft fabric hug his hips a little tighter. Everything he had planned for the day fell out of his mind. It was just him, and the bulge, and the sparkles that made his mind tingle.

“Heyyy there~”

Card didn’t move until the panda’s paw gently guided it away from the mirror.

It didn’t matter, the dog wasn’t really looking at anything any more.

Drool slid from Card’s slack jaw. His eyes spun with rings of silver and crimson. His face was slack and docile.

The red panda grinned down at him, their thumb tracing along their lower lip.

“You do wear my jock pretty well, don’t you? Glad you got some use out of it. I think it looks better on me, though… I think I’ll take it back, now.”

Card nodded slowly and sleepily, and only moved as much as was needed to allow Leem to slide off their jock.

As he stared at Leem’s bulge, following its pendulum sway and stiffening whenever it pressed to his nose… Card knew the panda was right. It did fit them better.

And since they were right, it made sense for him to stare, and obey, and do everything they told them.

“By way of apology for taking my shit…”

Card couldn’t see Leem’s snarky, satisfied grin, but he could hear it in their voice.

“I think you can treat us to dinner tonight. I’ll let you worship my pretty bulge while we wait…~”

14 - DOLL (Pythian)

“Ah ah. Stay on me…” Wairangi giggled. The brown, pink-speckled otter’s peach-red eyes were gleaming with impish excitement. It was hard for Snowy to look away… but harder not to fixate on the other things he was doing to her.

“I’m trying!” Snowy was biting on her lip, grinning from ear to ear. The blue husky was twitching a little, thanks to the ticklish sensation of Wairangi’s claw working its way up her arm. It was difficult for her to keep focused on the otter’s eyes. She was more than a little nervous, too. It had been a while since she’d gone under, and she wasn’t so sure how well she’d do in an induction.

Speaking of, when was the induction going to start? She felt like it’d be rude to ask. Right now, it just sort of felt like they were meditating.

Wairangi hadn’t said much. He’d just had her stare into his eyes while his claws slowly traced along her body. She was keeping a mental note of where his claws had been, like he’d drawn her attention to seams that were already there.

She was half expecting Wairangi’s eyes to start swirling or something, but they hadn’t. He’d spent the last few minutes just staring silently at her, save for reminding her to breathe and focus as his claws slid along her thighs, her arms, and her back.

Snowy could see her reflection in his eyes. It was strangely dissociating, like it was making her feel like her mind had left her body. But it wasn’t hypnosis, was it? They hadn’t started the induction.

“You’re doing great,” Wairangi continued, his eyes fixed on hers. “Haven’t you noticed your heart rate slowing down? Or that you’re breathing a lot slower? You’re doing a great job at focusing. Keeping your eyes on mine as I finish putting everything in place…”

“Putting what in place?” Snowy asked. “I don’t feel anything…”

“You will… right about now.”

Wairangi snapped his claws, and Snowy’s muscles seized up. She squeaked, the sound muffled by her stiffly closed jaws. Every single point the otter claw had touched stiffened as if wrapped in twine. Her eyes dilated and widened with shock, and her mind scrambled for something that made sense-

“Sleep.”

Sleep made sense. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Eyes open, and keep them open as you Sleep. Deeper than that.”

Each claw snap made Snowy twitch slightly. Her face dropped into a blank, slack mask of relaxation. The light left her eyes, and she stared into space, floating in blissful blankness.

“Look at the doll, Snowy.”

Snowy’s eyes took a moment to focus, and even then her sleepy gaze remained blurry.

Wairangi was holding a white, vaguely anthropoid shape.

“It’s you, Snowy. Do you like it?”

She couldn’t make out the details. But as she stared, she saw the otter’s finger tilt the doll’s head down and up. She nodded along.

She understood. It didn’t need to be said. Just how Wairangi hadn’t needed to use any words to bring her to the cusp of trance.

“Wave hi to the dolly,” Wairangi said. He was already raising the doll’s right paw up. Snowy did the same. The lines Wairangi had traced tingled and tensed, guiding her. There was no brain power involved, no choice. The doll moved, she moved with it.

Wairangi pressed his thumb against the midsection of the doll. Snowy grunted softly, but her expression did not change.

“I think the dolly needs a pretty smile, too…”

Wairangi’s claw slid gently along the face of the doll, tracing the curvature of a smile. Snowy’s eyelids fluttered as her lips slowly curled up to match - well, she presumed she was matching. The fog in her brain was so thick, her vision was so blurred, she had to fill in the blanks herself. It was easy.

“I’m gonna play with the dolly for a bit. That’s what dollies are for, right?” Wairangi made the doll’s head - no, Snowy’s head - nod again.

“Yay~!” Wairangi’s voice turned playful and light. Snowy might have commented on how he seemed to be back to his normal self, how different he was when he was in hypnotist mode. But she didn’t need to. She was a doll. She didn’t talk. She existed to be played with.

She didn’t have to think. She just moved when the otter moved her. She just squirmed when the otter squeezed and tickled her, not making a sound, smiling and staring at the little reflection of herself. Her mind - the doll’s mind - was sitting inside that doll, in the otter’s safe clutches. They were one and the same, separate but in unison. A happy, quiet plaything.

15 - COCKNOSIS (Callie) NSFW

Sister Callie was burning up. She was panting like a puppy - there was no place for the burning heat inside her to escape, aside from straight out her mouth, sublimating into hot puffs of steamy breath. It wreathed and wrapped around the object of her focus, like mist around a towering parapet. Her soft gasps - and the gasps of the other women in the room - flew and spiralled through the acoustic traps of the chapel.

Her eyes were crossed and upturned, gazing at the cock that loomed just over her head, close enough for her to touch - were her paws not politely resting in her lap.

Her green tongue poked out of her panting mouth. Her tail swung back and forth like a whip.

The thick, pink shaft was dripping with moisture. Each time it throbbed, the pillar glistened and pulsed, light glancing off the shimmering mixture of sweat, pre, and lube.

Sister Callie’s breath hitched, and another pulse of pink and white rings flowed through her eyes. Her heart soared and her lips itched - when would she be allowed to even kiss it, let alone suck on it the way the more senior, well-trained Sisters were?

The scent of the shaft washed over her, enchanting another of her mortal senses. The musk had weight to it - it expanded in her flaring nostrils, it settled in her brain and hugged it tightly.

She moved a millimetre closer, and felt fingers tap-tap on the top of her head. She squeaked, and stiffened again, resisting the urge to apologise.

The claws could have un-seamed her. But they would not. Her Lord was merciful. The only thing that he would use to ruin her was already the subject of her undivided attention.

“No moving just yet, child.”

The voice was firm but gentle, and it came from somewhere a few feet above the beautiful cock It was her Master’s voice. She wouldn’t dare disobey it. She wasn’t worthy of looking upon the face of her God, not just yet…

Sister Callie mewled needfully, but remained still. Her eyes remained locked onto the cock - each pulse making her shiver.

Any time an errant question arrived - what was she doing here? Who was standing over her? Hadn’t she vowed never to see or touch a male’s body…? - it was pushed out of her head by the scent, scrubbed away by another glistening throb. A bead of pre-cum was forming on the tip of the shaft, coaxed out by throb after throb.

“Now Pray, child, as you have been taught.”

Her hands lifted up to her chest, the outer edges pressing together and her palms facing upwards. The cock swung to the left, and to the right. Her paws lifted higher, closer to her God’s pendulous testes.

As soon as her paws cradled the balls, her prayer fell from her lips, a perverse prayer that she felt she knew her whole life.

“Oh Lord of the Hallowed Shaft, I offer my body in praise to thee. Bathe me in the waters of subservience and wash away the stain of independence. Let me submit and prove my worth of thy love. My mouth opens itself to thee in praise and worship, my body relents so thou may mark it with thy essence. I am thy servant, thy canvas, now and forever…”

The droplet of nectar fell and spattered on her forehead, anointing her. Pleasure burned through her, radiating out from that droplet like it was pure aphrodisiac. Her loins burned and her body spasmed.

Her God’s thumb pressed down, firm and hard against her forehead, mashing and squishing the glistening essence into her fur.

The pleasure redoubled and recursed, and her eyes crossed inwards as she tried to stifle her orgasmic cries from escaping her spasming throat. The claw-thumb traced a long line down her forehead, until it was just between her eyes. She came and came and came again the whole time.. The fluid gleamed, and little tributaries slowly snaked away from it, the well-worn unholy sigil hidden beneath her grey and white fur bared once more.. This gesture felt familiar. Something from her old life… the life she lead here, the daily prayers, ablutions, and tasks…

She remained still, even as she heard the moans of the sister next to her - the next in line to receive the Lord’s gift.

Briefly, their eyes met. Sister Hazel’s hints of envy were washed away as their God’s cockscent washed over her. Sister Callie smiled at her canine sister. They were always such good friends, even before this. The intimate conversations and moments they had shared…

Those were a distant memory. Those pleasures paled in comparison to the pleasure they now shared in serving their new Lord, and his beautiful, all-encompassing cock. Sister Hazel was merely a fellow slave to her Lord, now. And it was better that way.

Sister Callie’s serene smile remained on her face as the brand on her forehead grew brighter.

Someday soon, she would be worthy of letting it into her mouth.

16 - METRONOME (Vyl and Beau)

The jackal knight was awoken to the sound of ticking, directly in front of him.

A slow, repetitive, familiar pace. Sir Beau reckoned it was a clock- one of those new world-changing inventions with the advent of mechanical devices.

He didn’t care much for them, himself.

A magically induced fog occluded the burly hero’s vision. His arms were manacled in front of his body, able to raise, but not by much.. His ears pricked, listening out for the signs of the rest of his party.

He could hear footsteps - soft, fluffy, almost silent.

“Hello there.” Overlord Vyraz’s snide tone was unmistakable; Beau did not need his eyes to know that. “Looks like the sleep-spell is finally wearing off.”

“You won’t keep me in these chains for long, fiend!” Beau grimaced, his white teeth shining in contrast to his dark fur.

“No, I won’t.” Vylraz giggled, his voice circling around Beau. “I’ve got a little task for you. Do it, and you’ll be free to do as you please.”

“I’ll destroy you.”

“I’m sure you will. Now. You’ve noticed the ticking of the clock?”

Beau said nothing.

“Focus on it for me. I want you to count the ticks. Raise your hand when exactly 60 ticks have passed. Easy enough?”

“Hrmh.” Beau smelled a rat. But he didn’t have any other choice, did he? “I accept.”

He heard the sound of Vylraz’s hands clapping together.

“Yes! Fantastic. All right…”

Beau listened to the ticking. His heart beat had slowed, coming closer to matching it…

“And… go!”

One. Two. Three. Four. Easy start…

He tried to ignore Vylraz’s shuffling through the room. His thoughts remained anchored to the ticking…

Wait. There were two sets now. A quieter ticking, but a quicker pace.

“Focus on the first one,” Vylraz said with a sing-song sneer. “Don’t get distracted, now…”

Another one started, this one slower than both of the others. And another. They were coming from each and every corner of the room, pestering little snaps and ticks that threatened to pull Beau away from his mission.

He couldn’t lose now. He needed to get free, and wring the overlord’s neck. He refused to let the needling other ticks get in the way. He let them melt into the background. The varying paces actually seemed to complement the clock’s rhythm, making it stand out. Treating it as a melody was helping.

But more kept being added, one after the other, and their taps became more incessant and unavoidable. Thirty? No, Thirty Two… Thirty Three… yes, back on track.

“You’re struggling~” Vylraz giggled, his voice clear as a bell through the sea of clicks and ticks. “It’s all right. It’s okay to struggle. But maybe my speaking isn’t helping. I’ll be quiet…”

Another ticking sound began, close to where the villain’s voice came from.

“But these won’t.”

The soft ticks were drumming like rain on Beau’s mind. He kept catching himself skipping numbers, lingering on the wrong one, only barely managing to correct and right himself - he hoped. He wasn’t sure anymore. The room was echoing with noise, and the noise echoed inside his head too, reverberating and overwhelming him…

Forty Five, Forty Five… no, Forty Six, no, Forty Eight…

It was torture. He felt himself getting lost in the labyrinth of sound. He was faltering. He was hanging on -

Wait, the ticking was getting closer together, now. All the different rhythms and paces were shortening and contracting, and he could pick out the clock’s even pace. A way out of the labyrinth. His mind grabbed hold of it. He listened to it, held on tight, hearing each number in each tick, and it pulled him to Fifty Eight, Fifty Nine…

The final tick was in perfect unison - every timbre and tone coming together to create a sharp, snappy chime and empty his head in an instant.

Sir Beau’s hand shot straight up - not only that, but it went stiff and flat, pressing the fingers against his temples in a sudden salute.

The room was suddenly silent, and his mind was blissfully blank.

The fog melted from Sir Beau’s vision, revealing wide, blank eyes and a serene smile. As the sounds faded away to a distant memory in his drained brain, so too did his mission, his fury, his friends.

He only half-noticed the phalanx of little devices filling every corner of the cell - each metronome had gone still, including the largest, the one he must have mistaken for a clock.

The blue-furred sergal was standing next to that big one, and he looked up at Sir Beau with a satisfied smirk.

“Well, you did as I asked… so freedom is yours!.”

He snapped his fingers, and the obsidian cuffs melted into sand and pooled onto the floor around the knight’s ankles.

“Like I said… you can do as you please. What do you want…?”

“I want to serve you, Master.” Sir Beau’s voice was butler-like, polite, and serene.

“Good. You picked up the hidden message, then~”

16 - METRONOME (Lager)

You rise up through the tree branches, holding to the warm rope-like tail. The incense fills your nostrils. You emerge through the canopy, and the fortune teller is there. Genevieve’s eyes gleam as she smiles down at you, sitting cross-legged, Buddha-like. The tree kangaroo’s tail remains looped around you and cushions you, even as she deposits you on the other end of the table.

Hello there darling…To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?

Hmmhmmhm… come now. Look at me when I flatter you! It is so much fun watching you squirm and blush when I pour praise into those little ears of yours.

I do so love having a repeat customer, after all. I love seeing how one’s fortune develops and evolves through repeat visits. In fact, I dare say after a while it becomes clear how I might… nudge one’s destiny one way or the other.

Perhaps I’ve already done so for you… but I won’t tell~

Now! I presume you’ve come for a reading…

No? What’s this?

….Why, it isn’t even my birthday, my dear! You’re far too sweet… may I open it?

Oh, I can tell by the look on your face that you’re very eager for me to see… Don’t worry I won’t keep you twisting in anticipation any longer.

A metronome! Why… haha…

This is… well, I must admit the choice of gift is a little bit unexpected. I suppose my proclivity for music must have been the inspiration for this. Though I find it a little difficult to… constrain myself to any particular rhythm. My voice and my sitar are better suited to glide along, un-chained to any sort of musical metre.

Still… it is the thought that counts…

Oh?

Oh, you had something else in mind? Goodness, I apologise for jumping to conclusions - even if jumping is the sort of thing my ground-dwelling cousins do more often.

Well… hmm. A metronome is used to keep time, yes? With that even, constant ticking sound.

Mmm… I think I understand. You think this might be useful for… grounding oneself in meditation?

I think you might be onto something, my darling.

Here, this gives me an idea… hold the metronome for me, please?

It is a little heavy. But that’s all right. My tail under your elbows will support you and keep you steady. Just let me slide a loop under your lap, and you can rest your forearms on it.

Like that, yes. Snuggle into me, I’ll make a nice duvet with all of my soft, furry flesh.

Now, hold it still like that…

And the tip of my tail will just rest on the tip of the metronome’s needle, and…

Let it go.

Ooh, that’s a bit of a fast tempo, isn’t it? Let’s slow it down, cinch it up a little…

There. Much better. One can hardly relax if they’re dealing with an incessant ticking, now can they? With this… even… pace… it’s far easier for you to allow yourself to relax. It’s a slow rhythm, one that your heart rate can easily adjust to, yes?

I think my tail can also follow the rhythm too…

See how my tailtip flicks back and forth, just behind the moves of the needle?

Let your arms relax, I’ve got you, just focus on keeping the device upright, and your eyes on the tip of the needle…

Or the tip of my tail.

They’re one and the same, are they not?

They have the same effect.

As they swing…

And tick…

Your mind…

And heart…

Synchronise to the rhythm.

Even if my tail were to start to move in counterpoint…

Like so…

It goes left when the needle goes right…

It goes right when the needle goes left…

Which would you rather focus on? My tail, or the needle? Maybe it changes from moment to moment, but it always brings your gaze back to the centre. Every single time.

Left. Centre. Right. Centre. Right. Centre. Left. Centre. Left. Centre.

And so on…

And so forth…

As those heavy eyes, yes… get heavier and heavier.

Do you notice how low your head has dipped?

Ah ah ah… grip the metronome, just like that.

My tail might need to keep it upright at this point, but that’s okay.

Do you notice how I’ve taken the liberty of coiling you up more?

Draping more of myself over you, like long bolts of thick cloth?

Your shoulders.

Your back.

Your legs.

Your heavy head, too…

It’s not just the sleepiness that’s lowering your head. It’s the pressure of my tail, too…

Pushing you down… down… with each… tick.

Squishing… those worries… and cares… away.

Eyes… getting so… very… heavy…

There you are.

Mmhm… if you could see yourself right now, darling. You look adorable.

The metronome and my tail have cast their spell over you, and you’re deeply asleep…

Just as you should be around me.

A clear, empty mind is far easier to read…

I suppose you did choose a good gift after all~! Mmhmmhmm…

17 - CLOTH (Sage)

Sage’s paws squished and sank into the plush polyfill. It was bunching up and draping all over the place, and they still couldn’t figure out how to get into the suit… there wasn’t a zipper, no obvious seams, so how the heck…?

With a frustrated grunt, the lemur threw the suit down onto the bed. The plush opossum costume with fat digit-less limbs was almost big enough to cover the entire double bed. Ut looked up at Sage through shiny button eyes and an open-mouthed smile.

“Hrrm…” Sage’s striped tail swung back and forth behind them, and a confused grimace sat on their face. They paced around the bed, stalking it like a buzzard as they came closer.

The mouth of the possum was open wide, and the pink mouth and throat inside were coated in a shiny, very soft looking material. Was that velvet? Some kind of polyester fluff? Sage reached in to give it a cursory feel.

The softness and texture made their whole body quiver and melt for a moment.

“Ohhh gosh,” Sage gasped. “Oh my gosh…”

They pushed their arm in a little further, their hand exploring the inside of the throat, and wishing they could just climb their way down the plush’s throat.

Then again… it was stretchy, and soft, maybe they could.

“Is this how I put it on…?” Sage wondered out loud.

There was one way to find out.

They pulled their arm back out. The open air felt alien to their arm, now. It was chillier and harsher than those warm, soft insides. They needed to get back in there.

They climbed onto the bed their paws sinking into the costume’s thick tummy, until they were straddling the head. It felt a little cruel to wrench the happy poss’ mouth open, but it was the only way Sage was getting in.

Climbing into the plush felt like climbing into a warm bath in winter. The immediate warmth and insulation, the softness pressing and hugging against their fur…

Sage’s head swum and spun again. They giggled as they brought their other leg up and in, before starting to shimmy down like they were getting into a sleeping bag. They rolled their hips left and right, their monochrome body gradually slithering downwards through the flexible, stretchy throat.

As they slipped in further, their tail was bunched up against their back, the only possible complaint they might have had.

Just as they were wondering what it would be like to have their tail as comfortable as the rest of them… they found a hole. At the base of the spine, where the possum’s tail was. Just as thick and dextrous as Sage’s tail…

“Ahhh~!” Sage groaned with satisfaction, wiggling their butt back and forth to get as comfy as they could. Their hands gripped the rim of the possum suit’s mouth, its little felt teeth tickling their palms. When they were up to their neck, they slid their arms down and popped them right into the big… squishy… soft…

Sage couldn’t feel where their legs ended and the plush suit began.

It seemed to constrict a little tighter with each breath they took - not enough to push their breath out, but enough for them to feel it…

Their head still stuck out of the poss’ open mouth, not quite nestled in. Was it meant to close? Could they see through those eyes?

The plush mouth suddenly clamped shut, and Sage was squished into darkness.

Their gasps of shock were muffled, as they kicked and rolled and squeaked on the bed.

Those struggles didn’t last long.

Sage didn’t spend very long in darkness. The insides of the eyes were… whirling with strange, beautiful colours.

The inside of their mind began to feel soft and comfy. Just like the outer surface. When the plush suit squished in, their mind squished a little too. Sage gurgled dizzily, their face bathed in pink and white and black, their eyes reflecting the screens’ patterns.

The struggles ceased, but the movements didn’t. The possum suit smiled as it got up to its squeaky soft feet, slowly shuffling towards the bedroom door.

Sage snored and mumbled contentedly, staring with glassy eyes and a squish-wrapped mind. They didn’t notice how much of a struggle it was for the big squishy limbs and fat squidgy body to get through their door frame. The suit did all the work, Sage just provided the frame… and got the best hug of their life in return.

The colours pulsed, the plushie squished, and that was all they needed.

18 - FOOD (Plush)

Shallic wasn’t even that hungry.

Sure, the night had been a lot of fun, but the only thing his post-club mind wanted was bed.

A buffet was the last place the fiery-furred wolf would want to go. And yet, something about the place called out to him. The lettering on the glass windows was bright, garish, swollen like balloons. It was giving lots of red flags already. But it was open. And it was ALL YOU CAN EAT, ALL DAY ALL NIGHT.

Shallic’s tipsy inhibitions were low enough for his stomach to lead the way and guide him through the door.

It was dark inside, seemingly even darker than the city nights. For a second, the wolf wondered if he’d stepped into a building that was still under construction. Or maybe this was a front for something seedy, something he really didn’t need to know about. The hair rose on the back of his head, and he hesitantly turned around to leave.

Shallic wasn’t even that hungry.

Something gripped his tail, the scruff of his neck, and the top of his head. They were turned around, and pulled deeper into the darkness. Shallic yelped, kicking out behind him in an attempt to escape. But he only kicked at thin air.

He burst through a curtain, into a warmly lit, pink-painted room. There was no table or chairs in the room, just a ring of serving-stations kept warm by pink heat lamps. Every single serving tray was stacked high with food. Brightly coloured stir fries and curries, several whole pizzas, potatoes in every single possible form they could have been cooked in…

Shallic was released at last.. Spectral, medicine-pink paws floated through the air from behind him. Two came together, clapped, and opened wide to present the whole spread. Other hands were floating from dish to dish, stirring the sauces and checking the temperature of the ice cream.

A buffet laid out all for him.

His stomach growled, and he began to salivate.

Shallic wasn’t even that hungry.

But he was inside, and it was warm and cosy, so…

A warm tray was thrust into his paws before he could dither any longer. He made a sheepish beeline for one end of the buffet, looking nervously around at the translucent, expectant paws.

“Ah, hah… where to start…?” Shallic asked, half to himself, half to his hosts.

One of the paws caught his attention with a sharp SNAP of their fingers. It slid along an already well-worn groove in the wolf’s mind, and he stood bolt upright.

It pointed a finger directly at him, and he held completely still, like he was balancing a treat on his snout.

It pointed down to the spread in front of him, piled high with junk food. Hot dogs, steaks, fried chicken, burgers…

He nodded obediently and began to pile it on, creating a small mountain of fat and carbs. The scent of salt and grease only made his stomach rumble even more. The more Shallic’s stomach rumbled, the soupier his thoughts got.

It was a good thing he didn’t have to go to a table to eat. He could just load up here, eat away, and save time on the journey.

As he chomped, a spectral snap got his gaze up once again. The finger pointed directly at his face. It steadily moved back and forth, slow and even, leaving a ghostly, gleaming trail of pink in the air trailing behind. Shellac followed. As he chewed and gulped, his already dull eyes grew duller and duller, taking on a slight pink sheen of their own.

Shallic shovelled food onto the plate with one hand, and funnelled it into his mouth with the other. The rocking, swinging finger traced a spiralling path towards the next station, and Shallic stumbled along to follow it. His greasy fingers scooped up slice after slice of pizza, his cheeks ballooning out as his satisfied, hungry moans got lower and lower in pitch.

By the time he was ladling hot spoonfuls of aromatic, calorific curry past his muzzle, Shallic had abandoned the tray entirely. The ghostly hands were massaging his growing belly, massaging to help make more and more space, as the cursed buffet’s spell sank deeper into the helpless wolf’s mind. All the while, his eyes remained glued to the pretty shapes dancing before him and leading him onwards on sparkling, fairy-dust trails.

By the time dawn broke outside, Shallic had made it to dessert. By that point, he couldn’t even stand, he was so full. He was sitting on his now much-thicker rump, his mouth open wide as the ghost-paws did the work. They opened his mouth and stroked his tongue as they guided dollops of cold ice cream and chunks of warm cake into it. They pushed his muzzle up and down to help him chew, and massaged his throat to make him swallow.

The wolf drooled all over himself, having barely blinked at all over the course of the binge. While he was too tired to chew, he was still not quite full.

Shallic really was that hungry.

19 - PAINTING (Summer Vixen) NSFW

The sunlight is creeping in through the window of the messy, boho-chic loft studio. You’re so far up that traffic noise isn’t even reaching you. It almost feels hermetically sealed from the rest of the world. The sunlight is catching on your orange fur, making you as bright and summery ; fitting, as that’s your namesake.

“Where do you want me?”

It’s cute seeing how your darling grapples with that question. They’re not at a loss for answers. Quite the opposite - they’re paralysed by all the things they want to do for you, or with you, or to you. Their mind is a tangled snarl of need, lust, fantasy.

It was even more tangled when you first started working with them. It started with some simple hypnosis sessions, your bread and butter, to help them through the frustrations of artist’s block. But things had gotten delightfully complicated. They wanted to see you more and more, for longer, deeper explorations of their mind.

You nipped things in the bud before they started asking for loans to pay for sessions. There was another solution, one that might kill a few birds with one stone.

The sketch was done a few days ago, and now it was time to paint in far more detail.

“Just… lie there, please,” they croak nervously from behind their easel, afraid to even look at you. They probably wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off you if they did. They’ve never seen you naked until now; you were in your own clothes for the sketch phase, but now that the background’s been painted while you were away, they’ve had you dress in something more fitting.

You half-shrug the robe they’ve draped you in, allowing it to drape around your elbows, and recline back against the cushions. You lift and turn your hips towards them, letting them see just how happy they’re making you already.

“Are you ready to sketch me?,” you ask.

There they are. You hear their breath hitch from there.

“You’re so beautiful,” they whisper. It coaxes a smile from you. You like when they call you that.

“That’s right.” you close your eyes. “I’m your beautiful muse. You can’t help but look at your muse, can you? The radiance of her fur and the nectar of her voice. She’s immortal in your mind, and she’ll be immortal on the canvas. Take as long as you need to. As you stare, you’re discovering things you’ve never noticed before. My body, my collarbone, my breasts…”

You can feel their eyes slowly scan down, following the siren call of your words.

“You’re transferring my beauty to the canvas, and with each stroke of the brush, you feel my paws brush along your mind and body. As the paint sinks and dries into the fabric, my words sink deeper into your mind.”

You open your eye to look at them. It looks as though their head hasn’t even moved. The blobs of paint on the palette remain stuck to it, even as it tilts away from them.

“How’s your posture?”

“Nnh, Yes, thank you for reminding me.” they stiffen again. You listen to the soft symphony of bristle against canvas, the punctuation of wooden handle tinkling against the rim of a glass along with the splash of water. It’d be enough to put you into trance, if you allowed it.

Silence stretches out. They whine each time they look at you again. Just looking at you is enough to bring them deeper.

“Mmhm.” You don’t need to use words. “Mhm” has myriad meanings, and they know the meaning in this moment.

You lift one of your legs up and splay the toes. You hold it in place. You feel their eyes travel along your ankle to the pads. Their brush strokes sound a bit more hurried…

“Don’t rush it,” you remind them, a hint of firmness in your divine voice.

“Yes,” they gasp. “Sorry Miss Summer.”

“Would you like me to call you your Muse?”

“Yes, Muse…”

It’s nice to hear them say that. You smile contentedly and check your own posture, making sure you’re where you need to be.

Your mind wanders as well, considering what you’ll do with them once they’re done for the day. This painting will take a few more sittings, you’re certain of that.

“You can take a break.” you snap your fingers. The little brush tumbles from their hand and clatters to the floor, but they don’t mind.

“Will you show me what you’ve done?”

“I’m… not sure it’s ready, yet.”

“I’d like to see it anyway.”

“Y-yes, my Muse.”

You’re taking shape on the canvas - smears of orange, brown, and white. You can see the outline of your breasts, your cock, and your raised paw. You never would have used the word ‘classical’ to describe your beauty, but you see it now.

“Kiss.”

You know the paint isn’t toxic. But it hasn’t quite dried. So when they pull back from the painted fox’s neck, you can see traces of orange resting like lipstick on their lips.

The smudge won’t be noticeable when the painting is done and hung in a gallery. But you’ll both know it’s there. Your little secret.

20 - JUKEBOX (Vivace)

The bar wasn’t Balthazar’s usual haunt. The dragon dipped his head slightly to fit his tree-branch-like horns under the door frame as he slipped in, and squinted to allow his eye time to adjust to the light. Most clubs would bring the lights down, but this place was practically a beacon. It had a roaring 20s vibe to it, all bright white colours and iridescent chandeliers.

It looked like the place had a dress code too, judging by the sleek, pearl-studded outfits the other patrons were wearing. Luckily, with his waistcoat and button-up ensemble, Bal fit right in.

There was a bit of a queue for the bar, though… it was one of those places where the barkeeps put on a show as they mixed. Rather than stand in line, he decided to wander.

The music was bumping, too; Bal couldn’t see the speakers, but the ballroom bar was filled with the sound of a big brass band, as well as a female voice keeping time with a catchy melody. He didn’t recognize the language she was singing in, but it was very easy on the ears. He felt the music in his hips, swinging them back and forth. He felt it on the bottoms of his feet, his sleek shoes tapping against the lacquered floor.

The night was young and the dance floor was empty; Bal planned on fixing that.

Towards one end of the big open space, at the foot of a currently un-used stage, was a small art deco obelisk with a halogen-lit screen. It was flashing in time to the music. The retro-futurist jukebox lured him closer, just as the bright lights had lured him in from outside.

Was there going to be anything on offer that he might recognize? The melody that was playing didn’t sound familiar, it probably wasn’t a cover.

The rolodex menu wasn’t giving anything away. There were no words on any of the options - just a few pictograms. There were varying numbers of musical notes at the left of each card - presumably to show the tempo. The ‘titles’ were comprised of 3 different pictures; hearts bumping against each other, stars falling, bodies intertwined while seemingly being struck by a lightning bolt… or some sort of magic spell.

That last one seemed kind of fun. And it had a particularly high tempo… Why not?

He punched in the numbers, each thick button making a very satisfying CLICK, and stepped away to head back towards the bar. The queue was starting to move a little faster, now that a blue dragon had emerged to serve drinks alongside the red tapir.

Bal wasn’t sure when the song was going to come on… but in the meantime, he slowly weaved his way along the dance floor, his tail slowly swinging behind him as if tempting others to join him.

The more he listened out, the more strangely loose he began to feel. Like a buzz was already descending over him.

The vocals were sounding a little more familiar, too… a word or two here and there twigged his brain. Something he’d studied….?

The thought was banished by a loud burst of brass that sent a shiver down his spine and a quiver to the tip of his tail. He froze in place. The woman’s voice belted over the top of it. There was not an atom in his body that wasn’t full of ecstasy, and the desire to dance. His legs began to tap, his hips and shoulders rolled, and then he slid to the side, his arms outstretched. As he began to kick and tap with the skill and speed of a professional dancer, others started to join, compelled by the building tempo and beguiled by its tempting sound waves.

By the time Bal realised that those lyrics were the words to an arcane spell in a long dead language, it was only a mild half-realisation in a sea of revelry. His eyes were pulsing with subtle, lazy ripples of gold, an ensorcelled look shared by everyone else as the dance floor slowly started to fill. He took hands with a dizzy curvy panda, and they began to dance in time, joined at the hip by the tune. Everybody danced to the same beat, moving as though they knew the choreography by heart.

There was a lightning-bolt shock of pleasure passing between them, from palm to palm, from hand to hip, connecting them like a phalanx of dancing puppets on one long string.

This was the song Bal had picked, and he barely even realised it.

He spun with his dance partner, back towards the jukebox, compelled to request more songs. He punched in every single song on the list… they’d be dancing into the early hours.

21 - BEVERAGE (Aristoth)

Aristoth was keeping one eye on the dance floor as he rinsed and polished glasses. The blue dragon wasn’t in any sort of hurry. There weren’t many customers to serve right now… seeing as most of them were tearing it up on the dance floor, swaying to the tune of the bar’s enchanting music. That’d keep them busy for a good 20 minutes, or so. This place had a unique glass for basically every cocktail and spirit on the menu, so cleaning them all took time. Plus his co-worker had taken the opportunity to step out for a smoke break, so Aris was left to his devicess. At least he had a spectacle to stare at…

“Uhm, hi?”

Aristoth knew the voice straight away. He turned to the red panda and grinned widely.

“Leem! Lookin’ good!” The red panda was definitely dressed right for a speakeasy, with a black button up and lime-green suspenders. Aristoth straightened his white bow tie and leaned over the bar onto one elbow, his tail taking the glass he’d been working on out of his hand.

“Did someone use the jukebox?” Leem asked with a knowing smirk.

“Mmhm.” the dragon gestured towards the crowd squinting. “It was…. That guy.”

“The dragon? Oh, that’s Bal! I know him… not surprised he’s here. Did I miss the chance to jump in?”

“Unless you’re happy dancing sober and conscious,” Aris said with a shrug. “But I could fix one, or both of those things…”

“Alrighty… I’ll probably go for an old fashioned, or a whiskey sour… which you feeling more?”

“Actually…” Aris grinned, his tail sliding up to the shelf and taking hold of a long, purple bottle of top-shelf vermouth. “Could I tempt you with a martini?”

“You know I’m not a gin drinker,” Leem laughed patiently.

“I swear, you’re gonna love this one. I’ve been putting together something just for your palate.”

That wasn’t really a lie - it was just part of the performance. Whether Leem believed him or not wasn’t the point.

Aris placed the chilly bottle between them, and grabbed a sapphire bottle of gin.

Leem was looking out at the dance floor. Aris could see a hint of FOMO on their face.

It also meant they weren’t looking as Aris dipped his tongue into the martini glass, leaving a very thin trail of saliva that blended in to the clear, frosty bowl.

“Ignore them,” Aris said, producing a mixing glass from beneath his end of the bar. “Watch me work…”

“Oh, sure, sorry… aren’t you gonna add anything else?”

“Nope… I’m giving you a classic martini, no funny business. But I think you’ll like how the flavours dance together. Trust me.”

Equal measures of gin and vermouth fell into the glass, and then he began to stir. Ice clinked and rattled softly against metal, and Aris noticed Leem was already leaning in a little. Interest piqued.

They were already snared, even if they didn’t know it yet.

Aris slid the martini glass between them, and strained the mixture in.

As soon as it hit the bottom of the glass, it picked up and dissolved Aris’ little garnish. A little ribbon of blue appeared in the middle of the liquid, slowly spreading outwards like dye.

“Oooh…!” Leem nodded. “That looks nice…”

Aris laid a little spiralised piece of citron peel over the top of it.

“Give it a little swirl,” he said.

Leem took the glass and tilted it a little. The blue continued to grow and spread, like a subterranean vein of water beneath the earth’s crust.

“Around and around, like that,” Aris said. “And if you look closely, you might notice the colour evolving and changing, the way a good drink keeps changing on your palate..”

Aris’ enchanting venom was, indeed, shifting to bright green. New hues swirled out from the middle of the blue, sparkling subtly. Leem stared and continued to swirl the glass, their movements turning more and more sluggish by the second. Their head was starting to slump forward, their spine curving like a shrimp’s body as their nose went closer to the rim.

“And the colours draw you in, don’t they?” Aris leaned over so his muzzle could brush against the inside of Leem’s ear, his hand resting on their wrist to ensure the glass didn’t slip from their fingers. “The colours draw you closer so you can breathe in the scent… feel that?”

“Nn-hnn…” Leem murmured. They’d already given in… how cute.

“Breathe in deep, as the blue starts to swirl back in with the green. Vermouth and Gin. Blue and Green. Light and Heavy. Focused and Dazed. Two opposites combining to make a delicious cocktail, just for you. Take a sip.”

Aris knew Leem would have trouble doing it themself. So he lifted their wrist to bring it to their slack jaw. Leem pursed their lips, slowly, and lapped at the top of the glass like a docile dog.

“Good.” Aris hissed. “Let the colours in. Taste them. Smell them. Fall for them. Deeper…”

Leem whimpered and giggled, sluggishly smacking their lips.

“How’s it taste?” Aris asked.

“Yummy…” Leem gurgled.

“Good.” Aris glanced towards the still-packed dance floor, then back the other way to the basically-empty lounge. He had plenty of time to take this cutie deeper.

“Have another sip.”

22 - DESSERT (Maple)

“Hmmmm.”

Maple scratched his chin, still rolling his tongue against the roof of his mouth. As he did, the squirrel stared down into the mixing bowl, watching the paddle slowly swirl through the thick, treacly batter. The dark chocolate taste was lingering - by design, of course. It tasted beautiful… as it always had. It was definitely to his standard.

The Sweet Spot had a reputation to uphold; there was a reason why they sold out of all of their cakes and treats well before 3 each day, and a reason why there had been a bit of an increase in the local’s waistlines since opening. A lot of the Sweet Spot’s cakes and treats were habit forming… by design. Maple had a secret ingredient. An enchanted one, one that encouraged bigger bites. Perhaps it was a tiny bit unethical to use enchanted sugars and salts… but they were satisfied.

It didn’t. The chocolate mint gateaux wasn’t selling as well as he was hoping - it was a personal favourite of his! A little change in the flavour profile would help things.

After wiping the spoon down, he dipped into the bowl again, careful not to let it get jammed in the slowly oscillating mixer, and took another dollop. He slipped it into his mouth. Sugar and cocoa bloomed on his taste buds, and he sighed, his tail twitching with satisfaction.

Yes, it was getting there. A little sprinkling of the secret ingredient had made a huge difference. It wasn’t something you could taste or pick out, a stealthy stimulant that made you crave another bite.

Maple nodded contentedly. “Yeah, that’s the ticket.”

The squirrel made his way back to the sink and rinsed the spoon off. But as he towelled it dry, his mind wandered back to the batter.

“Hmm…” something was nagging at him. The cake batter was perfect, that was for sure, but… hmm. Maybe there was something else that was needed. One more taste couldn’t hurt.

He went back for more, taking another little dollop and slipping it between his lips.

It was even tastier than last time. The flavour seemed to keep developing the more they tried. Not sweeter, but more complex, more decadent and thick. It’d be even tastier after it was baked…

Maple really wanted to taste another spoonful…

“I shouldn’t,” he grumbled. There wouldn’t be much cake left if he kept it up.

What else was there in the kitchen for him to taste test? Some of the boiled candies, the multi-colored macarons, or maybe one of the white cakes…?

“Plenty of other stuff to try,” Maple mused to himself.

He caught a glimpse of his face on a smooth metallic table. What specifically caught his eye was, well, his eyes.. They had a look he’d seen on a lot of his satisfied customers, a sign that they were under the thrall of the magical seasoning. Uh oh…

He could see pink and yellow spirals curling around and around in a regular, even flow, like a swiss roll…

Oh, yes, the swiss roll! That was almost baked, ready to be rolled… and, why not, he might as well taste-test that too.

As he hurried to the oven, the inside of his mouth grew sweeter, and his eyes whirled faster.

He was past the point of stopping any time he wanted to. He forgot that there was a lot to do before opening. The future evaporated, and he began to live entirely in the present, looking for the next thing to taste test, and the next, and the next… each new flavour of sweetness smothering his tastebuds…

The next hours evaporated in an avalanche of little bites and samples, his head swimming with sugar…

“Morning Maple, sorry we’re-”

Maple’s wide eyes were full of both spirals and shame. He hadn’t grown a great deal, but the signs of his rampage were obvious. Every single cake that was prepped for serving had a big slice taken out of it already, there was only half a tray of brownies and blondies left, not to mention the chocolate mint cake hadn’t even been baked yet.

“I know what thish looksh like,” Maple said, his cheeks still stuffed with cake. He gulped it down before he continued “I just need to…t-taste a couple more things, then we can start setting up…!”

His assistants were staring at him from across the room. The cat and the rabbit sighed.

“Closed for maintenance?” the cat suggested.

“Mhm.”

“Augh…” Maple sighed, putting his head in his hands. “Not again…”

He was going to need a lot of water and exercise to flush this stuff out of his system.

22 - DESSERT (Kaitty)

“Help yourself - but don’t take too much ;) “

The handwritten note was propped up behind the stack of brownies. They’d been cut into very small cubes, and there was a slightly pungent aroma lingering in the air - the sort of scent that was strong enough to stick around all afternoon. Kaitty could only imagine how much more intense it was earlier.

But, since they were offering… she would oblige.

The purple cat approached the counter and picked up one of the brownie bites; it squished pleasantly in her hand, and she could already anticipate how it’d melt in her mouth.

They were pretty small, too, so she probably wouldn’t need to cut the little morsel up any more.

She popped it into her mouth, and let the taste of cheap cocoa and sweet butter explore her mouth.

It wasn’t the tastiest weed brownie she’d ever had; it was a little bit sweeter than she was used to, almost cloying. The aftertaste lingered as she padded her way to the nearest couch in the living room and sprawled out. The light projector in the room was already casting blue and lilac sparkles around the room, with some relaxed, chilled out aural wallpaper to go with it.

She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander.

She gazed at the darkness behind her lids, catching little glimpses and flickers of the projector’s light through them.

She smacked her lips. The taste was still quite strong. Cloying, in fact. She might have to give her roomie some notes for next time…

As she breathed and relaxed, she began to notice the colours were bleeding through a little more. Purples and greens and reds and pinks, reminding her of the colours of a bag full of gummy worms. They twisted and sparkled before her, seemingly in chaotic, unpredictable patterns. Her eyes flickered back and forth to follow them. Somehow, they naturally brought her eyes to the left, and the right, rocking her in a familiar way.

The glow grew brighter, too. She opened her eyes. The projector’s light hadn’t changed… in fact, it wasn’t even doing the rainbow colours she’d seen behind her eyes.

Even now, she felt the after-images of the swirls and shapes. When she closed her eyes, she saw the twisting swirls, even brighter than before.

“Mrr?” The sweetness wasn’t going away either. In fact, it felt like it was getting stronger, and spreading. As if there were hidden taste buds on the roof of her mouth, on her lips… And they were all being tickled with that same sugar-kiss.

Kaitty’s head felt sweet and rock-candy sparkly. Her eyes blinked sluggishly, molasses-slow. Her muscles felt loose and stretchy like licorice.

The cat began to purr, the sound bubbling from her throat like caramelising sugar.

The sweetness wasn’t fading, but she was starting to feel like she wanted more.

Yes… more would be nice…

She slid off the couch, her feet squishing into the floor, leaving trails of pink and purple on the carpet. Her body felt heavier, thicker too, and the wobbly weight felt… strangely right.

Her paws squished against the floor, gummy and soft, and she felt a little bounce to every movement she made.

Her tongue lolled from her mouth, much longer, drooling sugar syrup as she lumbered over to the plate. Her rock-candy claws pinched another bite - even though she was sunk into the sugar, she wasn’t going to overdo it.

Her eyes spiralled and sparkled with sugar-swirls as she sat down on the tile floor with a little jiggling plop. She purred and gurgled, her hair dripping like melted chocolate and dribbling down over her body.

She sucked on her fingers as she swallowed the brownie. She tasted just as sweet. Her brain fizzed. She couldn’t wait for her housemate to get home… maybe they’d want a taste of her too!

If they said no, she could just let them look into her spinny sugar-eyes, and they’d change their mind…

She needed to thank them for making her so yummy, after all…

23 - CLAY (FruitDrive and WhatsInAName)

“Are we seriously gonna be only ones in the class, Keith?” Dibble asked as they tied their sparkling white hair up behind their head… while privately wondering if there was any point.

“Well, it’s nearly 7…” The brown-furred Shiba looked at his purple-scaled partner and shrugged. The workshop was empty, except for the pair of them. There was no sign of a tutor either… the space was a little bit out of the way, a good bit of a drive out of the city, so maybe the teacher was just stuck in traffic or something.

“If it’s just us… we can treat it as a date,” Keith said, putting a broad arm around the dragon’s shoulder and pulling them in for a sideways hug.

Dibble made a show of sighing and rolling their eyes.

“Fiiiine, I guess you can try and rank up your social link with me.”

“Oh, hush.” Keith kissed Dibble on the side of their face.

The couple had their pick of every single unattended pottery wheel; each one of them had a blob of cream-coloured clay, already in place. They were analogue affairs too, no signs of electric motors, just a good old fashioned pedal to spin the metal bowls around.

They didn’t overthink it - they took two spots in the centre of the workshop, Keith on the left, Dibble on the right.

Seven o’clock came and went; no hide nor hair of anyone else. The couple had exhausted their small talk, too…

“Y’know what?” Dibble said, shifting their weight to stand. “I think I’m good…”

Keith nodded. “Shame, I was looking forward…”

There was a sudden whirr and rattle. Keith’s ears perked up as he looked down at the pottery wheel. For a moment, he thought he’d stepped on the pedal by accident and set it spinning… but no, it was spinning on its own, the pedal moving up and down seemingly of its own accord. The wad of clay was spinning with it, too, the almost square shape turning rounder.

The pair leapt up to their feet, glancing again around the workshop - it was still empty.

“Ah fuck, are we on a prank show?” Keith said, smiling bemusedly. “I ain’t gonna sign a release form, for sure.”

“Wait, look…”

Dibble pointed at the clay.

It was starting to shift in shape, its outer edges smoothing down as if held by invisible hands, until it was the shape of a gumdrop.

It squished downwards gradually, approaching the shape of a rice-cooker pancake, round and thick.

The dog and the dragon didn’t notice their legs moving them closer to the shape. The wet clay glistened and shone. They didn’t notice their snouts starting to subtly trace circles in the air, following the spinning disc….

A thick depression appeared in the middle of the shape, just off-centre enough to make its own spinning arc. The arc of Keith and Dibble’s movements grew wider.

Little lines and divots appeared, halo-ing the central circle and radiating out. As the bowl spun faster, the shapes seemed to dance and coalesce into spiralling shapes.

Dibble didn’t notice a stool had been slid behind them, ready for them to sit down in. Their bodies moved, puppeteered by secret messages within the spinning disc of clay. Dibble and Keith sat down and leaned in, closer to that spinning piece of wet earth.

More shapes and spirals appeared, added in effortlessly by the invisible hand.

By now, it was a zoetrope of shapes. The glossy wet sheen made the shapes seem to shimmer and flicker, little sparkles and wisps of green light starting to appear amongst the spiral.

The pair didn’t notice they were drooling onto the wheel. They just stared, their thoughts spinning away, spiralling down into that lake in the centre.. Their eyes gleamed a dull green… a green that matched the colours of the ghostly, translucent hands that were moulding the clay, pushing the pedal, cradling their sleepy faces.

Their heads remained still, even when their vision of the clay was blocked, briefly.

The scent of earth met their nostrils. A mask was ready for each of them - still wet and soft, freshly moulded. They both had the same cervine shape to them, with well-moulded antlers and very thin slits for the eyes.

The two vessels’ eyes gleamed brighter through those dark slits.

The clay was pushed to their faces, sticking to their fur and contorting to ensure they would remain stuck fast.

They would remain still and spellbound for hours upon hours. Come the dawn, the masked vessels would be prepared… and ready to be filled.

24 - BUG (Blair) CW: Body Horror Blair was surrounded by her former friends - what was left of them, anyway. The dark-purple-furred, pink-haired goat couldn’t stop looking at them. Her friends stared straight ahead, their eyes dark and opaque like black marbles. They reflected the dim flickering of the candles they all held. The chapel was dark, suffused with the sounds of low chanting and soft skittering. Blair searched their faces for any sign of their old selves, the sparks of life she was familiar with…

But there was no trace left. Their minds had been re-purposed, with new residents clinging to the insides and massaging their spinal column with their intoxicating venom and mind-altering pheromones. The shapes of their pilots bulged in the backs of their heads, underneath their flesh and fur.

Removal was impossible.

They were lost.

And she was next.

The only difference between Blair and her friends… was that she was doing this willingly.

She wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone but herself, but…

She was doing this because she was excited to experience what they’d gone through. Damn the consequences. They’d lost already, so why not enjoy the journey?

The goth goat’s heart was racing. She wasn’t sure if it was due to some vestigial fight-or-flight desire, or just because she was excited to get her head fucked.

“You have come for the gift, child…”

The deep voice, hidden beneath a thick robe, spoke with religious fervour, even though Blair knew the words probably weren’t his own.

He raised the gift before her.

The beetle was about the width of Blair’s fist, and half the length of her forearm. It was a luminescent white, like the colour of a maggot. Its many little legs wriggled at the air, and its abdomen was wobbling back and forth. Its proboscis, long and sharp, was poking out from between its mandibles, like the stinger of an angry wasp.

…that was going to go into the back of her head in a moment.

“Kneel, child,” the voice commanded.

“Uh-uhm, okay…” Blair giggled nervously, looking around at all of her former friends.

…Would they technically be friends again once she’d given in?

She approached. She didn’t need to be nudged or restrained, the way her friends had.

She remembered how they screamed and begged and cursed and fought, watching from her hiding-place.

Seeing their bodies twitch and their struggles cease…

She couldn’t get them out of her head.

She could have done something, warned the others away as one by one they were lead to their own anointments.

But she just watched. Listened.

Those choked moans they made.

She had to know if they were really as pleasured as they sounded.

The robed figure approached. The scuttling grew louder. She knew what was to come next. The others had tensed and pulled and clenched their mouths shut.

She did no such thing.

She opened her mouth and closed her eyes.

She resisted the choking urge to spit and cough as its thin legs brushed against her tongue, and its whole body dove in. Her hoof-fingers clacked together as she spasmed.

She already felt it. Her mouth was growing numb. The insect forced her jaw open to the point her cheeks stretched. She breathed through her nose, her eyes watering and dissolving her smoky eyeliner so it dribbled down her face.

It dug in deeper, seeking purchase with every little limb. Its proboscis went to the end of her throat and snaked upwards. She didn’t feel pain as it slid into her skull - but she felt it.

She moaned.

She felt it.

Hot, intense pleasure that made her body writhe and her flesh burn. Her moans were muffled at first, still stopped up by her guest’s carapace. But as it began to plunge deeper, pushing through her throat and finding its way to a more comfortable position, her gasps became more full throated. Her body rising and falling, inflating and deflating like a concertina as her face leaked tears and drool.

Blair’s eyes rolled up into her head, her pupils dilating to marble-sheen. She felt like she was cumming - endlessly cumming. No refractory period, no build. The probing tongue of her guest found every crevice of her consciousness and flooded it with pleasure. Her body slowly rose, as insensate and stiff as the rest of the new hosts. But inside, she was screaming in a long, endless climax.

Her final thought - before her guest became her Master, her mind became meat, and she became one more part of the brood… was gratitude for the gift.

25 - HOLY (Corona) NSFW

The black scaled dragon knelt on the marble altar, his wrists lashed to his ankles. He glared down at his captors, his purple throat and the sharp purple stripes on his snout creasing in an angry snarl.

“As soon as I free myself from this pathetic cage, I will peel you apart - each and every one of you. Then your families… and their loved ones… every single person even remotely related to you. Think of it. Hundreds will die. All because of your foolishness.”

His cock throbbed as he relished that thought.

But threats were falling on uncaring ears. Eclipse found this surprising… and disturbing. People cowered and acquiesced to much less intense threats from him.

His captors seemed amused, if anything. They continued their preparations without hesitation. Eclipse’s boasts echoed through the chapel halls until they dissolved entirely.

Several silver censers now hung from poles surrounding the dragon. All of them were pouring out milky white smoke.

“Do you intend on muttering your pathetic little mantras all night?” Eclipse spat, his saliva hitting the invisible dome that kept him restrained to the binding-altar. “You’re wasting valuable time that you could spend running… before long, I will be free, and your lives will be forfeit! Do you hear?”

He caught a glimpse of a little smirk peeking out from one of the thick dark robes. A giggle that made one of the chanting voices quaver ever so slightly. It was enough to unbind his wrists from behind and attempt to lunge - but a new string of words lashed them together again, and brought them down to his front - tantalisingly close to his still erect shaft.

“S-see?” Eclipse’s stammer undercut his attempted bravado. “It takes all of your magic just to hold me in place. Slip up again, and you are done for…”

Eclipse coughed. Something had slipped into his throat and clung to it - the taste of fine, sweet herbal tonic. The vapour from the censers was still creeping up the altar, as if it was being hoisted up towards Eclipse’s form.

As the chanting of the monks grew stronger, the vapour seemed to solidify - refusing to dissolve and separate, pooling on the floor and creeping up the altar like sea-plants seeking the sun.

The gaseous charms continued to wrap their way up his body.

“Nngh…?” Eclipse grunted with shock as a sudden paroxysm of pleasure thrust through him. This was not the normal type of pleasure, the joy he got from domination.

He felt weak. He was not in control. He was the one about to be dominated.

But the revulsion he thought he’d feel - that he wanted to feel - wasn’t there.

His cock was throbbing harder.

The smoke swirled upwards, submerging Eclipse. It caressed his flesh. It settled on his scales. It tickled his nostrils with sweet, herbal calm. Sparkling eddies and veins of gold were creeping through the clouds of incense, like lightning bolts within a storm-cloud. The crackles of magic leapt from the smoke and lashed against Eclipse’s body - a slight sting that made him hiss, followed by a wave of warmth as the smoke wreathed itself around his flesh.

His pleasure was building. But it was evolving, too. The smoke enrobed his shaft, but its throbs and pulses had ceased. The smoke cradled it and pushed down, as if squishing down a pillar of fresh clay. it formed a thin, glassy-sheened second skin around it, a second-skin that matched the pearly colour of the rest of his changing scales.

The pouch was perfectly round, containing the demon’s once-impressive maleness into a pleasantly contained form - one far better suited to his new, coming purpose.

The chanting grew louder, the smoke grew thicker, and it crept up to his neck, continuing onwards to cover his face.

Just before the black and purple scales vanished from sight, occluded in the dome of smoke, he let out one last noise.

It was not a defiant threat.

It was a simple groan of confused, helpless bliss.

As soon as the dragon was covered, the chanting stopped.

The smoke continued to swirl in the invisible dome, and continued its work.. More little bolts of gold briefly revealed a part of Eclipse’s form in silhouette - his face, his thighs, his wings. His body twitched silently in the storm, his mind filled with the cleansing occluding fog.

The gossamer-thin barrier vanished like a popped bubble, and the smoke poured out over the altar, pooling onto the floor as it finally dissipated.

The dragon was slumped forward, looking at the floor, his head bowed obediently.

He looked up, bleary, dazed, but strangely content. His eyes gleamed a pale gold, his scales white like porcelain.

“Now, Eclipse… have you been purged of your lust for blood?”

“I have…”

“And freed of this lust, you will live a more Godly life, will you not?”

A hand rested atop his head. The chase orb between his legs pulsed and bounced, and he lifted his head to nestle into the hand like a placid cow might.

“I will,” Eclipse sighed contentedly. He was purged of the taint of evil and arousal - pure and chaste. He was where he should be.

25 - HOLY (MiloMesmer) NSFW

“It has been… I don’t know how long it’s been since my last confession. I’m not sure what happens here… should I keep talking?”

Milo waited for a response. Nothing came. Just the sound of soft breathing on the other side of the wooden panel, the only hint that there was someone in the other half of the confessional.

He wasn’t expecting his confessor to be so… quiet.

He wouldn’t have minded some conversation to take his mind off…

“I just… didn’t know where else to turn,” the deer continued, lowering his head. His antlers scraped against the lacquered wall of the booth. “Ah, sorry, I’m… I might have scratched the wood, sorry…”

Again, no response. Just breathing. A slow, even tide of breath, constant and comforting.

“Alright. I’ve, uhm… having these thoughts lately. It started as little intrusive ones, the normal ones that go away after a few seconds. You know, things like ‘Climb over the railing and jump’ or throw the glass bottle on the ground and see how it smashes’. I noticed them happening a little more than usual, but I thought it might’ve just been, I don’t know, stress…”

Milo could feel his heart quickening.

“But then the fantasies changed… now I’ve started fantasising about… uhm, being… intimate with people. If I lock eyes with a man, I think about… well, I want to…”

He paused again, choking back the words. Would his confessor be scandalised if he went into detail?

“Continue.”

The voice was deep and low like a well-tuned oboe.

With the voice’s permission, Milo let the words pour forth.

“I want to suck his dick, I want to feel him inside me, I really just need him to fuck me, and I can’t get him out of my head until I see someone else attractive and then they take his place, and… it’s like an endless gangbang in my mind… I’m glad I haven’t seen your face, otherwise I’d be thinking about you the whole time.”

Milo took a deep long breath. That last explosive confession felt like it was all done on one breath, and his lungs needed time to recuperate.

But the thoughts were still racing. He wanted to keep going, but he didn’t know what else he could say. He might start repeating himself, raving like a lunatic.

The confessor seemed unfazed. His breathing was slow, even, comforting as ever.

Milo focused on that.

“S-sorry…” he croaked.

Silence for a time.

“Continue.”

“I… don’t know what else there is to say, I’ve just had these thoughts, and…”

“There are more thoughts,” the confessor said. “The demons are still there. We cannot remove them while they hide. Give voice to them. Purge them.”

“Yes-” Milo gasped, and more lust poured from his throat.

“I need cock, I need cock so badly, I just want to feel one against the back of my throat, I need it, I need cock, I want cock…”

The thoughts were not purged. They were strengthened. Given greater, even more irresistible power.

“It’s all I want to do, it’s all I’m good for, please, I need you to help me, I need you to let me suck your cock…!”

The pane of the confession window slid wide open.

Milo scented the shaft before it slipped out into view, gravity pulling its tip downwards. It was wet, lubricated, shining like polished brass.

“Confess.”

Milo quivered, his jaw tight.

He was so close to it.

“B-but I’ve been confessing…”

The cock throbbed, and Milo’s mouth fell open wide.

“You cannot resist the desires of the flesh, can you?”

The voice was deep, low.

“N-no…” Milo whimpered, drool slithering from the front of his snout.

“Confess to your lust.”

Milo understood now.

He guided his muzzle to the salt and warmth of the shaft. He allowed it in. He shifted off of his seat and squatted as much as he could in the cramped booth.

The confessor’s cock pushed in, and Milo’s mouth was filled with its absolution. His hands pressed against the wall as he bucked back with his throat, pushing his lips as far forward as he could.

The Confessor’s breaths were heavy, but still keeping to that same even, soothing pace.

The desire for cock, those base lustful instincts, they were banished with each new thrust, each throb, each anointment of pre-come on the back of his throat.

The cock was the perfect size and shape. It was the weapon he sought, the thing that would save him…

The demon of lust inside him was burned away by it, those recursive endless thoughts replaced, for the first time, with beautiful, beatific silence.

In that silence, he gulped and savoured the fleshy sacrament, his muffled moans a private hymn, just for the ears of his confessor…

No. His saviour.

26 - CLOCKWORK (Blackjackaught)

Dax had forgotten what silence sounded like. The ticking was inescapable since the panda’s capture.

It drummed a rhythm into his head, and he could feel his heartbeat slowing more and more to match it.

Every single part, piece and pawn of the Movement was leashed to this analogue anthem.

It included the panda’s former compatriots. The rabbit and the squirrel on either side of him marched to the same beat, their concert making his ears ring. The two of them were unmistakable, even with their faces now made of porcelain and brass, the pistons and springs of their clockwork guts visible through every seam and joint.

Dax tried to shuffle his feet, change their rhythm, to keep them from getting caught up in the seductive ticking.

He glanced at the backs of his friends, seeing the massive brass keys endlessly turning. Would removing it from them save them? That had been his unit’s plan, but the ambush went haywire. The only small relief was that the rest of his squad would escape.

He wouldn’t give up their location.

His captors came to a stop in the middle of the cavernous room; what passed for a throne room for this mechanical hivemind. He looked around. Gears turned, springs tensed and relaxed. Even the round, glass platform they stood on.

Dax couldn’t see the source of the Hivemind. It was hidden away. But it was present.

“You-Have-Brought-More-Flesh.”

The way they spoke felt… wrong. Each and every syllable was clipped exactly on-beat. No pauses for air or breath, no intonation - just an inexorable drum.

“This-crea-ture-re-pre-sents cha-os. Breath-and-heart-beat-flesh-and-blood. Dis-or-der. Res-ist-ance. This-will-end-when-the-Move-Ment-fix-es-them.”

“You’re the ones who need fixing!” the panda shouted acidically.

Their lack of responses, their complete lack of care, made his body chill.

“In-stall-the-Key.”

“We-Tick-To-The-Move-Ment.” the squirrel and rabbit spoke with the same voice as the Hivemind, their own individuality almost totally wiped out.

The squirrel who was once Dax’s friend grabbed both his wrists and raised him outwards, squeezing with strength that could have snapped his bones. The rabbit received a long stiletto-like piece of brass, one that matched the one in her back.

Tick. March. Tick. March.

She circled around behind Dax, even as he continued to squirm and resist.

“You’re not gonna win!” Dax spat. “My friends will find a way to stop you! I know I’ll see them again-!”

He flinched as the key dug into the middle of his back, expecting to feel pain, to bleed…

Instead, there was a soft click.

He didn’t feel it pierce his skin…

He felt its presence inside him, but it felt…

The key turned, ratcheted, and he felt his spine shoot up straight.

…The low key aches and pains he felt were vanishing. Relief like nothing he’d ever felt spread through him. Each turn, each click, fixed to the tick made that sensation spread. It didn’t spread in slow waves. It was precise, each increment spreading further.

The pleasure was horrifying.

He shook his head and clenched his teeth.

“No… no no no…”

His body felt so numb. Cold. Each click and tick made a new part of him twitch, some new piece assembled perfectly. His flesh and fur stiffened, turning hard, tight, cold as more and more of his normal sensations vanished.. And it felt… right. Terrifyingly right. As if this was the form he was always meant to be in…

No, that was an alien thought, it was mind control, it wasn’t…

_Click.

Tick._

…It wasn’t his choice to make.

Tick.

The ticking no longer felt like an assault. It felt like a lullaby. A rhythm. A pulse to follow.

Tick.

The clock-squirrel released his wrists, and they slowly moved back down to his sides, second by second, twitch by twitch.

Tick.

The clock-rabbit twisted the key to that same beat - 60 positions, perfectly timed.

Tick.

One revolution finished.

Tick.

And the next began with no pause.

Dax did not want it to stop anymore.

Tick.

Dax did not want anything.

Tick.

His mind relaxed as it too was re-purposed and re-formed, turned to delicate little pieces of steel and copper.

As

Tick

The

Tick

Rest

Tick

Of

Tick

Him

Tick

Changed

Tick

To

Tick

His

Tick

True

Tick

Form.

Flesh and blood was not the clock-panda’s form. It had never been.

The gears in what was once a skull turned and clicked, synchronised to the same beat. The clock-panda’s glass-covered eyes stared ahead, its pupils now two tiny second-hands that slowly turned.

“The-new-time-piece-will-re-veal-the-lo-ca-tion-of-the-flesh-and-blood.”

The words came from the clock-panda’s throat. The voice matched the Movement. The information was still in the gears and mechanisms, and it spilled forth, syllable by syllable.

It would take time.

But the Movement was time.

Time was patient.

Time was unstoppable.

Time was endless.

With its

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

27 - BLADE (Sophie)

The fox is clever. The fox is cunning. Every time it spirits into the village, it leaves with a loaf of sweet bread or the neck of a fowl between its teeth. It evades every trap, dodges every missile thrown its way. Too smart for them.

But humans are persistent brutes.

The hunter seeks the fox, whiskey on the breath, knife in hand, hellbent on making an incision for each and every lost hen and cockerel. She has a pouch full of sweet treats to lure the fox into the open, and a rope to truss the fox up with when she brings it back.

The fox watches her, scents those sweets. It scents no poisons. Other humans tried that in the past, but the fox was too clever, its nose too sharp. It sent them back, the way it always did.

The knife is sharp, clean, fresh, and the moonlight makes it dance.

Distant howls. The fox’s cousins cannot resist a night like this, a moon so full and lustrous.

The hunter grumbles, tense. She fears the wolves. They would tear her apart.

The fox does not want that, though it would likely keep the humans away.

The fox wants to win on its own terms.

It slips on ahead, paws soft against the leaves, and tempts the hunter with brief glimpses of russet fur and dark face.

Thick bootfalls tell the fox she is pursuing it.

It knows an apparent dead-end, close to one of its holes, one it can duck into if its trickery doesn’t work.

It backs against a tree, reliable and rough and sturdy, and turns to face its attacker.

The hunter-girl approaches slowly, knife raised, still glimmering.

The fox plays its charade, tail low, ears glow, growling and gekkering softly.

The hunter growls some words of her own, words the fox doesn’t understand, but doesn’t need to.

She squints and blinks as the light of the moon catches her blade. She is in the perfect position.

The fox darts to the left, and the hunter turns towards it, the blade moving, glimmering, shining.

She blinks some more. The fox can read the exhaustion, the anger, the focus upon it.

She starts to take a step, but the fox leaps to the right. She moves, the knife moves, the knife sparkles.

The hunter says something - a few soft spat words, annoyance and grievance.

Each time she starts to move, the fox leaps again. Its orange-flame eyes remain trained on the blue of the hunter’s. Its own eyes shine in the light. Eye-light reflects off the blade with each move. She blinks - her pace of the blinks quicken, then slow, more and more, until they remain closed for long enough for the fox to run.

But the fox is clever enough to know it no longer needs to run.

Its leaps become a slow pace to and fro. The human turns to follow, gripping the knife, twisting it slightly to catch the light. The constant, consistent dazzling makes her face soften and relax, her youthful years more evident on her. The fox spies an innocence. No wonder. The innocent are easy to beguile.

The fox comes closer, still walking back and forth, eyes trained on the hunter’s like a cougar about to strike. The hunter’s eyes glint. Orange and moonlight. As the fox comes closer, she falls to her knees, genuflecting down to the fox’s level.

The fox puts its face against the hunter’s. The knife has fallen. It is no longer needed. It will remain there in the leaves.

The gold-orange glow fills the hunter’s mind. The fox’s will slips right in.

The fox does not have words to command, nor does it need them. It chitters and barks softly, gently, and the human understands.

Her disrobed body is bared in the moonlight. Her clothes, all human-scented and warm, will be an excellent addition to the fox’s nest.

The human trudges off the way she came, beautiful in her nudity - a pity the humans are forced to hide themselves to stay warm.

The fox watches her go, chewing on the sweet snacks.

It is fine if the fox gets a little fat from them.

The fox does not need to worry about being caught.

The fox is clever.

28 - CLOWN (Ruffles)

“You know what this is about, don’t you?”

Camellia sighed, and rolled their pink eyes. The blotchy strawberries-and-cream coloured cow had had this chat so many times before. They could probably anticipate the entire conversation. They wished they’d had the time to take off the nose, too… they practically had to breathe through their mouth while they had it on, it was so constricting - not to mention stupid-looking.

The squat red panda sat at their desk, their footpaws draped over the top, their handpaws behind their head. Camellia braced herself for the usual drubbing from Boss Cashmere.

“Your cover as a clown only works if you, you know, act like a clown.”

“I can’t help it.” Camellia shrugged, scratching at their short, thin horns, which were striped red and white like milkshake straws. Camille’s pastel, soft body didn’t really match that resting bitch-face they had. “I’m not gonna pretend to be something I’m not. Besides, don’t some people like bitchy clowns?”

“You made fifteen kids cry today, and yes we were keeping track. If we don’t get customers, the carnival looks less legitimate, and if the carnival looks less legitimate, we get people snooping around. We can’t abide any threats to our operation, doll. This is gonna be the last straw.”

“So, are you gonna finally take me off this job then? I can get back to cracking skulls, like I used to?”

“...No.” The red panda took their feet off of the table and stood, their back cracking as they groaned. “We’re gonna get you back on track with some more training.”

“Not more of that…” Camellia groaned.

“Tough shit, if you’d done your job better you wouldn’t have to go back to this. Anyway… you might find this a bit more fun.”

The boss stepped to the back of their office, opening a slit in the tent curtain and gesturing for her to follow.

This back ‘room’ in the maze of tents was used for private business, the odd interrogation… Camellia was pretty sure they weren’t gonna torture them into being funny. A chair was laid out, along with a set of full-length panel mirrors making a half moon directly in front of it.

“Have a seat,” Boss Cashmere said.

In the dim halogen light, Camellia could see their ridiculous colourful skirt, that white-painted face, that ridiculous nose. They looked ridiculous. It made the cow seethe.

“What is this, are you gonna have me look at myself in the mirror till I laugh?”

“Something like that. Sit.”

Even though the panda had to reach up to take Camellia’s shoulder, their paw was firm and their grip was insistent. Camellia was brought down into the seat.

“Now, look at yourself,” the boss panda said. “Look into your eyes.”

“Okay.” Camellia felt a little… exposed like this. There really was something very piercing and probing about their gaze, like a bull preparing to charge.

“You look pretty funny, don’cha?” Boss Cashmere’s expectation of the answer was clear.

“Yeah.” Camellia said, even though they didn’t agree.

“I don’t hear you laughing.”

“Come on, Boss, what the fuck is this…”

Camellia had more to say, more complaints. But they noticed Boss Cashmere’s hand going behind the chair and pulling out a long tube.

“Hey, hey, wait-”

Before Camellia could protest, the panda pulled that tube up underneath the cow’s face. It squished against the red nose and fixed itself fast. Camellia heard a loud hiss, and felt something cool and light flood into their nose. Some kind of gas…?

Strange… it was easier to breathe through the nose now, let the gas flow in… their head began to swim, and their body began to float. Like they could just lift off of the chair and float away…

The thought made them chortle.

“Just breathe it in,” Boss Cashmere cooed. “This stuff works great for loosening lips, but I’m giving you a bigger dose to really help fix that brain of yours. That’s a good clown. Now look at yourself. Do you think you look funnier now?”

“Ahh…” Camellia stared at themself again. They looked even sillier with that long tube sticking out of the bottom of their clown nose.

“Ahhehh… heh…” they snorted, most of the sound coming from their contracting throat. Like they were choking.

That was kinda hilarious too… it made them laugh even harder, their body starting to shake with each new lowing grunt

“There we go. Let out those laughs. Give in to them. You’ve got such a cute laugh. It’s girly n’ sweet, like you…”

“Duhhhh?” Camellia’s head tilted to the side, their eyes dilating as their mouth began to drool. Their lips were curling into a smile, their chest and tummy rising and falling, their giggles turning less and less self conscious by the second.

As the gas flooded their lungs, the laughter grew stronger and they began to double over.

“Eyes on you!” Boss Cashmere reminded Camellia, holding them by the chin. The cow-clown drooled all over it, their throat open wide as they giggled and cooed idiotically.

“Eugh…” Boss Cashmere sighed, grimacing. “Well, we’ve got the laugh down at least… I’m glad you’re learning to laugh at yourself, Cammie. Don’t you feel better now?”

“Huh… duhhhuhuhuhuh?” Camellia didn’t understand what the Boss was saying. It was pretty funny that they didn’t. It was easier to just keep laughing, each laugh jiggling their body and making their muscles ache so wonderfully.

They were finally starting to get it…

They were a funny clown, a happy clown, a silly clown…

No space for angry, surly thoughts in a head full of giggly gas.

28 - CLOWN (Caine)

“And… you, Sir! Come on up to the stage!”

Caine sighed, rolling his one visible eye - the other was hidden behind an eye patch. The yellow-furred coyote got out of his seat and shuffled around the cabaret tables towards the stage, as the rest of the audience applauded. The red panda magician was waiting for him, wearing a green top hat, a crop-cut shirt and waistcoat, and a big, expectant smile.

Lux - or Cashmere, as Caine knew them - must have picked him as a starting act because they knew each other. Caine knew he was easy to trance, and the pair already had a rapport.

Caine was slightly miffed by the idea of being Cashmere’s- sorry, Lux’s warmup.

“How are you doing?” The panda bounded over and took Caine’s hand. “Why don’t you tell everyone your name - I know it already.”

“...Yeah, it’s Caine.”

“Give it up for Caine, ladies and gents and those in between! Full disclosure… Caine here’s a good friend of mine, an excellent subject, and I can’t think of anyone better to press-gang into an assistant for the night. Someone for a bit of extra comic relief!”

Caine’s stomach dropped. Sure, he did standup, but a tight five was a tight five, no room for improv.

“What the fuck are you-” Caine began, under his breath, but was cut off by something tapping against his nose.

His eye crossed inward to squint at the big red blob now dangling just in front of his snout.

“I have here a clown nose…” Lux said to the audience. “An enchanted clown nose. The moment I touch it to Caine here’s face, he is going to become a perfect foil for me! A goofy sidekick who’s gonna joke around and undermine me… just to keep me honest, you understand.”

As the panda spoke, the red piece of rubber slowly moved back and forth, dangling from a piece of elastic. It was clearly just a cheap costume shop nose, nothing enchanted about it…

Caine was too well-conditioned not to follow. He’d also been caught off guard, so… there was nowhere else to look but at the little red blob.

“Prepare to be amazed…” the panda announced. “Before your very eyes, you’ll see this unassuming coyote turn into the perfect clown. Painted fur, goofy outfit, the works…”

“That’s… not gonna work…” Caine mumbled, as if what he said mattered at that moment.

“Wanna bet?” Lux giggled. They tugged the nose up with one dextrous pull, and Caine’s head tilted back to follow it. The panda jammed the piece of rubber against Caine’s face, and as the band wrapped around the back of his head, a sharp snap made the world drop out from under him. A hand behind his back kept him from toppling completely, guiding him back up to standing.

“And it starts with… a little honkhonk~!”

Caine’s nose was pinched through the squishy nose. His nose got all tingly like he was about to sneeze… but it spread further, more and more rapidly, making his whole body wiggle and shudder. The sneeze sensation evolved into a buzzing, like a little electric shock. His face turned white and shining, with big blotches of blue around his eyes, and red around the lips. His clothes turned multicolour, with pants that were too small, and a shirt that was way too baggy - his eyepatch turned bright blue with a little yellow smiley-face in the middle of it.

He groaned with confusion, starting to fall to his knees… but stopped midway down, in a low squat. His now gloved hands pressed into the sides of his hipbones, and he looked out with a blank, vacant stare.

“Bawk… mmbawkbawk.” His cheeks puffed and bulged with each cluck. The audience laughed, confused but amused. Caine’s brain was blank. He barely noticed them.

“Oops… looks like I might have put the ‘chicken transformation’ spell on that one, not the ‘clown’ one… one more squeeze, and-!”

“BAWK!” Caine shot upright again, ramrod straight. He stomped his big-shoed foot on the stage. He was furious. He was gonna give this panda what-for.

“What’s the big idea, ya prick?! You trying to put me on an all-seed diet or something? Too cheap to buy an honest clown a square meal? C’mon, this fuckin guy, am I right audience? How long do you think it’s been since they dry cleaned that ratty suit of theirs?”

Lux smiled and shrugged. “Look, money’s tight Cream-Pie Caine, you know that!”

Caine growled and tried to roll up his sleeves. But they were too baggy for that, and kept sliding back down his wrists, no matter how much he tried. The audience laughed, and he glared at them, pulling an exaggerated gurning face.

“Look, truce?” Cashmere approached Cream-Pie Caine with their palm outstretched. “Let’s finish the show, then hash this out.”

“Ugh…” Cream-Pie Caine rolled his eye and reached out a big, begloved hand. “Fine.”

The clown was half expecting another drop. A tug, or some little gadget that would humiliate him again…

But it didn’t come. It was a firm, simple shake. A shake between professionals - or a magician master and their clown servant, to be precise.

“Alrighty, Cream-Pie Caine, shall we get down to it?”

“Sure thing, Boss. But I’ve got my eye on you.”

“Eyes on me, yeah~”

A sudden pulse of purple and gold rings floated through the panda’s eyes, and Cream-Pie Caine was gone again, shooting up straight with his palms straight down towards the floor.

“Would you bring an audience member up, please?”

“Yes Master,” Caine droned, his arms going up into a silly sleep-walk pose as he ambled his way to the edge of the stage.

“Careful!” Lux said, almost half heartedly. “Don’t fall off the-!”

CRASH.

“Stage.”

Cream-Pie Caine leapt to his feet again with a frustrated growl.

“The things they put me through…” he grumbled. Though there was good nature underneath the anger. He did enjoy being a clown. He loved working for Lux. Being a clown was the life for him…

(at least, it would be until the end of the show.)

29 - WIND (RaeRaquirrel) _ CW: Hypnotic Language. Includes an awakener. No lingering triggers. _

I’d like for you to think about wind.

What exactly is wind? It’s one of those things that we think of as just… existing.

But wind is not air, and air is not wind, is it?

Wind is wind when we perceive it.

When we notice its movement.

When our ears pick it up, or we see its effects, or we feel it on our skin.

Whether that’s a violent gust of wind in a storm.

Or a gentle breeze, soft as a feather.

It can push against us. Or caress us.

But the important thing, the thing that defines it as wind is, as I said…

Perceiving it.

Noticing it.

Becoming aware of its contact and impact with your body, for example.

A tough gust might make you tense up, grit your teeth.

A gentle breeze, particularly on a hot day, cools and soothes you.

Now, here’s a question.

Is your breath wind?

It’s the movement of air, and it’s noticeable.

So that must make it wind…

I’m sure now that I’ve mentioned it, you’re noticing it.

I’d like you to become more aware of your breath.

The way your breath creates wind.

Notice how the wind moves through your body.

As you take comfortable deep breaths.

And how it moves yours, making it expand, contract…

Do you notice how the wind moves your body?

Opening up the chest, the diaphragm…

Wind is invisible, of course.

But if it were to have a colour, perhaps a milky white foggy colour…

Would you be able to see how it curls out from your mouth as you breathe out?

How strong is that wind? Is it a breeze? A stream? A puff?

What about if you were to yawn?

Try it, just yawn, open that mouth wide…

And when you sigh at the end of that yawn…

That’s a puff of air, isn’t it?

Why not yawn again, even if it’s forced, it feels good, right? feel how the air opens your jaw, ready to be expelled as wind…

If you were to hold your hand in front of your face as you yawn, would you feel the wind of your breath impact with your palm? Would it spread like steam from dry ice…?

Now…

What if this wind was carrying something with it, too?

What if your thoughts were being carried away on this breeze… like flecks of microscopic dust.

Like wind… something we don’t normally notice until it’s pointed out, until we see dust carried on a breeze or a gust…

As you breathe out, can you see those thoughts in the out-breaths, the wind gently blowing from your lungs?

And as you breathe out those thoughts, your body relaxes, as you sink down.. Down… down. Thoughts float away. You float away. Into a nice soft little trance.

Now.

Can you imagine your lips close to your ear? My breath caressing it?

The wind slipping in.

Carrying my words.

Hear the sound of my breath.

Feel it against your ear.

Visualise it moving.

Imagine those remaining thoughts. Those other concerns and cares.

Just drifting out

The other ear.

Guided by my breath.

The wind

Flows

From my lips

Through your head

Out the other side.

Let the wind…

Clean you

The gentle gust

Letting you

Float

Further

And Further

Away from your normal waking world

And into

A nice

Gentle

State

Of trance.

Floating away.

Mind and body.

Let the wind carry you.

Gently, of course.

Up up up.

As you sink.

Down down down.

The wind carrying you through that wonderful paradox

Let yourself float and flutter on it.

This feeling of lightness - not even a stiff breeze is needed to caress your mind and keep it in the air, keep it flowing....

Just the barest, feather soft… puff of wind.

From my lips

To your mind.

And you float. So comfortable. So cosy.

You’ve done such a wonderful job.

Floating and fluttering, carried by that gentle, soothing wind.

Knowing that

It’ll safely

Bring you back

Down

To solid ground

To the waking world

Gently.

Very gently and easily.

On the count of five…

You’ll be settled back down. Comfortable. Relaxed. Content.

Maybe you’ll want to start from the beginning and let the wind take you away again.

Or maybe you’ll be ready to do other things, move on with your day…

Either way.

Let’s settle

Your mind

Back down

First off.

1.

The wind

Caressing you.

2

Cradling you.

As you let it

3

Lead you

Back down

4

Towards solid ground

Alighting

As you breathe

Gently

Easily

And

5

You’re back on solid ground, settled again.

Starting again, or waking up the rest of the way with a further count up to ten, in your own time.

But, either way…

The wind has relaxed you, and changed you.

You understand what it is now, too.

And you know the comfort it can bring you.

30 - VAMPIRE (DegenerateWaste) NSFW

You’ve felt eyes on your back the whole way home from the club. You left your friends early for this reason. You swore someone was watching you from the pockets of darkness within that place. A monster. You needed to get out of there, just for the sake of your paranoia - maybe you’d had too much to drink.

Your walk speed is just below a full on jog. You’re afraid to even look behind you - you don’t want to know if your paranoia is unfounded or not. You just want to get home and leave it at that.

…You can’t help it. You glance behind.

There’s no one. But you don’t slow down your walk. Just in case. You hate being out this late.

“Hello cutie… got a second~?”

Red eyes gleaming from the shadows ahead of you, just at the edge of the streetlight’s halo. A toothy grin, a flash of white teeth. Your route quickly veers across the street - a car screeches to a halt and honks at you as you hurry, not even looking back.

You’re just a block away. You start to run. You are being followed.

Your keys are already in hand - ready to be shoved into the lock, or into someone’s face if you need to. You race to the door, slip the key in with shaking paws, and push inside.

Something stops it from closing all the way.

A brick, or some other sort of doorstop, has been wedged in place. His footpaw is resting on it, but still not quite through the threshold.

The ebony-furred hobkin’s big ears flick, and he chuckles. He’s wearing a dark, glimmering jacket, and nothing else.

His cock pulses. But his eyes pulse and swirl far brighter.

“Wanna let me in, dear~? I just wanna talk to you…”

The dark little creature has such a soft looking snout - the lower jaw’s lip pushes out just a little, full and soft, and you can’t help but wonder how they’d feel against yours… or elsewhere.

Ribbons of crimson move and gleam just beneath the surface of his dark fur, matching the gleam and pulse of his eyes.

He sways back and forth, and you see the rattle-tip of his thick, serpentine tail dancing in counterpoint to the sway of his head. Meeting it in the middle each time.

Why were you so worried? He seems so charming, and his eyes are so pretty…

“Please, come in…” you murmur.

The doorstop scrapes along the concrete as the hobkin pushes it away and slithers inside to join you.

He levitates, ascending as effortlessly as he would a flight of stairs, just so he can get to eye level.

His tail slides the door closed. His body is not quite clammy, but it is a little cold… you might have fooled yourself into thinking he was just chilly from being so underdressed.

His claws stroke along your throat, and you feel your head tilt to the side. You already know what he wants.

And you know that you’d like to give it to him. Those eyes are so pretty, and those lips look so soft… how nice will they feel against your neck, as he feeds.

You don’t know when you ended up in your bedroom, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve lead your master in there, losing your clothes at his gentle suggestion.

As he sways and floats, so does his shaft. It’s almost as bewitching as his swirling eyes.

“You can look, dear,” he says, his claw coaxing you to look down at it.

You’re salivating. Your lips smack together unconsciously.

“Someone’s hungry too…” he purrs, drawing your gaze back to his full lips, his pretty fangs, his deep eyes. “What a conundrum… how am I going to feed myself and feed you at the same time…~?”

From his tone, you know he knows the answer.

His cock glows purple, at the periphery of your vision… and a similar glow appears above you. You’re coaxed to crane your neck and look up at it… at the thick, juicy, translucent cock, dangling straight down over you. The glans sways like a pendulum, and you open your mouth wide, tongue lolling out.

“There we go, dear… hold still, and deep breaths for me…”

His cold breath caresses your throat as he inhales deep. His fangs just grazing your neck. The ghostly proxy-shaft descends into your waiting, straightened maw. He groans with delight, and his svelte body rubs against you. His fleshy corporeal cock grinds against your nude torso, throbbing and pulsing in time with the ghostly one in your mouth.

“I had you pegged from the moment I laid eyes on you…” the Vampire Hobkin growls. “I knew what your purpose would be. Now, let’s see if you taste as good as you look~”

His fangs dig in, and your throat clenches and stiffens. His moans come from the taste of your essence, and the squeeze of your flesh. Your body locks up like a statue, and you stay in place, standing at the foot of your bed. You won’t fall back onto it for quite some time. Not while he’s perfectly content to float, fuck and feed.

Just as he deserves. Your body is his to enjoy.