FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The almost black waves lapped against the hull of the zub. Nobody really knew how storms happened, here. Even in a cave as grand as this, there shouldn’t have been much wind. Some blamed the wax-wind, but it wasn’t always blowing. Those zailors more fantastically inclined blamed creatures in depths. Leviathans of unfathomable size! Hordes of perfectly synchronized spider-crabs. Others even suggested that the zee itself was alive.

The honourable captain knew it was all tall tales. Of course, she had no better explanation. Long since, she’d accepted that it was simply how things worked. The zee sometimes got riled up. That was the biggest reason she’d eventually had a submarine built, rather than a mere ship. Not so much a desire to explore – who would want to explore the depths, in this place? – as safety. Even with the rules of nature bent as they were, waves couldn’t travel too deep down under the surface.

“Clear the bridge,” Elizabeth commanded, her voice loud and clear even with the beating of the waves. A bell rung. The crew was on edge, but only true fools wouldn’t be, in this situation. “We’re taking her down.”

A scramble of activity. The lookout hopped inside and shut the hatch tightly. The ventilation whirred to life. The lights faded to a menacing red, an unfortunate side effect of saving power.

“Dive, dive, dive,” Liz shouted, and dive they did. Almost instantly as the vessel disappeared under the surface, the noise faded, replaced only by the low, rumbling creak of pressure building against the hull. It’d hold, it always did. But even knowing that, she couldn’t help but imagine it not holding. The walls of the submarine would crack, and the zee would pour in. A little further down, it’d crush them before they had a chance to drown. Here, though, they’d have plenty of time before they finally ran out of breathable air.

But that didn’t happen, after all. It never did.

Still, the great unterzee wasn’t a safe place. The leviathan creatures the zailors told tales of existed, but not this close to the surface. One never knew when they’d decide to explore different waters, though. It was full of sharks and giant crabs, but the captain had taken special care to have the hull reinforced enough that none of them could get through, at least not quickly. No, the main threat they faced were the constant companions. So called, supposedly, because they began to follow a ship as soon as it submerged, just out of the reach of its lights. Massive spiders, they looked like. Massive spiders that could smell fear, somehow, even through the thick hull of a submarine.

They weren’t like most of the zee’s brutish predators. They didn’t seem to merely bite a ship, or even ram it. Instead, they took it apart, like particularly nasty mechanics, systematically unscrewing screws and cutting bolts, peeling a zubmarine like an onion until they reached the soft humans inside. What they did after reaching them, even the zailors didn’t speculate on, except when too drunk to remember what fantasies they’d conjured the following day.

And the companions were following. Nothing was visible through the small windows, but only a fool would’ve thought that to mean anything. They always followed, thus their namesake. Rarely did they attack. Nobody truly knew what inspired them to do so. Hunger, or simply malice? Either way, it was a spiralling threat; the spiders were drawn to fear, and inspired it. The more afraid the crew, the more actively they’d be pursued, and thus they’d be more afraid. The trick was to get the staunchest possible zailors as your crewmates, ideally further fortified with lager or wine.

It worked, usually. But the storm had everyone on edge, and so the choice to submerge was enough to seal their fate. The companions indeed followed, floating just out of sight of the vessel as it headed towards its destination. Every now and then, a zailor would claim to have seen the glint of too many eyes, or a jagged, hairy limb, no matter much the captain tried to calm them down.

Surfacing now carried its own risks. The ship wasn’t designed to withstand a full storm, it was designed to dive, as they had.

Elizabeth weighed her options. Even she was starting to get nervous because of how her crew was acting. If she’d been alone – if only – she’d have been fine. Never mind that she couldn’t operate the zub on her own unless she had at least eight limbs. Eight, like those damn-

Clang. The ship shook and reared up like a scared horse, the front briefly pointing towards the surface. The depth of the waves lent it a mesmerizing, disorienting appearance, as if reality itself was bending and warping. Someone screamed. Another loud bang.

“Engines on full! Surface! Surface now!” Elizabeth shouted even as she tumbled back towards the hold. “Surface now and send the monster hunter on deck!”

But it was hard for anyone to follow through. There was an ear-piercing screech like metal on metal as something dug into the hull. The hired hunter closed his eyes. He was the only one entirely unperturbed. Then again, he was more monster than hunter at this point.

“The ship’s lost,” he snarled, pushing another zailor off him as the ship righted itself, if only briefly. “The moment they get through the hull I’m going to get through them. All of you make for the surface and find land. Or die trying.”

A sharp, hairy claw plunged through the ship, and as the water began to rush it, the crew had the briefest chance to see their attacker. A spider, almost as big as the vessel itself, prying them open like a tin of sardines. The moment the pressure equalized their hunter sprung out, harpoon in hand, and then both were gone.

For a moment, nobody moved. And then, taking a deep breath of what little air remained, Elizabeth swam out, towards the surface. It was every man – or woman – for themselves, now. She’d literally gone down with the ship. No rule said she had to die with it, too.

The breached the surface and gasped for breath, only to be submerged by a massive wave, barely managing to claw her way back to breathe again. God, if I survive this, I’ll-

And then something latched onto her leg and pulled her down quietly and effortlessly. The faint light of the surface disappeared from view as she flailed helplessly, inexorably slipping down through the water until she could feel the crushing pressure of the unterzee build around her. Down, down, all the way down, where there was no light at all. She was only vaguely aware of being forced into a bubble of air, barely enough for her to survive, but not enough to really be fully conscious. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

The companions had found her, of course. One had, at least, one that’d immediately recognized her as a suitable victim. It’d made sure to trap enough air to keep her alive for a brief time in its rough fur, pressed against its belly. If she was unconscious, all the better. This was not a moment one should remember with terror and fear. No, rather, it was a joyful occasion. The creation of a new lure. The human was more frail than others they’d chosen, but as luck would have it, they built their coral-webs in the more shallow parts of the depths. Just deep enough that most of the day, there was no light at all. And shallow enough that a human might just survive a visit, if the companions wanted them to.

Theirs was a small colony. A small web, like a fishing net, strung up between towers of coral. And just beneath it, in a rocky outcropping, a small den for eggs and rest. One that they’d slowly, very slowly filled with air. The newborns took their time in learning to swim and breathe water. It was a conscious effort, for them. As much as it could be to a spider. That, and much of their prey needed air, lacking the adaptations the spiders had undergone in the peligin depths since their arrival with one city or another.

It crawled into that deep underwater nest through an opening that forced it to dislocate half its legs to squeeze through. Plenty big enough for its prey, and safe from larger predators. The legs snapped back into place as it crawled into the pitch-black chamber, mandibles clacking with excitement like the pincers of a crab. It placed the half-conscious captain on a muddy pile of mucus and debris. Its spiderlings crawled around her. They knew what they had to do, but of course, the companion itself – looming over her, staring with all eight eyes, it’s mandibles twitching – took its time to choose. Eventually, it rolled her over, like a ragdoll. Even though Liz’s eyes were open, she was barely aware of anything that was happening. She couldn’t survive here for long.

A talon-tipped leg brushed her sodden hair aside in a twitch. Humans. It’d been a while. It had to refamiliarize itself with the quirks of their anatomy. It preferred going through the neck, typically, but humans, useful as they were, were fragile. And their bones were tough. A dead or paralyzed one meant the death of the companion inside as well, and with how their minds were tenuously linked, that usually meant the death of the companion who’d chosen the victim as well, picked apart by its kin with righteous fury.

That was, of course, an unacceptable outcome. Luckily, humans had prominent ears.

It snatched up one of the spiderlings, the one closest to moulting into full adulthood. Becoming a companion for a lure would cause it to never grow, but it was a worthy sacrifice, and placed it on the side of Elizabeth’s head. Immediately, it began secreting slime, the contact with a host triggering a chain of development that otherwise never happened. Over a few minutes, its exoskeleton reversed its progress so far, growing softer and softer rather than harder, until the spiderling was more gelatinous than solid, almost transparent.

She was only vaguely aware of something twitchy wetly probing into her ear. It all felt like a dream, and she’d barely remember any of it, struggling to form memories. Everything was like a slideshow, errant pictures that failed to connect to any emotions. A pressure against her ear, as the spiderling eagerly pressed itself into her, legs popping and snapping until it was shaped more like a tadpole, using the legs to push itself deeper into her ear canal. Some adult companions used such shape for swimming, but most of them found it too painful.

For Elizabeth, it was the strangest sensation. It was a slow process of something squirming around, pushing deeper and deeper into her ear canal, wetly, squeezing against nerves that nothing should’ve touched. Like an itch travelling into her skull, an overwhelming pressure, and a sudden, relief-laden pop. And then, a light-headedness, as the companion breached into her very mind, straddling her brain. Over time, its body would soften as it bound with her. It’d be all but indistinguishable from her. But there was some time until that. Immediately, it tested every neuron it could reach, and Elizabeth convulsed. Not in a painful way, but rather, pleasure. Overwhelming, blinding pleasure as the companion gave her a first taste of what being a good lure was like. Lure, and perhaps breeder, if she took to the role.

But she was rapidly using up what little oxygen the adult companion had brought into the cave, her greedy lungs expanding with it as she panted, leaving a wetness of her own behind as her sex spasmed desperately around thin air. The adult noticed that. It was loathe to leave a new lure on its own so quickly, but it had little choice, or all its young might suffocate.

The enormous spider scooped Elizabeth up again, wrapping her in a thin cocoon that’d hold enough air to get to the surface, and then squeezed back out of the cave, setting for the surface as fast as the human’s biology would allow. Now, it’d just have to find somewhere to leave her. Someplace where she might find a way back to her people.

She found herself washed up on the shore of some island so desolate, so featureless that few would dare come close. There was no lighthouse. There was a boat moored to the grey rocks, but it took Liz a long time to realize what had even happened. The companion was long gone. It had other things to attend to. The hunter had slaughtered several of them before escaping, and Liz had been the only one captured. The rest, likely drowned.

She remembered being dragged under, ever downwards, and then… it became more hazy. The companions had done something to her. Something terrible, that nonetheless left her feeling strangely aroused. Almost as if her mind was squirming with lust, torn between trying to figure out a way out of this mess and simply giving in. And it only seemed to get worse with each passing moment. A faint tingle, at first, then a kind of twitch inside her very mind, a wet and sloppy and warm sensation that felt like it was dripping down her spine, and out between her naked legs.

Liz observed that she was naked. But on a desert isle, was there any real harm in it? Sure, the boat suggested someone was already here, but all that meant was that she might find someone to fuck- no, that wasn’t her- she shook her head almost violently, feeling her thoughts being hijacked one by one. The thought of leaving this place all ended up with her… sharing this beautiful gift with them. After enjoying their cocks. No! It was crawling inside her mind, an itch she couldn’t scratch, making her want to crack her skull against the rocks, but demanding her submission at the same time. It’d feel good in just a moment. All she had to do was to give in, to let it happen.

Slowly, her new companion reminded her of the truth, as it manipulated her very mind. The spiders had left their offspring inside her, a smaller copy that’d slowly spin its web all over her neurons, subverting any attempt at independent thought. It’d make her a breeder for them, an enslaver, to drive more people to those disgust- wonderful creatures. Yes. All she had to do was to surrender, to embrace her new role. To let them make her grow a beautiful ovipositor, one that’d bless her with ability to pump their eggs into others. And filled with lust, they’d seek out the companions themselves, given time, to turn into proper slaves themselves.

No no no, that was… how was she going to get out of this? Her mind was fading, blurring into a lusty, wanton state that felt both terrifying and seductive at once. She wanted to reach into her skull to yank that horrible thing out. But rather than any fast motion, her hand ended up caressing the side of her head, accompanied by a quiet little whimper, as the creature rapidly reprogrammed her response. It was picking through her thoughts and memories, and she could feel it, skittering around, wiggling between the folds of her very brain, strumming her like a master violinist would his instrument. Drawing out one melodic moan after the other. There was no escape from it. Inevitably, it’d force her to surrender. She’d be moaning and begging for it, sooner or later. Her inner walls clenched with desire. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Surrender. She’d be a good host, wouldn’t she? Yes, she would. A happy, very horny host. A lure for them to use to draw in more prey. The companion would take care of her. It’d make sure she never had to worry about anything again. And the cost would only be her independence, perhaps some part of her humanity.

Another whimpering groan spilled from her lips. She could feel an overwhelming kind of pressure building in her sex. Like the weight of the zee itself, but within, rather than without, like an impending orgasm but so much more intense. Oh, her hand brushed briefly against the sodden mess down there and she shivered with pleasure. It caught on her clit, already swollen to more than twice, thrice the length it used to be. And it only kept growing until her zee-hardened fingers could wrap around the length of it, feeling it pulse and buck, the thought of letting it sink into someone nearly driving her into paroxysm. A kind of vein bulged out from underneath. Increasingly, it looked like a beautiful, sexy cock jutting out from her once fully feminine crotch.

A sense of power washed over her. A heady mixture of submission and dominance. All she had to do was to let her master have its way with her, and she’d have the power to make anyone feel like she did. Yes. Her wetness was drooling down her legs as she squirmed on the barren beach. She watched, nigh breathless, as her once-clit swelled into a strong, proud erection. A false-cock that’d share their blessing, whenever she used it, engorged with lust and desire. Her eyes were fixated on it, as if intentionally caressing it. If not caressing, at least admiring. Her slender fingers wrapped around that much thicker member, and squeezing it immediately send a shivering pulse of pleasure through her body as it bucked happily against her palm. It was so strange, a new organ like that. So single-minded in its purpose, and yet feeling so very, very good.

But the pressure only continued to build. Further back, this time. At the very base of her spine. Her master had more gifts to give. There was nothing she could do. Every thought of resistance was quickly snuffed by the thing in her head, and it kept intensifying the fantasies. Yes, give me everything. Please, she thought, in dissolute surrender, knowing it could hear her. Every inch of her felt so wonderfully tingly, her thoughts floaty and excited. Something ruptured as her spine extended, notch by notch, into a tail, a chitinous appendage that twitched as it grew, soft and pliable flesh filling in the hard exoskeleton that blended perfectly, if unnaturally, into her old bones.

There was a sharpness at the end. A stinger, it too dripping with lust and venom the moment it first formed, shedding layers of chitin until it was like the point of a needle. Like the tail of a scorpion. To pacify those who couldn’t embrace what she had to offer. It coiled briefly around her neck, as if reminding her of who was in charge; that new part of her, not the old, boring thing she’d been. The stinger brushed over her lips, the venom tingling on them. She was immune to it, of course. And that tail was just as much a part of her as her quivering sex, merely with different motivations.

Yes. Oh god, yes. Salt, Stone and Storm, it feels amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you, she whimpered, half in thought and half in desperate moans as her cock throbbed again. She had to put it to use, if only to show her gratitude.

There was someone on the island, wasn’t there? The boat. The faint sound of footsteps higher up. She nearly stumbled on the rocks as she stood up and began to make her way towards the small peak. A well. There was a well up there. Who in their right mind would’ve decided to build a well, here, on an island so devoid of life that it’d never be used. A zailor’s desperate attempt for a fresh water supply? A piece torn loose when London fell, spat into the neath like a forgotten breadcrumb? It didn’t matter. Her attention was fixated on something else. Around that strange well paced a figure as naked as her, steadily and unrelentingly, never straying from the groove his feet had worn into the gravel. His clothes laid in a pile next to the well, discarded and forgotten.

She’d heard of those people. They began muttering of candles and numbers, and then they set off. Was this where they all ended up, forever circling that well, each new arrival disposing of the last? She didn’t know. Didn’t care, really. It seemed like a miserable fate, even if it was guided by some kind of desire just as strong as what’d stolen away Liz’s own mind.

Yet, at least for her, it was pleasurable. Something delightful in exchange for what was lost, unlike the poor wretch. Liz suddenly realized that she recognized him. It was one of those people from the parliament. The one who’d been mentioned in the worst of the scandal-rags of London. He’d supposedly disappeared a few days ago, screaming about going north. Was this all there was to it?

She heard the well whisper, too, as she drew closer. But it was like drops of rain in the ocean. Her master was in perfect control, and she felt safe. It’d filter out anything she didn’t need to hear, its own mind flawless and machinelike, chitinously impervious to any manipulation. It felt safe to have it be in control, knowing that it’d never let any harm befall her. Liz felt thankful, even. She had to show just how thankful she was.

She tried speaking to the pacing man, but all he replied with was a kind of muttering. He even shoved her aside as she tried to block his path. A lost cause, heading towards his own end, entirely unaware or uncaring that she was naked and visibly in need in the most carnal of ways.

Liz’s stinger twitched in anticipation. No doubt sometimes, she’d feel a little wrong, doing this. Sometimes someone she shared her gift with might have a life they didn’t want to leave. But this? This would be helping the poor wretch. Any fate was better than whatever spell had befallen him. An easy excuse, a reason to believe she was doing good, had no reason to feel guilty, and could simply enjoy it.

She coiled her stinger, and struck. The sharp point buried itself in the man’s thigh, paralytic venom pulsing through it. The pulsations of strange new muscles within her tail felt pleasurable. Halfway between an orgasm and a good stretch after a restful night. In just a few seconds, his protests ceased as he slumped bonelessly into her arms. Liz lowered him onto the ground, her new shaft throbbing with excitement and a pent-up need to be put to its proper use.

Elizabeth herself had no idea how this would all work, but she wanted to help. And so, she surrendered fully to her companion’s control, taking a back seat as she watched her hands move on their own, positioning him beneath her. Luckily, the venom had a relaxing effect, rather than a constricting one. Not to mention it dulled pain and fueled arousal. She could smell and feel his lust building, even if it was against his will.

She nudged the tip of that new member against his pucker, as if testing both how well she’d developed and how relaxed her victim was. As before, the point wasn’t to cause any pain or discomfort. Such things only made it harder for a new host to adapt. Yet, this wasn’t dominance. It was surrender. Full and unconditional surrender to her new host, letting it put her to use.

The tip slipped inside. He didn’t react, nor could he, except for a weak clench around her girth. This wasn’t mating the way one might expect. Instead, she pushed steadily, slickly deeper into him, the wetness oozing from her tip lubricating the way, until she was buried to the very hilt inside him. The tightness and heat enveloping her newfound ovipositor felt heavenly.

Yes, this is when it happens. God…

A squeezing clench somewhere deep inside her. Her repurposed eggs were being pushed into her ovipositor, almost the size of grapes. The stretch of it was unreal, but every moment of it was ecstasy nonetheless.

“R-relax. I’ll help you. Let me… just…” she muttered. It was hard to form any words at all. The companion wasn’t much interested in it, and her tongue felt still and unwieldy, as if she was only begrudgingly allowed to use it. As if it’d draw too much attention away from the ineffable heat of her actions, for now.

She felt the bulge of each egg – a dozen or so total, maybe – traveling down her shaft, guided by the rhythmic pulsations of alien muscles. Had her companion really restructured her body so much, already? Maybe she’d always had them, but been unaware of them, not having the gifts required to put them to use.

Her prey twitched as a warm gush of wet slime erupted from her tip and into him. Nutrients for the eggs. And laded with aphrodisiacs. The eggs wouldn’t hatch without being fertilized first, but they would influence the host. For most they’d be filled with an impossibly powerful urge to set off to zee and explore under it, until the inevitable happened. Riskier and riskier voyages, until caught by the companions. Some lucky souls would go to them directly and accept their new role as incubators, if they had what’d happened explained to them.

In a way, Elizabeth was almost jealous. She wanted everything her masters could offer. But they’d chosen a role for her, and she felt so very tingly and obedient letting it play out.

She gave a quaking moan as the eggs pushed further, past the man’s tight entrance. Gods, the knowledge of what was happening had her so wet. Drenched. Knowing what she was really doing, being forced to- no, she was doing it voluntarily. She wanted it, and that made it all the more perverted. The thing that’d taken up residence inside her skull squirmed, seemingly just as enthralled. It felt everything Liz did, and each of its shivering little motions only intensified the pleasure for her.

Wetly, the slit at the tip of her member expanded, yawning inside the man’s body, and the first egg popped out, snugly and safely deposited somewhere deep inside him, along with another gush of slime. The next came out almost instantly after, in a few wet, squeezing contractions. She felt her victim clench around her, the paralytic agent wearing off slowly. Not that it mattered, he would be feeling too good to do anything but moan. Maybe he’d even beg for it. Beg her to tell him how he could sate those new urges.

And she’d tell him. She’d tell him every filthy, lusty detail. Of how one of the male companions would mount him and slide its smooth cock into him. How it’d rut, if only briefly, before bathing those eggs in its life-giving seed. How hard he’d cum, himself, just feeling it. And how he’d keep cumming every time those eggs squirmed inside him, bloating his belly before being laid, just before hatching. And then he’d come back to her to be filled with even more eggs, perhaps guided by a constant companion of his own, crawling around in his head.

Liz let out a loud, passionate moan as her body convulsed a final time, the rest of the eggs squirting into her victim. Oh, it was sweet bliss, followed by an utter sense of satisfaction, of happiness that left her so addled that she simply laid there, inside him, the both of them wallowing in the afterglow.

He could barely remember what he’d come to the island for, now. The pleasure had washed all those horrible thoughts away, and whatever this woman had done to him had left him drained, his own seed splattered all over his stomach and the rocks underneath. A wonderful warm glow deep in his core, radiating throughout his entire body as the chemicals the eggs exuded soaked into his bloodstream.

When Liz told him what he was supposed to do next, he listened. Her ovipositor slipped out of him with a moist slurping sound. The slime was already hardening inside him, making sure the eggs didn’t leave his body before a male’s seed dissolved it.

Now, they had two goals. Thankfully, they had his boat. It’d be a slow, rocky ride, even the unterzee was calmer, now. Yet with nobody around, there was nothing to stop him from begging Liz to fill him with more eggs halfway through, when the desires got too overwhelming. Although he wanted to head in the other direction, somehow instinctively knowing where the companions had their breeding grounds, there was only that one boat, and she had to go back to London, to look for more suitable breeders to convert. Lures, hosts, breeders. The companions had a complicated lifecycle. But that didn’t matter.

It took them a few days to arrive. When they did, his stomach was visibly bulging, bumpy with a massive clutch for his masters.

He, in turn, would depart from the docks and head back to zee. Already, he was shivering with excitement and barely-concealed arousal at the notion of having one of the companions fertilize the eggs Liz had deposited. With the way they were manipulating his body chemistry already, he’d not even have to submerge for them to catch his scent. It’d feel wonderful. But because of his position, he’d not be able to stay long. Already, new plans were forming. He’d use his high office to drive more people to explore the unterzee’s depths, letting the companions take their picks. Tourists, perhaps. He’d spread any kind of rumour to bring them more visitors.

It wasn’t exactly a blessing. Certainly better than what he’d been lured into, previously. More fulfilling, in the truest sense of the world.