Archive of Our Own

“Two glasses of whatever qualifies as the finest spirit in the house, wench. Fast as you like!”

“Call me wench again, Fran, and I’ll fit you into a bottle and sell you to pay for your room. Speaking of which, you're not getting a godsdamned thing until I see your money.”

Fran grinned at his circumspect oni companion. The Wicked Whorl, by contrast, wasn’t much to look at inside or out. Just wood, a few tables, the bar, and a roaring fireplace.

It was by no means empty on that late autumn night, but the tavern maintained a cozy atmosphere which meant the pair could bombard one another for several minutes at a time without interruption. That and the fact that the proprietress both listened to Fran speak and hadn't kicked him out yet constituted the half-drow’s two favorite things about the place.

“How about a song instead? You can’t put a price on good entertainment for your clientele.”

Fran propped his hand on one palm as he watched the woman work. She looked pretty much like any human. If any human had silky, deep red skin that swept back into two curved points on her head. The horns gradated into sharp tips as lustrous black as her hair.

The barkeep also wore little more than an apron and white wrappings around her ribs. Which, given that she was at least seven feet tall and the apron was clearly tailored for a more average humanoid, left a good deal of her to watch. Sans the horns her face was positively dainty compared to the smooth muscles that glistened as she worked.

A decent throng of bodies insulated the Wicked Whorl until it grew deceptively warm from the simple heat of a fireplace crackling in the corner next to a modest stage: little more than an upraised pallet of wood. Fran had sung for the crowd from atop that pallet just the other night.

“Sure I can. Heard all your songs last night. You’re not bad, but you’re not two-nights’-worth-of-rent good, either. You can pay up or ship out. And as for more booze?”

The oni made a low scoffing sound as she thunked two frothing tankards down for a pair of grateful dwarven customers.

Something about the motion ignited Fran’s imagination: a vision of the woman’s brutal ancestors coldly, efficiently clobbering some sort of furry, purple animal with a spiked club. His smile soured, if only for an instant.

He ran a hand through his own long hair of dark gray – struck through with a shock of white. From behind one purplish, pointed ear the drow produced a single silver coin.

Not copper. Not iron. Silver. He pressed it down firmly with one finger against the bar.

The proprietress looked at the circle as if it might be poison.

“I don’t want to know,” she said, scooping the coin into her apron pocket. It was safer there than any register.

“I ran into some old friends this afternoon,” Fran impinged. “They had recently appropriated a bit of a windfall from some old tomb or another.”

“Oh, truly!? A tomb you say?” Her tone turned more obviously mocking. “Seriously, Fran, I didn't care about the last three stories and I don't care about this one. I won't care about the next one, either, or the one after that.”

“They owed me for services rendered in a previous excursion, so I withdrew my fee as they… dealt with some authorities that suddenly learned the troupe had several warrants out for their arrest.”

“So you ratted out your friends.” The oni rubbed the base of one black horn where it melded into her red scalp. “That’s low even for you, Fran.”

“Absolutely not!”

Fran pressed dark, delicate fingers to his chest as if scandalized by the idea. He wore a flowing shirt made of pristine white silk there. It was loosely guarded by a wine-colored cravat — somehow spotless despite the heat. The bastard never did seem to sweat. Not in front of other people, anyway. High-waisted trousers clung tight to his legs as he crossed them to complete the melodramatic pose.

“I can’t be held accountable if someone just happens to overhear me greet old acquaintances. How was I supposed to know they were in town under new aliases?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it would have been silly of me- No, it would have been irresponsible to leave their trunk unattended. It could have been lost, or stolen.”

“Or confiscated by the city guards.”

“Exactly.”

The smirking half-drow reached into his shirt and theatrically produced a strained leather purse. He blocked the satchel with his back as best he could, only surreptitiously boasting of his newfound wealth to the barkeep by slipping free the strings at the purse’s neck.

“This doesn’t even cover what they owed me anyway. That makes it mine by right.”

There were gems, jewelry, even gold coins, and assorted gewgaws. Alongside at least one curved dagger in a ceremonial little scabbard encrusted with more precious stones.

“Put that away you idiot,” the proprietress snarled, that feminine face with slightly cherubic cheeks at odds with her intimidating body language. “If you get yourself stabbed and robbed I’m making you clean up the blood.”

She pulled down a bottle from a shelf twice as high up as Fran’s grinning, sharply featured face.

“And here.”

She poured a triumphant Fran his ordered glass and left the bottle.

The entertainer began glowering again when the Oni asked him no follow-up questions. The display of newfound wealth clearly wasn’t winning him the respect he deserved. He took her advice, though, and smuggled the bag back into his shirt, leaving just one item dangling from a string on his finger.

“Now what?”

“Now nothing,” Fran explained, twirling the trinket around his finger. “I just think it looks nice. Surely your customers aren’t so impoverished that I need to hide all my worldly possessions. Maybe I should just strip naked and have done with it.”

The oni raised her hands in quiet defeat – sharp, black nails gleaming – while Fran toyed with the jewelry.

It was an amulet. The jewel at its center was the color of fuchsia. Silver claws held it in place beneath the loop of thread one was presumably meant to wear around their neck. It was also nearly the size of Fran’s closed fist… The pendant was probably worth as much as the rest of his newfound purse combined.

And there was something else. The jewel’s rosy color gave the appearance of radiating outward gently in the firelight. In fact, it did glow, Fran could see. His shadow fell across it as he leaned forward to examine the bauble. Yet the light kept flowing upwards. Around it. Outwards. Towards him. Into him…

“So, what’s it do?”

Fran blinked. Then he looked up at the barkeep.

“I don’t think it does anything. It’s a necklace. It looks nice. Could probably sell it for a thousand nights’ worth of rent in this dump, too.”

“Fran, it’s glowing. You said your friends found it in a tomb?”

“Tomb, temple… Something like that. What’s the difference?”

The oni sighed and shrugged, suddenly remembering who she was talking to. Familiarity had very nearly bred something like concern for the little man.

“No difference. Not to me, anyway. I'm just saying it might be enchanted, or blessed, or what-have-you. You should probably sell it soon or have an expert determine what it does before you-”

Eyes glued back to the pendant, Fran slipped the jewelry over his neck, fluffing out his hair from underneath the strap.

“-wear it.”

“Cheapest way to learn is by doing,” he countered. The oni gave him an even look. “Oh, come on! I’m not going to pay half my earnings to some witch who will just tell me what I already know. It’s probably just a good luck charm or something.”

“Luck... Right. How did that work out for your friends with the city guard?”

A half-orc woman with blunt, white bangs and a high ponytail approached. The oni barkeep turned as she spoke to refill several mugs for the guest.

The newcomer’s long, tight muscles were more pronounced than the wiry red woman. Though they did nothing to detract from a sultry look of hunger while she waited, glancing at Fran with his new gift from his old friends.

She was very likely already tipsy, Fran realized, and did nothing to hide the way she ran her eyes over the half-drow, leaning against the bar with powerful arms and legs spread wide in a pose that implied she might pin him down right there if the mood struck her.Fran could see her solid curves twitch through fur-lined leather straps that showed off her pale green skin. Two tiny “tusks” protruding up from her bottom lip like fangs offset her charms – an extra animal quality.

Fran blushed and was about to say something when the proprietress returned. The orcish woman grunted and carried the bounty off a table. Though she spared Fran a final grin as she leaned over the bar to claim – making a great show of her bountiful chest. Right down the harness she wore. Fran coughed and continued to watch as she swayed away.

The Wicked Whorl was getting more crowded as the snow outside grew deeper. Fran suddenly realized it was getting even warmer inside. Much, much warmer.

“They weren’t wearing it this afternoon,” he eventually sneered, tearing his gaze away from the half-orc’s rowdy group. “Anyway, I’m fine! See? I haven't sprouted wings. I’m not breathing fire.”

The oni rolled her eyes, no longer giving him the satisfaction of a response.

He cast his eye about the room, looking for a fresh second opinion onto which he could focus his boasting. He quickly spotted yet another figure down the bar. One whom he had missed before.

And what a figure it was... Fran wasn't going to let this one walk away. He slid sideways until he was seated in the stool next to hers.

He tilted his head and rested it on one knuckle – ostensibly to look her in the eye. More than that, Fran cast his eye into the woman's open cloak and down the tight, violet dress she wore beneath. It revealed two gorgeous brown breasts and a pair of crossed, velvety legs. Her delicate arms – much more feminine than the giants he had been working with that night – were decked in gold and jewels of their own.

The elf’s face above indicated she was also a bit older than Fran. She had more natural gray around the temples. Yet the rest of her hair swept back into deep, black curls beneath a silk kerchief.

Her expression was confident, which Fran recognized all too well, whether he knew it or not. Though she carried herself with more calm refinement than his own oily smugness. She wasn't putting on a show for anyone.

She didn't even look Fran in the eye through her sharp spectacles and impeccable makeup; she simply grinned mildly as she sipped something that looked as expensive as the rest of her under that deceptively plain black cloak.

“May I ask your opinion, madam?” Fran practically purred as he tried to sound like he talked to gorgeous, wealthy elves in overstuffed taverns all the time. “Do you believe this pretty little thing suits me?”

“Oh, yes.” She answered smoothly and without looking up from her drink. “I’d say it’s absolutely perfect for someone like you.”

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Beautiful, dark thighs escape their slits down the side of her dress. The flesh matched the supple swell of her bosom. Fran darted his eyes down to watch without moving his face. The woman chuckled – seemingly at nothing.

Deep pink filled his cheeks once again. The heat of the room was making him flush, he thought. He turned his gaze across the bar.

“There! You hear that, wen-”

Also without looking at Fran, the barkeep gripped a wine bottle by the neck and gently slapped the base into her opposite palm with a hollow thud. It looked like a heavy, glass blackjack in her huge hands.

“-woman? There’s someone else with taste in this establishment after all.”

Fran had hardly finished speaking before he felt two sets of delicate fingers slide over his ribs. His breath caught, but he went stock still as the probing, manicured hands trailed farther up his chest. Eventually they traced his collarbone before finally fondling the amulet. Fran shivered and opened his mouth to say something, but had no idea what.

The well-heeled woman’s chin followed her embrace, resting on his shoulder as she looked past him to get a better view of the bauble. He could feel her soft cheek against his now. Not to mention the much, much softer press of something just as pleasant into his back. Two somethings, in fact.

The embarrassing color multiplied across his own face as Fran felt more heat wash over and through him. He tried and failed to control his breathing under the surprise contact.

“Mmmm,” she began. “The shape and size are beautiful. The style of craftsmanship is quite unique, too.”

“O-Oh… Is that so? How can you t-tell?”

“I like to collect pretty things,” she said. “I guess I’m a bit of an amateur archeologist. I’d say your theory about it granting good fortune was closer than you might think, as well.”

“You heard all that?”

“Of course,” she dropped the pendant back against Fran’s cravat and switched back to embracing him from behind. “I must confess… I've actually had my eye on you all evening.”

Her voice was honey. Fran was more like melting wax under her touch. In more ways than one, too.

Why was it so damn hot?

“Well I did say… you had good taste.”

The proprietress continued to furiously wipe an already spotless glass.

“I’d say it’s probably a talisman of fertility,” the elf continued. “Just look at the color.”

Fran did, just as the woman lifted the weight closer to his eyes. He was so clued into the soft glow that for a moment he almost forgot about the woman holding it up. Then she spoke again.

“Not that you need any help in that area, I’m sure, but I do agree that it suits someone so… deserving of such a symbol. Perhaps that’s why I find myself so very drawn to you.”

Fran babbled something self-aggrandizing.

Whatever the talisman’s powers, the elf woman drew herself away when she was finished examining. Long, red fingernails that matched her perfectly painted lips spooled around her glass as she sipped.

“You should keep wearing it,” she added. “I think it suits you. It shouldn't produce any strange or harmful effects. You won't notice anything but good things.

“Nothing strange,” Fran agreed. “Good...”

Now that she had slipped back outside his bubble of bluster, it began to erect itself once more. It wasn't alone, either.

Fran stirred himself to take the initiative with this very assertive woman, but the elf had finished her drink.

She raised her hood, body language closing to him suddenly as she placed two silver coins on the bar and stood to leave.

“Erm,” Fran said. “You're leaving already? I thought we could talk more about…archaeology. Or we could skip straight to other beautiful things.”

“Not tonight I'm afraid,” she said over her shoulder. “I have other business. As I said, however, I've got my eye on you. I’ll come check on you again later. You should enjoy yourself in the meantime.

The jewel burned. Fran nodded.

“Enjoy myself… Yes. But wait!”

The elf woman was already gone. She humored him with a smile before her cloak drifted out into the night.

Fran huffed: half in frustration and half panting under the oppressive warmth. He gulped his drink angrily and the oni piteously refilled it for him.

“What in the hells was all that about?” The half-drow wiped his brow with one sleeve as he shook his head. “I swear, women never know a good thing even when it’s staring them in the eye.”

The oni smacked him lightly across the head. Fran scowled and growled and cursed before resuming his suddenly lonely vigil over the expensive wine.

His mood should have been dark, but the heat of the room and the body of the wine soothed him. He might have even called himself feverish, but the sensation – lightheadedness and a tingle down his arms and always that feeling of being just a little too warm – wasn't unpleasant. He quickly felt loose and drowsy and cheerful.

He pulled his shirt open a tad more beneath his cravat and felt the reassuring weight of the pendant press against his flesh.

“You alright there, Fran?” The barkeep was filling two mugs for a pair of dwarfs as she looked at him with mild puzzlement. “No sense in you keeling over now that you're actually paying me again.”

“Fine, fine.” He waved her off. Though he blushed a bit harder at the sudden attention. “Just wondering how best to test my apparent newfound powers of virility. You wouldn't want to volunteer, would you?”

“Feh!”

She went back to what she was doing after the scoff, but her smile was genuinely companionable.

Fran liked that. He liked that she had been worried about him, too, he realized. He enjoyed the attention.

Well, why shouldn't he? Who didn't like being doted upon every now and then? It wasn't like someone as attractive, charismatic, and clever as he didn’t deserve it. It was only a shame that the regal elf woman had apparently left before she realized what a prize she had.

Then again, she did say she would be back. That made Fran grin. He ordered more of the dizzying wine. He would pay hell in the morning, but he might as well enjoy himself when he had money in his purse and something to look forward to.

Things were finally going his way. The right way.

Fran spent most of the rest of his night, and a small portion of his earnings, cheating at cards with the half-orc and a few of her human companions. Including a nervous, pretty young man that blushed whenever the woman pressed herself close against Fran.

Jealous, maybe, but of whom? His mind wandered back to the beauty from earlier. He wondered dully if she would be jealous of Fran tiding himself over with one or both of his new friends… Maybe that would teach her not to walk away from a good thing.

After an hour of flirting, however, he had completely forgotten about the “amateur archaeologist.” He directed the warmth she helped ignite into tipsy conversation and clumsy tricks. Luckily, the rest of the table was drinking just as heavily as him, and never raised suspicion over him winning every large pot.

The last thing Farn remembered before falling into his rented bed was the taste of the green-skinned woman’s tongue. She had pulled him into her lap by the hair for a kiss: the prize she had demanded and which he had let her win. Fran, drunk and weaker than the attractive brute to begin with, hadn’t complained.

Then he was in the bed. So was she, beside him. On top of him. Pulling him inside. He let her guide him, the ruddy talisman the only light left burning in the room.

Decidedly brighter light awoke Fran the next morning as the sun creeped through the window. He was alone, now, but swam in sheets kicked across every direction. His partner had left in the middle of the night while he tossed and turned in his sleep. There was a good chance the latter had induced the former.

His premonition of a hangover had come true. He rose shakily and gulped water straight from the pitcher on his nightstand. It dribbled over his chin and down the light swell of his naked, purple chest. The only thing covering the subtle slope of his breasts was the softly glowing amulet.

Breasts? Since when did he th-

That fuchsia glow intensified. Fran lost his train of thought and stared forward. More liquid spilled down from his open mouth and pooled slightly between two thick thighs. Those were pressed together ahead of his fattened rump perched on the edge of the bed. His morning wood stood up at an angle, just dodging the droplets.

Fran paused, shrugged, and wiped his chin. He had lost his train of thought. Well, whatever it was clearly hadn’t been that important. Might as well let it go. Nothing strange about that…

He squeezed back into his clothes from the previous night, sans cravat. The cloth might obscure his beautiful new talisman, after all, and he wanted to show it off. Not to mention it was still too damn hot.

He billowed the deep V of his shirt to cool his chest and left it that way: unbuttoned almost to the navel. Nobody seemed to notice or care as he sauntered downstairs.

Fran had overshot breakfast by miles. It was already past noon. Yet the current barkeep — not the oni, but some employee Fran did not recognize — poured him coffee reheated over an open flame.

The first sip was just settling in his stomach when a light, gentle hand trailed up the small of his back before squeezing his shoulder all in one smooth motion.

A petite elf woman in a familiar, dark cloak didn’t sit. She just curled one finger around Fran’s long hair. Casually, like a thing she owned. He meant to protest, but…

Her hands were so soft and so insistent. She moved to gently, almost curiously roll the tip of one pointed ear under her thumb.

“You,” Fran said with a bristle of recognition. “I didn’t realize you had come back.”

“I got here early and it appears you got up late,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Erm, yes, very well indeed,” Fran lied. “I did… wonder where you had gotten to, though.”

“Errands,” she explained. “Appointments and such. Wealth makes a woman very busy.”

“You should be careful who you tell about that,” Fran advised, parroting what his oni friend had said about his own windfall. “A prosperous, beautiful woman all by her lonesome would make a fine target for a robbery.”

Fran knew from experience — having scammed, burgled, and embezzled from such targets himself when the need arose — but kept that particular detail quiet.

“I don’t suppose you would offer to be my bodyguard,” the woman answered. “But you’re such a pretty little thing yourself.”

She paused to look down Fran’s open shirt.

“And you’re still wearing that lovely jewelry. Such a good, good boy.”

Fran tried not to slouch as she whispered into his ear. His chest suddenly felt heavier. Perhaps the gem weighed more than he thought. No problem there; that just made it more valuable. Just as the woman had said. Besides which, the weight was somewhat comforting. Relaxing… Just like the once oppressive heat of the room.

Yes. He wasn’t feeling heavy or sluggish. He was just feeling relaxed. The elf’s voice was so soft and calming in his ear. Nothing strange about feeling relaxed.

“I’m Sytheia, by the way.”

“F-Fran.”

“Good boy, Fran,” she corrected, trailing a painted nail behind a bead of sweat on his chin. “I told you to keep wearing it and you did.”

“Umm, yes,” Fran managed. “I supposed I did.”

“You deserve a reward then.”

She popped her finger into her mouth, tasting the sweltering half-drow on her skin. Then she placed her palms on his cheeks and firmly pulled him down to taste him quite directly indeed. Fran sagged even more — expression blossoming into surprise.

All the better to let the gently pulsing, reddish light lap at his vision. He relaxed ever more deeply into her mouth. His eyelids eventually began to droop with the rest of him as she continued to press him into the kiss. The elf didn’t have the wild strength of his previous companion, but she didn’t take no for an answer, either. Not that Fran tried to pull away. He just relaxed, letting her lips and tongue and the smell of her hair and that pleasant light wash over him.

Fran almost fell out of his stool when she suddenly pulled away. Just as she had after her surprise embrace. Though he couldn’t see it, her lipstick had smeared over his mouth, lending an even messier, more feminine detail to his softened features. Sytheia gave him a lustful look as she appreciated the messy, pretty portrait before her.

“Well then,” the woman continued. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Wuh?” Fran panted. “Wh-Why don’t you stay for another drink?”

“As I said, I’m very busy,” Sytheia chided. “But I’m sure you can find someone else to play with you tonight. Maybe that orc woman you got along with so well?”

“Who?” Fran was genuinely puzzled. Then his face burned brightly. “Oh! Yes, well, you see-”

“Not to worry, darling. I’m not the jealous type. I’m sure a young, easy thing like you can’t help but have fun with anyone and everyone. There’s nothing strange about that.

“Easy,” Fran agreed. His expression still appeared fascinated and tranquil as he listened. Then, a bit more emphatically, he added “Of course. Nothing strange at all.”

His own, calm voice washed over him just like the glow of the talisman. Just like the heat and musk of the evening’s patrons. Sun was setting over the Wicked Whorl and Fran couldn’t help but grow distracted as he saw more and more warm bodies step in from the cold.

Sytheia was right. A young, easy thing like him should have no shortage of takers to play with him.

Despite what she said, however, the woman didn’t seem to like losing his attention for long. She took his chin and brought him in for another, shorter kiss. Fran snapped back to attention. Attention on her.

“Just like that,” she finally added. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

Then she was off again. Even as Fran reached out, limply and a bit confused, to try and keep her. Eventually he shook himself again and ordered something more expensive than coffee.

Fran did have a wonderful time that night. At least when he wasn’t trying to sleep. The half-drow ate and drank lavishly again (or at least as lavishly as a place like the Wicked Whorl could offer) making up for weeks of scrimping and saving with his small fortune. He collapsed into bed afterwards: a groggy, tipsy, self-satisfied lump.

He had gone to bed alone, despite obvious offers to change that and more than a few wandering hands — both from him and others. Half the bar passed out or been shooed out by the time he was done, however, leaving even a young, easy thing like him precious few options for fun that evening.

He slipped his trousers off the side of the bed, tippling backwards as he did so. When he did, Fran saw his own cock, still half-hard with fantasies swimming through his thoughts.

“Blasted woman,” he muttered to himself. “Getting me worked up for nothing.”

Then he smiled, remembering the “blasted woman” on his lips, promising more to come.

Fran’s smile abated. He reached forward, taking the flaccid and began to stroke. His other hand tugged his tunic open further, exposing more of the fuchsia light and one undersized teat — still small enough to be obscured by his loose shirt, but bigger than it had been even just that morning. Rounder. Stiffer and more sensitive at the center.

Fran didn’t notice or care about the change. He just gasped lightly, luxuriating in how good it suddenly felt to touch.

He rolled his thumb over the nipple and felt it go harder atop the jiggling breast. His cock, however, would not similarly spring to his command.

Fran scowled. Too much wine, probably. He grunted as he tried to pleasure himself. Though the voice that came out was undeniably his own, even a casual observer might have noticed that it, too, had taken a more feminine, though breathy, tone.

Well, so what? The toying and teasing felt wonderful. Even if he couldn't really get hard. He switched from stroking rhythmically to rubbing his cock slowly. Tenderly.

Almost… Almost like he would touch a clit.

The grunts quickly transmuted into groans. He reflexively pressed himself backwards into the mattress. His loving touch eventually did urge something from the pulsing cock; he began to leak pitifully as he wiggled and writhed.

Fran stayed that way for a while – head full of pleasant fantasies, hands full of himself, and eyes full of bewitching fuchsia light that he hardly even noticed anymore. It was a soothing, happy light anyway. Soft like his voice, and tits, and drooling cock.

He enjoyed all of them thoroughly until the alcohol and relaxing cadence finally saw him off to sleep.

Light broke in through the window the next morning. Not the soothing, floral light of Fran’s amulet, but the harsh, eye-gouging white of another midday sun. Fran had slept in again.

No reason to rush getting out of bed then. He quickly found himself ministering to his pretty little dick and massaging his tits, trying to tease out the same sensation he hazily recalled from the previous night.

Each teat more than filled his hands now. Purple-gray flesh jiggled vigorously – nipples poking up between his working fingers – as his wide hips rocked him back and forth on his sheets.

His cock was comparatively tiny, flaccid as it was now, but it dripped obediently as he rubbed and pressed and rolled it.

“Ooh, that’s… That’s so good,” came that voice from last night. “Why didn't I play with my breasts more before?”

There was no response except his own panting. The heat was almost unbearable now, but with the extended, excruciating bliss of an orgasm he couldn't quite achieve rather than the uncomfortable haze it had left him in before. The thick leather band of his pendant jostled on his collarbone as he wiggled more and more to fix that issue. Tried to cum.

Frustration urged him to relent. He still felt wonderful, dripping and making a mess of himself like that, but little more was achieved. Puffy, pillowy lips framed in round features pouted back at him in the mirror as he sat up. His black hair was a mess, too. Though it was much shinier and less straw-like than before.

He had apparently forgotten to have his water pitcher refilled. Perhaps that was why he felt so out of sorts.

“Fucking hangovers,” Fran sighed that low, woman’s voice. “Gonna be the death of me.”

He rose, admiring the way his breasts and butt bounced along his curves in the mirror. He kept on watching them as he squeezed his pants to his thighs. His smile only wilted when the garment reached his wobbling ass and would go no further.

“Oh, for the love of-,” he murmured. “Did these… Did these shrink or something?”

Fran had sweated through the previous day’s clothes, but these were a fresh pair. He had just paid to have them washed. They were meant to be at least a little snug, but this was ridiculous. Clearly the cleaners had screwed something up.

He grumbled about wasted money, then hopped and bounced and jostled, but nothing would budge the trousers more than halfway to his hips.

When he finally grew tired, he leaned over the bed with his voluptuous rump held high in the air, his elbows resting on the mattress as he contemplated.

“Aha!”

His eye fell to his pillow. Fran kept a small, sheathed dagger hidden beneath it. He discarded the scabbard and put the blade to better use – slicing it all around the legs of his trousers until they fell away. The newly modified garment was cut high and short. Especially in the back. As a finishing touch, Fran put a small slit in what remained of each side. Right up to where is thighs became too big to be contained.

The fabric slid all the way into place just fine this time. The trade-off was that the shorts now only covered half his ass. Even less where the thigh slits let his flesh spread out to the sides. It was sure to draw a lot of attention. Especially given how gorgeous his thick legs were.

That was fine, of course. Fran didn’t mind a bit of attention. It was too hot to wear much else anyway.

He smirked at his own ingenuity even as he stretched his shirt over his sweating breasts. His nipples poked through the fabric, but at least that still fit. More-or-less.

Just to be safe, though, he only bothered to fasten the lowest button, just under his navel. His chest was completely visible, with deep, round cleavage open to anyone who wanted a peek. But at least he was in no danger of popping an overstrained button! Now that might have made him look strange.

Fran did get more than a few looks as he sauntered downstairs for his afternoon coffee. He made sure to give his audience even more as he sat up straight at the bar, pushing his fat backside out past the seat of his stool.

The horned, red woman was back behind the bar. She gave Fran an even look.

“Not cursed,” she scoffed. “Right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fran scowled, though his voice came out like a squeak.

“Nope,” the oni added. “I’m not getting involved. I mean it this time.

She shook her head and placed a mug before Fran as she spoke.

The half-drow sipped gratefully, fingertips holding the vessel by the sides daintily, as he gazed at the barkeep over his drink. She had her mostly-naked back to him again as she worked, but he could see the slopes of her own tits to either side – too large to be blocked by even her broad shoulders.

“What… What was your name again?” Fran asked as nonchalantly as his heavy breathing and blushing would allow. “I can’t recall if I ever asked.”

“Three times, actually. Including this one.” She wiped something with a rag. “It’s Nalene, you self-obsessed little snob, and I’m not repeating it again.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Fran’s irritability overrode his libido again, if only for a moment. “I remember now.”

And there it was again. The way her back arched and glistened in the firelight. The way her muscles contrasted with her swollen curves.

“You know, if you wanted people to remember things like your name, maybe the rest of you shouldn’t be so… distracting.”

Nalene stood up straight and glared at Fran. It was impossible to tell if the red-skinned woman was blushing or not, but Fran guessed she was. Embarrassed or not, she was also clearly quite unhappy with Fran’s remark.

“Just a joke!” Fran, who still had quite a bit of color in his face himself, raised his mug before his face like a shield. “My apologies!”

“The next joke will cost you six months’ rent in advance, Fran.”

Fran nodded, brushing aside the threat without entirely discounting it. Nalene turned away in a huff, leaving a smoldering, slightly breathless Fran to fidget in his seat.

His overstimulated cocklet seethed in his shorts as he continued to watch her work. He hadn’t been able to bring himself off before coming downstairs no matter how much he played with himself. Now he was paying the price.

No. He needed someone else to play with him. That was it.

The oni continued to ignore him, however, which seemed both a blessing and a curse. He was free to stroke himself through his tailored pants surreptitiously beneath the bar. Yet he shook his head clear just before asking Nalene for help with his problem. That was likely to get him thrown out once and for all.

Fran looked around the room until something else caught his eye: a young human seated alone at one of the tavern tables. Fran placed him in his twenties. Possibly older. It was always so hard to tell with purebred humans. They were always changing so rapidly.

The half-drow did recognize him as the nervous-looking thing from the game of cards he had previously… adjusted. He had been with the half-orc woman but hadn’t played.

The lad was shorter than Fran and slender. Shoulder-length blond hair with hints of orange fell across one eye making him seem even more withdrawn. He smiled nervously over his own glass of something to nobody in particular.

He wore a short, blue tabard that draped to just a few inches between his legs. The rest of his lower extremities were wrapped in a sheer, skintight garment pulled up his body like a stocking. It left little to the imagination as he sat and the bottom of the dress-like tabard shifted between his primly planted thighs.

The rest of the costume covered his neck and shoulders better than his legs and sported a decorated hood loosely framing his delicate features. Some kind of cleric or priest, probably. He even clutched a wooden staff over his knees. A magical focus, no doubt.

He had all the hallmarks of a young, well-meaning, inexperienced priest.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” Fran guessed as he sidled up to the young man’s table. His breasts hung forward as he leaned across the table. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Huh? O-Oh, yes! The rest of my group just went out shopping. How did you guess?”

Fran rested his chin on his palm as he switched seats to be next to the boy. His voice had come out slightly lower and more suggestive than he intended. He tried again, but the result was the same.

“Nobody hangs around a place like this alone if they have something better to do.”

“Oh! Are you waiting for someone then?” the healer asked earnestly. His voice was bright and epicene in comparison to Fran’s purr. Yet he fidgeted when Fran grew close enough that it became impossible for Fran’s contours not to touch him. “Or do you, um, work here?”

“I do some entertaining for the owner,” Fran explained.

The previous night’s color returned to the half-drow’s cheeks as he thought about what that statement might imply. Though the human seemed ignorant. His demeanor even brightened once he was on the familiar ground of conversation, instead of sitting awkwardly in the corner of the inn.

“Oh, you’re the singer!” the priest blurted. “I… I almost didn’t recognize you.”

He looked down at Fran’s garments before quickly diverting his gaze.

“You should meet my friends! We’ve been traveling together for a little while. It’s part of my training as a healer. Though I suppose it’s a bit different for you, being a performer and all. You have such a wonderful voice, by the way. I heard you sing the other night. I think my party enjoyed it, too, but they were all a bit drunk. And, er… arm wrestling. I think you actually know our lead guard. Beryl? She’s part orc, you know, but she’s very kind! I’m Urra, by the way.”

It took every ounce of Fran’s willpower not to openly mock this adorable creature when Urra finally stopped for air. Then again, the boy probably wouldn’t have recognized it if he had. He was simply too precious.

Fran paused. His talisman glowed its subtle glow.

That… didn't mean there wasn't fun to be had, of course.

“Fran,” replied Fran. “So you liked listening to me?”

“Oh, yes. We don't have a lot of music back at the shrine. Hymns, mostly. Some dirges. I don't-”

Fran gaged the human a pleased expression as he leaned closer. His shirt and amulet draped forward, exposing the swell of his chest again. This close up the human couldn’t help but stare.

“That’s wonderful to hear. And… do you like looking at me, too?”

Urra was beginning to get the message. He sat up straight, clutching his staff tighter as he yammered.

“Huh? Oh. Ooh! I mean yes, you looked, um, very good. I mean great. I mean, you look great! Very lovely. But-”

“That’s very good. How about when I touch you?”

Fran hooked his arm around the human’s, pulling the two of them together until his chest pressed into Urra’s shoulder. His free hand went to the human’s hood, brushing fingers over a burning cheek. The cleric shivered and set his jaw to try and keep a straight face. He failed miserably, but didn't pull away, either.

“Um… Uhh…” he stammered. “Y-Yes, I’d say I definitely l-like, um, that.”

“Even like this?”

Fran tugged the arm he was pressing against, guiding its hand down. Now it pressed the hot, wet spot struggling to bulge against Fran’s shorts. Fran gasped gently at the contact. Urra hesitantly felt around the shape, face reddening all the more.

“I'm, uh, really sorry, but I’m not even really sure if… Mm! If I like- Mmm…”

Fran shifted his grip to pull the blushing human face closer and kissed him. The lips were yielding but excited, and he had no trouble coaxing Urra out of his hood to follow his own mouth once he began to pull backwards.

The other man let out a heavy breath and his eyes fell closed as Fran continued to ask just what Urra did and did not like. Unable to speak, however, he simply ran his hand up the cleric’s leg – over the tight, transparent fabric and under the curtain of his tabard.

Fran found what he wanted and gave it a light squeeze.

Urra’s expression relaxed even as his body rose up further to attention. He raised his staff and clutched the bottom end tightly between his knees, locking himself straight to reduce his own squirming. It didn't help.

Fran eventually let him breathe, but didn't relent in his teasing beneath the table.

“Do you want me to stop?” Fran asked, navigating the man’s hand around his groin.

“Nooo,” the cleric moaned. “But I've… I've never…. No, somebody is gonna, ngh, s-see! My friends-”

“Shouldn’t have left you here alone if they knew you were such a slut.”

Fran wasn’t quite sure which of them he meant. Yet he was speaking close into the human’s ear. With his free hand, he toyed with the long hair over the other’s face, stroking his chin with a palm.

“N-No! I’m not… I mean, I swear I don't usually- Ooh!”

They were both sweating now: Fran more so than the human. But this was the most fun he’d had in ages. Much more fun than simply taking someone else’s money. He didn't need that anyway, he reminded himself.

He needed… He needed something else.

“Fine,” he capitulated. “I’ll stop if you're that worried about it.”

“What? Nnn… I’m sorry, I just…” Urra floundered. “Um, are you s-sure?”

The priest looked panicked – as if he had just made a grave mistake and wished to take it back.

“Absolutely,” Fran said. “We're going to try something different.”

The half-drow slipped to the floor beneath the tavern table. It was covered in a cloth that, upon casual inspection, obscured the now kneeling figure from view. No one had noticed them yet or, if they had, hadn't thought the display worth interrupting. That probably meant Nalene wasn’t looking. She would have slapped Fran for causing such a scene in her tavern.

The thought made Fran quiver in his spot on the floor.

Fran, face aglow with pinkish light in the dark alcove, drew the tablecloth up the cleric’s lap.

“What are you doing now!?” Urra squealed under his breath. “I’m serious. People are really going to- Ngh!”

Instead of answering, Fran reached behind the human and dug his fingers into the stockinged flesh of his backside. His butt was yielding, too, and surprisingly plentiful. Fran felt his fingers sink deep into the sensitive curves.

Urra shook slightly, then, and Fran used the opportunity to wedge apart the young man’s trembling knees. He spread the legs wide apart; the staff held between them slipped and Urra had to catch it to stop it from clattering to the floor. He could have used it to push Fran away, of course, but instead simply clutched it like his own sort of talisman against his chest, waiting for Fran to continue.

Fran did. He ran his hands up Urra’s thighs and took another handful of fabric in each fist. Then he pulled – tearing an oblong hole on the inside of the sheer fabric.

The cock he felt for just moments before, was suddenly free to spring upwards and outwards. Almost playfully. The erection bounced a bit and tenting up the cleric’s skimpy blue tabard.

“You seem awfully eager for someone who claims he doesn’t do this sort of thing,” Fran observed, sotto voce. “And I see you take quite good care of yourself.”

He danced his fingers over well-kempt flesh, running one along the underside of the cock pointed up to greet him. He pushed even more fabric aside to get a clearer view of the thing. He was not disappointed.

“Look at what you were hiding from me,” he continued. “And look at me when I’m, mmm, entertaining you.”

Urra had been trying to keep his incredulous expression facing forward in a weak attempt to appear at-ease. Now he looked down at Fran’s softer features and locked eyes with the half-drow as he squeezed his cock with one hand. The cleric whimpered.

“I thought you liked it when I touched you. Was I wrong?”

“N-Nooo…”

“Then would you like me to kiss you again?”

“Yesss…”

“Ask me nicely, slut.”

“Yes, please! Oh gods, yes.”

Without breaking his gaze, Fran slipped the tip of the cock into his mouth and began to suck. Adamantly. A slightly familiar, salty-sweet taste greeted him. Though he didn’t remember it ever tasting this good.

This. This was what Fran needed. Needed it so very, very badly.

His posture relaxed. His expression softened. The pendant continued to wrap his body in its glow under the table.

The human didn't notice any of this. The raw sensation wasn't refined or subtle. Then again, neither was his experience with the matter. Urra began to slide forward as the long, suckling “kiss” overwhelmed him.

It was a good cock, Fran considered, blinking slowly. One full of delicious, thick cum. Exactly what he needed. He just had to milk it out of those two perky balls he was caressing with one set of fingers.

His other hand stroked up and down the shaft ahead of his sealed lips. His palm took more and more saliva with it as he worked, slickening the cock down to the base, making the rhythm faster and steadier.

That part wasn't difficult. Fran’s mouth was watering.

Fran finally relaxed his lips. Urra took a breath, but relief didn’t last. The figure beneath him pushed onward and downward, swallowing the cock entirely.

The cleric squeaked and finally dropped his staff. This time there were a couple curious looks, but the inn was mostly empty until later in the day. Those that paid attention didn’t do so for long.

Fran didn't stop. Though his half-lidded eyes were now transfixed downwards on the shaft as he took each long, languid slurp. The back of his tongue cushioned the tip he had so aggressively primed whenever he slid back up the length.

Urra reached under the tablecloth — on instinct more than anything — and slipped his fingers between that long, mostly-black hair, helping to guide his cock in and out of Fran’s insistent mouth.

His touch was too gentle. Fran grabbed him right back, pressing on Urra’s thighs from underneath until the boy’s knees knocked the underside of the table while Fran’s mouth worked the cock alone. No one bothered looking at the nervous, clumsy little human this time. Nobody but Fran, who hardly blinked as he bobbed up and down over that gorgeous dick.

Urra, unsure where else to put his legs, eventually wrapped them behind Fran’s head as the curvaceous half-drow sucked and sucked and sucked in the cradle of his thighs.

“Oh gods,” he whispered. “Oohhh! Oh~! Oh… Oh no.”

The human scooted himself under the table so fast then that it was almost Fran’s head which slammed into the underside of the table next. His eyes watered with the sudden, blessed show of force pushing more cock deeper than ever into his waiting throat.

Next, Urra pulled back one hand before using it to draw a sigil in the air. Though he didn't release Fran and Fran didn't release him.

Instead, the gentle slurping and slapping and bumping sounds audible only to the men at the table disappeared entirely. Fran and his prize were enveloped in a bubble of total, magical silence.

“You get along okay without us?” asked a woman. “Anybody give you trouble?”

Fran paused for a moment. He thought he recognized that deep, confident voice.

But despite the spell of silence, Fran’s senses of taste and touch were still very much active. He quickly lost himself back in the warm, filling pressure of wonderful cock between his lips. This one was twitching playfully under his attention.

He wasn't done yet, either. He didn't want to be done. He wanted to suck and suck and suck…

Another voice added: “N-No! I wouldn't sssay that. Everyone was very, very k-kind!”

Fran held the human’s cock beneath the table, removing his mouth just long enough to run the tip of his tongue along its underside, all the way to the tip.

A bright but distinctly male voice: “Glad to hear it. I’m too worn out from carrying all these boxes to stab anyone today.”

“Bag,” said that rumbling, orcish voice. “Singular.”

“It’s not my fault I got a delicate frame.”

“Are you feeling well?” asked Beryl, Urra’s half-orc companion. She was ignoring the third voice and suddenly talking to Urra again. “You look ill.”

“Yeah,” the unseen man said. “Your face is all red. You got a fever or something?”

“What? N-No, I don't think so. I’m fine. Aah!”

Urra’s ankles pressed hard into Fran’s shoulders. The half-drow squeezed the legs where they met in return, letting his fingers drift toward the center of the human’s soft ass once again.

He was completely indifferent to the scene above. He just wanted cock and cum and to suck and fuck and kneel and beg. It was so much fun. It was all he ever wanted and more.

The shock was too much for Urra this time. After the relentless attention up and down his cock, he finally gave in and Fran received what he had been searching for this whole time.

Warm, sticky sweetness poured between his pouting lips. Filling him. Making him whole. He continued to suck even as his partner jerked and twitched his legs and tugged on tight fistfuls of half-drow hair. The warm, white cum had nowhere to go but down. Fran relaxed and accepted it down his throat.

Then… He just kept on sucking. Kept on caressing the cock with the inner bed of his tongue. In spite of the wonderful, slick burning in his throat, Fran just couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Wanted to suck and suck and suck…

Urra must have said something to convince his companions he was fine. Fran didn't hear it. He bobbed up and down, savoring the mix of cock and cum and drool as it flowed down the shaft along with him.

“It’s, mmm, a cleric… thing. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll be right with you both… in a moment.”

“Whatever you say,” came the voice of Beryl. “Let’s just move this stuff upstairs.”

Heavy boots shifted, then clamored away. Urra slouched and let his legs hang limp over Fran’s shoulders. The bubble of silence collapsed and both of them could suddenly hear the sound of gentle lapping at a now half-hard cock once again.

The flood of sensation snapped Fran out of his reverie. He blinked rapidly, trying to process what had just happened. Though not unhappily. He just slid off the cock and licked his lips.

“That was… so close…” the cleric panted. “I’m so, so sorry!”

Fran rose smoothly from under the table such that it seemed as though he had never left his seat.

“I don't know what came over me! I should have just- Mm!”

Fran kissed the human again, giving him a small sample taste of his own warm fluid. Urra moaned slightly, but let the perverse exchange continue, bending to Fran’s ministrations.

“You did very well,” Fran added when he was finished. A thin string of saliva mixed with something else trailed between their lips. “Would you like to do it again?”

Urra paused, then nodded.

“Would you like to do even more?”

“Then why don’t you go tell your friends you’ve got your own plans tonight.”

He nodded again, slowly but more emphatically.

“Good, good boy.”

Fran sashayed back downstairs to the bar as soon as he was able. At this point he wore nothing but his shirt and a bedsheet he had cut into a short sarong around his waist.

They really should have doused the fire in that place a bit. Even dressed appropriately for the temperature like that, he sweated profusely.

You could see it dripping all the way down the long, front-facing points of his teats. Which themselves were pouring out of the fabric tied underneath them. He didn't bother buttoning up at all anymore. He couldn't. The damn shirt had shrunk so much it wouldn't fit his tits properly, even though they were only barely larger than his head.

He let them rest on the bar, nipples poking through his tied-off shirt, while the oni made her rounds. Her cheeks were as starkly colored against her skin as the brightly burning jewel on Fran’s tight leather collar.

“Good morning, Nal darling,” he greeted her, voice like velvet. “Can I get some more wine, please? One of my friends poured the last of mine over her tummy and asked me to lick it out of her-”

“It’s the middle of the night, Fran,” the barkeep interjected. She pulled up a glass bottle just the same. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fran pouted. “I get locked out of my own room in your establishment and this is how you treat me?”

“What do you mean you got locked out of your room?” she countered. “You haven’t even come down for two days. And what exactly are you wearing, anyway? Are those my sheets you cut up to cover your ass? You’re paying for those, too, y’know.”

Fran fingered the leathery band. There was no clasp. The jewelry had completely shrunk around his throat in a way that would be impossible to remove without cutting it off with a knife. Nothing about this struck him as odd, of course.

“Two days…” echoed Fran. “That can’t be right. Are you feeling okay, Nal?”

He took the bottle and began to swig. Dark liquid spilled down his parched chin and already drenched bosom.

Nalene rubbed the space between her eyes.

“That thing is exceptionally cursed, Fran, which I’ll admit was none of my business and even fairly funny when it was keeping you out of trouble. Once you start messing with the Whorl, though, you make it my business.”

“Ha! I think I would know if it was cursed by now,” Fran mused. He took another sip through pink, beestung lips. “Something strange would have happened by now. Besides which, that lovely elf woman even said it was safe. You haven’t seen her around, by the way, have you?”

“I’m serious,” she continued, ignoring his question. “Have you even tried to take that thing off since you stole it? Can you take it off?”

Fran blinked.

“Why would I? Seriously, Nal, you need to take some time off.”

“Whatever,” Nalene sighed. “I suppose it serves you right to be the one getting fucked for once.”

“Fucked…” Fran squeezed his thick legs together as vivid images from the past several days filled his mind. His amulet burned bright. “Mmm, I get it now.”

Nalene gave him a neutral look.

“What?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he pressed. “You've been around me longer than most at this point.”

“What shouldn’t I be ashamed of, Fran? Illuminate me.”

“You're jealous! It’s only natural. Honestly, you should be proud of yourself. You did well to resist my charms for as long as you did.”

“You’re a pig and an idiot Fran,” was Nalene’s answer. “I’ve changed my mind. I hope that little trinket strangles you.”

Fran was unfazed. He reached out and touched her hand on the bar.

Nalene was undeniably blushing now. The red in her cheeks was almost black, like the tips of her horns. But she didn't pull her hand back.

“Fran, you…”

“You really are quite the beauty when you stop running your mouth.”

“...you stupid little shit!”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. May we borrow our purple friend here for a moment?”

Beryl, the half-orc, commandeered the stool next to the left of Fran. This late in the year, the sun was already threatening to set at this time of day.

All her muscles and curves were visible under the fur-lined leather straps she wore. Given her height, Fran was treated to her breasts, which strained against interlocking scraps of harness.

“H-Hello,” came the voice of Urra. He sat down (less forcefully) on Fran’s right, pressing his knees together politely before resting his staff against the bar counter.

Nalene clenched a fist in one hand, clearly meaning to say more, swallowed whatever it was and left to attend to new customers that had just walked into the bar.

“Have you met the singer, Urra?” Beryl took a drink from Fran’s bottle. “He has quite the talented tongue. Both on the stage and off.”

The woman didn't flinch as she spoke. Urra opened his mouth to answer.

“Oh yes,” Fran interrupted. “We had a lovely conversation. I think the young priest is doing a wonderful job of widening his worldview.”

Still looking forward, Fran reached under the table and took Urra by the wrist. He smoothly guided the human’s hand up his bare thigh, past his hip, and beneath the altered bedsheet he wore over his cock. Just like the day before.

The cleric shivered, mouth dropping open slightly, but kept his gaze fixed firmly forward as he allowed himself to be pulled.

Urra found exactly what he expected: a quarter-stiff cocklet, hot and sticky under his delicate fingertips. He went to work quickly: stroking it gingerly, paying special care to run his thumb over the slick tip. Just as Fran had given him special attention there the other day.

“That's wonderful,” said Beryl. “Then I don't have to waste time on introductions.”

Fran smiled, pleased with himself…

Right up until he felt a more aggressive hand slip down the small of his back.

The half-orc brought her hand downward and took a fistful of flesh between her well-muscled digits. She held on possessively – the longest finger reaching farther to tickle an especially sensitive spot.

Fran’s usual hot, heavy puffing built to gasps of pleasure as his eyes grew unfocused.

Beryl took a long drink of something that was offered to her. When she finished, she wiped away what had dribbled down her chin, past those dainty tusks, with her sleeve.

“Actually,” Urra breathed. “Beryl and I were talking about your… performance… last night.”

“O-Ooh. Is that right?” was all Fran could muster. He could hardly think. He could hardly breathe without yelping or moaning. “I’m, uhhh…”

“Yes,” Beryl interjected. “You're quite an interesting topic. And perfectly dressed for what we wanted to talk to you about.”

“Aahhh… Ah… Uh-huh.”

Fran replied without listening. All his attention on the aggressive, greedy fingering at his asshole and the tender, uncertain teasing at his twitching cock.

“It seems like you entertain in all sorts of ways,” the half-orc observed. “That’s very, very naughty of you when I had already staked my claim.”

“Oh,” Fran said. “Uh… I didn’t realize you felt… that way…”

“You even called my young friend here a slut,” Beryl continued. “While that may or may not be true, it’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?”

“Wha…? I don't… don't understand what you-”

“You're clearly the biggest slut here, friend. Just look at yourself. Using some sort of glamour or something to get our attention? I don't think you should go around calling my friend a slut until you admit to being one yourself.”

“Oooo, y-yesss. Of course. I’m so… so sorry! I take it all b-back!”

Her finger crooked deep into him then, squishing his inner walls like… like a cock. Except it wasn't a cock. Not really. It just made him think of one – made him think of how badly he wanted one inside him again. Just like yesterday.

Not just his mouth this time, though. His ass. He needed a cock up his ass! Needed the heat, the fullness, the sweet cum pressing against his deepest places.

The rosy light burned near his throat as his insides burned for more of what he wanted, desperately, deep down inside.

“Then say it,” Beryl continued. “Say you're a good little slut.”

“Oohhh, I… I'm…”

Encouragement came from Urra this time. He wordlessly picked up speed stroking Fran’s dripping clitty, heedless of how much more obvious it made what was happening. Even under the bar.

The tip of Fran’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he tried to remember how to speak. Nothing made sense. Everything felt good. He grasped for the last thing he had heard.

“Ssslut,” He was trying to shout, but the words came out breathlessly. “Slut. Slut! Slut, slut, slut!”

“We were wondering if-” the human began. “Oh!”

Fran came. Weakly. Huffing with confusion. His cocklet drizzled into his own makeshift shorts and Urra's palm both. The cleric retrieved his hand, letting the thin and sticky fluid ooze between his spread fingers. He hesitated, staring at the stuff reverentially, before finally sucking his them clean one by one.

“Perhaps you would enjoy entertaining us both at the same time,” Beryl finished. “To formally apologize for your behavior.”

Fran was drooling in his afterglow – a thin stream of saliva running down the tip of his tongue to the bar. Yet he nodded, unthinking.

“Good boy,” Beryl applauded him. “Isn't that what you told Urra here?”

“Yes,” agreed Urra, who was licking his wrist. “Good boy.”

The musclebound woman hoisted Fran to his feet, gripping the ample surface of his ass to guide him out of his stool. She didn't even stop fingering his hole as she stepped to one side and guided him forward. Urra went to his other side, draping one of Fran's arms around himself and nuzzling against the taller woman’s breast.

“Oh no you don’t,” came Nalene’s voice from behind the trio. “You’re not wrecking anything else.”

The oni slid her fingers under the band around Fran’s neck, pressing her knuckles into his sweat-drenched flesh, and yanked. Fran fell backwards into her grip. His eyes, long-lashed and dark, blinked rapidly as he fell into her. He was unable to keep his cock from pulsing with delight under the woman's forceful hand.

Urra and Beryl stepped back in surprise. As did Nalene, who clearly wasn’t expecting Fran to be quite so heavy.

Fran slipped backwards into the wall of muscle and fat behind him.

Fran gasped, suddenly able to breathe freely. When he got his bearings, he was already seated again: right on the groin of the oni proprietress who had fallen onto her back.

“Oh,” Fran purred over his shoulder. “I knew you liked me, Nal, but I wasn't expecting… this.”

“Sh-Shut up,” the oni sputtered. “I am sick and tired of your- Ugh, just… Just get offa me, you idiot.”

In spite of her bluster, she made no real attempt to lift the feminized figure off his impromptu “seat.” Though she did place her hands on Fran’s wide hips.

Fran’s slightly swollen belly arched forward as he pressed harder into the woman’s apron. Right into the bulge she had been hiding there.

“St-Stoppp,” she murmured. “If you do that I can't… I’m not gonna be able to… Ooh…”

Words failed her as Fran continued to instinctively press into her.

The rest of the Wicked Whorl was watching the obscene display now. How could they not? Even Beryl and Urra simply gazed in fascination to see what would happen next.

“That’s… That’s it y-you little-”

Nalene finally pushed the half-drow all the way off. He thudded the last few inches to the floor, tits and ass wobbling.

“Hey! What was that for you awful b- Ngh! Mm! Mmmm…”

Fran turned around to speak. Nalene was already waiting for him on all fours. She shoved her tongue past Fran’s comically thick lips and the two quickly fell into a competitive rhythm.

Fran was losing. Submitting. Melting under her mouth.

“You,” she slipped between kisses. “Are. Completely. Insufferable!”

She slid Fran’s shirt all the way down past his gargantuan udders, pinching and squeezing one of the nipples she had only seen poking through white cloth before.

“You're right,” she continued. “Mmf! This is. Nngh. My place! And. You're going to. Mmm… Act like it!”

“Yesh,” Fran agreed as she bit his lip. “Anything… you… want…”

She pushed him the rest of the way to the floor. To his back. His breasts parted to his sides but remained pointed and perky in the air.

They weren't the only things rising up, either. The front flap of Nalene’s apron was tented towards the ceiling – her bulge raised to an obvious hardon. From the floor, Fran could already see the shaft from underneath, unburdened by underclothes.

“So that’s why you're always hiding behind the counter. Were you secretly pleasing yourself while looking at me across the room, wench?”

Fran made the comment almost automatically. Nalene did not let it pass. Instead she roughly pressed his thighs backwards, up towards his chest, with one mighty arm. Her other hand flicked his dribbling, violet cocklet as it wobbled above his upturned groin.

“Aahhh!” Fran squealed. “H-Hey, it was just a j-ooohhh~!”

Still bending his thighs backwards, Nalene began to milk. She tugged and caressed the useless penis until it began to dribble and drool. It hardly took more than a few seconds before Fran let out a dainty grunt followed by a pathetic orgasm.

“About what I expected from you,” the woman admonished. “Just a pretty face with nothing on the inside.”

“Uhhh… Wha…?”

She fully unveiled her own cock then. Fran’s amulet burned while his mouth dropped back open.

The erection was massive in comparison to his limp girlcock. Its tip was its own dark, red beacon. The shaft was the same color as the rest of her: the color of blood. Which Fran could see being delivered to the beast via a thick, wavy vein pulsing ever-so-slightly along the side.

This cock dripped, too, but even the oni’s precum was thicker than the paltry stuff Fran produced now.

The half-drow’s ass was tilted upwards beneath its shadow – pinned in prime position beneath Nalene. The fluid globbed straight between his cheeks and drained, torturously slow, into his waiting hole.

He squeaked when it made contact. Then Nalene poured the half-drow’s own cum over the slot, pressing the would-be grease inwards slightly with one finger.

Fran’s eyes crossed; his lips pursed.

“I'm gonna change that.”

“Change…” Fran huffed. “Change wha-aaahhh~!!”

Even slick with thin splooge as lubricant, Fran’s anus struggled to accept just the tip of Nalene’s cock. It throbbed harder and harder as the flesh compressed against him all in that one spot.

Fran yelped. He gripped the barstool legs above his head for support. Nalene lurched forward and pressed his thighs down farther, pinning them with her own. Then she pushed. And pushed. And pushed…

And popped inside.

The pressure filled Fran to the brim with a sudden intensity that left stars in his eyes. Nalene was big enough to reach his deepest, most unprepared walls even through the prodigious meat of his rump. Something none of his new friends had managed in the past few nights.

“Yesss,” Fran slurred. “Oh gods, please! Mooore!”

His collar burned. His ass burned. His voluptuous body went limp like a puppet without strings when the cock just as quickly retracted. He paused, unable to understand why he felt so empty, then his body shook all over with need as the shaft slid back even deeper inside, assaulting a sensitive knot of pleasure within.

Nalene was not gentle. She thrust inside over and over and over. Fran eventually lost his grip on the stool. Quivered. Mind blank. Cock. So much cock, he thought. Sluts love cock.

“Ngghhh…” was all he burbled aloud. “Mmm~!”

His breasts and butt and belly shook with the rest of him. He came again, barely squeezing a string of thin liquid backwards into his own navel. When it happened again, nothing was produced at all.

Almost in sympathy, Fran began to drool, his head lopsided and wet against the floor.

Nalene couldn't stand the sight of this quivering sex toy. This overconfident plaything. She hated the look of him. Loved the feel of him. She wanted to punish him. Wanted to enjoy him. He would let her. Was letting her.

“Stupid slut,” she panted, her own face damp and slack with sweat and exhaustion. “Nothing but a cocksleeve. Shouldn't have… Shouldn't have…”

Nalene was never sure what she meant to say next. It was drowned out by blankness as she thrust harder than ever into the yielding meat.

She moaned. Fran crooned. The cum rushed out of her before she could help herself, filling Fran’s already distended belly with her more lovely pressure.

The seal of cock and sleeve was so tight. Her orgasm had nowhere to go but down. Deeper. Filling, stuffing, breaking Fran until his soft voice cracked and both bodies collapsed.

Nalene fell forward onto Fran’s delectably soft mounds; Fran went completely limp, letting the cum stretch him more than he thought possible. Both were quite happy with the arrangement. As much as either could process the flood of feeling at all.

The proprietress recovered first, pulling herself out of the used cum dump with a long, wet sucking sound.

Warm ooze gushed out of Fran’s backside and onto Nalene’s own floor, pooling against the half-drow’s full thighs still pressed against the wood. He leaked and dripped and twitched.

Nalene didn't say a word at first. She just kneeled there, mopping sweat from her brow as her soft, fat cock drooped into the mess she had left behind.

The half-drow’s black hair with its shocks of white was a bedraggled jungle that fell down over his heaving breasts. He grinned insensibly in the mess of juices, somehow still managing to look smug about it.

“Who… Who’s next?” Fran asked the waiting crowd.

News of the “Whore of the Wicked Whorl” traveled fast after that. Fran spent less and less time in his own room and more on the makeshift little stage — the same one on which he had sung for the tavern’s patrons just a week or two prior. Now his performances were a bit more… crowd-pleasing.

Beryl and Urra visited frequently. Usually together. But their escapade with Fran had also shown them that they enjoyed each other as much as their half-drow playmate. In contrast to Fran, they spent a lot of time in their own rooms.

Fran and Nalene had their own concerns. Though both proprietress and performer came to an equitable arrangement quickly after that first night.

They were, in fact, just explaining this to an adorable dwarven guardswoman that had arrived to investigate a few highly irregular rumors about the establishment. Nalene petted Fran’s hair as he took the freckled officer’s pretty little cock — not much bigger than his own, but so eager it was — between two heavy teats.

“I don't really need the money anyway,” Fran explained in tender tones. “Nal lets me sleep with her for free and I still have plenty of silver left over from… We'll, don't you worry about that, dear.”

The petite woman grunted, weak hands steadying her against Fran’s more confident, bobbing shoulders.

“It’s perfect for a slut like me,” he continued. “I wish I had thought of this sooner!”

The guard’s voice, no more than a long moan really, broke as she shuddered. A glistening rope or cum squirted up and out of Fran’s compressed breasts.

She caught Fran just as the entertainer was licking the tip of her cock. The orgasm splashed right over the half-drow’s tender features in syrupy ropes of pearlescent white. It smeared the dark makeup Nalene had out there, of course, but that was already a bit of a lost cause for the evening.

Fran kept his tongue where it was, but dropped his jaw wide to catch the hot, sticky stuff in his mouth. More went across his cheeks. Down his chin. Over one eye so that he had to close it. Some got in his hair, of course, adding even more bright strands to the black.

When it was over, he smiled a goopy smile, sticking his tongue straight out to collect even more cum as twitching aftershocks sent the rest of the meal his way.

“I s-see,” the city guard huffed. “Well, I have to say that, um, everything seems… perfectly alright to me.”

“Thank you for your very thorough inspection,” Nalene offered as the guard dropped several coins into her hand. A discounted price, to be sure, but still a solid haul. “Be sure to tell your colleagues if they’d like to stop by for themselves.”

The dwarven woman nodded, mildly embarrassed, as she pulled up her trousers and scurried away.

Nalene poured the new coins into her apron. It was getting quite hard to fit them all in there. She would have to invest in a safe, or perhaps hire Beryl for a more proactive security solution.

When the jangle of coins dissipated, Fran heard the sound of soft applause: a single set of delicate hands clapping not more than five feet away.

“Bravo,” came the voice of an older elf woman. “I haven't seen anyone take this much initiative in quite some time.”

Fran, still kneeling, furrowed his brow in concentration. Nalene reached out to shake the elf’s dark hand.

“Welcome to the Wicked Whorl,” the oni said. “Which service would you like to pay for tonight, ma’am?”

“You don't remember me,” Sytheia said. “That’s good! In fact, you should forget a few more things.”

“What the hell does that… mean…?”

Nalene frowned as she trailed off, slightly confused. Fran opened his tinged mouth to say something, but the elf held up a single manicured finger. A candle’s worth of green fire sprung from the tip, which she trailed in lazy circles before the oni’s face.

“Forget… Yes…”

Nalene didn't close her mouth when she finished speaking. It just hung there as the fire left the afterimage of a green spiral twirling in her mind. Her hand fell limply from Fran’s head as her eyes glazed over to match her blank expression.

“Good girl,” the elf crooned. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“You,” Fran finally managed. “I remember you.”

“Good boy,” she added, lifting Fran’s chin with one manicured finger. The same one that had just cast a spell on the enormous oni. “Did you have fun while I was gone?”

“Fun… I don't… I mean… Uh, yes.”

Fran suddenly had difficulty concentrating. That was a problem lately whenever he was confronted with a naked body.

Sytheia woman wasn't naked beneath her cloak. He could tell that as soon as she opened it like a curtain before him. She wore black, leather bands that reached around her thighs and up her stomach, circling her brown breasts. Metal ringlets dangled from her exposed nipples. Though her pussy, which was already dripping with delight at the sight of him, was bare. Unimpeded by the harness.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she continued. “Everyone takes to the transformation a bit differently. Some need a bit more… training than others. You must have had a very weak moral code even before finding the amulet.”

Fran frowned. He was about to protest when the woman released his chin and instead pressed her thumbs against the hard, pointed tips of his breasts. He moaned mildly as the rest of her fingers sank into the soft fat in a loving squeeze. Then he squeaked with surprise.

More green light formed under her thumbs. It took shape around and through his stiff, long buds – piercing his nipples with heavy circles that parodied the woman’s own expensive jewelry.

It only stung for a moment. Then the pain was washed away with amazement as the green flame solidified into gold. The process continued in a series of smaller circles, link after link, as the flame formed two delicate gold chains attached to the much thicker nipple rings. The dueling lights eventually came together at a single point: a single length of metal held in the elven woman's grasp.

When it was done, Sytheia held Fran by a leash made of golden chain that branched in two, tied to the new piercings on his nipples. His throat was already occupied, of course, so it made sense that he requires an alternative.

“My other pets find this so much more comfortable than trying to wedge a normal leash into their existing collars.”

“Other… pets?”

Fran suddenly realized no one else in the Wicked Whorl had raised a fuss about this strange display. He looked past Sytheia and saw why.

Three more women were stepping through the tavern, twirling their fingers with the same green spirals as the one used on Nalene, dazing the customers one by one. As soon as someone noticed what was happening, another of the women simply stepped up to calm them down. It was remarkably stealthy.

Each girl wore a cloak similar to the elf’s, but these were pinkish instead of black, and even the shapeless fabric couldn’t hide their bountiful curves beneath. Not when their hips swayed so wildly. Just like Fran’s had done when he had bothered to wear clothes.

Each young woman smiled as she moved almost drowsily through the crowd, trailing their own gold chains down between their legs.

“That’s right,” Sytheia continued. “I told you I like to collect pretty things.”

She tapped on the glowing, swirling bauble at the center of Fran’s collar.

“These particular talismans are a favorite of mine, though. Yet I find it so much easier to simply collect the wearers than try removing the stubborn things. My pets seem happy with the arrangement, too, as I’m sure you can see.”

“Listen,” Fran explained frantically. “I’m not sure that I-”

The elf woman yanked Fran’s leash, still smiling warmly as he the rings pinch bit at his areolas. He squawked, but obediently rose to his feet.

“L-Listen to me…” he tried again. The pain didn't bother him. Far from it. His mind felt muddled as he submitted to the woman's whim. “Uh. What… was I about to say…?”

“You were just telling me how excited you are to meet the rest of the servants,” Sytheia cooed. “There are quite a few of them already, but we should still have some spare rooms left in the manor.”

“Oh,” Fran said. “That doesn't seem-”

His protests were cut off with another yank. This time she pulled him down for a kiss. His jewel burned while the woman’s black and gray hair mingled with his own. One hand curled around his slightly pudgy waist while another clasped his cheek possessively.

Fran was slightly taller than the woman and much more curvaceous. Yet he sank into her, just as he had Nalene, arms rising in shock before wilting against her like flowers.

His mind followed suit. His thoughts grew soupy and indistinct, guiding more by instinct than reason. The instinct to do as he was told.

“Let me just finish up here,” his mistress-to-be eventually added. “Behave yourself.”

“Alright,” Fran sighed in agreement, not quite sure what she meant, but knowing he wanted to please her.

Sytheia snapped her fingers. The still-dazed barkeep blinked back herself back to awareness when she did.

“You're right,” Sytheia began immediately. “This one – Fran, was it? – is simply more trouble than he’s worth.”

“Fran?” Nalene repeated, her eyes slowly clearing. “Y-Yes, nothing but trouble.”

“You're very clever to sell him to me. I have a veritable army of well-trained maids that can whip him into shape.”

Fran absorbed this information hungrily as the elf, still holding the chain, pressed her fingers into his ass like a cat sinking her teeth into a kitten's neck.

“Yes,” Nalene continued. She rubbed her palm between her horns and blinked. “You're taking Fran… as a maid…”

Nalene blinked some more, returning to her full confidence as if she was in the middle of a conversation that had been going on for minutes, rather than an instant.

“Right. I'd say that’s the perfect fit for him. He really needs the extra discipline.”

“Speaking of which…” The elf unclasped something from inside her cloak. The garment was closed again, Fran noticed with distant disappointment, hiding her scandalous attire. “I believe this should suffice as payment.”

She opened her hand to reveal a small, fuchsia gem on a thin loop of thread. The trinket was held in place by silver claws and seemed to almost glow in the firelight.

“Oh yes,” Nalene agreed quickly. “That’s quite-”

She frowned as she trailed off.

“Hold on a second. Isn't that-”

“Allow me,” the elf interjected. She released Fran briefly and stood on her tiptoes, pulling the talisman up above the oni’s horns and letting it fall around her neck before she could protest.

“Oooh,” Nalene said as her payment began to glow. “Um, thank you. This is… very lovely.”

“Think nothing of it,” the smaller woman said, her eyes glittering in the firelight behind her glasses. “Not that you could if you wanted. Once worn, the bearer will never believe there’s anything strange about the talisman or anything related to it. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Nothing strange,” Nalene agreed with an even look. She fingered the jewel above her apron absentmindedly. “Yes, of course. You're absolutely right.”

“I’ll be sure to return just to make sure you're… satisfied with your payment in a few days. For now, though, you can come along, darling.”

That last bit was directed at Fran. His eyes went wide as she tugged on his tits a third time.

She snapped her fingers again and more green embers fell around Fran’s shoulders. They solidified like the chains before then and formed a cloak, almost identical to her own, over his body. Even the pinkish fabric could hardly hide his absurd proportions, of course. Though whatever the spell was, it also seemed to clean Fran of any other mess sticking to those parts of him. That was clear when the twinned chains spread open the front of his cloak to reveal a window of lovely violet cleavage.

“Y-Yes ma’am,” Fran exhaled against the titillating pain of the leash. “Anything you say.”

She snapped her fingers again and the other women drew close, doting on Fran and nudging him forward at a pace that wouldn’t draw their mistress’s ire. Nalene shook her head as she watched them go, trying to recall if she had ever met the other women before.

Then the group stepped out of the tavern, disappearing into the snow and Fran’s new life.