A Slippery Rogue
A rogue attempting to escape his captors is entranced by the beast that rules the forest.
This story feature's Aros' character Dourar, The Gilded One. To learn more about Dourar, and find Aros' writing, please visit his website here.
This story is also more out there than most of my transformation stuff. You are warned.
It was well after nightfall, and the woods were eerily quiet. The trio of mercenaries had long since fallen asleep, having lit a small fire in the centre of their camp to keep any creatures at bay. A wagon formed a wall between them and the forest, and the rest of their camp faced out onto dense marshland. It was as safe a location as one could find for a temporary camp.
Meanwhile, their captive, Erard the Rogue, was working at his shackles, trying desperately to stretch his hands and wrists enough to reach one of the lock picks he kept stored in his sleeve. The proud prince of thieves (and most eligible bachelor) of Vernsmouth was having more difficulty than he'd expected - evidently, Toan and his pair of mercenaries had been warned about his skills. He currently sat in a large, wooden cage on the back of a wagon, his hands bound in shackles that kept him forced into a seated position. It was an insult - yes, he'd racked up quite a few debts back in Vernsmouth, but this was a bit extreme. They could have at least given him a pillow or something.
Still, there wasn't a lock he'd yet met that could hold him for too long. He was sure that he would've been out already if he wasn't so worried about waking his captors.
He was so distracted by his struggling that he didn't notice the sounds of the swamp dimming around him. The constant buzz of insects, the rackrrrrack of frogs, the gentle lapping of pools all faded away into the expectant silence of a crowd before a play. The only sounds disturbing that respectful quiet were the snores of the mercenaries, and Erard's fidgeting and gasping. These noises were made deafening- no, disrespectful- no, sacrilege by the silence.
He also didn't notice as the darkness in the swamp was broken up by small, gently glimmering golden lights. If Erard had been paying attention, he might have described them as being like fireflies, but with longer, softer flashes of gold.
He didn't notice until his ears, honed from years spent cracking safes, picked up the slightest hint of music. At last, he looked up, panting and staring around. As his eyes fell on the dancing lights, he blinked, uncertain. The sounds were growing louder, and he soon recognized them as the ringing of small bells.
Then there was a figure standing in the middle of the campsite. Erard wasn't afraid - despite the figure's sudden appearance, it felt as though it had been standing there all along. The figure, hulking and tall, stood between Erard and the fire, so all he could make out was its massive outline. He could just make out a long, furred tail lashing slowly back and forth, making an audible 'woosh' of air with each movement.
The figure turned, and as it faced Erard, its tail gave another powerful swish that extinguished the campfire. The glow of the fire was replaced by the towering figure's face, which shone with a golden light. Erard stared up at it, transfixed. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and then he realized what he was staring at. It was a gilded wolf's skull, perched atop the figure's head.
It stepped forward, and the skull rose as the mouth opened. A low, wispy voice emerged. "Not enough... Not enough..."
"Quiet," Erard croaked. It wasn't a command - it was the only word he was able to get out. The sound of the creature's voice had shocked him from his stunned state, and reminded him what he was trying to do. He started pulling at his bonds again, trying to stretch his fingers... just a bit further, a biiiit further...
"Not enough," the figure spoke, as though it could hear his thoughts. Erard looked up at it, and found first of all that it was now standing just next to the cage, and second of all that it was definitely a he. The figure stood at his full height, the gold light of the skull illuminating his thick, bushy purple fur. Hanging between his legs was a thick, powerful maleness that Erard's eyes lingered on for a moment, before going back up to the creature's face.
"What do you mean, not enough?" Erard hissed. He felt a bit disoriented, and so he kept speaking. "I am the greatest pickpocket and safe cracker in Vernsmouth! There's not a guard I couldn't talk my way past, nor a lock that could hold me." He was giving his normal tirade, but in a more rambling way than he normally would. "I just need to reach a bit more... a bit..." He reached again as he spoke, begging for more flexibility, more reach.
The voice growled again, louder. His speech, though short and direct, was pronounced with meticulous care. "No. You cannot escape. You are not flexible enough. You are not human enough to escape."
Something about the way he said that last part sent a shiver down Erard's spine... and then back up. He was soon quivering and shaking in the warm night air, and a cool sweat was breaking out across his skin. His teeth chattered together, and he couldn't bite back a whimper.
He became aware that those little bells were ringing again, but louder this time. More insistently. Each small peal sent a shiver across another part of his skin, as though he could actually feel the sound waves. That cold sweat was getting worse, and his clothing was getting damp and beginning to stick to his skin. Oddly, he couldn't feel the chattering of his teeth anymore, and nor could he feel their sharp impacts against each other. He was definitely still shivering, though...
That ringing grew louder and louder, and the shivers that the sounds sent through his body seemed to resonate... further. Deeper. There was a horrifying moment during which his airway sealed, and he found himself unable to breathe. He writhed in his chair, his slick clothing sticking to him as he fought for breath. He tried to focus on the feeling of breathing, of air running down his throat... and then, quite suddenly, his throat opened again. He sucked in a deep breath of air, but for some reason it felt like it still wasn't getting through. He was about to panic, when the tightness in his chest abruptly let up. Erard slumped back in the chair, still shivering, but no longer fighting for breath.
As he lay back in his chair, his eyes settled on the figure again, standing just outside of the cage and looking in at him. The last few shudders and quivers ran through him, each one making his skin shake and feel clammy long after it finished. The hulking figure shifted, and then spoke again.
"No... not human enough to escape by far." There was almost a hint of satisfaction in the creature's voice.
For his part, Erard just gave himself a shake to clear his head. He must have been a bit dizzy after the spell, because the feeling rolled through his entire body in a disconcerting way. Regardless, he still needed to escape. He glanced down at his bound hands in the dim, golden glow coming off of the figure's skull, and tried to pull his hand free of the shackle.
There was a bizarre squelching noise, and an alien feeling rushed through his hand. It was a mix of intense pressure, to which his body was flexing and yielding, combined with an undeniable, quivering pleasure. It only lasted for an instant, and then he had yanked his hand free of the shackle.
Erard stared down at his limb, mouth agape. He'd seen the surface dimpling in impossibly, making more than enough room for him to slip his hand free. It looked odd, now: stretched and almost ill-defined. His fingers were there, but longer and thinner, and drooping a bit. As he stared at them and focused on what his hand ought to look like, the limb gave a small quiver, before pulling back in and broadening out. It looked exactly how it ought to... well, almost. It was still a bit off, but at least it looked like a human hand, now.
Erard glanced over at his other hand, still stuck in the shackles. His eyes wandered up to the creature, and found that it was leaning forward, that golden skull pressed against the bars of the cage, and a horrifying grin spread across its maw as it watched him.
"You wish to get away... or perhaps to draw closer?" the enormous creature said. The sound of bells grew louder around him. "The only way you can do either, though, is to pull yourself free. So..." That carefully pronounced meter drew out into a growl. "Pull yourself free."
He did. Erard gave another hard yank, and that shock of alien pleasure ran through his other hand. He glanced down at it distractedly, and could see it stretched out long and unnatural. This time, though, he didn't bother forcing it back into its previous shape. He was staggering up to his feet, having some trouble. Part of it was because he'd been shackled for so long, and hadn't been using his feet. More than that, though, his legs were quaking in an unfamiliar way.
He swayed over towards the edge of the cage, closer to the creature. That golden mask drew his eyes, making his mouth hang open. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled legends of a being that haunted the woods; a great, mysterious lich.
His own voice sounded a bit hollow in his ears when he spoke. "What are you?"
The being leaned forward until his skull pressed firmly into the bars. With the source of the light so close, Erard was just able to see the glow reflecting off of his own flesh unnaturally, and occasionally quivering with his movements. The creature spoke. "I am the Gilded One. I am Dourar."
Erard tried to swallow, but he found that he didn't need to. He probably could have if he'd focused on the motion, but he was too entranced staring up at the creature. "My name is Erard."
Dourar gave a low chuckle that made Erard's body quiver down to its core. "No. It is not." Then his hand came forward. The gold-tipped claws passed through the spaces between the bars, but the enormous paw moved through the bars themselves as though they weren't even there. Erard was so startled that he didn't even try to yelp until those enormous digits were closing around his face.
Dourar's hand was big enough that his thumb was able to cup under Erard's chin while the rest of his fingers closed around his head, that meaty palm easily covering Erard's entire face. As the paw squeezed, Erard tried to cry out, but the sudden pressure and the yielding of his pliant skin instead turned the sound into a wet moan. The palm squished against his face, and Erard's entire body shook from the pleasure as he felt himself just... giving way.
That hand gripped him, kneading at him for a few long moments. As it did, he could feel his facial features being pressed deliciously against the rest of himself. All at once, all of his skin... his surface came alive with sensation. He could taste and smell the air all over his body, from the inner lining of his clothes to the golden claws slipping into his head. At the same time, his already clouded vision grew... well, less coherent? He was suddenly aware of much more information coming in, but from all directions at once. It made it difficult for him to understand for a few moments, as he just quivered and shook in place.
Erard distantly recalled his hands, and how difficult it had been to put them back the way that they were supposed to be. Or, well... the way that they had been, he corrected himself. He started thinking of his face, trying to recall exactly how it looked, the specific dimensions and features, all of those tiny details that when added together made a whole.
Then Dourar's hand pulled back, still gripping Erard's face and head. Erard only had a moment to consider what this meant before his face slammed against the side of the bars... and then parted around them. As the wood slid through him, his mass parting for it and then slipping back together on the other side, overpowering ecstasy rocked him. The vision of his face was blown away from him as he tried to cry out in pleasure. The only sound he heard... no, the only sound he felt all across himself was an intense, delicious gurgling.
Dourar kept pulling roughly on him, and Erard's shoulders hit the bars. In a moment of horrifying but wonderful vertigo, Erard felt his feet leaving the ground. With his shirt in the way, it wasn't possible for all of him to just pass through the bars all at once, and so he felt his body drawing out, stretching and passing through the neck of his shirt.
As soon as that started, the lich was able to give a mighty tug. The rest of his body squelched, and began sliding up and out of his shirt. Erard felt all of his clothing bunching up lower and lower on his body, even as the cool night air spread along more and more of his surface. The lich kept pulling, and he was yanked through the bars, their grid sliding through his pliant body. There was a pair of thumps, and some rustling as the clothing he'd been wearing, stuck against the bars, dropped to the ground.
Then, at last, Dourar released his face. Or... no. Not his face. It was just another part of his surface, with a rather pleasurable indentation in the shape of the lich's hand. His body had assumed a full, whole form again after being pulled through the bars, but all of the detail had been lost during the overstimulation. He was an amorphous mass, quivering with the aftershocks of his own pleasure.
Then he gave himself a shake which rolled through his entire body. He tried to rise up, but it was odd. It wasn't a straightening - it was a flowing, of his own mass upwards to form the impression of a torso. He was reasonably sure that the bit that he jutted out near the top had be- was his face. He focused hard, and tried to summon an image of his own face into his head. It was difficult, though. He could remember the vague outlines, but no details. He could feel the material that made him up flowing into place, opening up a space for his mouth, and for eyes and a nose that were no longer necessary.
Dourar watched all this passively, and at last spoke. "You are not human enough to speak. You know this, yes?"
Erard went to take a deep breath to speak, but suddenly realized that he hadn't been breathing for the last few minutes. Or, at the very least, not via his throat or a set of lungs. Instead, he opened his mouth, and made to speak... but nothing came out. He was able to manipulate his eyes enough to make them blink sluggishly in surprise.
Dourar's golden skull leaned closer. "Maybe form a few sounds, but not speak. Remind me, what did you claim your name was?"
Erard spread his mouth open, and then focused hard, ever so infuriatingly hard on the feelings of his throat working. He tried to recall the rushing of air, the subtle manipulation of his throat and mouth to grant the wind sound and meaning. For all his effort, all that came out was a pleasing bubbling noise, followed by a wet, soft, "Aaaaaah..."
As the noise drew out, Dourar reached forward, and closed his fingers over the ooze-formed lips. He sealed them shut, squeezing them together, and then growled. "One who cannot even form a name has no need of one. As such, I strip you of yours."
The bells rang, and the golden light grew more intense. As both the sound and the light faded, the ooze was left quivering there, Dourar's fingers stuck just inside of his surface. The hulking lich held his position for a long few moments, and then tugged his fingers free. The ooze slipped down a bit, as though those fingers had been holding him up. His surface pulsed with deep, steadying breaths, pulled in all along his bared body.
Without another word, Dourar turned and strode away from the ooze, over towards the trio of sleeping mercenaries. The ooze felt the rumble of the lich's voice. "What to do with a pack of hunting dogs."
The ooze held his position, his attention slowly fading away from Dourar. He was confused, though the confusion was oddly distant. He was still constantly aware of the golden light shining off of the lich nearby, on a deep, primal level that he hadn't noticed before. Still, he was conflicted as he cast about himself. He was aware of a small pile of discarded clothing in the cage, slick with some of his residue.
There was a rush of noise, over by the smouldering embers of the campfire. The ooze started turning himself to look, then hesitated, realizing that he was doing it more out of habit than any necessity. He could feel the vibrations of the sound on his surface, and could somehow see what was happening when he focused in that direction.
Dourar stood in the middle of the campsite. He already had one of Toan's two associates by the face, his enormous paw holding her up as her body rocked and writhed with muscle growth. The ooze could just hear her gasps sublimating into low, rumbling growls. The other two mercenaries were struggling to get out of their bedrolls. All three were still dressed in their underclothes, though those on the mercenary in Dourar's grip were growing dangerously tight.
The lich stepped over, carrying the mercenary as though she weighed nothing, and stood with his legs straddling the bedroll of one of the other mercenaries. There was the soft sound of bells, and the man's thrashing grew weaker. He stared up, only half out of his roll, as Dourar's free hand came down. The fingers wrapped around the man's face, and his entire body tensed all at once.
There was a long, horrifying moment during which Dourar just stood there, his purplish fur glowing in the golden light of his own skull. The two mercenaries kept writhing and gasping, their voices getting lower and rougher as their bodies twisted and sprouted thick fur. Toan, the leader and the last remaining mercenary, was lying on the ground, a few feet back from the enormous creature. He stared up at the lich, mouth wide in horror.
Dourar's head turned ever so slowly, until those burning eyeholes focused on Toan's prostrate form. The rest of his body began turning to follow, and that was when Toan cried out, scrabbled to his feet, and started running.
His path took him directly towards the ooze. The ooze, for his part, was frozen in place as the mercenary bolted towards him. He still hadn't managed to form himself back up into a humanoid shape - the vibrations of noise and the cool air on his surface were too distracting. The sight of the mercenary running towards him made him freeze, though. From what he'd seen, he was pretty sure that Dourar would be able to catch him, or stop him, or track him down, but... what if he couldn't?
Toan's foot slapped against the earth just next to the ooze, and a sudden spike of pure will filled the ooze's entire being. He wanted to stop him, wanted to grab that foot. He felt himself flowing out, lightning fast, his surface forming into a hand with long, glistening fingers. He wrapped his hand around the mercenary's ankle, and sensation roared through him. He could feel the human in exquisite detail, both his skin and the musculature flexing underneath. It shot a warm, erotic thrill through his entire body.
Toan cried out, and then pulled away, just hard enough for the ooze to lose his grip. The hand hesitated for a moment, and the ooze gave a frustrated quiver. The limb shot forward again, but this time the form was less solid and defined. Instead, he was a tendril, a series of branching tendrils that gripped around the mercenary's retreating ankle and calf. Toan let out another horrified yelp, and tried to pull away again, but this time the ooze was ready. He clenched tighter, and a delighted quiver ran through his body as he felt those muscles flexing and pulling at his surface.
It was delicious. The yelling was unpleasant against his surface, but the feeling of that flesh struggling against him... he wanted more. Needed more. So he took it.
He flowed upwards along his own tendrils, feeding more and more of himself into it. More of his body fled up to Toan's legs, soon wrapping them up in thick tendrils of himself. He could feel the goosebumps rising along the human's flesh at his contact, and he massaged each delicious one against his surface. Toan was still writhing, trying to tug his increasingly covered legs free from the ooze's mass.
The ooze was growing increasingly intoxicated on the feeling of rubbing against that soft flesh, and he spread himself further up to try to coat more. When he reached the Toan's loincloth, he flowed beneath it without question. The man let out a yelp that was as much offended as it was frustrated or frightened, but the ooze ignored the sound. He'd found something far more interesting, rubbing along behind the man, under the thin material of the loincloth. He was sliding between the man's muscled rump cheeks, and he could feel an opening; feel it tensing and clenching against his occasional brushing touches.
If it felt this good just rubbing against the human, how would it feel to have the human clenching around him? He let more of himself flow around behind the human, pulling back and sliding into a thick, long tendril. He was already thrusting forward when he realized just what he was doing, and his surface tensed with shock and horror.
Then his tip slid into that pucker, and he kept sliding in, narrow enough to part the clenching flesh. Euphoria lanced through his entire body as Toan's ass squeezed on him, and the ooze couldn't help himself. He slid more of himself in, broadening his tendril and gradually spreading those clenching muscles further. Toan's protests jumped in pitch, and around the front, the ooze felt an undeniable throb from the mercenary's shaft.
Any rational thought on the part of the ooze was fading as the feelings washed over and through him. When he felt Toan's cock throb, he didn't hesitate - he curled himself around it and squeezed. He could just feel the delicious rush of blood under the surface, making it throb and press out against his pliant surface. Toan's breath caught in his throat, only escaping every now and again as startled, confused grunts.
The mercenary's struggles grew less intense as the ooze worked over his ass and cock. Every now and again he gave another small writhe, but they were always broken up by gasping moans and whines. The ooze distantly felt satisfied with the noises that his prey was making, but at the same time, the vibrations they cast across his surface were distracting.
He carefully spread up higher, working several tendrils up along Toan's bared, muscular chest. He teased at the hard flesh, delighting at the feeling of the muscles clenching. His touches prompted more yelps and groans from the mercenary, sending those unpleasant shocks of noise across the ooze's surface.
At last, the ooze lifted one tendril up higher, cupping it beneath the man's chin. He brought the tendril up and out from Toan's face, and then pointed the tip right at his mouth. Toan grew quiet for a moment, confused. The ooze just felt him tensing to yelp out a protest when he jabbed the tentacle forward, and into that wet mouth.
The human seized and struggled for a few moments, his whole body going into the motions again. As the ooze dragged his tentacle along that hot, quivering tongue, though, the muffled sounds of protest grew weaker. In fact, the human's whole body soon began slumping; all except for that rigid cock, still throbbing against the ooze's squeezing grasp. Somehow, the ooze knew that his body's secretions were doing their work. Not enough to kill, but certainly enough to daze and dull the senses.
The ooze kept working over the now compliant human's body for a short while, luxuriating in dragging his tendrils through the human's hair, over his flesh, probing into his ass and mouth. Soon, though, something tugged at him, some dark desire. He wasn't sure what it was, until he felt the gentle vibration of bells all around him.
The ooze paused, then, still clenching the human in his grip. A moment later, he turned the human, and began sliding over the ground, back towards the remains of the campsite.
Dourar sat reclined, his legs crossed, his golden skull leering down. The two former mercenaries were now fully changed into a pair of enormous dire wolves. They might have looked ferocious, were they not hunkered down next to each other, serving as a chair for the great lich. The ooze could see their tongues hanging out as they panted, no doubt overwhelmed by being in such close presence to the gilded one.
Dourar and the two wolves didn't move as the ooze dragged Toan closer. Toan kept suckling on the tendril in his mouth, now quite drunk off of the ooze's toxins and Dourar's presence. When the lich uncrossed and spread his legs, the ooze carefully moved Toan's unresisting body into a kneeling position. The ooze withdrew his tendrils from the human's mouth, and carefully wrapped it around behind the mercenary's head, holding it just shy of the lich's monstrous cock.
The ooze wasn't acting out of malice. He didn't think about the fact that the human in his grasp had captured and attempted to cash in a bounty on him - in fact, the memory of that was growing dim when compared to the immediate sensations assaulting him. No, the ooze didn't really know who was in his grasp, or understand on more than a base level that he was about to avenge himself.
All that it knew or cared about was drawing out more of that delicious sensation from its victim. It delighted in wondering how a shifting human would feel in its grip, and so it shoved the human's head down. A shiver ran through the body in its clutches as the lich's cock slid into his mouth and then his throat. The ooze rubbed one of its tendrils along the human's throat, feeling the bulge and forcing him to relax. At the same time, it began bobbing the human's head up and down, effectively fucking his mouth on the lich's cock.
The effects were instantaneous. The human in its grip tensed all across his body, and then began shifting. Delicious cracks and creaks ran through the ooze's mass as the human's body began growing. Fur rushed out of his skin, teasing through the ooze's body. It kept viciously fucking his ass, even as it felt the cheeks spreading a tad and changing musculature to support quadruped movement.
A tail lanced out just above its victim's backside, parting the ooze's matter in a delicious thrust. At the same time, that cock thickened and lengthened, its throbbing heat growing more intense. The ooze could feel every twitch as its base fattened out into a thick, needy knot.
Things didn't last long after that. Dourar's thighs began flexing as he thrust himself into the changing man's mouth. At last, the lich threw his head back, and bellowed in pleasure. The ooze felt that throat bobbing as it swallowed, and at the same time the face stretched out into a lupine muzzle - entirely unrecognizable. As the dire wolf drank down the lich's tainted seed, his own member jumped. The ooze shuddered as jets of hot seed spurted into it, lending more mass to its body. The ooze found that it could taste it in incredible detail, and though its long term memory was no longer intact, it somehow felt certain that it was the greatest thing it had ever tasted.
Abruptly, Dourar pulled the direwolf's muzzle off of his shaft, and shoved the great beast away from himself. He rose, brushed himself off, and just as simply as that, he walked away into the night. The ooze did not mind the dismissal - it didn't care for acknowledgement, or even recognition. It no longer had much of a concept of either thing.
The ooze flowed away from the direwolf. He padded up to his fellows, slightly larger than the other two. Not long after, the trio took off into the night, panting and baying. As the sound of their paws thumping against the ground faded into the forest, the ooze heard a howl ring out above the trees.
The ooze did not linger. It flowed along the earth, past the extinguished fire and the empty bedrolls, and past the abandoned cart and cage. It no longer needed to sleep, and as such felt no desire to rest, but the nearby swamp called to it. It needed a place where it could fade into the underbrush; where it might catch more victims for the gilded lord of the forest.