FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Just... sign it?"

The broad orc-satyr across the cedar wood table nodded and replied with the calm of a sleeping bird. "Just sign it. Then we take your measurements, have a quick toast, and we start the two-day trial."

Bozorg, or "Boz," deftly twisted the quill in his well-trained fingers and looked over the paper a fourth time. "Such formalities, especially for a simple exercise regimen."

"Ha! Simple, he says!" Bron roared. He leaned on the table with a thick, hairy forearm. "Friend, if you didn't want contracts, you should have avoided the Arbiters' Guild."

Boz had heard much about this place. The humble wooden structure of the guildhall belied its importance to the city, though it looked absolutely radiant in the morning light. The most powerful, important people in the entire Orcan Coalition frequented these halls, and yet it felt like a simple (if massive) hunter's lodge overlooking the serene waters of Lake Orcoshku.

Bron's demeanor reflected that atmosphere. He relaxed back in his chair and rested a hand on his belt. "See, when an orc comes here and tells me he wants to get huge, I assume he won't let a little paperwork stop him."

Boz looked him over. The sleeveless leather armor was tailor-made for the guildmaster. It allowed him great freedom of movement, but its true purpose was clearly to show off those massive biceps. Boz's eyes flicked to his own sleeves: the decadent red fabric of a bard, elegant and allowing the audience to imagine what was beneath.

He smiled a wicked smile. What a surprise his next audience would have when his arms flexed and ripped through these very sleeves. That was, if this Bron's reputation was to be believed.

"Fuck it." Boz signed the paper with a flourish, and he could swear the candles flickered with reds and purples.

"Good. We'll need to take your measurements," Bron said, standing directly behind him.

They stood before the full-length mirror on the wall and... Wait... Boz blinked away a haze. Weren't they just seated at a table? Boz shook his head, knocking away some kind of lingering sleepiness, and he saw Bron's wide frame squared behind his own in the reflection.

"For a baseline," Bron continued, grabbing a measuring tape from his belt. "So you can track your progress. Disrobe."

Boz looked over his shoulder. The table was a good eight feet away, and on it had appeared two wine cups. He furrowed his brow. "Did we already toast?"

Bron laughed again. "Eager lad! But no, not until you're prepared." He stretched the tape between his two hands. "Now disrobe. No place for modesty here."

Boz held his arms out to the sides. Music was his true calling, but he prided himself on his smooth dancing as well. His supple clothing, puffy and superb, was as full of as many tricks as he was. With a fluid motion of his hand, seemingly little more than unfastening a single button, the shirt cascaded off of him, hanging around his waist and caught on a loose belt. Boz gave Bron a coy look over his shoulder.

The guildmaster wore a warm smile. He stepped up right behind Boz and encircled his chest with the tape measure. He moved with surprising grace and gentleness for such a large orc. Perhaps it was the satyr in him. Encircling Boz's chest with the tape, he read aloud, "Forty-three inches. A good starting place." He lingered for a moment, smelling the sweet scent of the bard's hair. A deep breath in, and a low growl on the way out.

Boz felt a pulse on his buttocks, a small thump through the leather strips of the guildmaster's pteruges. The guildmaster's reputation wasn't just for his intense training, and what was Boz to do but entertain? He undid the clasp of his belt, and his clothing tumbled to the floor. His thick cock and heavy balls bobbed in the open air. "Go on," he said with a lilt. "You need to measure my legs as well, yes?"

Bron's chest rumbled with a chortle. "After your biceps." The tape measure found their mark. "Flex for me."

Boz did as he was told, but in an act of perhaps malicious compliance, he also leaned his weight back on Bron's chest, eliciting another pulse on his ass. With his free hand, he stroked Bron's cheek, and he looked at the tableau in the full-length mirror: his beautiful, naked body leaning back against the half-orc, half-satyr that calmly took in the details of his form. Boz's heart swelled and he felt the thick cockhead poke through the pteruges, and he spotted a hint of a purple cockhead between his legs in the mirror.

Boz smiled as he relished the view of himself. "Careful, guildmaster. It wouldn't do for the High Arbiter of Orcoshku to lose control, even over such a fine specimen."

"Oh, that won't be an issue."

Boz's head swam. Bron's breath smelled of dark wine and roasted meat, and the comforting way he held him so close, chest to chest, entwined together, made him-

He wrenched his eyes closed and blinked away the spots in his vision. He was sure of it - he had just been facing the mirror. When had he turned around to embrace Bron like this? His knees shook as his cock, now completely erect, frotted against Bron's under the leather battle skirt, and red and purple light seemed to retreat from the edges of his vision.

"Your measurements are done. I'll record them for you." He pulled away, leaving Boz naked and grasping at his head.

Boz shook off the remaining daze, then glared at Bron. "What did you do?"

Bron scrawled numbers on the chalkboard, all from memory. He didn't look back as he said, "You seemed preoccupied, so I asked what you really wanted. You said, 'This,' and turned around to embrace me. I wasn't going to complain."

As Bron spoke, the memories flooded into Boz's head. It felt true. He'd pulled moves like that before. "But why... You did something!" He pointed an accusing finger at Bron.

Bron sighed as he wrote the last of the numbers on the board. It was a large grid, with many blank spaces to the right of the current numbers. He turned around, folded his arms (again showing off his biceps) and leaned on the back wall. "I'm under no obligation to reveal guild secrets to you. Remember, bard: you came to me for help." He gave a sarcastic bow. "I'm merely serving your needs."

Boz snarled. "I didn't come here for witchcraft."

Bron stood and wandered to the table, where he grabbed the wine. "No. You came here to get bigger, and you were just about to start the trial period. Two days under my training. Free of charge." He brought the wine over, one goblet in each hand. "If you are unsatisfied, you may leave, no questions asked." Bron grinned. "But you will be satisfied."

Boz cast a side eye at him. "And you expect me to trust you?"

Bron remained stoic, and his voice dropped in pitch. "It doesn't matter whether you trust me. What matters is whether you have the ambition." He gestured to the window. "I've seen you ogling my pupils since before you walked in, eyeing them like a whore in chastity. You know the results I can give you. So I ask you again: two days." He extended a cup. "Will you submit to my training?"

Boz sneered at the cup. He looked at Bron, who took a deep breath and visibly relaxed his shoulders. Without meaning to, Boz did the same, in time with his would-be mentor. He straightened himself out, took the cup of deep red wine, and grumbled, "Fine."

He gulped the wine, red as blood.

And he coughed the last of it into the cup. The flavor of crisp, white wine. Red-purple lights.

And his chest and arms burned.

"Bitch!" Boz shouted, tossing the cup aside. It bounced off the floor and glowed with some kind of durability enchantment. He must not have been the first one to react this way. He looked all around: the lights were dim, and the candles were lit. Bron was no longer standing in front of him.

Instead, the guildmaster leaned on the doorframe, looking out over the massive Lake Orcoshku reflecting the starlight. Boz was sure it had been morning but a moment ago, and yet the guildmaster was unphased. Slowly, Bron turned his head. "I have a Moscato if the Chardonnay is too harsh for you."

Boz took a step forward and found he was out of breath. His chest ached and felt tight. "Warlock! What have you done?"

"Nothing," he replied without moving. "You did it all yourself. I merely gave you guidance and ensured you stuck with the training regimen."

Boz grunted as his chest twitched from discomfort. He grasped his breast. "You-" He stopped. He squeezed. He squeezed again, then looked down.

As a performer, Boz knew his body well. He knew all its ins and outs, every quirk, the whole shape of it. And his pecs were absolutely larger.

He squeezed again. "An illusion?"

"Far more ancient magics," Bron said with a laugh. "Hard work." He stepped towards Boz and set an empty wine cup on the table, next to two bright candles.

Boz remained in place. His mind reeled as he felt himself, and he soon noticed his aching arms were bulging as well. The biceps strained against the skin in a way they never had. Breathlessly, he whispered, "My gods."

Bron effortlessly pulled the measuring tape out and put a hand on Boz's shoulder. "Let's measure you."

In a stupor, Boz was guided to the mirror. Bron cast a simple light spell, and Boz saw his new self for the first time: not only toned, but with clear muscle mass across his whole upper body. He was stunned, and he quickly felt a heat growing in his groin as he leered at himself.

His reverie was finally broken when Bron said, "Forty-five inches. Well done. It may go down a bit overnight, but it should easily settle at forty-four or more."

Boz put a hand to the glass, and his reflection mirrored his wide-eyed expression. "I was here all day?"

"All day, all night, and all day again. Two days, as promised." Bron casually wrapped up the tape measure. "Further personal training is three gold per day. Less if you don't mind training with guild members."

Boz placed a hand on his erection. He breathed heavily as he stared at himself: muscled, toned, even more handsome than he'd been before. He began pumping himself mindlessly.

Bron raised an eyebrow. "A night in bed is twenty, but I'll cut you a first-timer discount."

"I-I must go." Boz quickly scooped up his clothing and loosely wrapped it around his waist. "Thank you, and... Yes." He dashed out the door.

Bron calmly called after him, "See you tomorrow."

Boz rushed through the long halls of the Arbiters' Guild barefoot. Sweat poured down his face. As winded as he was from what must have been the most intense workout of his life, he pressed on, all the way out of the massive building, down the street, and to the nearest inn. Several eyes darted towards the panting, mad, naked orc, but he merely rushed to his room and slammed the door.

The taste of blood swelled in his throat. How hard had he been working out?

He stumbled to the bed and quaffed the full carafe of water on the nightstand. He felt dizzy. He flopped onto the mattress.

Not the softest he'd had, but it would do. He got his bearings in his small room. Mostly without charms, he'd placed erotic artwork from his travels on the walls. It wouldn't do to bring a wooing fan here for a lay only to spoil the mood with less than stellar accommodations. Tried as he might with the interior decorating, if pressed he'd still describe the room as "quaint."

His breathing leveled. What had happened, he wondered.

Boz puffed his now-considerable chest. He braved to light a candle, and with a deep breath, he held up his favorite hand mirror, the one with the brass roses, to examine his body.

"That incredible monster..." It was no illusion, or if it was, it was remarkably persistent. His arms and pecs both throbbed, as if still recovering. He felt hypnotized by his own heartbeat as the newly vascular muscles flexed.

He looked down. Two pecs, more pillowy than before. His hand hovered above them, hesitant, as if touching them would break the illusion. But he finally grabbed at his left breast.

And his eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure.

"Fucking hells," he gasped. He dropped the mirror on the bed and felt himself up with both hands. "O-oh..."

His head swam. They were real, and they were big. Soreness sang through them. The more he squeezed, the more full they felt, and he flexed them, left and right and left, feeling them bounce on his prone body.

And his arms! The biceps already looked as if they'd struggle to fit into his sleeves. He ran one hand across one, then switched, and in his body-drunk haze, he gave up and just rubbed himself all over.

His hand fell to his erection. "I'm big," he whispered, his eyes fluttering. He began jerking himself off. "I'm so fucking big."

Pinching his nipples. Spreading his legs on the silk sheets. Flexing each of his muscles to feel how unnaturally massive they were on his body. He lost himself in the sensations the way he'd done so many times in his music. He grew harder, and he pumped faster, but what truly made him lose himself to his lust was one more thought:

"I can be bigger."

Pleasure rippled through his pelvis. His dick spasmed, wetting his palm with precum. His left hand stroked harder as his right massaged his aching, firm muscles. His head swam in a fog of desire and possibility. He drooled onto his heaving chest. His balls tightened.

And he flooded his chest with cum. "Oh, fuck!!!"

The first jet landed on his cheek, and the strong, masculine scent drove his orgasm deeper into his body. Ropes of semen bathed his chest in white.

He was dizzy and on the verge of passing out as his orgasm subsided. The thought looped through his head over and over again: "I can be bigger." A piece of his mind told him no, that there was too much unknown about this satyr-orc's powers, but deep down, his mind was made up.

The exhaustion caught up with him, and he fell asleep licking the cum from his swollen tits.

Shortly after sunrise, the doors of Bron's personal office flew open. Bron didn't bother to look up from the Bogoghu iron/Sralnog timber contract he was drafting. "Good morning, Bozorg. Ready for more training?"

Boz stood tall and marched up to the desk emblazoned with the guild symbol. He slammed a palm onto the wood, nearly causing the inkpot to spill. "You-"

"Strong arm you've got there," Bron interrupted, a child's mischievous glee in his voice.

"Don't interrupt." Boz straightened himself out and heard a seam rip on the front of his outfit. "I will admit, I'm interested in what you can offer. But first I need to know what you're doing."

"No, you don't," Bron said casually, straightening out the inkpot.

"In fact, I do. You are asking for my money for a service, but how am I to trust you?"

Bron sighed. "It's always trust with you. Ironic for a man that makes his living spinning tales."

Boz snarled. "You will not insult my profession."

With a tip of his head, Bron continued. "I meant no harm. If you must trust something, then trust the results." He stood, meeting Boz's gaze. His nose flared. "And you smell like you've quite enjoyed the results."

Boz pursed his lips.

Bron looked him over for a moment. "From what I've heard, you're an exceptional performer."

"You won't flatter me into submission." He leaned harder on the desk.

"Not flattery. Merely laying out an argument." His hooves clacked on the wood floor as he walked around the desk to meet Boz face to face. "You are exceptional, and like most exceptional orcs, you became that way through great effort."

Boz turned his head and pondered. "This still sounds like flattery."

Bron opened his arms. "Hug?"

Boz leaned back. "Excuse me?"

The guildmaster's arms were still extended. "I'm going to tell you something you don't want to hear. Hugs help."

Boz grunted, and he quickly felt for the dagger he kept stowed in a secret pocket. It was ready for him. "If you insist," he groaned. He immediately found himself relaxing to the feel of warm arms and the smell of worn leather. "But none of your... whatever you did."

"Of course." Bron held him for a moment, their breathing syncing up. "You are exceptional," he repeated. "And like most exceptional orcs, being at the top comes with constant pressure. Finding an orc that's in any way superior can feel threatening."

Boz tensed and snorted. "Are you suggesting you're somehow better than me?"

"See?"

"...Point taken," Boz grumbled.

Bron pulled back, but he kept one hand on Boz's waist. With the other, he gently lifted Boz's chin. "You have a certain view of yourself, and while that view can feel liberating, in fact it's stifling you. And it makes it difficult to accept help. But I can help you, Bozorg. I want to see you grow and flourish and unlock your potential." His hand lowered to Boz's ass and gave it a squeeze. His voice rumbled like ominous thunder. "You saw what happened in a mere two days, and there is so much more we can accomplish." He massaged the bard's chin with his thumb.

"Mmm..." Boz closed his eyes and felt the strong hand work his ass, but his mind snapped into place. "You're working an angle. Why would a high arbiter be so willing to spend his precious time training a random traveler?"

Bron cupped Boz's cheek and looked deep into his eyes, and Boz was careful to watch for any strange lights. "What matters is that you want something, and that I can give it to you." His left hand moved from Boz's ass to his back, pulling him into an embrace. "A transaction, for a payment." Bron wrapped his right arm around Boz's shoulders and neck, and he pulled him closer. "The world is complex, far more than you know, but you have a rare opportunity: you get to make a simple choice." Their foreheads met, and Boz smelled jasmine and wine on Bron's breath. "And I want to know: will you do what it takes to fulfill your desires?"

Bozorg felt as if he stood on a cliff's edge with nothing but a promise that the wind would carry him, and yet all the air seemed to have left his lungs. The guildhall, which had once seemed so open and inviting, felt small, constricted, and utterly dark. Bron was all around him, not just his arms, but a presence that filled the entire room. Boz felt every bit the stag surrounded by wolves. He could run, and yet there was something so tantalizing about embracing an unknown fate.

He found his voice. "You... You said three gold per day." He cursed himself for stammering and steadied his voice. "A hefty price." He ran a nimble hand on Bron's forearm and stifled a gasp as he thought about his own potential. "What will it include?"

"Four hours of personal training each day, group training, meals, and lodging. You will experience no pain, only pleasure, and I will bring you back to your senses from time to time to ensure your comfort."

An admission. Bron knew what he was doing, had always known about the red-and-purple lights. Accusations raced through Boz's mind. And yet he found himself distracted by the thick, warm rod pressing him from under the guildmaster's pteruges.

Bron could tell he'd noticed, and he gripped Boz's back tighter. "Touch it."

Boz grasped it without another thought, and his eyes rolled back in his head. It pulsed in his hand, heavy and veiny and still growing. He drew a shaky breath and met Bron's gaze. "We're going to fuck, aren't we?" It was barely a whisper.

"If that is what you desire." He flexed his massive shoulders and constricted Boz further, nearly crushing the bard. "And you strike me as the type that wants everything."

Boz swallowed. His head spun with ideas of growth and sex and power. "I want everything."

Tighter still. "And do you submit yourself to these terms?"

Boz was ready for the wind to carry him. "I submit." He leaned in and kissed Bron as the red and purple haze descended on his vision.

And as it cleared, he felt the slap of a furry pelvis against his ass, and he heard his own hoarse voice moaning, "Harder... oh, fuck, harder!"

"Graaagh!" Bron pounded relentlessly, repeatedly jabbing Boz's prostate. Boz leaned back into him - his hole was well-used by this point.

Boz was on his hands and knees on a bear skin rug. The large mirror was set in front of him, and he saw the image of himself getting railed by Bron. But his shoulders! His neck! He was so much broader and thicker. He ached all along his upper back, even more than the ache in his ass. He gasped as Bron hilted him. "Oh, fuck, what did you do to me?"

"Just barely begun." He squeezed Boz's waist with one hand, and with the other... "Take a look at your chest." He yanked on that beautiful, auburn hair.

"Uhn!" Boz gasped as his head was yanked back, and his cock spasmed as he took himself in. His chest swelled. Two hard, pillowy tits stared back at him. He instinctively flexed, and they bounced and filled even more. He was built. How long had it been since he'd met an orc this buff? He reached up to give them a squeeze, but it was a struggle. His arms had grown as well, twice as muscular as before, and he had to focus to even touch his chest. Another twitch of his dick. "Yes... Yes!" He squeezed at his new tits. Hard, sinewy muscle filled his palm. His grip was so much stronger, too, and he caused himself such beautiful pain when he gripped too hard.

Bron pounded away and roared, "More!?"

"More!"

A flash of lights.

Boz's balls slapped against the warm, fuzzy ass of his trainer, who lay moaning on his back on a massive, plush bed. Boz held Bron's legs up and mercilessly fucked him. He already felt the ograsm stirring deep in his spine. He pushed his rock-hard cock in again, and he nearly doubled over when he realized how tense his abs felt.

Oh gods, his abs. He could barely see them over his round, soft tits, which were now even bigger than before. But with each thrust, he saw a godlike eight-pack, stiff as a washboard, with a clear set of V-muscles guiding his eyes to the furry ass he was pounding. His hips had grown, too, and when he craned his neck to look behind him, he saw that his once firm ass had become a massive bubble butt of well-toned muscled.

Bron grunted through the thrusts. "You can be bigger." Sweat poured off of him.

"Bigger..." Boz repeated. His toes tingled at the word, and his balls stirred with his juices. "Bigger." He drew his dick out nearly all the way and slammed back in, sweat dripping off him onto Bron's belly. "Bigger!" He drooled, and his orgams rose, and he wanted to hold it off, but he pushed himself in all the way, rocking forward into a mating press. "More!"

And as he felt his whole body contract, he saw the lights.

It felt like he'd been edged for days. He whimpered, a puddle of an orc, sopping wet from sweat and lying on his side. And immediately behind him, the satyr-orc held up one leg and fucked him sideways.

Boz's eyes widened as he looked at his legs. The thighs, they were as thick as his waist had been when he'd started! He gasped for breath as he ran a hand along his powerful, exhausted quads, and he saw that his forearms were nearly as thick as his calves. He made a fist and lost count of the bulging veins on his arms among the constant plap plap plap against his wide, strong ass.

Deep below the surface of his mind, he knew he could stop. Gods knew how much this was costing him, but these results! Who needed moderation? Any thoughts of resisting faded away with each thrust of the thick cock into his hole, and all he could muster was, "More..."

A flash.

He felt Bron's tongue in his mouth. They were making out, and Bron was pressed up against the wall. No, not just pressed. Boz was holding him up. It must have been over three-hundred pounds of orc, an incredible weight, and yet Boz held him like it was nothing. Strength coursed through his blood, and his senses muddled, and all he could do was kiss Bron even deeper. Their tusks rubbed against each other as their wild tongues wrestled. The air was thick with musk and sex and groans that could be heard clear across the great lake.

Bron held onto his neck, holding Boz in place. For a moment, Boz thought Bron might choke him, but Boz's neck had grown as thick as a bull's, and he rammed his dick up into Bron's ass with even more fervor.

He flexed his back just to feel it move, and he didn't need to see it to know how wide it had gotten - easily double in size. He felt a cold wind against his back, tracing his bulging traps and massive latissimus dorsi.

Cold wind... Was it winter? How long had he been here?

Bron's scratching beard against his face brought him back to his lust, and he tensed his body to feel the pump of blood all throughout him. Even with all this exertion, he could feel the veins of his own cock, and he was so close to finishing inside his mentor.

Bron pulled away from their kiss. "Not yet."

Boz was close, so very close. "Please..."

"No."

A flash.

Boz stood naked in front of the mirror, the dying light of the evening pouring golden light onto his body. He was massive. His arms were so impractically large, larger than the beefiest bodybuilder he had ever seen, and he knew his days of reaching his own back were long gone. His legs were like thick curtains, draping from his torso, and his shoulders were rounded and practically up to his ears. And his chest filled so much of his vision, large enough for three orcs to rest on, skin stretched against bulging muscle. So enchanted was he that he didn't even notice that his wrists were bound to his sides.

And then all he could focus on was his cock, painfully erect. A thick trail of precum ran from his cockhole, down his shaft, across his balls, and landed with a constant drip... drip-drip... on the wooden floor. A single green finger teased it, stroked it up and down.

Bron was standing behind him. He could barely see the satyr-orc's frame in the mirror now. How far he'd come since that first day, and yet, he wanted just one more inch.

Bron smiled a wicked smile. "So close to release. But will you be satisfied?" He squeezed the purple head of Boz's cock.

"A-ah-" Boz gasped. "Y-y-yes. Or no. Whatever you want. Just let me cum."

"I could... Or..." Bron nibbled Boz's earlobe, which nearly sent Boz over the edge. He whispered, "You can become truly monstrous. Just say the word."

As much as Boz wanted immediate release, he let his addiction take him even further. "More."

"Good boy."

The flashes came quickly. Scenes and realities raced across Boz's perception. Riding Bron cowboy style, his legs as thick as a wooden chest. Getting pounded on the railing overseeing the lake in the middle of the day, in full view of whoever wanted to look, with biceps the size of grapefruits. Getting his sloppy hole eaten out, his bubble butt tight against Bron's bearded face. And each moment that passed, he grew closer and closer to orgasm. Until...

In front of the mirror once more. Bron pounding him, Boz leaning back against him. Boz's dick slapped against his rock-hard abs with every thrust. Boz was reaching around, playing with Bron's ass, and Bron held his hands there, keeping him away from his cock.

Boz saw the mirror. His body was a beautiful monstrosity. Every muscle bulged in ways he never thought they could. Veins pulsed with the red-hot blood that pumped through them, desperately trying to bring him oxygen. Everywhere he looked, there was more of him, a wall of green, glistening skin, a bastion of strength ready to become a whimpering puddle.

He whined, "Please! Enough! Enough!"

"As you wish." With the reflexes of a wolf, Bron thrust himself into Boz, nearly picking him off the ground, and reached around to grab his cock.

It only took two pumps. "AaaaaaaAAARGH!!!" Thick, wet ropes of jizz shot into the air, splashing on Bozorg's incredible, grotesquely strong body. Five ropes, then a sixth, and Boz lost count after eleven as electricity and fire shot through hundreds of pounds of thick, hard, orc musculature.

Bron bit down on Boz's shoulder and screamed in pleasure, his eyes wrenching shut. The hot, wide dick pulsed and pumped inside Boz's ass, sending Boz again through bliss and extending his orgasm yet further.

"Oh fuck, Bron. Bron!" He pulled Bron's ass forward, forcing him in even deeper. He gasped for breath. Jizz ran in rivulets down his front, his legs, his balls. Load and loads, so much more than he thought possible, and his lungs felt like they would collapse.

Boz couldn't handle any more, and he felt himself slip out of consciousness as Bron's strong arms caught him.

He awoke on Bron's bed. His whole body felt like it was on fire, especially his asshole. He could feel the satyr-orc cum leaking from it. He panted, and his eyes fluttered open. "A dream?"

"Heh heh," Bron rumbled. "Not quite."

Boz raised his head and saw himself. It was real. All of it. Mountains of orc muscle were before him, and he immediately felt the stir of a fresh erection.

"Nope, not right now." He let his head slam back onto the pillow, which was soaked with sweat. The rest of his heavy, incredible body was too busy making an imprint on the bed to move.

Bron chuckled. "Here, clean yourself up." He tossed Boz a fine towel.

Boz grunted in thanks. He wiped his face and neck and... he stopped. He held the fabric up. It wasn't a towel. It was his beloved garment, or at least it looked like it. It seemed so small now. He daintily picked up one sleeve with two fingers. His arms couldn't possible fit in this now. Hells, they couldn't fit in five of these. He held it up to his arm. No, he was long past being able to wear any of this, or perhaps any clothing sold in Orcoshku.

He felt his dick stir again at the thought, but he allowed himself to be distracted by the sound of pouring liquid. He cast a glance at the guildmaster. He was pouring a cup full of a lightly pink wine from his wineskin. "Here, drink up. It's a berry wine, very much like sex in a canoe."

Boz took the cup. "How so?"

"It's fucking close to water." Bron grinned and winked, and Boz gave him a polite but sincere laugh. "Now drink up." He gave Boz's stomach a hearty slap, sending a few droplets of the pooled cum flying in all directions. "You'll need some hydration after that."

"Thank you, guildmaster." He raised the glass in toast. "I will say, you have a very satisfied customer."

"I'm very glad to hear that," Bron said, leaving his hand on Boz's stomach.

Boz leaned forward and closed his eyes. He quaffed the drink, which was as light and fruity and as refreshing as Bron had promised. He reveled in this feeling, this afterglow, the heaviness of his new body and all the things he could do with it. His mind raced with ideas and thoughts of what sinful things he would do with himself.

So distracted was he by his thoughts and his wine, that he didn't notice Bron scoop up a palmful of Boz's cum from his stomach. Nor did he notice when Bron popped open his wineskin and deposited the cum inside, nor the eerie red-purple glow of the sigils that flashed across it for just a moment.

Boz finished his wine and set the glass down, and Bron again patted his stomach. "Seems like your funds have finally run low, friend. You'll need to put on a few shows. That is, if you want to continue the training."

Boz's mind tried to calculate the dizzying amount he must have spent here, but in that moment, it mattered so very little to him. He merely looked up at the guildmaster, flashed a devious grin, and said, "More."