FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Since sapient creatures started creating communities, mythos has always been attached to the name of the unicorn. They made themselves scarce to humans, vampires, orcs, and even other anthros, and not without good reason. The silvery range of cool colors their magnificent coats and manes came in were enough to inspire admiration and respect, the delicate sound of their hooves against the grass were lighter, almost fairylike compared to their domestic horse cousins, and their horn was an ongoing mystery to all other creatures, inspiring intrigue. It was only natural, with time, that the humans especially would create their own tall tales surrounding the ever-elusive unicorns. Their horns, it was said, were a cure-all when ground into a paste, able to bring the sick back from the brink of death. One strand of hair from their manes or their tails, when wrapped around the wreath of a home, would keep it standing when all other homes were burnt to the ground. And these were the more innocuous of the superstitions; whereas almost every creature subscribed to these, more brutish species, such as gremlins, cave-gobblers, and especially humans, had myths about what a unicorn's heart or their lungs or their eyes could do for a village.

It was no wonder, then, why unicorns only associated among themselves and among creatures higher and wiser than them, such as pegasi or dragons. If an ill-intended human caught wind of their grazing patterns or their resting grounds, the unspeakable cruelty they were known to subject to even their own young would surely be turned against them.

That said, this was the rule, and every rule had exceptions. Boaz knew this better than anyone. He was constantly raising hell among his herd for going outside set grazing grounds, into the forests of Gal'Dun to eat sleetbloom petals. It was fine the hundred times he'd been there as a foal, when he would go with his elder sister, and she would pick out which leaves were good to eat and which were poison. It was fine as a yearling when he started going alone, his sister having chosen a mate, and he would stamp out abandoned campfires started by orcs and gremlins and humans from beyond the river-border of the fairlands, the unspoken protector of the southern forest. And it would be fine now as a mated stallion, ready to have a foal or filly of his own and seeking the fertility-boosting sleetbloom. He knew where they were in the forest, no further than he'd gone as a spiteful yearling, and age and mating had made him cautious. After all, he had a duty to his mare.

That didn't prevent his father, an old stallion by now but still as fiery as ever, from stepping in front of him as he tried to quietly exit the grazing lands. Standing proud and tall over his rebellious son, Tama stamped his front hoof and snorted in a familiar warning.

"I thought you were over this," he scolded. "You're a mated man now. You're going to be a father and continue our family name. What exactly are you getting out of Gal'Dun that you can't find here?"

Rolling his eyes, Boaz tried to step to one side, only to be blocked by his father. The other side, and he was blocked again, Tama turning sideways to do so.

"I am mated, father," Boaz reiterated. "And that means that I'm allowed to make my own choices. Look, the sleetbloom in the meadow is thin. It doesn't get the shadow it needs out here in the open!"

"And so you'd risk your entire herd to save a single flower?" his father demanded, stamping his hoof again and showing his horn, less a proper threat and more a warning not to test his authority. "We can move grazing grounds. We do move grazing grounds. If you need sleetbloom so badly you will get it, and you will find it in the meadows or in the northern forests."

"You're going to move an entire herd for one stallion when stronger sleetbloom is in my old childhood playing grounds?"

Another warning snort from his father, and he rears onto his back hooves for a moment, stamping down after.

"That's not what this place is. It's a dangerous borderland that you have never been permitted to-"

But Boaz was small and spry compared to his father and as such was able to make a quick escape the moment he reared up, swiveling past and trotting off into the wood where his father couldn't see.

"BOAZ!" he heard the old man shout as his shadow retreated and disappeared into the thick shrubbery.

He breathed out a sigh of relief as the shouting and the chatter of his herd gave way to the quiet forest ambiance. For all the safety and all the community his herd could provide, he needed time away from them now and again to wander and to be with his own thoughts. That was the true appeal of the southern forest. The northern, eastern, and even the misty western forest, were all considered safe by the elders of the herd, and isolation was never guaranteed there. But the southern forest was where he could be with himself and, on occasion, the memory of his sister. (She would visit him every winter solstice evening and then other times when the veil was thin.) So although he knew he was going to hear hell about going to the borderlands again, he embraced the quiet of the forest and-

A rustle in the underbrush just behind Boaz. He turned to try and see what it was, but as soon as it was there it disappeared again. When it didn't show face, he chalked it up to a chipmunk or a bird escaping his presence and continued through the wood.

Another benefit of weaving through the forest was that, on occasion, in the late nights, he could see lights from faraway campfires and houses. Only heaven knew what those settlements were. If he had to guess by the name "Gal'Dun," it was likely orcish camps going to and from the river-border for yearly fishing, but it wouldn't surprise him if the resourceful gremlins also made a home just beyond the river. On the darkest and scariest nights he imagined humans beyond that border, but his sister reassured him long ago that humans were squishy creatures that wouldn't survive the cold north without magical protection. It wasn't like they were welcome in the protected fairlands, and it they weren't magic by nature. So for all their cruelty they would never-

A crack of a branch under something's paw, just out of Boaz's sight. It startled him enough to cause him to jerk his head and back up a few steps. What on Earth was...

When no other sound came after, Boaz cursed himself for his anxious nature and kept trotting along at a comfortable pace. Fine, fine. Since his own body was going to be annoying about it, he'd find the sleetbloom and leave as soon as he could. Just past a few burnt-out patches of underbrush and growing from recently-snowed ground was a pristine patch in perfect health, crystal white with a light blue stamen and pistil about it. Giving a sigh of relief, Boaz bowed his head and began to eat the delicious little flowers, imagining already how they would help his mare-

And then there was a sudden, sharp pain in his backside. Ripping flowers up by the root, Boaz roared and bucked, trying to kick off whatever was assaulting him- but it stuck to him, injecting its whatever-it-was into his backside, into his bloodstream, the more he fought. And it was slowing his movements, slowing his mind. He tried his best to stay awake, to kick and attack the slowly-growing shadows approaching him with lanterns and ropes, but it felt as though his mind were being washed downriver. Eventually, he lost the fight to the sedative and fell unconscious with one last pathetic whinny.

---

"...form. You'd be surprised how much..."

"...about that? I know they're valuable on the black market, but..."

"You're seriously going to question an old expert like..."

Boaz faded in and out of reality for what felt like an eternity, unfamiliar voices all around him. He groaned with pain, feeling as though he ran from the north forest to Gal'Dun and back with no break between, and then was dragged along a second trip. His whole body protested and tried to drag him back down into sleep. At least until he remembered what happened to him, where he last was, and then he tried to kick.

"WOAH!"

"Watch those hooves, those can puncture a lung!"

Something was behind him. SomeONE was behind him, he knew it, they were there and they were going to do something, they were going to hurt him. If he didn't get-

"Someone get the ropes, it's waking up," complained a decidedly feminine voice, seeming more irritated than scared at Boaz's display of power and smacking him on the side of his rump at his impudence. He turned his head to try and look at his attackers-

A human. That was a human woman, all pink flesh underneath the stolen furs of what he couldn't figure out were ordinary animals or anthros. With humans you could never tell how far their cruelty reached. But obviously it reached as far as kidnapping a unicorn, and Boaz felt offended through his fear. He was above these warmongering wretches, he was a creature of the fairlands, they couldn't-

But before he could protest in the form of another kick, seemingly dozens of human hands caught his hind legs, feeling like massive fleshy insects against his skin. They held him fast to something wooden underneath his body before one final set of hands approached with a scratchy hemp rope.

Boaz roared again, trying to kick, trying to fight or bite or even to use magic against these simpletons. But whatever they had dosed him with was keeping his higher thoughts suppressed, and without his other defenses, he was helpless to whatever it was they were trying to do.

"You told me that the general anesthesia would keep a unicorn under for twelve hours. It hasn't even been two!" roared the woman at one of her lackeys, a small, stout little human that held his hands up in defense and shook his head. The leading lady sighed in dismay, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Whatever. Get me some topical anesthesia and we'll go ahead with the gelding. I don't want to go deaf."

Gelding. Gelding. As his swimming mind tried to put pieces together, it clung to that word. What did that mean? What had his father told him as a foal that humans would do if they ever caught him? Something about old myths? Surely that word didn't mean telling him stories. Those thoughts were silenced, however, when the woman stepped to his front and put a hand under his muzzle, lifting it to look him in the face.

"I know you can understand me," she croons with faked affection, thumbing over his cheek and causing his stomach to turn in disgust. "And don't worry! You won't be here forever. Not all of you, anyways," she chuckles with something like sinister intent. "I'm just going to make sure we have enough of you that we don't have to go hunting for horns ever again."

Boaz feels his whole world shift and turn as he came to the mind-numbing realization of what was about to happen. These people wanted to castrate him.

Instantly he begins to struggle against his binds, roaring and biting wherever he could. They couldn't do this! They couldn't do this! They had no right, this wasn't theirs, this was his mare's, he couldn't-

Then a hard smack stings across his face, causing his jaw to throb. The woman smacks a riding crop into the palm of her hand a couple times, glaring daggers at the unicorn.

"If you keep screaming like that I'm going to shut you up the old fashioned way," she growls. "So unless you want to lose more than just your precious little unicorn ballsack, I suggest shutting the hell up."

Boaz wanted to spit in her face and call her the worst swear imaginable. He wanted to kick her head in, puncture her lung as one of the goons said he could, or better yet, immolate her with nothing but his stare. But she had all the power in this situation. Whatever was in that tranquilizer, she had more of it, and she could easily make him comply if he wasn't going to do it willingly. His father had been right all this time. He wanted to make it home to tell him that. So he bowed his head to show that he was going to comply, unwilling to find out what "the old fashioned way" meant.

"That's a good pony," she crooned derogatorally, stroking his bruised cheek. "Walter, darling, be a dear and get the bucket. I want a sample before the gelding. We can't let this poor darling's sleetbloom go to waste, now."

"Yes, ma'am," a man, presumably Walter, mumbled out. Out of the corner of his eye the bound unicorn watched as the man walked over to the corner of the barn---this was a barn, Boaz realized through his fear, a place where his mundane horse cousins lived and served humans---and retrieve a large metal basin, putting it underneath his belly.

A sample. Surely she couldn't mean...

"Now let me show you boys how a rancher's wife does things."

The feeling of human hands on his body returned, this time only two, and this time further up his body. The woman held his balls in either hand, caressing them with slow, gentle movements. Boaz tried to breathe through it, tried to think of something else, but oh, he had never been touched there, he'd never even had intercourse with his mare, and the feeling was new and overwhelming to him, every nerve alight with electricity. His body began to respond to the touch, the glans peeking out of its protective covering. Instantly the woman went underneath him, and then there was something wrapped around his glans. Something soft and wet and delicious, pulling him further into his lust and causing his dick to swell to full erection within moments.

"Woah. Does Mr. Henderson know you do that?"

The soft and wet feeling pops free, and Boaz only realizes afterward that it was the woman's mouth sucking the tip of his dick.

"What he does and doesn't know is none of your business, Harold, and unless you'd like your eyes gouged I suggest shutting up and enjoying the show."

Her flunkies thoroughly silence themselves at that notion, and Mrs. Henderson nods to all of them.

"Now hand me the sleeve," she demands, sticking her hand out from under the unicorn's legs.

Boaz braced himself for more of her wet hot mouth around his dick, more of that gentle suction pulling sensations out of him he couldn't resist no matter how hard he tried, but that never came. Instead he was treated to something slipping over and past the flared head of his cock---something that instantly squeezed around him, concealing him base to tip, something that Mrs. Henderson began to jerk and move in rhythmic time without any input from him whatsoever. He tried to stamp his back foot at the feeling, tried to thrust his still-asleep hips into the sensation on instinct, but couldn't do either due to his bindings. Was this what it would have felt like when he took his mare? If he had made it back to the herd and given her the filly she always wanted? No wonder yearlings waited in fierce anticipation for this, it was nothing short of incredible.

From the haze of lust he found himself getting quickly lost in, the unicorn heard the men behind him whistle.

"Damn, lady, you're a real pro," one carefully compliments, voice thick with lust but wanting to keep his own ballsack intact through this process.

"You bet your pathetic little life I am. Now shut up and prepare the local anesthesia."

Although the men behind him were about to take away the most important part of a stallion's body, Boaz couldn't bring himself to care in that moment. If he closed his eyes just enough, if he imagined it just so, he could almost imagine this sleeve was his mare. He could feel her moving under him, her body firm and supple under his, taking his seed and bearing his child...

Lost in the fantasy, he comes to a world-shaking climax, his cock heaving with spurts of cum directly into the bucket. Only afterwards does he realize he gave this wretch exactly what she wanted. And now she'll make sure he never does it again.

"Alright, boys, I've got what I want. Go ahead and cut them off."

Content and humming to herself, she walks out of the barn. In the postcoital low the unicorn begins to struggle again, harder than ever this time, trying to break the solid ropes. And this time, out of options, he begins to beg for mercy.

"Please. Please, my mare, she wants to have children. I want to have children, I can't go home to her without them-"

But the unicorn knew that his tongue was not theirs. They were too basic, unable to understand the complex language of higher beings, and he was unable to speak their tongue in turn. That didn't stop him from begging, but that begging in turn didn't stop them from jabbing a needle into the surgical site, the numbing fluid inside quickly spreading through his entire lower half.

"So, uh. What do we do now? Cut it open and scoop 'em out?"

"No, you dipshit. You want this thing to die on her property? You'd be next on the chopping block! You gotta clamp the blood vessels first, see, watch me do it."

Behind the unicorn, one of the faceless goons made an incision all across his ballsack, then felt around until he could pull one of the testicles out, the thing covered in a thin white membrane with blood vessels and a seminal tube beneath. Boaz groaned, numb enough not to be in agony but still tugged in the wrong direction with the action. That discomfort only increased when something solid and metal clamped around the exposed tubes.

"That doesn't look like it could cut anything."

"That's because it's not supposed to. Shut up and watch."

The man put a hand on the unicorn's inner flank and switched the metal something on, where it began to whir and turn, slowly at first, rotating the testicle in place, twisting the cords around themselves. The grating sound made his pointed ears hurt and flatten against his head, hoping to block out the sound, to no avail. All he could do was wait and listen helplessly as the thing picked up speed, turning faster and faster as time went on, until finally...

"Oh! Shit! You're right, there's no blood!"

Instantly there was a lack of weight, and he knew that testicle was gone. The turner came to the remaining ball and began twisting again, spinning faster and faster on itself until another sudden lack of weight told him it was done. It was all done. They were gone. He could no longer be called a stallion now.

In the next few hours the dart wore off, only leaving the anesthesia from the surgery. Part of him hoped that they would have kept him, a now-useless stallion, a gelding, away from the rest of the unicorns, just so he wouldn't have to face the shame and the "I told you so"s from his father. But they had no such resources to do so, and so he had no such luck being held. By sunrise the next day he was released back into Gal'Dun, his old, familiar stomping grounds, now tainted by the memory. Head low, he started slowly and surely back to the meadow, back to the sounds of his panicking herd, never to return to the borderlands again.