FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

And every demon wants his pound of flesh But I like to keep some things to myself -Florence and the Machine's "Shake it Out"

+++++

Arnold was sick.

He was a nurse, so he knew of all the many possible meanings the cramps in his gut could have. He was also a man, so after he called in sick to the hospital, he took some Pepto and sat on the toilet bowl groaning and hugging his stomach.

During one of his many trips to and from the kitchen to replenish his fluids, he heard a knock on the door.

There was a vaguely-familiar blonde woman outside. White blouse, tan slacks, flat shoes. Arnold figured she'd be fairly pretty, were he to swing that way.

"Hi! I live in the apartment below yours. I was transforming my roommate into a hideous abomination when it occurred to me that I hadn't warded the ceiling. So as soon as I was done, I scooted right on up to see if there had been any ill effects."

Arnold looked at the woman, his jaw hanging. She looked back at him calmly for a few seconds.

"Oh. You seem a little pale. Lemme take a look at that."

"Arnie, right? I always liked that name." she pushed him back into the apartment, and closed the door behind her. +++++ "My name is Dean Biers. At least, it used to be. I'm not sure what it is now." She paused to listen. "Rakra. I'm Rakra. I work for a...being called, in the Low Tongue, 'Esselis'. You may have heard of him. No? Then let me introduce you."

She held a hand out, and looked at an imaginary visitor next to her. "Esselis, this is Artie. Artie-" Her palm glowed. "-this is Esselis. Part of him, anyway."

As she slapped her hand onto Arnold's stomach, he felt pain. Much worse than that incurred by your average taco joint, it centered in what felt like his upper intestine. He has been assuming the cramps were just gas, but this felt Wrong.

"Oh, quit your fussin'," Rakra scolded. "If I weren't here to stabilize your...let's call 'it Weave'-your Weave, you'd be exploding all over this room right about...now."

Arnold flinched.

"See? No splodey." Her face creased in a mockery of concern. "I've never seen a weave destabilization this bad. We'll have to operate immediately."

"Would you like to see a magic trick?"

Arnold stared.

The woman she pulled at an imaginary rope, one apparently tied to the floor. Eventually, the other end of the "rope" popped out of the floor, absolutely ruining Arnold's chances of getting his deposit back. It was a tentacle of flesh, one with an eye on it-

"Remember what I said about my roommate?" Rakra sliced at the tentacle with the side of her hand, severing it like it had been cut with an axe. The tentacle promptly whipped back into the floor, and the severed potion turned to goo, which Rakra caught on her palm.

"What's that?"

"Shhh," said the woman. She kicked off her shoes, and yanked at an imaginary string. Arnold's sweatpants pulled themself down, exposing his member, which was limp with terror. Why hadn't she just used her hand?

"Because I have magic. Also, boy-cooties, ew. Now stop thinking so loud, and enjoy." She slid her hand under his penis. "Come on! C'mon boy! Up you go!" A few seconds later, it was at half-mast, so to speak. Rakra sighed. "Close enough." She lowered the goo onto his dick. Arnold started kicking.

There had been one time when he got drunk in Mexico and had a drink made out of peppers, tequila, and some other stuff he couldn't pronounce. An hour later, he was in a bathroom stall, weeping as a stream of fire poured out his crotch.

This was much like that. Except backward.

The goo felt...cold. It hurt, but it was the exact inverse of his experience with that drink. The goo spread down the outside too, and soon Arnold would've cheerfully become a eunuch to end the feelings in his crotch.

"A lot of artists have problems with a black canvas. Some just randomly draw until something jumps out of them. I prefer to have a clear idea in mind. Like a snake, for instance. Did you know they have two penises? Kinda like this."

He was expecting it to start at the tip, but Rakra wrapped her hands around the middle and pulled, like she was separating two frozen hotdogs stuck together. Incredibly, Arnold's flesh began to divide. She drew her hands towards her, and it expanded, grew, and split cleanly into two dicks. The woman sat back on her haunches.

"Well. That's a nice start." Wait, what? "However, I don't think it's pointy enough, y'know? Snakes should be pointy." She started with the head on her left; pinching portions of the glans and pulling them towards Arnold's body. When she was done, Arnold was left with spinelike protrusions on the upper portion of his glans.

"I think sex should hurt, don't you? Hurt the other guy, at least."

She repeated the process in a straight line from the head of his other penis, leaving it with a line of spines. Despite his best efforts, despite the cold, despite the sheer impossibility of the situation, his erection was rising to full strength. He knew that most rapists didn't bother to make their victims achieve orgasm; their concern was on their own satisfaction. That was the male-attacker rapists, of course. He wasn't sure about the female-female statistics, but he knew that when women raped men, bringing the man to orgasm was usually a simple matter of...stimulation.

Didn't even matter if the vic was gay.

On the floor below them, a Mr. Parkman held his cell phone up to the mass of flesh, taking a series of pictures. He was shaking; even the surgical mask he was wearing couldn't keep the smell out; blood and sweat and...other things. He was trying not to pay any attention to the eyes. He dialed Kenlin.

"What've ya got?"

"Sir," said Parkman, "it's...not good. Sending photos."

While he waited for the boss to respond, he looked out the window, where his partners were guarding the perimeter, hanging out near the car.

Rakra pulled several more of the tentacles from the floor, but she didn't sever them this time, using them to secure Arnold.

"You may feel a slight tingle during the next part of the procedure. Now, about these little guys, right here-" she flicked a finger, and Arnold arched his back as stinging pain shot through the most sensitive part of him. "- I don't like the color. I hear pink is going to be in this winter."

She wrapped her hand around the head of the spine-headed shaft, drew it downward with a slightly absent look in her eyes. When she lifted her hand away, it had gone pink.

"Also, black. Very slimming."

The same with the other one, what Arnold was thinking of as "the ridgeback".

"'Course, the last thing you'd want is for this to look slimmer. You know what would go well with this? Green."

It was something akin to sculpting, what she did. Taking his toes, squeezing them together like moist clay - Arnold could feel the bones grinding against each other - and pulling them into longer, crueler, clawed shapes. And she didn't stop there. Pulling his pants off, her ministrations moved onto his heels, then his legs, thickening them at the calf, widening them at the hips -

That was when he caught on.

"No!" Arnold yelled, and Rakra frowned at him. With a wave of her hand, she turned on his stereo, frowned even harder. "Glee? Really?"

Below them, Parkman looked up at the ceiling for a second, shrugged, and got back to work.

Where Rakra changed, green scales soon followed. Except for Arnold's underbelly, which became a pale off-white, like an alligator. His tormentor narrowed his waist, coaxed a tail from his coccyx, and gave him brand new breasts. She even pinched the nipples.

"You know, if I had time, I'd pierce these," she murmured. "I hear it's fun. Though I imagine they'll be poking and prodding you quite a lot already."

The arms were almost cursory. Scales, claws, done. She lavished care on his face, softening the jawline, pulling out his nose, passing thumbs over his eyes, flattening his ears. Arnold screamed harder.

"Shhh." Rakra said breathily. "Bad girl."

And she took her tongue in between her sharp little nails and yanked -

And it just kept going.

As she let it go, it flopped in between his breasts, and he could taste his own scales, taste his scent in the air, that of the blonde woman straddling him.

"Ah dhm lhk thp!" Arnold said.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to like it. That's your problem, really. You always think it's about you. So selfish. You need to get a new perspective."

She grasped the side of his neck, yanked hard, and, incredibly, it began to stretch. Arnold felt his vertebrae separating -

When he woke up, he found himself lying on the floor, arms and legs freed. Rakra was looking out the window, at the parking lot, teacup and saucer on the windowsill. She had gotten into his organic Oolong, by the taste-smell. If he could sneak up on her, he could -

"Down, girl," she said sharply.

And suddenly he couldn't move. How had she -

"I can read your mind, remember?" Turning away from the window, she strode over to her captive, knelt. She still reeked of hot tea.

"Your..." she licked he lips "...woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep." She stepped smartly away from the sliding door, and pointed down at the Jeep below. "Sic 'em."

Arnold found himself running straight toward the balcony. He would've opened the door first, but he didn't have much say in the matter. As the glass shattered, he suddenly remembered he lived on the third floor. There was plenty of time to ponder that fact as the ground got closer. He even had time to watch the two MiBs reach into their coat, to pull ordinary Glock pistols, instead of the silver-raygun-things he was expecting. Ordinary, in that they were perfectly good at putting holes in things. He was probably going to break his legs or something on the pavement. If he was lucky, he'd snap his own neck and die i -

His body made a perfect four-point landing without any assistance from his mind whatsoever. That was a surprise. He hissed at the two men approaching him and darted away behind a parked car, again involuntarily.

Ramirez and Scranton flanked the car, and broke cover to flank a patch of empty pavement. The thing wasn't in the car, so where could it have gone? They got their answer as a scaled tail swept out from the undercarriage of the car and knocked Ramirez off his feet.

For his part, Arnold wasn't exactly enjoying the experience. Yes, hanging from the underside of the car did interesting things to certain portions of his brand-new anatomy. Yes, being shot at while you crawled out from underneath the car really did get the blood pumping. And it was kinda cool to jump backwards off a sedan to land on the hood of an SUV. But all in all, he'd have preferred the stomach cramps.

He managed to get enough control of his head to look up the window, and saw Rakra waving from his apartment. His tongue smelt plastic, he heard a faint crackle, then prongs slammed into his flesh and then everything went black.

Ramirez dropped the tazer and approached the downed lizard-creature, his gun in his hand. His partner covered him as he took the thing's pulse.

"It's still hard," Scranton noted.

Ramirez glanced at the lizards crotch. It really was. He flipped out his cell and hit push-to-talk. "Ramirez here. We have been attacked by and downed a new Alpha Romeo Foxtrot. We're going to need another van."

Scranton had already rolled the lizard off the hood of the Jeep and covered it with the tarp from under the front seat. He looked around; their perimeter was still secure. No one had pulled into the parking lot. He looked back towards the apartment building, and watched a pretty blonde woman leave, iPhone in hand. She looked up at him, and gave a little wave before she got into her car.

"What'cha looking at?" Ramirez asked.

The woman had backed her car out of the parking space, and was pulling out of the parking lot.

Scranton sighed. "Nothing."

ENDF

"ACS 06: Cold Blood" by Eulalie "Nequ" Quentin loosely based on the SCP Foundation 2012 Creative Commons By-SA-NC