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(Contains: nudity, sexual themes and strong language)
Womanhood by Witchcraft - chapter 2

Womanhood by Witchcraft

Half an hour later Drea held his temples in his hands, blinking dumbly at the open page. His tail, unusually, was still and his ears pointed forward as if attentive, but in truth he was stuck deep with his own thoughts, doing his best to get over the news that apparently he was going to have to get his hands on a fucking demon. He'd secured himself some obscure ingredients for potions and spells before, but this one spell, the one that promised permanent femininity, was ridiculous.

Where the fuck was Drea supposed to get a snake-demon from?

Well, he already had the book, so he decided to see what it said on the matter. He turned hopefully to the index.

There was a reference. He flipped back through the pages to find it.

Kyosei hebi live in the Mexican lowlands where they can find enough sunshine to bask in, along with rocks and vegetation to hide and hunt in. However, they are always watching for a large enough male animal to act as a host, whereby they use their demonic powers to fuse with the host's penis and serve as a replacement for the organ. The host's testicles also change to become the snake's digestive organ.

After the transformation is complete the snake can bite and 'suck' femininity out of female animals and 'feed' it to their host. The host will gradually become more and more predominantly female, eventually developing exaggerated feminine features. The snake will be partly subject to the will of the host and can be withdrawn into the body so that the demon's mouth becomes a surrogate vagina. Please note that the snake will retain a level of control over its own movements, and developing control over the snake is part of the bonding process for the host.

In order to deliberately bond a kyosei hebi to oneself, a catman must find a clutch of kyosei hebi eggs and keep them until they hatch. The newly-hatched snakes must be kept together in a glass container and not touched directly by a male catperson, as they will very quickly seek to bond with him. For this reason catwomen are often employed in the black market to care for the demon snakes until they are big enough to bond.


The newly-hatched kyosei hebi is too small to make a suitable bond with a catman's penis. It is recommended that they are kept in the above manner until they are around 12 weeks old.

Kyosei hebi can grow to up to 2 meters in length. Catmen are discouraged from seeking such a large specimen with which to bond as the magic of the demon can be too strong for the host to withstand. Catmen with kyosei hebi longer than 12 inches generally lose the battle for suitable control over their symbiotic body and become ruled by their snake's desire to bite and mate. The larger the snake the less control the catman will have.

Catmen who have bonded with a snake demon become permanently infertile and will thereafter only be able to father kyosei hebi offspring. Once a year in late winter, catmen in symbiosis will experience an unignorable urge to seek other, unattached kyosei hebi to breed.</i>

The rest of the article focussed on irrelevences about kyosei hebi breeding.

Drea spent the next couple of days searching for kyosei hebi suppliers on the black market in the USA. There had to be some.

He located a supplier a few tens of miles north of the Mexican border.


The black market kyosei hebi he bought turned out, ironically enough, to be from an actual market. At night. While Mexican folk sold street food, clothes, entertainment of various types and much more, Drea's guide led him through a jewellery stall held by a jaded-looking catwoman who more or less ignored the two men. Drea had assumed that the rear wall of the stall was just that: a wall, made more presentable by hanging brightly-coloured fabric in front of it. But the guide pulled the fabric out of the way to reveal a doorway. Drea glanced uncertainly at the stall owner - she looked like she had an energetic rebuke on the tip of her tongue. She certainly didn't look pleased, although the tirade never came - and ducked through.

"How old are they?" Drea asked the guide, just to make conversation.

The young catman with tattered ears and hostile eyes looked like he hated Drea too much to bother answering and didn't particularly care whether Drea repeated himself.

"How old?" he asked again, carefully keeping the irritation out of his voice, when it was clear the guide wasn't going to ask him what he'd said.

"Fourteen weeks," came the curt reply.

Okay, he thought and hoped they wouldn't be too big.

They came to a room with three older catmen sitting on a couch, apparently gambling, who looked up as Drea and the guide entered. Well, that was the first thing Drea noticed. The second thing he noticed was a fairly large vivarium against the far wall, and felt a thrill of excitement.

The guide said something in his native language to the men. One of them nodded and called out something that Drea didn't catch but turned out to have probably been a name, because then he heard the clicking of shoes on a hard surface and a dull-eyed catwoman entered the room from a grim hallway to his left. The catman waved a hand in the general direction of the vivarium.

The woman glanced at Drea and then went to the vivarium and lifted off the top. "Come an' pick one senor, a hundred dollars each," was technically what she said, although what she actually conveyed was more like: Well, are you going to come over and pick one or not?

He walked over and then noticed that the three catmen were smirking at him. He wanted more than anything to keep looking confident in this strange place so he looked away from them and kept his head high as he went to inspect the snakes.

They had been mostly still, huddled together in coils and nonchalantly tasting the air. But when they sensed his presence they went nuts. They hissed - loudly! - and tried to climb up the side of the glass. He backed off, alarmed and with the hair on his tail standing on end.

The men laughed but the guide continued to look sullen and the woman... well, she simply looked hard-faced. He noticed then that her womanly features - her tits and hips - were pretty much flat. Her hair was scruffy and short, and looked like she'd done her best to make it presentable but really, that it wasn't up to much at all.

"Uh, okay... How about that one?" he said. They all looked the same to him and he didn't feel a special instant bond with any of them. He would've reached in and picked one out himself but they looked like they'd all try and bond with him if he did.

The flat-chested woman nodded stiffly and picked out the one he'd randomly pointed to. It hissed. The sound was unusual, stuttering and sinister. It tried to keep itself stretched out and horizontal. "Follow me," she said and clicked across the room back the way she'd come.

Drea followed, trying not to look freaked out about the bonding. Because this was it, wasn't it? The bonding came next. This was his last chance to turn back. He wished there weren't several pairs of eyes following him full of unfriendly laughter but there were, so he pretended not to notice them.

She took him to another, equally grim room. He looked around: it was certainly no operating theatre. There was a bed (that he presumed she'd ask him to lay on) with no duvet or top blankets on it. Just a mattress and a thin blanket, which he got the impression was hiding all kinds of stains. Don't think about it. Don't think about it, he thought, fighting the gorge in his throat. He tried to ignore the faintly visceral, druggy smells and forced himself to notice the sight of the room again. Apart from a chest of drawers and a window with depressed-looking curtains, the room was pretty much empty.

If I hadn't known better, I'd have guessed this was used as a brothel.

"Take off your jeans and lay on there," instructed his companion, and looked stonily the other way while he obeyed.

Brothel... Is that what happened? Were you a prostitute and got bit by a guy's attached snake?

He cleared his throat to get her attention. She glanced. "Do I remove these too?" he asked, pulling self-consciously at the waistband of his underwear. He felt surprisingly like a bad little kid in front of her and he realized that he felt almost as nervous of her as he did about the bonding procedure.

"Do you think I can get to your cock if you don't?" she snapped, then rolled her eyes and made a gesture with her free hand as if to say, Yes. Take them off.

He slid them off over his ankles and lay down on the bed, embarrassed by his completely flaccid state. Still, in a short while he'd never have to be flaccid again.

She approached and unceremoniously took a hold of his cock. The snake, so far relatively calm, squirmed in her grip to get at him. Or more specifically, his groin. He fought the instinct to scramble away but didn't completely relax because something about this felt not quite right. Clearly it was facing the wrong way because it was acting as if it wanted to bite his dick. And then the Mexican woman put it closer to his groin so that his penis and the snake were eye to eye, as it were.

That was obviously wrong- "Hey careful!" he blurted, scurrying back against the bed. "It's gonna bite me!"

She looked so annoyed that he almost expected her to turn around and leave the room. "Do you want this or not?"

"I do, but it's meant to be..."

The book hadn't said exactly how the snake attached. Now that he thought about it, what did he expect it to do? Wrap its tail around his dick and melt into his flesh? That's what seemed right because in the pictures, the snake's head faced outwards from the bonded catman's groin.

"Look, jus' shut up. I'm doing it right," she said, pushed at his knee which he'd bent to shield himself from the snake so that his leg lay flat, and put the snake's head to his manhood.

It bit!

Drea cried out in shock. Harsh male laughter came from the other room and his breath felt rough in his throat and chest. The pain didn't come at first but then it seemed to bloom - in his nose and eyes which watered uncontrollably, in his arms and legs that somehow managed to develop nausea, and in his skin which tingled unpleasantly all over.

And then the pain came. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to grab the snake's tail and pull it away, to force his fingers into its jaws and prise them open and fling it across the room where it couldn't do any more damage.

The bastard thing was going to ruin his dick!

He nearly rolled off the bed as his limbs moved frantically to get away from the agony. The snake's body flapped against his thighs but didn't let go, didn't even weaken its grip. The angry woman said something but he didn't catch what it was and then he fell hard onto the floor. She might have sworn and then she stormed away.

Oh god, I don't want it to chew my dick off! Please! Please...

And then he noticed something. Through the pain he could feel something odd. A kind of flowing sensation. Warmth and glowing. It felt unreal, uncanny. Magical, even. He'd stiffened his neck against the agony and fought the tension to look down, to refocus his eyes.

He didn't understand what he was looking at, at first. And even when he realized what was happening, he couldn't have described it or drawn it.

The snake was metamorphosing. Inside-out, or back-to front, or some combination of the two. No, it wasn't quite inside-out but it was somehow making its head end it's tail end, and its tail end its head end. Biology moved, morphed, changed, reformed itself around his cock and as it did, it swallowed up more of his feline length.

The pain still made him wince and he clenched his fists again, forced himself not to clutch his groin to relieve the pain. But he noticed with relief that the agony was receding.

He laid his head back against the side of the bed and focussed on the details of the mould marks on the ceiling, and did his best to calm down as he felt the changes take place. As his heart continued to beat extra-hard he hoped he hadn't made a terrible mistake.

He went dizzy for a moment and the room span around him. He struggled to the closest he could to an upright position and waited it out. When he got clarity back again he felt different, ever so slightly different. He blinked, and questioned within.

What's happening? It was like... it was like there was someone in there with him. And yet... maybe not. But there was something more than before. Wh-who's there?

Nobody answered, and he wondered whether this extra-ness was sentient. He examined this newcomer to his inner self and it moved at his will. Like an extra limb. Or... appendage. He felt his ears lay back in shock as he realized what he was experiencing, and looked down.

The snake had finished its transformation and waved as if ready to take on an enemy. Drea froze in fear and it cowered, and stilled. And he felt it do that, as if it was a part of his own flesh. Of course... it's part of me now. Can I look myself in the eye? So to speak... He concentrated and tried to turn the snake's head with his will alone. It jerked and then bent slightly, but that was the best he - and it - could manage. He craned his neck around to try and look at the snake's face, but although it responded it wasn't with a smooth movement or even in particularly the right direction. It didn't seem to have its bearings.

Tentatively he took hold of it. It hissed and he jerked his hand back. Then he felt fear. It was the snake's fear, he realized with a flash of insight, not his own, so he took hold of it again. It hissed but he grasped it more firmly and manipulated it to look him in the face.

It had slitted pupils and a reptile's grin. An exploratory tongue and perfect black, glossy scales. In short, it was beautiful.

He opened his jaws to see if it would copy him. It tensed its own jaw and looked like it was spasming a little. He stopped, relaxed, concentrated on the difference in the psyches between himself and the symbiotic demon, and slowly and deliberately opened his jaw again.

Slowly, shakily, it opened up. He - and it - tilted their heads back a little and he saw its fangs, lined up against the roof of its mouth.

How do I bring them out? He tried, but they wouldn't budge. He and his snake closed their mouths and stared each other out for a moment. They'd come back to that one another time.

Drea took hold of its head and it relaxed into his grasp, barely hissing at all this time. He stroked its cranium with his thumb and concentrated on what he could feel. The truth was, he could feel something but not very much, and he hoped he hadn't lost too much sensation.

The room lurched and he got a little dizzy again. The snake seemed to struggle with this and in all honesty so did Drea, but he felt more in control of the situation than he had before. So he took hold of the snake's head and pulled it taut, and felt from its jaw down to the point at which it connected to his groin. That led him to his balls, and he instinctively prodded them to feel a reassuringly intense sensation.

He got very little. Oh god, my balls! he thought and scooted his butt forward to check them. He loved having sensitive balls. Please don't tell me they'll never feel like that again..?

They'd turned black and smooth, covered in scales. Exquisite scales, and not a single hair. Well, at least they were pretty, insensitive balls. He sighed.

The slightly-swimming room snapped to, and he shook his head. He opened and closed his snake's jaws once more - it was easier this time. His connection with it was getting clearer, stronger! He took hold of its head again to see if it would hiss, and not only did it accept his grip, it felt delicious. His expert touch was enhanced by his new smooth, glossy flesh. He ran his grip down its length and made another delightful discovery. The muscles in the snake's torso rippled as if trying to climb through his fingers, and he realized on the spot that he was going to do a lot of masturbating in the following few weeks.

He almost continued right there and then, except that he heard the click of the woman's heels through the hallway. "Uh... Just a second," he called and grabbed his clothes. He struggled into his pants and covered his butt, but his snake didn't really want to be put away. It struggled and when he tried to stuff it in, it hissed. "Look... I'm just trying to- Stop it! Just get in, you bastard."

It bit (Drea was struck dumb with shock for a moment as its reflexes blasted through his own consciousness), and got a mouthful of pants cotton for its trouble. He could feel its severe disquiet in his mind and put on his jeans anyway, fighting through the shock of its bite because he really didn't want the grumpy lady to be looking at his butt any more. It'd calm down. It had to. He couldn't walk naked onto the coach home.

He managed to calm and smooth it down just enough to put it away. It squirmed under the tight strength of his denim and he found himself calming it, soothing it with a gentle internal voice.

Finally he felt ready to turn around. "Hi. Okay, thanks for this."

The woman shrugged, her arms folded. "Time for you to go now."

So much for after-care. "Sure. I guess I'll go, then."


Drea's heart thrummed with excitement! He couldn't wait! The catboi started unbuckling his belt almost before his front door had slammed shut into its frame. He'd managed to stay quiet on the ride home, just about, but inside he'd been sharing a fascinated dialogue with his snake, trading feelings and imperatives instead of words about sex, about their urges and needs, and curiosities. Or Drea's curiosities, anyway. The demon had been able to answer some of his questions but not many. As a result, Drea had experimentation to do and an almost frantic desire to do it.

His snake had felt frustrated. His blood supply kept it fed but it'd made clear that it wanted more. It wanted to hunt, bite, consume. It had wanted to stretch and feel cool air on its skin. It'd wanted stimulation, to see its local environment, to be touched.

Touched? Well, the time had come for that! He pulled his jeans half-way down his thighs and squirmed his butt to release his tail from the rear hole in his jeans almost without thinking about it. He felt as much as saw the front of his briefs move eagerly, bunch and stretch and push, as his snake struggled to get out, irritable about its incarceration. It didn't know how to escape so he pulled his underwear down to let it pop out.

He felt the demon's pleasure at finally being free and stretched upwards a little himself in empathy with its feelings. I'll have to wear miniskirts more often.

The catboi threw himself down on his couch and put both hands around his snake. Immediately his legs contracted and his eyes pinched closed with the sensation. So enjoyable! He rubbed it, fascinated by the smooth feeling coming from both sides of his awareness - the silky scales against his fingerpads and the pleasure of his new genitals slipping perfectly through his hands. He decided he wanted to exaggerate the sensations, got up to fetch the bottle of olive oil from his kitchen and returned.

He unscrewed the bottle and almost tipped a little over the snake's head. It questioned him wordlessly so he paused, and explained the concept of what he was going to do in mental images and thoughts about how it would feel. That was the way it seemed to like him to explain things. It responded reluctantly with consent, so long as he only used a little and avoided its head. He obeyed its wish.

One oily stroke made him cry out, singing his pleasure the way only a feline person could, circling his hips and slowing the rubbing movement of his hand. He shuddered and felt their mutual pleasure, twin ecstasies. It agreed with sensual abandon for him to rub its head with the oil and the pair fell into a rhythm. It pushed its head through his fingers of its own accord and he felt its muscles climb their way over his palm.

Drea looked down at the scene, at the way his curly pubic hair gave way to this hairless snake, its oiled black beauty, at its attentive eyes and waving tongue and the way it lengthened and contracted, lengthened and contracted.

He felt an orgasm on the horizon and kept on rubbing. He couldn't bear to stop but as he did it he wondered, What happens when I cum? He didn't have testicles any longer, so...

His - and his demon's - orgasms came simultaneously and absolutely floored his newly-rearranged brain. He arched against the couch. Among the ripples of orgasmic bliss he felt his utter powerlessness (the demon felt this more acutely and he noted that it didn't like the part of an orgasm that involved being helpless) and the prickles of his raised hackles as they were trapped between his back and the couch. A few seconds passed before he regained sensibility, and when he looked down felt surprise that there wasn't any semen. But neither had anything else strange happened. His snake kept its head up and alert, and he could tell it felt stimulated yet relaxed, refreshed and happy.

How short can you get? he thought as he wondered at this fantastic new addition to his body. He could feel its ability to contract but hadn't really tried it yet. So he concentrated.

It retreated. And retreated. And retreated...

Soon only its head remained, and he smiled at the fact that it could do that. He could feel the pressure of its contracted body inside his groin but also that he could keep it there for a while. It looked a bit strange, just a snake head poking out of his pubes.

It licked its tongue out, testing the air.

And that gave Drea an idea. He tried controlling the tongue. After a few attempts he found that he could lap the air just as smoothly as the demon did by its own choice. The sensation was... exposed, somehow. Enjoyable! And he could taste what it could taste, a dual sensation that was there and wasn't, at the same time. Its great sensitivity to the flavours of his apartment. He tried reaching a finger down and licking it with his snake's tongue. He liked that too.

He tried opening those jaws. With great concentration they did so, hesitantly as he used his recently-gotten neural relationships in this new way, but after a few opens and closes, he got the hang of it.

He reached in carefully with a finger, his ears tipped forward in concentration. Running his fingertip around what would have passed for the snake's lips if it'd had any gave him a new thrill of excitement. It was... a teasing feeling. He focussed his awareness of its fangs, bared and retracted them.

He dared to poke his finger inside its mouth. The snake may have been reluctant to allow this, only... just about everything he tried with it, it enjoyed with the same sexual abandon that he did. It let him, aware that this was an intrusion but as curious as Drea about how it would feel.

Sensitive! He bucked his hips before he could stop himself. Sensitive and, and... Mmm, he thought as he realized just how intimate, how right it felt. He stroked its tongue as it lay in its bed, ran his claw along its fangs in their place along the roof of its mouth. And then, his breath shuddering, he tried sliding his finger towards the back of its mouth and, careful as careful could be, down its throat.


Commission: Womanhood by Witchcraft - chapter 2
Drea is a slender little catboi who dreams of being a curvaceous woman. A connoisseur of transformation spells, he one day discovers a way to have his cake and eat it. Or should that be, have his snake..?

Drea by :iconseithon:
Title art by chikapet of FurAffinity.
Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: nudity, sexual themes, violence/gore, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
Womanhood by Witchcraft

Womanhood by Witchcraft

Drea always enjoyed the way her flesh sang as the potions transformed her. The heat that no thermometer could measure, making her flesh bubble up from the inside like sensuous magma within its uninspiring outer shell. She swelled from the inside out, adding breasts where before there'd been none, and gloriously wide hips, and plumper, bigger, more generous thighs. She felt her hair - disappointingly girlish in her day-to-day femboi life, become lusciously thick, long, and totally womanly. Enough for a lesser feline to get lost in.

But not Drea. The familiar transformation turned her from a slender little tom-kitten into a growling, prowling lioness, proud of everything she had from the curvy cushions that served as buttocks to the feminine lines of her shoulders and upper arms. Everything began to purr with a satisfaction only she could hear, but man, she could feel it like the deepest most throbbing instinct.

She felt herself swell beyond the confines of the disappointingly boyish body Mother Nature had granted her and become an earth goddess all of her own. Strong. Beautiful. Sexy.

She was so used to these transformations that she barely noticed the bitter after-taste of the potions she used. Not any more. She'd run out of Polos months ago and hadn't needed to buy any more to mask the after-taste. And what was more, Drea had taken so many different types of growth potions that she had a set of muscle-memories that automatically adjusted her centre of gravity, no matter what order or speed the potion worked. She could accommodate fast-growing tits, expanding derrieres, shrinking feet, lightening shoulders, heavier hair, all without stumbling, all without Drea's conscious direction so that when she grew, all she had to do was watch the show.

Drea admired herself in the mirror, wiping a big sheaf of her dark blonde mane away from her face and hooking it over her shoulder, partly exposing a dainty feline ear. Her cleavage was perfect: plump and shady. Her hands and feet delicate and begging to be shown off in all their alabaster perfection. Her cock semi-erect from witnessing the glory of it all. Her navel a coy little dot set above the heart shape of her hips and thighs like a cherry perched on top of a cupcake.

Not that Drea had a cherry. A body as amped-up as this deserved to be worshipped, and had been many times, in many different ways. Maybe it would be tonight.

If only the potions lasted forever, Drea would be the happiest femboi alive. But they never did. The vibrant flesh inevitably faded away after a few hours and after that, Drea always became the same as before: flat-chested, snake-hipped and with the same frustratingly boyish, angled jaw.

"Well girl," she said to her reflection, pushing her fingers under her hair down to the scalp to ruffle it up. "I think you deserve the wet-look miniskirt and stockings tonight."


Mmm, Drea thought to herself as she swung along the sidewalk. The shift in gravity from right, to left, to right, to left - the satisfying solidity of her hips as she strutted along, the sensation accentuated by the demands of walking on high heels. The effort and the body-warmth it all generated. The slight chill of the night air on the bare parts of her legs and midriff and chest and arms.

A slight wind blew in Drea's favour: square towards them, making her hair billow out behind like a flag. She couldn't resist glancing in the big windows of shops as she walked along, anything to catch the quick pale movements of her uncovered portions of flesh, the flick of her long slender tail, the bounce of her tits, the shadow and light of the angles of her feminine-shaped face.

Why shouldn't she look like this forever? It wasn't fair!

Drea's sensitive ears picked up the boom-boom-boom of the nightclub ahead and she couldn't help but cheer up. It was time to head into the lioness' den.

Drea strutted past the bouncers who stood, hands patiently linked in front of their groins and puffer jackets proud, to either side of the entrance. Being a sober apparent-woman meant that Drea got past without any trouble and barely afforded the men a look. Once beyond the security staff she turned towards the entry booth to pay and looked at the girl operating the desk: straight, dull brown hair, student's acne and a funky tshirt.

The catgirl looked jaded already, as if she expected it to be a frustrating night. Or maybe she felt outclassed from seeing such a superior example of femininity before her. She tore a ticket off the reel as Drea fished a bill out of her handbag and each presented the other with the paper.

"Thank you honey," said Drea with the satisfaction that she was more woman than the entry clerk, and opened the inner doors. Music and humid heat pumped out, washed over Drea like life-blood. She didn't pause, but certainly savoured it as she stepped inside.

The club was already just full enough to feel populated. And to generate a little of that body-scent that Drea loved in nightclubs. And already there was some competition: a woman in knee-high platforms and a mini dress full of holes, and separate sleeves. All in leopard print. A heavy tan and shimmery pale make up.

And smaller tits than Drea. Much smaller.

It wasn't that Drea saw this catwoman as competition. Not really. It was that the woman clearly fancied herself so much that Drea found it amusing.

In many ways, Drea simply saw this queen as a starter.

She didn't speak to the woman as she swung past to visit the bar, just caught her eye and gave her the quick once-over. I've seen better, said Drea's look with practised precision. And then, with a warmer demeanour (mostly for the leopard-woman's benefit, to serve as a contrast with the derogatory look she'd just given her) she called out to the barman: "Hi. I'll get a porn star martini."

Drea leaned against the bar and sipped her martini, crossing one ankle attractively over the other for effect. Then she had a stroke of luck: the leopard-woman's companion, a man who Drea presumed was her boyfriend, looked over with curious eyes and attentively tilted ears.

The leopard-woman touched her boyfriend on the arm and said something to him. She looked annoyed, and the boyfriend raised his hands in surrender. After a few seconds of bickering that Drea found inaudible because of the volume of the music, the woman reluctantly settled down. But in the wake of the argument she seemed to be doing her best to ignore Drea even though the two were more or less facing each other. Drea noted that her expression had the disinterested look of the rival who knew she'd been outclassed but wanted to pretend that it didn't matter because she didn't care.

A couple of minutes later the woman was distracted by rooting around in her handbag, and the boyfriend turned enough to glance at Drea again under the premise of leaning more comfortably against the bar.

He was definitely interested.

Drea graced him with a seductive smile and a flicker of a glance down his body, and walked away with her martini.

She'd leave that little situation marinading for a while.

In the meantime the music promised a lot of eye candy on the dancefloor, and she was adamant that she'd compare herself to the others there and be the best.

She squeezed her way through the crowd into a good spot on the dancefloor. Sure enough, the darkness of the room gave way to the occasional flash of swaying bodies all around her. A slender girl in a vest top, capris and neon-bright heels pulled her hair in sweaty strands off the back of her neck and puffed with exertion, painted in a momentary flash of pink and purple light. A feline man who moved his hips and arms with such art that he somehow made his jeans and buttoned-down shirt look like the hottest garments a catperson could buy. A black cat with a cheery afro and an even cheerier floral halterneck who danced in her own, carefree way and smiled as the lights turned yellow and red.

But Drea would be better than any of them, she was quite sure about that. She danced, and swayed with a combination of ferocity and grace that left all of the others, male and female, in the dirt. She had the tits, the hips and the hair to outdo every one of them and she was going to make sure that she was the best eye candy here. The others were just a warm-up act compared to her.

And that was how most of her night went, punctuated with a few flirtations with the available men and with much sizing up against the female competition.

She forgot all about the leopard-woman's boyfriend until the club started to empty out in the witching hours and he approached her.


He introduced himself by grinning at her.

"So you're still here," she said, and looked confidently around as if searching for something. "So where's your girlfriend?"

(Not that she wanted to remind him that he had a girlfriend, of course. The point of mentioning the leopard-woman was to test whether he was going to dismiss her as his partner or not.)

He adopted a casual look. "Oh, she's around here somewhere. But we're not really like that. It's not really that kind of relationship," he said, avoiding Drea's eyes for the duration of the lie.

"Mm hmm," said Drea. "So you're single."

"Pretty much," he said, encouraged by her knowing smile.

They both knew what was up.

Or rather, Drea did. The man looked like he only knew that he was up. Well, some felines found Drea's mixed gender a pleasant surprise, some an unpleasant one. There wasn't any way for her to know the boyfriend's reaction until he saw what Drea had beneath her miniskirt and there was only one way to find out.

"Follow me," she said and led him into the toilets.

Experience had taught Drea to visit the ladies' toilets at times like this, even though she'd usually choose the mens' for the toilets' usual purpose. Taking a potential lover into the ladies' meant that he identified Drea as female so would be less likely to revolt when he saw that she had a dick. And being in a cubicle of the ladies' made the men behave less violently if they did object, perhaps because they already knew they were somewhere they shouldn't be.

They squeezed into a cubicle together, and she knelt down and set to work unbuttoning his designer jeans. She looked up for a moment and they caught each others' gazes; she saw the hungry anticipation in his eyes.

He was an attractive one, with a shortish haircut that set off his black-tipped ears well. He was reasonably well-built and she decided that he probably worked out. She definitely wanted some of him. She pulled out the long bulge hidden in his pants and released him for a blissful moment's sucking.

"Oh god," he moaned and leaned his back against the cubicle. His hands appeared on the crown of her head and massaged her in silent thanks, and his tail softly brushed her knee.

"Better than when she does it, huh?" Drea asked before taking it in her mouth again.

"She never does this," he murmured.

Drea basked in the glory of this.

Suddenly she heard the main ladies' door slam open and heels click towards the cubicles. "Has anyone seen a tomcat with black ear tips and a red chequered shirt?" demanded an angry female voice.

The boyfriend gasped and stood up straight with a start. Drea eyed the square pattern of his shirt as he tried frantically to stuff his dick back into his jeans.

One of the cat-women outside the door must have pointed at their cubicle because the angry woman started hammering on the door. "Paul! Paul!"

Drea heard Paul catch his breath and suspected he wanted to stay quiet in the hope that his girlfriend would go away. Then he seemed to think better of it. "Yes?" he called out tentatively, almost as if he didn't know what the problem might be.

"What the fuck are you doing in there?"

Hoo, thought Drea, almost amused by the situation. She's mad.

"Nothing," he called back with a strange kind of tentative conviction. He bent down to Drea and whispered to her, "Say we were snorting cocaine in here." His eyes begged her to play along.

Drea nodded but made her own decision as to whether to put the toilet seat down or not. Help with the illusion or show the leopard-bitch that her boyfriend's a liar? She left it up.

Paul seemed in too much of a panic to realize this.

Drea stood up in the cramped space, backed off enough not to get squashed behind the door, and motioned to him to open the door. As he slid the lock across she glanced down at her tits to adjust them in preparation for the face-off to come... and noticed that the potion was wearing off. Fuck it! she thought in a panic. Fuck it, fuck it, FUCK IT! The idea of facing the leopard-woman without her full compliment of cleavage was, was... Paul had nothing to fret about by comparison. What did he think he had the right to look worried about?

Fucking drama queen.

The door was pushed inwards from the other side and the leopard-woman was revealed. She looked at Paul and Drea, and her face fell in horror. "What - the fuck..."

"We were snorting coke," said Paul, but sounded too nervous to come across as convincing.

The leopard-woman looked at Drea, who gave her a sneering smile, and then at the toilet behind them. "Paul, the toilet seat's still up. What did you do, snort it off the fucking seat?"

His face dropped and his eyes, wide-pupilled with fear - darted from his girlfriend to Drea. "We just put it back up."

She cuffed him across the face. "Don't fucking lie to me, Paul! And who the fuck are you?" she turned on Drea, her expression and body language full of bitterness and rage. Drea was just gearing up to react to that when the woman's look turned to one of disdainful confusion. "Are you wearing an inflatable bra or something?"


Drea clamped an arm across his chest. "Mind your own fucking business, bitch!" They were getting smaller by the minute. He could feel himself starting panic. He needed to get out of here. Now.

He went for the blunt approach and shouldered his way past Paul and his crazy girlfriend, and strutted out of the toilet.

"Yeah, that's right. Fuck off!" Called the leopard-woman.

Drea ignored her. He could feel his miniskirt starting to get loose around his butt. And his hair no longer had the glorious weight of the start of the night. So, with all the dignity he could manage he left the club and walked home, his shrinking tits hanging loose, his bra gaping.


Drea sipped coffee and painted his nails the next morning to cheer himself up after his humiliation at the nightclub. A variety of pink and purple shades, chosen for their dramatic impact when seen together. It helped a little but he still felt sore about it.

And then the doorbell rang. He scooted his chair back in a hurry and blew on his nails as he speed-walked to the door.

Drea usually didn't like to study, but he knew pretty much all of the options when it came to developing a feminine body. He had a whole bookshelf full of Wiccan recipes, voodoo potions and spells with much, much stranger origins. He'd tried most of them and remembered the results until he'd developed an encyclopaedic memory for which did what and how well. In fact, the potion of the previous night was his favourite, derived from an ancient British witch community and improved by Drea himself until the effects were absolutely maxed out.

But it still wasn't good enough.

It wasn't permanent. Even the most long lasting spell (a surprisingly pleasant-tasting brew of East-European origin) still left him shrinking back into a flimsy boy again when what he really wanted was to stay potent and feminine forever.

But then he'd read something exciting on a San Franciscan shaman's Feminization for Men blog. It said this:

This is really interesting. I spoke to my Japanese pen pal and I begin to question whether the potions brewed by the witch population outside Tokyo are among the best candidates for 'big-chested' results. Often we just embrace the temporary results that Western brews give us, either because that's our gold standard and we've just come to accept it or because we've trained to develop more feminine bodies the hard way...

Recently, it continued, the Japanese witchcraft community had become more open about their practices, and a few books had been written - and even better, translated into English. Needless to say, Drea's curiosity had got the better of him and he'd bought a copy of what reviewers had described as the most comprehensive one.

Today was the due date for arrival. He opened the door and almost skipped with pleasure at the sight of a bored-looking man in his courier's uniform - carrying a big, rectangular, cardboard parcel.

"Hi there!" Drea chirruped, feeling all flirty, all of a sudden. "Where do you want me to sign?"

"Erm. Here," said the courier and handed over an electronic device with a stylus.

Drea signed his name as best he could (and smirked to himself as he realized that the courier must have noticed his nail polish) and handed the device back. They executed an awkward hand-over of the parcel. ("Oops! Must mind my nails!") and Drea scurried inside, kicking the door shut behind him and  struggling with the book's weight.


Commission: Womanhood by Witchcraft - chapter 1
Drea is a slender little catboi who dreams of being a curvaceous woman. A connoisseur of transformation spells, he one day discovers a way to have his cake and eat it. Or should that be, have his snake..?

Drea by :iconseithon:
Title art by chikapet of FurAffinity.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: nudity)
Believe in Yourself!

Believe in Yourself!

"Hello Alex! Do you fancy taking part in a modelling audition?"

That wasn't what Alex had expected Kira to say. "Umm..." he said, trying to think of a sentence to answer with that conveyed his meaning, nothing could be less appealing to me except for being dropped into a live volcano, with politeness.

She noticed his hesitation. "Oh go on Alex, I've always told you you'd do great. Go and do it. Trust yourself! I found an advert for an underwear modelling job and they're holding auditions tomorrow."

Alex felt his shoulders slump a little. It wasn't that he was fat or scrawny, he knew that. It was just that, well, modelling? It just wasn't him. And he didn't pay as close attention to the correct bulking-up proportions for his biceps versus his triceps, so to a professional casting company he probably looked all unbalanced.

He stretched the telephone cord and used his claw to scratch a little grime off part of the coil. "It's a nice idea Kira, but-"

"Great!" she enthused. "It's at-"

"No no no, I couldn't!" Alex interrupted, looking around at his bedroom in a bid to feel comforted by the familiarity of it. They'd had this conversation before and it always left him feeling a little uncomfortable. "I'm no model."

She murred at him, a friendly admonishment. "You don't think so? Look Alex, I've seen your build. You look great, I've always told you so. So how about it, eh?"

"I'm not sure..." What did she see in him that he didn't?

"Alex, you'll never know unless you give it a try. I have faith in you. Trust yourself!"

Alex sighed. "Well... all right!" Maybe it would be okay! Maybe...

"Yay! Okay, have you got a pen? I'll read you the details now..."


Little Steve listened intently as Alex listed the faults with his body. At least, Alex noticed how intent Little Steve looked while he explained the faults with his body. It was unusual to see his friend pay such close attention. The miniature koi frowned in concentration and bit the insides of his cheeks so that his barbels occasionally waggled.

" really, I don't think I'm going to have a chance at competing with the others there. But Kira was so sure I should go along that, well, here I am. And she's said this kind of thing a few times before, so I figured it'd probably be a good idea to show her once and for all that I'm not modelling material, that the casting furs won't think I am either. I just hope this isn't going to be too embarrassing."

Little Steve stuck his fins in his pockets and gave Alex a very level look. "Alex, don't do yourself down. You'll do fine. And anyway, if you've decided to prove something to Kira then go and prove it. You might end up surprised," he added with a half-smile that managed to be more than half-reassuring, which was one of the reasons they'd become friends in the first place.

"Ah, I suppose," said the German Shepherd. Then he remembered something. He'd been so worried about how he'd compare against the competition that he'd completely forgotten about his views on male models! "But you know, models are really superficial. The whole industry's superficial. I wouldn't want to be part of a world like that. I don't know why I'm going."

Alex had stopped walking and by association, so had Little Steve. The koi carp put his fin on Alex' shoulder. "Look, Alex. If you're so sure you're not going to get chosen then that doesn't matter, does it? Either you'll turn up, they'll say no thank you and you get to go on your merry way, or you turn up, they say yes please, will you work for us? And you can still say no. Either way you can show Kira - and yourself - that it isn't for you."

Alex looked down at the fish. "You're really sure it isn't for me?"

"No," Little Steve answered, his smile as straightforward and honest as Alex had ever seen it. "And I think it's time for you to try it, either to put it out to pasture or to find your calling in life. Come on, it's just down this street."


At the reception desk Alex discovered, to his slightly-horrified disappointment, that German Shepherds cannot shrink at will. He found himself spotting the other models waiting to audition: a koala with a certain rugged something that he didn't generally expect of the teddy-bear-shaped marsupials, a lithe and ridiculously good-looking Eastern dragon, a tiger...

A tiger? Alex had known he shouldn't have come. How was he going to compete with a big cat?

Little Steve had already gone to the reception desk. "Hi. I'm here to book Alex Ryan in."

The okapi receptionist looked around the koi carp's frilly fin at Alex. "Is that him?"

"Yes. I'm representing him." Alex saw that Little Steve was smiling at the okapi from the way his barbels lifted.

"Professionally?" the receptionist asked.

"No, just initially."

"Ah. D'you want to come over?" the receptionist called to Alex.

Meanwhile the tiger had sidled up to Alex. "First time?"

Alex hesitated for a moment and then sighed. "Yeah."

The tiger wrinkled his nose. "Thought so. A lot of professionals are coming to this. Good luck, mate."

"Thanks," Alex said, although it felt redundant to say it. He knew when he was being told he wasn't welcome.

Alex approached the okapi hoping for some kind of reassurance, but didn't really get it. The receptionist's oval eared, pale face was impassive, as if he just wanted to get the task of coralling the models over with. Either that or he didn't think Alex had a chance, either.

"What's your surname?" he asked, pen poised over a register.

"Ryan," Alex answered automatically.

"Date of birth?"

Alex told him.

The okapi wrote his name and a number on the bottom piece of paper, tore it off along the dotted line, folded it up and added a clip, and handed it to Alex. "Down the corridor and third on the right. Get changed into whatever you've brought and then the photo shoot's happening at the far end." He sounded like he'd said that too many times to bother making it sound reassuring.

"Thank you," Alex said, aware that he was now talking on autopilot, that he wasn't welcome enough here to say anything other than banal niceties.

Little Steve gave him a reassuring smile and began to turn towards the corridor doorway but the okapi said, "Models only. Sorry."

Alex cursed inwardly - he'd banked on Little Steve coming with him, just for a little reassurance. But they looked at each other and realized it wasn't to be.

"You'll do fine Alex. Be cool," he said warmly, and they went their separate ways.

He found the changing room, forced himself to strip down to the red briefs he's worn for the occasion, left his stuff in his rucksack and went to the room at the end. He heard the babble of dozens of furs before he saw them. The room was warm and humid with the presence of so many anthros, high-ceilinged and decked with the supporting apparatus for staggered seats, although at the time that was all folded up against one wall. The tired herringbone parquet underpaw and the stage told him that usually this was a lecture hall.

Today however, nofur was sitting or up on the stage. Instead they milled around, leaving an empty space in the middle where the camera operator, a small hedgehog with humble eyes and a diligent bearing, worked. He'd set up a space with a probably-photoshopped, reddish stormy sky-and-rocks background. As the German Shepherd watched, the hedgehog photographed a seriously, seriously ripped rhino in a pair of black trunks, who'd either stuffed a couple of winter socks down the front or was scarily well-endowed.

The rhino left the scene, his walk deliberate and wide from his heavy musculature, and the hedgehog ticked off something on a clipboard. "Number twenty-one," he called. His voice was as humble as the rest of his bearing and Alex felt himself relax slightly.

"Oh, are you still here?" asked a familiar, smooth voice behind him and he looked around to see the tiger again. He looked confident and Alex could see why - he was a model through and through. He had intricate tattoos that bisected his stripes perfectly, making him appear like some exotic hitherto unknown species of cat.

Ahead of Alex, a vulture with an air of cool badass glanced back and gave Alex the once-over. Without a word he dismissed him and turned away, as if leaving Alex to the tiger until later.

Come on Alex, he thought before his mind went too far down that route. It's just rivalry. It doesn't mean I'm worthless, he just wants me to think it.

"Yeah, I am." He looked the tiger in the eye and folded his arms. "Why?"

The tiger paused, laughed as if at a private joke and said, "Nnn... never mind." And he strode past, every muscle rippling to perfection.

Alex kept a sigh inside, checked his ticket - he was model number thirty-two - and walked on to be nearer the action.


"Number thirty-two?"

Alex froze. He looked around at the hedgehog, who was looking around for somefur to respond. "Is number thirty-two still here?"

Most models were too busy chatting but a few looked around as they realized that one of their number had either left, or wasn't stepping up.

Alex willed himself to step forward but his paws wouldn't move. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Do something Alex, either go over or leave. He thought about Little Steve outside, about the fish's confidence in him. About his lack of knowledge of the rivalry Alex was tolerating in this room. What was he going to say if Alex called it off now? He knew his friend wouldn't hold it against him but he didn't want to leave having failed.

"Number thirty-two?" The tone in the hedgehog's voice sounded like he was about to give up and call the next model.

It had to be now. What had the koi said? You'll do fine, Alex. Be cool.

The German Shepherd stepped forward. "Yep, I'm here. Sorry."

The photographer looked over at him and Alex felt instantly comforted. Despite the buzz in the room there was no sense in that gaze of the impatience he'd seen in the okapi receptionist. Just mildness and kind professionalism.

This was it. Alex felt the nervousness in his chest shake harder and he sighed to try and dispel it. "Okay," he muttered to himself as he stepped in front of the background, his throat a little dry. "Where do you want me?"

"You're already there," the hedgehog smiled and sat down behind his camera.

Alex smiled and tried a pose.

The light flashed. "What was the last compliment a girl paid you?"

Alex thought. Kira! Alex, I've seen your build. You look great. I've always told you so. He smiled at the memory and felt warm inside.

The hedgehog took another picture. "Must've been some compliment!" he said, humility lending his comment a kind of understated charm.

So how about it?

She'd said that too. She'd meant it as encouragement to come to the shoot, but out of context he suddenly saw a flirtatious side to her comment. He felt a naughtier smile flood across his face.

The hedgehog caught his smile in its fullest, most spontaneous moment, and Alex knew it was so in a split-second.

"And, you're done. That's it!" said the photographer.

It'd been so easy! Relieved and pleased, Alex stepped out from behind the camera. They smiled at each other and he left to get dressed.


Dear Mr. Ryan,

Congratulations! We were very pleased with your audition photographs and would like to offer you a contract. Please contact me on the number above to arrange a mutually convenient time to meet and discuss this further.

Yours sincerely,

Shaki Whitepaw

Anthro Resources

Musk Productions</i>


Commission: Believe in Yourself!
Alex, a young black GSD, has a problem: his friends think he'd be a great model but he's not so sure! After a little prompting, he finds the courage.

Character by alex_nighthound of FurAffinity.
Artwork by vallhund of FurAffinity.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
The Witch's Familiar

The Witch's Familiar

The introduction told her that this was a spell to turn a fur from whatever-they-normally-were into a cat. She glanced at him. Did she want to do that, to raise such an indignity against a fellow canine? It'd certainly take him down a peg. In a moment she decided that yes, that was what she would do. It was all the arrogant sod deserved.

She turned back to the book to review the steps to the spell. It was a surprisingly simple one: Willow only needed pink food colouring, some mint leaves, and some sugar and water. That meant she could do it right away if she wanted to. She even had the right food colouring, having made a rather feminine birthday cake for her niece a few months ago.

She took one final look at the sleeping coton de tulear and stole through into her kitchen.

Willow was experienced enough with visiting lovers that she knew Max wouldn't sleep for long, so she worked quickly. Following the instructions, she half-filled a bowl with water, spooned in some sugar and then tapped in a few drops of food dye. Leaving the sugar to dissolve for a moment she quietly opened her back door to pick a few sprigs of garden mint. She came back inside, closed the door carefully behind her and tore the mint up, and dropped it into the water.

Her heart was already beating harder than usual, but the idea of citing the words to this spell made it beat harder still. Willow took a moment to steady her breath and sank her hand-paw into the water.

"Make their ears pointy and their tail big and fluffy

Slowly turn into a cat

Sprout feline whiskers and develop retractable claws

Turn into a cat."

She whispered the words, reluctant to be heard but not reluctant to speak the venomous words of the spell. She would silence him, make him learn humility! He'd be embarrassed to speak to his fellow furs with a feline yowl to his voice. And his voice would only be part of the picture...

All she had to do now was serve it to him. Willow went through the motions of making a very normal cup of coffee. As the kettle boiled she poured a little of the spell mixture into the cup she would use to gave Max his dose. Her heart had slowed down a little and she was no longer sure whether she felt nervous about what she was doing, or vindicated on the execution of her plan.

Then, she heard the muted sounds of her bedsprings creaking and the soft impacts of his foot-paws on her floorboards. He was coming! She panicked a little as she tried to figure out where to put the bowl. She picked it up and looked around frantically, and almost tipped it in the sink. But then she pulled back at the last second - if he noticed and asked why there were mint leaves and half-dissolved sugar in the sink, what could she say? There was no way she could just leave it in plain view and expect him to consider that normal - after all, he was proud of his observational skills. He came within sight and she forced herself to calm down. Casually, she put it in the fridge as her brain whirred to come up with an explanation, just in case he cared enough to look at what she was doing.

"What was that?" he yawned, scratching at the back of his head.

Think, quick! "Ohh..." Then she had it! "My niece is having a birthday soon so I'm making special ice cubes for the party. Sweet, minty and princess-coloured, see?" She smiled at him, put the bowl in the fridge to dispose of later - and then spotted the book, still lying open.

She hurried over to it before he took too much notice. As casually as she could she closed it and slotted it in amongst her cookery books, turning it around so that the spine faced the wall and he couldn't read it.

"You needed a recipe book to make ice cubes?" he asked wryly, an eyebrow cocked.

She felt the same indignation as he'd been causing her all night, but forced herself to smile. "I need a recipe book to give me ideas for a puppy's party. Now, I don't think we've had that coffee yet."

He gave her a puzzled look. "Is this decaf?" He checked his watch. "It's a quarter past one."

"Don't you want to move on to round two?" she asked, giving the white dog a seductive look. Before he could answer yes or no she poured some water into his cup and gave it to him.

He looked reluctant to take it.

Willow put his down beside him, and stirred hers. "Aww, come on," she murred, raising her own to her lips. "Didn't you say there was something else you liked to do? We can go back to bed and try it out."

Max still looked reluctant, but one more flirty-eyed look from Willow prompted him to accept her argument, and he took the drink. He blew on his and drained it with a certain air of loftiness, while unbeknownst to him, Willow watched him discretely, wondering how soon she'd start seeing the effects of the spell.

Go on, fool. Turn into a cat.

He put down his cup and she did the same. "Well? Come back to bed with me."


After their second sex session they lay together among the dishevelled sheets, Max watching the ceiling as if solving some difficult mathematical equation, Willow far more casually. In truth she wasn't really looking at anything. Instead she was listening and feeling for changes in Max, and keeping silent and still so that she'd notice.

Changes that would signal the start of his transformation.

She didn't notice any. At least, not until the following morning, when he began to move differently.


She made him toast with chicken pate as she often made for herself, and the pair ate more or less in silence. Perhaps it was because both were a little tired from lack of sleep, or perhaps it was because neither of them enjoyed the others' company (or so it seemed to Willow. If he liked her he was very inhibited about showing it) But either way, she gazed into space over her toast and coffee and wondered whether or not to mention her witchcraft, and how he'd respond if she did.

Out of the blue, Max stretched his arms out across the table to squeeze some life into his muscles. He splayed his fingers and looked like he very much wanted to stretch his back.

Willow paused over her coffee and watched, her breath in her throat. Was there something a little bit feline about that, Max? Or are cotons just a bit delicate by nature? She just didn't know her exotic dog species well enough to tell.

He returned to his previous breakfast-eating posture and she wondered whether she'd imagined it.

Max rubbed at his muzzle with the side of his hand-paw and had a brief look at his pawpad. Then he looked vaguely nonplussed and put his paw down.

Willow nearly squirmed with glee. It was working, it was! "How's the pate? I made it myself."

He gave a kind of combination shrug-and-nod that she interpreted as, I don't like it that much but I think it'd be rude if I was honest. "I think I must be allergic to this coffee, my tongue feels rough."

Willow's instinctive reaction was to freeze. Surely now was the time, if she was going to admit it. And he'd almost finished his toast and she couldn't imagine he'd stay after that. If he left without her telling or at least hinting at what she'd done, he'd disappear and perhaps never make the connection that she'd been the spellcaster. Or even that it was a spell.

She added a little sugar to her coffee and stirred it casually. For a few moments there was no sound except the tinkle of her spoon against china and the crunch of toast. "It was quite a miracle we ended up spending the night together."

He made a complacent little chuckling noise at the back of his throat. "Miracles are a suspension of the laws of physics. I think it'd take something bigger than that to call it a miracle."

She should've known he'd answer with something like that, so the only answer she gave him was a sly look of her own. She closed her eyes to sip her coffee and sense his energy, which got a little more pointed as he realized she was getting at something specific.

When she opened her eyes she saw that he'd paused, coffee cup half-way to his mouth. "Why, what do you mean?"

"Well, you with your interest in science and me with more of an interest in, let's say, the supernatural."

He looked displeased. And a touch curious. "Pardon?" he asked, one flimsy white ear cocked.

She indicated her bookshelf with a flick of her tail. "Didn't you notice?" With all of your super-dooper observational skills? "Those aren't biochemistry or physics books, Max." She said no more and waited for him to investigate for himself.

Max gave her a mistrustful look and then got up to take a look. He bent down a little to read the spines. And as he did, Willow noticed the way his tail rested on the floor and tried to twitch back and forth. Clearly his tail still wasn't able to do that yet, but it wanted to.

"'The Meaning of Witchcraft'?" he read, trepidation and disgust vying for dominance in his tone. "'Witchcraft in Europe'... 'The Study of Witchcraft'... Willow?"

"Feeling any different this morning?" she asked, unable to keep the grin off her face.

He gave her one last uneasy look, and then regained his confidence with a quiet kind of laugh, as if he'd unravelled a small pup's riddle. She saw a touch of his smoulder, although it was a little more reserved than the previous night. "Willow... This isn't real," he said, touching daintily at the bookshelf as if to indicate the entire subject of witchcraft. "I don't know what you think you've done, but if I feel any different this morning it's for a completely different, completely rational reason."

He stood up and gave the books a final, superior look. "I think I'm going to go. Thank you for the breakfast. And the..." He waggled a paw in the direction of the bedroom and then picked up his coat, and headed for the door.

Willow smirked into her mug. "Come back if you want any milk," she called after him before he reached the door.

He leaned back through so that he could see her, almost asked something, then shook his head in disgust and left.


Max spent the rest of his Saturday researching for a work project. He'd always been able to rely on academia to keep him interested when the rest of the world became boring or downright strange, and this day was no exception. Naturally, his thoughts kept drifting back to the strange wolfess Willow. She'd been cute - if a little fluffy-minded for his liking. He hadn't expected a long-term relationship from the date but then, he never seemed to find a suitable vixen or bitch anyway, but he'd known from the start that he'd tire of her soon.

They'd had a spark of sexual attraction, and they'd used it up, and in the morning there's been nothing left. His energy was now transferred back to his studies. He smirked at his wit and returned his attention to the data.

At 12:30 he broke off for lunch. As his thoughts turned to food he realized that he was still having that allergic reaction and went through to his bathroom to look at it.

He stuck out his tongue. What had Willow put in that pate? It'd given his tongue a sandpaper texture that felt permanent. Her tongue hadn't been so rough the previous night... but perhaps she hadn't eaten that pate for a while. He felt a sense of unease with it, but his tongue wasn't swelling up so he didn't consider himself to be in any danger.

He went to make himself lunch, but unfortunately he didn't have any tuna in the house, so he went out to get some.


The day had worn by and Willow enjoyed the calm feeling of twilight as well as she could while still having chores to do. The wolfess was busy ironing while watching a television programme about the yearly cycle of the Serengeti when she heard a knock at the door. Now, who could that be? she wondered and went to answer it.

She recognised her visitor instantly. "Max!"

And yet... he looked different. His ears were half-erect, their structures stiffer than they had been. She blinked to convince herself it wasn't so but when she looked more closely his muzzle seemed shorter than she remembered it, and a deep intuition told her that she wasn't looking at a dog. He was... something else, now.

Her heart leapt with triumph right before it sank with the realisation of what she'd done.

And he looked angry. "What did you do to me?!" He demanded, holding on to the walls to either side of the door as if to stop her from getting out. Angry, she realised with a flash of insight, in a way that only the mortally terrified could be.

The instinctive part of her brain processed all of this. She could show how afraid she suddenly was or she could put up a front herself. She forced herself to breathe calmly and leaned against the threshold. Everything that was happening to him was deserved - he had no right to threaten her! That was true as far as she was concerned. "Oh, so you believe in the power of Wiccan magic now, do you? Who says this was me?"

Humiliation joined his look of fear and rage. "I don 't know how you did it, but turn it back." Then he looked over his shoulder. "Look, just let me in, for Pete's sake!"

Willow stepped back to let him in before she knew what she was doing.

His posture didn't straighten as he came in. "What happened to you?" she asked on an impulse, eyeing his crooked posture which was so different from his straight-backed perfect of the night before.

"I was hoping you could tell me that," he answered through gritted teeth.

"Let me take a look at you." She put her hand-paws on his shoulders and turned him to look more closely. His face full of apprehension, he let her. Max's nose was lightening to a soft brown and looked slightly un-dog-like. His pupils had elongated slightly and were now slightly oval. He was bracing his hand-paws a little and she took one. He hesitantly let her examine it. His claws looked sore where they joined the tips of his fingers.

"What did you do?" he asked, his voice sounding more afraid than angry this time.

She looked him in the eye. Given the circumstances, what could she do but be honest? "I cast a spell to turn you into a cat."

At first he didn't seem to respond. Then she saw the subtle changes in his face. Disbelief, a kind of blind mocking hilarity, horror. He looked at his hand-paws and pressed his thumbs to his sore claws. She could see that they'd started shaking. "It's impossible," he murmured. "Why..." he caught his breath again. "Why did you do this to me?"

Willow found herself starting to panic too. Why had she thought it was a good idea? "You were really full of yourself last night and kept being really arrogant. I wanted to get you back for it. I didn't really think it was going to-"

She stopped. Had she thought it was going to work? I must have believed it to an extent.

"You cast a spell you didn't think would work?" he asked sharply, still shaking.

Now she felt herself getting angry in return. "Yes! Yes, I did! And you know what, Max? So what? I didn't think it was going to be anywhere near as effective on you!"

"Well, it has been!" he said, raising his voice at her. Then he seemed to catch himself and looked away. "No, it can't be. It must be an allergic reaction. Tell me what you did. Did you feed me something without telling me? Wait... Oh god, it was that pate, wasn't it! I knew there was something wrong with it!"

"No there wasn't!" she said hotly. The bloody cheek of the dog! "It was the pink mixture in the middle of the night."

"The pink..?" he started to ask before the memory came back to him. He looked suspicious. And still afraid, so afraid. "You said it was for ice cubes."

She shrugged, realised she was being flippant about something that terrified her as much as it did him, and tried to be more sincere. "No, it was pink dye, water, sugar and mint. And a few words spoken over it. Nothing else."

But the coton didn't calm down at this. "Think, Willow. What else was in it?"

"Nothing," she said back to him, catching his gaze so he'd know she meant it. Just like him to question her memory!

"Well, what was in that pate, then?" he asked and then winced and yowled quietly.

She watched him writhe in temporary pain and then did her best to compile a mental list of the pate's ingredients. "Chicken, pork, onion, garlic, bacon, sage and thyme, salt and pepper. None of that makes a Wiccan spell, Max."

He'd watched her intently as she'd said this and then sighed and shook his head. "I don't get this, I don't get it. It can't be a spell."


Commission: The Witch's Familiar - chapter 2
Willow is a gentle-spirited lupine witch. But when she finds herself on a date with Max, a coton de tulear scientist, she finds herself incensed enough to perform her first act of black magic.

Max will never be quite the same again...

A commission for KickahaOta of FurAffinity.
Eiriol's Adventure

Eiriol's Adventure

Eiriol almost never tensed any more when she time-travelled. The feeling was almost like being in an elevator: it upset her sense of proprioception so that for a moment she couldn't tell which way was up. Her insides all felt like they didn't know what to do, probably as a result of the lack of gravity she knew affected her in this in-between place. She breathed (at first she'd breathed to calm herself down. Now she did it out of sheer reflex) and looked at her watch.

Years forward: 8... 9... 10. She'd taken herself a decade into the future to check out her, and the Susus', hypothesis. To see what the world looked like in the face of their claim.

Re-materialize: Stage 1  The world reappeared around her and it was ghostly, half-solid, translucent and almost jelly-like in texture. She had a preliminary look around. The mangrove swamp hadn't changed height much since she'd last been there and the only real difference - admittedly quite a big difference - was that the trees looked dead. The water lay brown, still and flat. It looked okay for her to solidify.

Re-materialize: Stage 2 Y/N She pressed her time-travel device to signal Yes and touched down in the future world.

It was... She looked around in shock. The mangroves had died, but there was no longer any emerald green beyond it, just barren darkness. "The whole forest. Oh my god," she murmured to herself in horror. "The whole forest!"

Her legs shaking slightly, she trotted back the way she'd come, back to the river.

It was bare, nothing but mud, except for the leaf-less skeletons of trees on the banks. It all looked so brown. Eri slumped to her knees as the horror crept up on her.

What had happened to the Susu?

She ran her hands over her face as she took in the enormity of it all as best she could. Don't panic. You know that the snakes are disappearing and that that probably caused this. So, how? And what can I do about that?

Stop the snakes going extinct seemed to be the obvious solution. Eri tried to think of any other hypothesis, any at all, that might have led to all this devastation. She couldn't think of anything. Then she tried thinking about how to to back and stop the snakes from dying. She'd seen it but didn't know what was killing them, so how could she-

She heard the subtlest noise behind her and turned around.


And a feral tiger at that, limbs coiled and ready to pounce. Eri thought fast, and did the first thing that came to her instinct-driven mind irrespective of whether it was the best thing to do: she spoke to it. "Hello," she said, and tried to breathe to let go of the tremble in her voice. "I'm trying to figure out what happened here. Do you know?" She was too scared not to shake.

The tiger's brows lowered in confusion, or perhaps suspicion. "What mean? I trap you."

She just about stopped herself from taking a step backwards into the river. He was a tiger, not just some hydrophobic cat. He'd follow her in if she went that way. "I'm talking about the foliage. Why are all the trees dead?"

His eyes flickered around but she detected a distinct lack of willingness to look away enough to risk his prey escaping. "Trees green many monsoons ago. Turn brown by river. All dead now."

What was that about the river? "Just by the river? You mean there are trees alive? Have you ever been far away from the river?"

The tiger growled and looked displeased. "Riverbank my territory. Fight for dry territory but fail." He turned sideways a little as if to indicate the line of the riverbank. She noticed that he was long enough that his change in posture didn't help give her a chance to escape, not at all. "Catch prey on edge of other ta'igara territory."

"Aren't there any fish to eat?" Eri asked, daring to relax slightly for the moment that the tiger looked distracted. She was surprised at how tightly her muscles had been clenched and frightened by how quickly they'd fatigued. If there was going to be a chase she'd need to be much more efficient than that.

"Fish. What is it?" he asked hopefully.

"You don't know what a fish is?" She was stunned. Keeping her eyes keenly on him she slowly took off her backpack (he watched her so closely, apparently torn between hope and suspicion) and rummaged inside for her nature guide, and hurriedly searched for a picture of a fish. Her heart beat frantically during the moments she took her eyes off him to look for a picture of a fish. "These," she said and carefully extended the book towards him, terrified that he was going to cut the conversation short and eat her at any time.

He stepped forward and eyed the picture. "How this creature walk?"

"They don't walk," she said, putting the book away. "They live in the river. Or they did, not any more."

He gave her a strange look again. "Nothing live in river. River dead. Feral folk story say anthro made river. Only way it can be so dead."

Indignation and sorrow vied for place in her chest. "Fish used to live here. There used to be lots of them."

"You lie. How they breathe?" the tiger looked offended and leaned away from her in apparent disgust.

Eri's brain ran at superspeed to work out whether that was a good turn of events or not. "They breathe using gills, little openings just here," she pointed to her neck.

He leaned away even more, his eyes, bright amber in colour, widened in something that may have been shock, and his nearside paw lifted off the ground as if to get further away from her. He pulled his lips back a little and lowered his ears.

"Underwater plants make that possible," she said in a husky whisper born of pure terror.

"Plant!" he growled in fury. "Plant underwater! You lie!" He stepped away, keeping the side of his body to her. "You sick! Sick thinking! Keep away! Out of territory, now!"

"Sure, sure..." she said and carefully stepped around him to get into dry land. They seemed almost to dance together, the tiger keen to keep away from her but also to watch her to make sure she did leave, lips peeled back to hiss and growl. She did her best to move slowly so as not to lose her footing and fall, just in case the quick movement spooked him or triggered his hunting instinct. But it was clear he didn't want her to go too slow.

She got past him and felt her way between the trees toward the mangrove swamp, her eyes on him for as much of the time as possible. There, she checked her device and with a shaking paw, pressed the first of the commands to take her back to the present day.

She heard the call of a monkey, not far away. With a final glance at the tiger she climbed up into the nearest mangrove tree and looked around for it. So the tiger was right: there was life in the rainforest, still!

She saw it, hanging by its hands from a branch up ahead. "Hey!" she called.

It spotted her and paused, although it didn't look particularly inclined to stay still for long.

"Have you ever heard of something called a snake?"

It looked doubtful - and a little fearful. "Snake. No."

"Uh - they're long, they don't have legs. They've got scaly skin."

It looked like it was trying to make sense of what she'd said. And then it said, "No. No snake here," and swung on through the trees.

She sighed and finished tapping in the instructions to her time-travel device.


She returned to the present and felt reassured to see the muddy water swish with the presence of the Susu.

One remained. It brought its head above the surface. She got the impression it was watching her, although it said nothing.

Eri sat down on a fallen log and tried to think, pushing her long hears back over her head and feeling the rough texture of her antlers with her fingers. "Okay," she said finally, more to herself than to the dolphin, who continued to loiter nearby. "The snakes have gone. They're disappearing. Not dying, disappearing. I'm convinced they're disappearing out of history. Something - or somefur - is changing history. Well, who'd that be?"

She tapped her time travel device.

Search: visits - recent additions


4 weeks ago [created by Eddie McFur 1 day ago] (She knew Ed. He was a colleague of hers. He was probably making small changes related to raising his teenage daughter.)

3 months, 2 weeks ago [created by Saffron West 3 days ago] (She worked at another institute. No worries, there.)

150 million years ago [created by Timothy Stripeson, 6 hours ago]

Wait, what?!

Eiriol blinked to clear her vision and make damn sure she hadn't misread. "Hey, get this: somefur visited one hundred and fifty million years ago."

If the Susu felt surprised by this then it expressed it only by sweeping water over its flank with its pectoral fin. More likely it simply didn't comprehend what she'd said. Ferals rarely understood numbers so big, and their grasp of the passage of time could be tenuous.

"I don't know who this Stripeson guy is," she continued, although she suspected she'd left the Susu far behind in this conversation and was effectively only talking to herself. "I think it might be worth checking what he's doing."

She chewed the inside of her lip and thought about what that meant. She could go back that far in time but it'd be dangerous. Potentially very dangerous.

And there'd be dinosaurs, scenery porn liek whoa and a whole lot of fun to be had. She came to a decision. "Right, I'm going."

She tapped the instructions in to her device.


The sheer size of the foliage thrilled her. That was one of the things she liked so much about visiting exotic places and times - the rainforest as much as the Jurassic period. She swam around in the soup-thick air, admiring the majesty of the translucent world materializing around her.

So this is the right time, she thought, looking again at her device. Now to find the right place. Where are you, Mr. Stripeson?

She checked his co-ordinates on her device. The data said he was one hundred and fifty-odd miles to the South East.

Well, then I guess I'd best get going.

One of the benefits of only half-manifesting in a world was that a fur had the ability to float easily through space, propelling themselves along by 'swimming' or 'flying' through space. So Eiriol spread her gliding wings, swept them back and propelled her tenuous self in Mr. Stripeson's direction.

The miles went by and with them red rocks, dusty sand, the hulking forms of dinosaurs, hardy trees and oversized insects. Eri resisted the impulse to stop and look at anything properly, though the temptation was strong, especially when she saw a hunt underway.

She had to find out who was ridding the modern world of snakes.


Several hours later she zeroed in on Mr. Stripeson's co-ordinates.

She saw him and swooped down to ground level. He was a badger, a decade or so older than herself, and hunting in the undergrowth with a long, stiff stick and a net which she instantly recognized as snake-catching equipment.

The jackalope turned in a circle, checking all around that it was safe to materialize fully. A herd of something long-necked grazed on palm-like trees around half a mile away. Chunky insects crawled along the ground, hiding in the foliage. It looked safe enough.

She solidified.

"Hello," she said.

Mr. Stripeson jumped and turned around. "Oh," he said, cleared his throat and did his best to regain an air of dignity. "Hello." And then he turned his back on her and continued rooting through the undergrowth.

"Can I ask what you're doing?" She knew what he was doing and she knew he knew what he was doing. But this seemed the most... non-confrontational way of dealing with the situation. She could toughen up about it if he chose to ignore her.

"I'm killing snakes," he said matter-of-factly without looking at her, his stocky grey shoulders working as he parted the bracken in search of his quarry.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." She paused.

He continued to hunt.

"Can I at least ask why?"

Thrash thrash. "You can consider me well and truly asked." He said nothing more, and then moved on to another patch of undergrowth.

Eiriol followed him over. "Let's start again, shall we? Why are you killing snakes?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, a movement so subtle she almost missed it. "The world will be safer for it."

This caught her off guard. "Safer?" she asked carefully.

"Snakes can kill." He caught one, trapped it under his net, took something from his utility belt and hit the snake with it.

Too late she saw that it was a rock. It came up covered in blood. He shook the net free of the snake's carcass and moved on.

Oh boy, how do I even start with this? "Mr. Stripeson..."

He turned around. "How do you know my name?"

She waved her wrist to show off her time travel device. "All users are registered." The next thing she was supposed to do in this situation was ask to see his time travel license. But something about him told her that he'd illicitly gained ownership. And that his reasons for being here came from the heart.

"You said the world would be safer without snakes. Who are you trying to protect?"

His dark eyes bored into hers for a moment and she wondered if he was going to tell her at all. Finally he answered: "My wife. Don't try to stop me. I need to do this." He turned around and started hunting again.

She thought, and then took off her rucksack and reached inside. "Fancy a break? I've got water."


Tim took a final swig and passed the bottle to Eiriol. As she had the last of it he gazed into the middle distance and watched a dinosaur with a very tough layer of scales on its back nibble on some sparse foliage in the reddening evening light.

"You're not going to convince me to let them live, you know."

She looked sadly at him. "Every one you kill changes something."

He grunted. "That was the idea."

She sighed and rested her temple against her paw, and idly played with the ear on that side as she tried to think of what to say next. Wait, is that shorter than I remember? She found her hand-mirror in her rucksack and checked. It was - her ears were shorter! "Uh, Tim..."

"Don't. Please, just... Save your words." His voice sounded a little strained.

"My ears."

"What do you mean, your... Oh. Oh goodness," he said, looking more closely. He went to speak and then looked away, a little uncomfortably this time.

"I really think you need to stop this now."

"I can't, Eiriol. Don't you understand that I can't?"

She shook her head. "This is relatively harmless," she said, indicating her new ears. "But everything changes something. That's why we time travellers get licenses. What you're doing... Tim, it's reckless."

"Don't judge me!" he growled and got up to walk away.

"And if you wipe her, or yourself, or me out of history completely?"

"I won't!"

"What if you do? What species was she, Tim?"

He turned an angry look on her. "Does it matter?" he asked as if he'd already decided that it didn't.

You're getting too angry to do this, big guy. You need to be more rational. "What if you change history so that her species becomes something else entirely? You've just changed jackalopes just a little. It can get worse than this. Believe me, it can be worse."


Commission: Eiriol's Adventure - chapter 2
Something strange is happening in the Indian rainforest: the snakes are dying, fading into dust in the blink of an eye. When a young jackalope named Eiriol discovers this and sees the effect it will have on the life around the Ganges, she decides to solve the mystery and put it right.

Character by eiriol of FurAffinity
Artwork by vekke of FurAffinity

I am a flexible, creative writer with 7 years of experience. I have a talent for accurate character-writing and development, and unusual, fascinating plot twists. 

If you have a plot idea but no characters, I can create compelling characters to enact your plot for you, timed and embellished to perfection.

If you have characters that you want to see in action but aren't sure what you want them to do, I can write an exciting plot with your characters as the stars.


You can find most of my examples on the second page of my gallery, but here are a few links for your convenience:

Coming soon


I charge £10 per 1,000 words I write. This currently comes to approximately $16.50 (USD) but please be aware that rates may fluctuate. Here is a handy link to convert the rate to your currency:…

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- I am happy to discuss your ideas, queries and requirements, so if you aren't sure yet what you want your story to contain then please feel free to Note me.
- I accept payment by Paypal before work on your story begins.
- My only limits are underage and rape.
- I deliver in instalments of around 1,000 words, at least once per week per customer, in your choice of format as far as I am able.
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- If I have not yet provided the quantity of story you requested then I am happy to discuss providing a full or partial refund, or substitute the rest of the story with a psychological reference sheet.

Warm wishes,

Palantean Writer




Artist | Professional | Literature
United Kingdom
I am a flexible, creative writer with 7 years of experience. I have a talent for accurate character-writing and development, and unusual, fascinating plot twists.

If you have a plot idea but no characters, I can create compelling characters to enact your plot for you, timed and embellished to perfection.

If you have characters that you want to see in action but aren't sure what you want them to do, I can write an exciting plot with your characters as the stars.

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FerociousFruit Featured By Owner Aug 21, 2014   General Artist
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thanks for the llama, I really like you're work!
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Thanks a lot for the :iconllama-plz:!!!
:iconpikaplz: Your gallery is AWESOOME!! :iconpikaplz:
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You're welcome!! :iconlainloveplz:
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Thanks for the fav.
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BTW, thanks for the fav :)
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