This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially. These stories have been public for some time, but I am slowly uploading my back catalogue of stories currently.
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Demons Beware
The night was overcast and mild, a miserable drizzle falling over the luscious, green, Welsh hills. Sheep huddled within their folds and cried out forlornly, their 'baa's' echoing across to distant farmhouses where sheepdogs rolled beneath thick duvets, mumbling within the trapped, nightly warmth. Hedges bordering the fields bristled with leaves and spread protective fingers over scampering field mice and hedgehogs, intent on going about their nightly business; rain brought the slugs out, after all, making a veritable feast. Deeper into the hills, where mountains rose, rough and scraggy with scattered rocks, there were fewer dwelling places for various furs and fewer sheep still. It was across this uneven terrain that a cloaked figure strode with purpose.
The black mare was one with the night, only her white markings setting her apart from the swathe of impenetrable blackness: one white sock on her right fetlock and a stripe down her muzzle, both traditional, equine markings. Though her head was concealed beneath the dark cloak, lined with warm, cream fur, she had the appearance and stature of a Welsh Mountain pony, the Arabian blood visible in the dish of her cheekbone. With her thin coat, the mare was grateful her warm cloak, which hung down to her calves, retaining precious body heat. Cloaks such as hers were inherited, not bought, and Gwen shivered at the memory of her dying mother handing it to her on her death bed, her wasted paw shaking terribly. She had wanted her daughter to continue on her work.
Her work was dangerous, yet rewarding on a most personal level. Gwen smiled secretively, the misty rain her only witness. Summoning those lesser beings to do her bidding took time, patience and deep magic that ran in the veins of very few mortals that were still alive. She was, what many would call, a witch, despite not holding any love for the term. Demons were the clay she moulded to her will and those who opposed her had met many nasty surprises in their time; she was not one to be trifled with. She was preparing one of those nasty surprises that fateful night. Oh, how she looked forward to it! Her pace quickened and her breath misted from her nostrils in a heady snort; she eagerly anticipated reaching her secluded destination, a place that she had visited only once before under less compelling circumstances.
She had chosen a nook in the mountain side for the act to take place. A broad overhang jutted out from a steep, not sheer, cliff that dripped with water; it would provide the necessary shelter. Gwen trotted under with a gentle sigh, the music of the rain melancholy to her twitching ears, which she freed from the heavy hood with the flick of her narrow, feminine wrist. A string of white beads dangled from this wrist, carved from the bone of a horse that had had the misfortune to canter into the path of a rampaging demon. The horse, of course, had fallen prey to possession in a matter of seconds but Gwen had managed to send the demon back to his lair, taking the bone of the dead equine for future protection.
From inside her cloak, she withdrew ten, small, off-white candles from several cleverly concealed pockets, placing them in a circle that boasted a great enough circumference for an anthropomorphic creature to stand comfortably without being touched by the flames. A touch of melted wax at the top of each candle suggested that they had already been used and Gwen meticulously lit them with a tilted match from another of her hidden pockets, stowing away the matchbox afterwards. She did not want anything to sully her plans for the night.
The preparations were made.
And so she paced a circle.
The words that tumbled from her tongue were as familiar as a draught of cooling spring water but they would be foreign to any native of the land she so roamed. They were neither Welsh nor English and not even one the old strains of Celtic or Gaelic that served droplets in their offspring languages. Her words had a deeper meaning that caught at the very core of being and bade those with listening ears to do her will, clawing their way forth into her ring of candlelight with a hungry snarl. But not that night. She would do her own will that night and cut down all that sought to stand against her. She merely had to hold this one.
Something stirred the dust in the circle of candlelight, making the flames dance and snap to and fro with burning life of their own. Beneath the hard, before impenetrable stone, a snout pushed upwards against the fabric of existence, warping the barrier and howling furiously when it could not immediately be broken. Keeping up her soft chant, Gwen narrowed her eyes in concentration, intent upon completing the chant and ritual that would allow him, for she knew this demon on a personal level, to enter into her cold, damp world.
With a final, brutal roar, a purple form erupted from the rock, leaving nothing but smooth stone in its wake and a flutter of lucid candle flames. Gwen stepped back and patiently let her arms dangle loosely at her sides, relaxed and comfortable with the proceedings, which were progressing as planned. Roaming her eyes over this one's scaled, purple body, for he was a draconian demon, her eyes wandered to his black front and muzzle, split by narrower bands of purple. He had acquired a few new scars since she had seen him last. She permitted the demon one circle outside the overhang, his wings beating powerfully, and snapped her fingers, using her mind and will to call him back to her side. Straight away, he returned and landed in front of her, settling his wings behind his back and snorting derisively when he comprehended who had summoned him.
"You?" He snarled, showing his teeth and backing away from the circle of candles, flapping his leathery wings wearily. "Why have you summoned me? Did you not get enough last time, little mare? You are not my master."
"Quit your yowling," she said calmly and, just like that, the demon's jaws snapped shut as if bound by an invisible rope. "I am your mistress, now and until I choose to release you."
He shook his head and growled furiously, unable to part his jaws but fighting to vocalise his disapproval. Gwen laughed, the light noise echoing reverberating off the quiet overhang walls. Oh, he was a funny one, all right, all talk at first but quick to be subdued; he had submitted to her will so easily, coming to her call like a trained hound to its master's whistle or mistress' lap. There was a score to settle. Guarding herself, Gwen clip-clopped around the demon, noting his fine, downward curving horns and broad body, a treat if she had ever seen one. She was not one to be caught unawares, although this demon had been part of a searing disgrace and the memory still burned white hot in her mind.
