. 01

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.

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His Control

Chapter One

Part One

Eric sat in the Church pew with his jaw slightly slack. That was not because he was unwell or anything of that ilk and breathing through his nose, but solely because he had lost a touch of muscular control as sleep took him. It was wrong to sleep in Church, anyone would tell him that, but it was hard to think or even stay awake as the priest droned on and on and on, all about the same things, the same sermons, over and over again.

His black hair, in need of another ragged cut, hung around his ears, and he sat with his arms folded over his chest, head slipping down towards that chest. His chin dropped and dropped and it was only the bounce of it hitting his large pectoral muscles, his body thickly muscled from labouring on the farms and doing general heavy work for the village, that woke him, snorting and starting and glancing about guiltily. And yet, for once, Eric had gotten away with one thing that would have surely have landed him in trouble with the priest and many more people too if they had caught him.

He hadn't missed anything from the sermon but he tried to appear attentive until it ended, everyone filing out in their basic, cloth clothing, some wearing leather coats from the hides of animals. In their rudimentary society, there was no need for fineries, but the merchants that came by their village, set on the edge of the mountains, were dressed in such velvet and silk that they could not help but lust and want for kinder times in the course of their poverty. It was a quiet life if a hard life and there were no city politics to take into account, though Eric sometimes wondered, when he had enough time to think for himself, just what the might of the cities and even the capital could hold for a lone man like him.

It wasn't something worth thinking about and, sometimes, it was that very thinking that got him into trouble. Thinking was just what Eric wasn't very good at and he stared and stared at the sickle blade relic on the wall above the altar, hooked there on display. It gleamed like gold and, even though he knew that it was not gold, could not be gold, he hungered for it all the same as the church emptied around him.

Without thinking, his feet moved of their own accord. Perhaps thinking was just as dangerous for him as not thinking was, one step following the one that preceded it with deadly, nefarious intent. The dull, hollow thunk of his footsteps echoed through the church and he groaned as he tipped forward, hands closing into fists, though they would not help him one bit in the pursuit of what he wanted. The relic gleamed and, for a moment, he saw it through eyes that were not his own - they could not have been his eyes. He didn't see worth and value in that way, but the monetary trade value of the relic could not fail to elude him and Eric greedily licked his thick lips, eyes gleaming with the hunger of one who had never known the sanctuary of having a safe and stable roof over their head.

So close...

He stretched out his hand.

"May I help you, my child?"

The priest emerged from behind the organ with his lips pleasantly curved into a smile, although the implied warmth of it did not reach his eyes. His hands folded within his white robe and he studied Eric carefully as if unsure whether the man would fight back or not, his ill-advised attempt at theft caught in the act.

Swallowing hard, Eric stepped back, although, dully, only allowed his hand to fall back to his side a moment later, leaving it hanging, pointing, in testimony to what he had intended to do.

"Father."

He bowed his head respectfully, hands automatically pressing together in a sign of respect that had not quite disappeared after his childhood years. Something like that would have been saved for more formal occasions but there could have been no more formal occasion for him than being caught with his hand well and truly in the honey pot, so to speak, the relic still gleaming ostentatiously at him from the wall as if it knew just what trouble it had gotten him into. Stupid relic!

"Was there a question that you waited to ask me?" The priest probed gently, although his shrewd gaze told a different story to his words. "I am here for you, Eric."

"Um..." Thickly, Eric shook his head, face breaking into a nervous sweat, droplets rolling down his forehead as he grinned like a fool. "No, no... No, Father. I was merely admiring, yes..."

There were no suitable words set to get him out of his predicament but the priest allowed him only a moment of bumbling until he nodded, releasing him.

"Then be on your way, Eric, it will be dark soon and you know what spirits linger in these parts after dark."

Was it that easy? As if the hounds of hell themselves nipped at his heels, Eric scarpered on his way with a huff and a sigh that belayed the tension in his shoulders. Despite his body aching, he high-tailed it home with half a mind to skip going to church next time the bells rang, although that may well have drawn more attention to him than being there. His barely clad feet pounded and slipped through the mud, leaving a priest in the church with his hands clasped, white hair glimmering and dust motes swirling in a late-afternoon shaft of sunlight above his head.

Despite his grave expression, his thoughts were more so, the relic glowing faintly behind him. That fool knew not what he trifled with and, truly, Eric had already caused more trouble in the village than he had any right to. Did he not know what forces underplayed the church, let them continue on with their faith and teaching as they did? No... No, to have him around would not do at all, not with him getting so close and curious to the relic, unlike the good, church-abiding citizens of the village. No one would miss a village fool, as useful as his muscles were.

The priest sighed, casting his eyes reverently to the heavens as if in search of a higher answer and power. The life of a priest came with sacrifices. Sacrifices he had to make of other people, of course.

"We'll see that you do not do that again, my child."

*

Pacing in his small living quarters - a single storey accommodation that was little more than a hut - Eric frowned, the lines on the floor drawn in wonky paint. That too had been stolen but that was one thing that he had, at least, gotten away with. It gave him some entertainment but, well, trying to summon... Oh, even he felt silly with what he was doing but boring nights lent him to thinking too much all over again, wondering what he could do with the relic if he had it, if it really was possible to escape his mundane existence with a twist of black magic.

And yet even he should have known that spirit summoning arts, in the search of answers, were not for him, sighing and staring at the lines on the floor, something more that he would have to clean up, as if they could offer more enlightenment than they had already. Of course, they remained quiet and forlorn, judging him merely for being there, a man who was merely trying to escape, shoulders aching from hefting load after load of wood up onto his shoulders, trying to switch between them but, inevitably, having to favour one over the other. It wore him down and, still, he thought that maybe there was some force and higher power out there, even God, if one willed, that could ease just a little of the tension from his body.

His soul? Well, that wasn't something that even Eric was all that concerned about. In his opinion, his soul could wait. Redemption for something that he didn't even know that he had done was hardly at all high on his list of priorities.

Sitting heavily on his bed, the ancient wood creaking under him (surely ringed with rot from the damp aroma permeating his abode), Eric sighed, head in his hands. Bristle grazed his fingers but shaving with an old blade was not his strong point and his stubble usually was uneven. Maybe he should just let it grow out into a beard. It was fashionable for younger men in the village to shave or employ the use of a barber for the task but, well, he didn't much feel like a younger man anymore despite his age. He felt like an old man, riddled with rot too, a gnarled, broken body waiting to be put to rest at the end of its days. Hopefully, those days would not come sooner than he wanted them too, regardless of how he ached day in and day out.

The lines wonkily mocked him and, grunting, he poked one of them with the toe of his boot, though the hole in the sole was growing. Just one more thing that got to him, one thing that wore him down.

"If I had that relic," he said out loud, although there was no one there to hear him. "If I had that... I could afford a hundred boots with that!"

One hundred was an extravagant number for him with his simple way of life but not even Eric himself could have possibly known just how the world was set to open up for him, the doors parting and exposing a utopia unlike anything he had ever seen before. The Garden of Eden was just one thing that he never expected to achieve or reach, for there were no goals for men in his village beyond the simple act of living. Sure, some made their way off on adventures but the mere fact that they never returned spoke volumes as to just how successful their adventures were in the end. And Eric had no intention at all of dying when he could, at the very least, warm his toes by a damp fire, kindling crinkling and squeaking as it strove to dry out at the very least, even if burning was not quite within its realm of reality.

"Oh, will you not come?" He said softly, staring at the summoning rings, the paint that had no real meaning, not to him. "Come to me, come to me, for I have waited too long here for you. There is time yet to see what may come through in this world. Arise and come to me, come to me."

The words flowed slowly for, at least, he had practised them before preparing the summoning, although they felt hollow and vacant coming from unskilled lips. He was no summoner and heaven only knew if that sort of thing was at all possible. With rumours of ghosts and demons and kelpies running rife through the land, the difference between the holiness of the church and the starkness of reality clashed in such a confusing manner that it was a wonder indeed that anything could be derived from it in any positive or discerning fashion.

Ah, but the untalented could still summon and waiting ears could still prick to the call. The first mote of dust shifting in the lamplight was only the beginning as it flickered and swirled, calling up the rest from the floor and the drying paint, which stripped itself from the bare, wooden floorboards, with big gaps between them, as if it had never been laid down in the first place. Blinking, Eric's head rose from his hands in time to catch it spinning into a twister, sucking up the dirt from the floor as if it was all needed to fuel the strength and power of something beyond his comprehension...although that was not so much of a stretch.

His mouth opened and closed (not the wisest idea with dust and dirt swirling around maniacally) and he stood, hands loose as if they were prepared to clench into fists, yet his mind couldn't catch up to what was happening. It was too much, all too quickly, and he was not a man of spirituality, truly, even if he had been trying to summon a spirit, a contained gale spinning and whirling and roaring within the confines of his hut, blankets flying and a wooden cup that he'd hollowed out for himself spinning off the tiny table that served as somewhere to eat and rest his elbows. There were no chairs and that was probably just as well as the wind snarled and snarled, rattling the crooked window frames, threatening to break his hut down to the bones, although there was very little of a foundation to stand on anyway.

"What..."

But there was something there, a shape taking form in the darkness, dust condensing, pulling in as if it was about to burst, though into what he could not have told. Everything raced on without his time or consent, Eric staring and staring, dull mind ticking over in a futile attempt to catch up. He was not dumb but he was not particularly quick either and he could not have anticipated that things would escalate both so fiercely and so quickly, his world turning upside down as soon as he felt that he had an evening to sit and think before returning to the dark sanctity of sleep.

The shape that formed was not that of a man but not that of an animal either, standing on two legs as it rose up and up and up, towering over him - at least nine feet, if not more, tall. Eric gaped and made a strangled noise that could have been a cry of fear but the ordeal was only just beginning as the creature groaned, the groan twisting into a bellow as massive jaws pushed out as if the bone was trying to work its way through the skin and flesh of the beast. His stomach turned over but the teeth, thankfully, pulled back into something better resembling a human face, although the lines were not wrinkles that could be found there but harsher, sterner definition that cut through and made the creature appear foreboding and intimidating in equal measures.

With off-grey, near purple, skin, the beast loomed and spread its wings, leathery membranes crackling into existence like the rustle of old autumn leaves on the eve of their death, forgoing the bonds of the mortal world for something more ethereal itself. Muscle rippled through the beast's body, legs rounding out like tree trunks, and a tail lashed, although that was where the otherworldly ended, for he too had hands like a man and feet like a man, despite them being tipped with sharp claws.

The dust fell, leaving a creature that should have had no name in the world of human beings to crack out his knuckles, popping the air from them in such a human fashion that one could have been forgiven for mistaking him for someone more familiar. The purple tint to his skin, however, more leathery in appearance than that of a human being, could not be considered something of mankind, however, and the curved, black horns rising from his bare skull, devoid of hair, along with that tail... Eric swallowed hard as the creature turned its gaze on him. There was only one being in the whole of the Bible that came with features like that, as much as he didn't want to believe it.

"Greetings, human," he said levelly, rasping out a burnt aroma as he spoke, although it was nothing that may have been comforting on a winter's night. "I expected...someone more. Usually, it is a mightier sort that brings me to set foot in this world, though boredom is a fickler demon than I... Would you not agree?"

"What? Who are you?" Eric gaped, scrambling back away from the bed, pressed up against the rickety dresser that had been passed down through his family for too many years. "What do you want?"

"Oh, my innocent one..."

The demon smirked, offering his hand, tipped with claws. Of course, Eric snatched his own away just to make it clear that there was no way in heaven or hell that he was touching that thing, but the beast merely held up his hands as if he had expected that response, picking a morsel of what seemed to be flesh from between his teeth with one, sharp claw.

"You are not one that usually summons me," he said, almost conversationally. "Do you even know who I am? I am confident that you do not."

When Eric merely stared at him dully, the creature shrugged, rolling his shoulders back and spreading both his arms and his wings, making himself seem even larger and more intimidating than he was already.

"I am Malekor!" He bellowed, though only later would Eric discover that his voice had not emanated beyond the walls of his dwelling. "Chaos is where I dwell and, oh, my dearest one of simple times... There is much chaos in your world, is there not? The deaths, the feminine, the twisted affairs... Why, I am proud to say that those minor dabblings are all in my realm and reign! Is that not wonderful?"

Gulping hard, all Eric could think to do was to nod. At least at that, Malekor seemed pleased. Maybe that was all he could hope for.

"Eric... You are an Eric and have no name to mark your family, that is right."

Malekor spoke as if he knew him personally and Eric trembled, hands shaking as badly as they had that day that he had been caught, as a boy, thieving from the bakery. It was a wonder that they had not taken his hands for that misdemeanour.

"Y-yes," he forced out, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, making it harder than ever to get out some words, any words. "I-I... I am... I am Eric. But I didn't want -"

"Yes, that is what they all say."

The demon rolled his eyes, lips parting to reveal a line of sharp teeth as if they had been filed into unnatural points, gleaming with saliva, and Eric's heart froze, although he drew himself up a little taller. He was good for some things and, to hell with it - if it was to be the end of him, he wasn't going out on his knees begging for a mercy that would never come! Let the beast, Malekor, see him standing as tall as he could, shoulder blades pushed back, showing the might and muscle of his body, even through his impoverished clothing. There would always be some things that a labourer was good for, after all, and he pushed his feet apart a little, even though he made no pretence to himself that the demon would not realise that he was getting ready to fight.

If he had to...he would. As much as the thought sent a chilly tendril to wrap itself around his heart, he knew it was so. There was no end for him where he did not howl and claw and kick and fight, pummelling and punching his way down into the dark snatch of the abyss. Maybe it was a fool's talk bouncing off the inside of a skull that everyone said was empty, so very empty, but, damn it, it was his mind and he'd damn well do what he could for it!

"My, my, my..." Malekor raised an eyebrow, although it was more of a ridge than anything a human would recognise as the line of hair denoted to more helpfully convey expression. "You are a different sort, aren't you? No, don't answer that. I don't need to hear your voice. Let me look at you."

The demon's face, grotesquely twisted and ugly, saliva gleaming crudely in the corners of his lips, pushed into his, Eric striving not to suck in a breath as the burning scent of him flooding his scenes. Much less just something that he could smell, it seemed to claw its way into his mouth and wrap itself around his tongue, forcing him to taste the death and destruction from whence the demon had come, a drumming scream roiling against his eardrums as if the demon had only just come...well... From something that Eric would rather not think about, truth be told. It was not a thought to be delved into in that particular moment by any means.

Waiting, he surveyed the human, taking in every inch of him, eyes burning a flash between crimson and orange, the flickering hellfire of the abyss that was his home. Yet it was a home where no human could survive and, indeed, from which no human had ever before returned from.

He will do...

"I have a deal for you, Eric, if you so perchance to take it. Though I must advise you that I will not leave this home of yours empty-handed if you choose not to."

Pressing his lips together, Eric tried not to breathe, the demon looming, clustering in so that he filled his vision, a presence that could not be ignored. Even if he closed his eyes, he still would have been able to feel the demon there, skin prickling in the presence of a predator that could snap him up in one bite, gulping him down and forgetting that he had even existed in the first place. That was just how powerful a demon, any demon, was and he would do well to remember that, taking a shuddering breath in through his nostrils and instantly regretting the fierce tang of brimstone clawing its way down his windpipe, singing the hairs off the inside of his nose.