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.
Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.
--
This story contains dubious consent in a man transforming into a monster and subsequent breeding of a "swamp hag" type monster. Follow up story, to come later, shows full and open consent.
William was too loud, too forward, kayaking through the swamp with a frown on his face as if everything there displeased him. His lips moved, spilling out words, but the swamps did not have an answer for him, dim and gloomy with gnarled tree roots dipping into the waterways, moisture hanging thick and heavy in the air. The humidity had his brown hair fluffing up with frizz, though that could not be helped, the light hint of stubble on his jaw line showing just how quickly he grew it in.
His paddle dipped in and out of the water noisily, splashing, coursing onward and through. He didn't know where he was going but he had no concern about that, not when he was exploring. Every expedition that he went out on, the young man who already believed that he was a scientist, even though he did not have the studies or the credentials for it, had something to discover. It was his way, of course, despite the fact that very few of his so-called discoveries were anything of note at all. He thought too highly of himself, his trademark look best worn in a smirk, though little did William know that, during that particular day, he would actually make a discovery that no one ever wanted to.
He was hunting for them, the lost tribe of women that were rumoured to live there, deep within, yet what he found there would not be anything that he would ever reveal. William simply wouldn't get the chance. The swamp stank, clawing at his nostrils like a wild beast that he was yet to subdue, though he paddled onward, something drawing him deeper and deeper, dipping his paddle into the water less than silently.
They knew he was coming even if William did not know what he was stumbling on, a passive player even in his own life as control of that was ripped from him in a breath of a moment. Lights flickered but he pressed on without caution, jetties and decking and small huts pulling him on.
Yet not even William knew what was happening, why he was so caught up in the moment, paddling and paddling, moving as if through a dream. His vision grew hazy, breath tight in his throat, shaking his head, brushing his hair back from his face. He didn't need to do anything, however, for his fate was already set, the mist of the swamps closing in around him, cutting off the human from the life that was already taken from him.
The swamp hags were not the beautiful women that he had anticipated, though the incense burned at their festival, seeking to bring life and prosperity to their tribe, had the effect of easing restrictions on the mind. Inhibitions were not to be had, could not be had - not when they were near going to the brink of extinction, huddling together around an altar where an offering had been laid.
Far from gorgeous, they crooned and swayed, lumbering and hunched over, like amphibious monsters with webbed fingers and toes that should never have crawled from the depths. They rarely straightened, though they could give the illusion of being women, human in form, when they straightened and touched on the power of illusion, their gaping jaws and lines of sharp teeth quelled to hide their true identities. No one would have called them beautiful or looked at them with anything but horror in their true forms, arms appearing too skinny for the shape of them, shoulders pushed up and folds of wrinkly skin layering their bodies.
Oh, but their dropping numbers were not solely due to the lack of new life being born into their tribe, candle and lantern lights flickering as they liked hands, webbing brushing, and swayed, their eyes alight with an eerie glow. They sacrificed their own in their fertility festival, desperately increasing the frequency from annually to monthly, though it did them no good, no good at all. There had been no volunteer that time and they were waiting for a sign as to who should step forward for the good of the tribe and their matriarch, not knowing what else to do.
The reeds rustled. All heads turned.
"What... What is this?"
Their volunteer had come.
He walked into their midst as if in a dream, a man that they had been waiting for - the male that they had been waiting for. William blinked and shook his head, though that did nothing to clear the mist from his eyes, hands clawing at him, sliding, slimy in their presentation, grunting softly, drifting amongst them.
Why was he there? What was he doing? The swamp hags crowded, drawing him in, hissing and murmuring to one another in their own language.
The one.
The one has come.
A male.
Only a male.
A male for the matriarch.
Him.
