Syria's Mistake

If someone had told Syria that she’d be spending her Saturday night curled up inside the belly of a foxman, she’d have laughed in their face and told them that they were completely off their rocker.

For one thing, in the real world, there were no such things as anthropomorphic animals, and for another, there were no creatures alive that could swallow humans whole. Oh she’d been a firm believer of those aspects of reality…at least before she’d unwarily gone into the forest, anyway.

Renvall was a moderate village in the crevices of the Sylvian continent. There were tall tales about spirit creatures in the forest that would lead bad men and women astray from the traveller’s path, never to be seen again.  The myth was obviously meant to keep them from leaving the village alone at night; there was a growing shortage of young men and women as many would leave seeking their fame and fortune elsewhere. Women like Syria with big dreams and no funding to pursue those dreams easily dismissed such things as children’s tales. She didn’t have the money to hire a mercenary for protection on a journey  out of the village, but there was always someone looking for a pretty girl willing to do them a few…favors, luckily.

Pretty little Syria with her long sable hair and smoky green eyes had done many bitter things in her short twenty summers of life. Her mother had died and left her alone when she was fifteen, so she’d had no other choice but to put her pretty, if a bit plump body to good use. Men liked their wenches young, but they also liked them capable of enduring a bit of punishment from a heavy hand or cock.

Syria had learned this the hard way, but at the end of the night she would leave some man’s house with a soreness between her legs and her purse a few gold pieces heavier.

She’d been in her profession for five years now, and had grown a hardened heart with regards to her clients; being threatened by married women for sleeping with their husbands on a daily basis would do such things for you. Yes…she had no use for fairy tales or fantasies; and she’d determined to build herself a nice nest egg to buy herself a beautiful set of silken clothing to entice some rich old aristocrat from a distant land into marrying her so that she would inherit his money and live her life comfortably once he died.

Whether it was of natural causes or not was of no consequence to her.

The usual rule for meeting with her was very simple. Make eye contact in the tavern, slip her their address and the time for a meeting, and then she’d slip into their beds and make them forget themselves until they were sated. She’d get her money, come back out the way she’d come, and all would be well, barring some disgruntled wife found out about the proceedings.

Tonight’s client had been a bit different. A rather stiff woman had come to her, taking her by surprise; usually, other women avoided her when they could, but there had been a few who had procured her services. This woman, however, looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but near Syria’s calculating green eyes and softly pouted lips. The reason for the woman’s approach became clear when a piece of very fine stationery with very elaborate and elegant writing was given to her. The amount of gold stated as a reward for her services had made her gawk, pause, and then reread to be sure she’d received the correct letter and seen the correct amount.

Five hundred gold pieces! Five hundred! That would be enough to get her dozens of fine trinkets and clothing, and even hire a coach to take her to a big city if she wanted! The impatient woman waiting for Syria’s answer had smirked at the younger woman’s floored expression before arrogantly relaying the details of where and when the meeting was to take place and whether Syria would be willing to take the job. Eager to comply and earn her much needed money, she had accepted another letter from the woman, who turned and left without another word.

Her hands had shaken with nerves as she’d torn into the fine envelope without a single care and began scanning the contents for her instructions.
Bathe yourself before your arrival. Use no scents or makeup. Leave your hair unbound. A maid will be sent to fetch you.

Nothing too odd, then. She’d had worse requests. Things sick and twisted enough to leave a lesser woman curled on the floor in tears. This man was probably some rich bookskeeper with allergies and didn’t want any womanly smells aggravating them, she mused.

Obediently, Syria had bathed and clothed herself to her client’s specifications. She’d been tempted to dab at least a bit of oil under her arms, but the instructions had been very specific; she wouldn’t do a thing to jeopardize her job. Exactly at the time specified in the letter, the woman who had delivered it to Syria had returned, her sour expression traded in for one of blank disregard as she was greeted at the door by the prostitute.

Oh she’d met uppity bitches like this one before. They thought they were all better than her because of their morals and standards; they thought that every decent woman would find a man to marry and be saved from a fate such as hers. But it didn’t always work out like that now, did it?

The walk was quiet and a few men leered as they saw the two woman walking in the cover of night without a proper escort. The maid seemed a bit disgusted by the attention, but Syria was used to such treatment; it was her life. After a few minutes, it became clear they were not stopping the middle square where all the aristocrats usually dwelled and the harlot narrowed her eyes in displeasure at the distance of the house she would be going to. When the two woman entered the outskirts of the forest, she began to grow nervous, her mind immediately filling with childhood tales of goblins and bogeys and witches taking beautiful young women away to hell or roasting them over a fire for dinner.

“We’re almost there,” the woman said monotonously, her eyes staring straight ahead as she led them progressively deeper into the dark of the forest. Syria was so busy jumping at every stray sound that she failed to notice the smile on the other woman’s face and the slightest waver of the land beneath their feet as they walked further and further away from Renvall.

Finally, the leaves on the ground began to wane, and a long, winding cobble path began to reveal itself. To her pleasure, the top of a tall, formidable looking mansion began to come into view, and then the building itself was exposed to her through the tree line bit by bit. Greedily, Syria took in the sight of the rich looking garden and merrily trickling fountain in the front yard as she followed the maid up the pathway to the heavy brass doors. The knockers were solid gold, and very ornate with an odd vulpine face molded into them.

The maid merely pried the door open and waved the gawking young woman inside.

Chandeliers glittered with fine crystal in every room they passed, and silver candlesticks seemed to adorn every room they passed; it made her fingers itch and she vowed to slide at least one into her dress before taking her leave with her gold in hand.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done such a thing.

Finally, a large double door on the second floor was opened, and she was unceremoniously shoved inside the darkness of the room without a single word or warning from her guide; once she’d successfully crossed the threshold, the maid shut the door behind Syria and locked it with a short, final click.

Cursing, the girl gave the door a testing tug and growl when she confirmed that she had indeed heard the lock turn. Damn it all, she should have known it had all been too good to be true!

“Now now, my dear, there’s no need to be so distressed,” a smooth voice called from the darkness of the room. “Won’t you come and ease my loneliness?”

Startled, for she hadn’t heard a single sound since she’d come in, Syria whirled to face the room, her heart leaping into her throat.

A man with friendly, startlingly piercing amber-gold eyes and oddly colored auburn hair was watching her with barely concealed amusement and interest as he lay draped lazily on a large bed, a large goblet of wine clutched in his hand. As she watched, he tossed back the contents of the drink, his throat working as he swallowed before he licked his lips and gave her a cheeky smile.

At the action, she relaxed a bit. Here was something she was familiar with; men who were drunk were easier to manipulate than those who were sober. The wine might make him more pliant and quicker to tire as well.

Settling her features into a demure pout and straightening, Syria gave the male her most alluring look and slowly made her way to the bed, shedding her almost non-existent clothing on the way. All the while those pale, enchanting eyes watched her, making her a bit uneasy at their intensity.
“Do you live here all alone then, sir?” she asked softly, making sure her tone was soft and curious, but not too prying. It would do for her to know if this man was taken; after all, a man so rich could give her a comfortable life as a mistress or wife.

The man tilted his head and then a smirk tugged at his lips. “I am not married, if that is what you’re wondering, girl,” he answered. The surprise that crossed her face made his eyes twinkle and he reached out to grab ahold of her arm before bringing her down onto the bed. Once she was kneeling before him, she stifled the urge to sneeze as she noticed the fine hairs littering the bed; obviously the man had a mutt somewhere around there. She suppressed her displeasure, however, and allowed herself to be rolled onto the bed beneath the surprisingly slim male whose tall form dwarfed her own.

“You’re a mean-spirited whore aren’t you?” the man whispered in her ear, his warm, wine-scented breath tickling her ear and making her shudder.
Had the man not been so handsome, Syria would have been disgruntled at such overly brash advancements, but given the rewards for this particular man, she merely smiled and answered smoothly, “I’m not so bad, sir, I only do what I must to survive.”

“I see,” he murmured, rubbing his nose through her hair and taking a deep inhale. The hairs atop her head fluttered at his deep snuffles, giving her the urge to giggle at the sensation. At least this was a friendly one.

“And I suppose it’s necessary to drive families apart and steal from those whose lives you ruin,” he said conversationally, before giving her cheek a long, wet lick.

Syria narrowed her eyes. Had this man been watching her? He sounded as if he was…disappointed in her. And yet, he had hired her for the very task he seemed to be scolding her for. Anger made her clench her teeth and she tensed under his grip.

“Those who suffer deserve it most, sir,” she told him stiffly. “But shouldn’t we move on to our business?” she asked, sliding her hands invitingly up his chest to play with the buttons on his vest.

Distastefully, she noted that some animalistic smell—most likely from a dog—clung to his skin as she widened her legs and expertly arched her body in order to fit him to her and broadcast her eagerness to begin earning her gold.

“Yes,” he said slowly and pensively. His playful golden eyes were almost hypnotic as they stared down into her own gray-green eyes. “Are you ready to earn your reward?”

In answer, the woman rubbed herself against him and pulled his face down to her own for a slow, thorough kiss.

The oddest sensation swept through her. Her limbs suddenly grew lax and heavy, and her arms fell from around the man’s neck before falling limply onto the bed. Alarmed, Syria stared up at the man over her, who was staring back at her with a small, pleased smile, his eyes glittering with triumph.

“Did you know…those who walk away from the path of righteousness fall astray to the forest’s spirits,” the man whispered, his face suddenly wavering as if covered in water.

Blue flames that held no heat spread over the man’s body; had she not been frozen stiff, Syria would have screamed in terror and tried to scramble away as the body covering hers was shrouded in it.

Where there had once been a handsome, if not somewhat average man, there was now bright orange fur covering a large body pinning her slim form to the bed. A long muzzle large enough to fit her entire head inside gave her a smile that bore a warped, yet bone-chilling resemblance to that of the man who had been above her not even a few seconds before. The thin material of her gown let her feel the brush of fur as the creature moved atop her, its larger body hunched over her stilled form.

Those familiarly dark eyes glittered at her and the long, canine muzzle opened. “I suppose you were right,” the fox creature rumbled lowly, as his tongue made a slow, deliberate circuit of his chops. The wet sound in the silence of the house made her already pounding heart nearly stop.

He wouldn’t, she thought.

“’Those who suffer deserve it most,’” he quoted airily, and she watched in paralyzed horror as that vulpine muzzle stretched open wide across her frozen face.

He would.

A human-shaped hand with pale orange fur and wicked-looking claws clutched Syria’s head and forced it into the wet heat of the opened maw; the only sign of her resistance was a twitch of her fingers and a choked whimper from her locked throat. Her face slid against the rough tongue towards the darkened entrance to the gullet that was growing much too close for her comfort. The jaws gently closed around her head, severely diminishing the already faint light, and Syria could hardly breathe for the wash of fetid air washed with wine assaulting her nose. The tongue pushed the underside of her chin back, and then there was an odd pulling as she was felt the slickness of the throat clench around her head.

The wet gulp was loud and deafening as her head was forced into the darkness. Her captor’s throat muscles began greedily pulling on her as he took small, sucking swallows of her; she could feel him shift her body to the side so that her shoulders were slowly, but steadily fed into him inch by inch. An odd popping sound happened around her; unbelievably, his mouth seemed to be expanding around her body almost effortlessly!

This was impossible! It was a nightmare that she wanted to end, and she would be in a carriage on her way to a new life once it was over. Oh how she wished she could move again!

A low chuckle went through the body engulfing her own, and suddenly the leaden weight of her body had all but disappeared; her mouth began moving as she tried to scream for help, and the hands still pinned to the foxman’s furry chest began scrabbling and gripping at his fur in a futile attempt to try and slow or stop her descent. A low rumble from below her head made her legs kick desperately; that was the growl of a hungry belly, and she was the one meant to sate it as food!

By now, the fox’s jaws had filled with her breasts; Syria had always thought herself to be well-blessed in that area, but the advancing jaws of the creature were relentless as they squeezed and then molded her breasts into his jaw. For a moment, she hoped that he would choke on them—he would have earned it!—but then the throat expanded once more around her chest, and another wet gulp sent more of her body deeper inside his own.

Her arms were forced by her sides as the jaws began creeping up her belly; by now she could not move them, even without the foxman’s interference, no matter how much she tried. Her hands disappeared into the warm softness and were slicked with drool, leaving only her hips and legs still exposed to the coolness of the air outside the beast’s body.

Her lower body was now being pulled in, her thick hips vanishing at an astonishing rate into the maw of her client. Another thick gulp, and something tight forced over her face and hair, leaving her suddenly in a wider more open space. A flash of insight suddenly struck her like a lightning bolt—she was inside his stomach!—and Syria took advantage of that space to draw a foul-smelling breath of air and scream. The sound seemed loud to her, but she didn’t realize that it was muffled and near unintelligible to the outside world.

There was a sudden shift of gravity and disorientation and she realized in panic what was going to happen; her legs flailed helplessly as the foxman tilted his head back and allowed gravity to quicken her already too-rapid descent into his belly. All too soon, her calves were being wet and then her once dry feet were being held inside the predator’s open mouth. Then the jaws closed around them and there was a forceful tensing as the foxman gave a final powerful gulp, dooming her to her fate.

Her face was pressed into slick belly slime and she coughed as the rest of her body was pushed through the pulsing gullet into the small space and forced to curl up in an almost painful fetal position. The walls around her molded to her body as she wriggled and squirmed, trying her best to make the monster wretch her back up.

She had been tricked! She had been lead into some monster’s home just like in the stories and had fallen prey like some child in a nightmare! Syria sobbed as stinging slime was spread over her flesh by the shifting stomach walls. The heartbeat of the fox was rapid and excited. 

The bastard had enjoyed this, she comprehended resentfully.

Her head began feeling light and the air she had been breathing was just not enough. She was going to run out of air soon, she realized numbly as an ominous gurgling sound heralded more of the stinging acid filling the spaces around her.

The belly suddenly clenched down around her, and a crude, echoing belch mercifully forced the rest of the already limited air out.

Syria gave one final twitch and knew no more.

Dalan sighed appreciatively around his full belly, his amber eyes half-lidded with bliss. It had been such a long time since he’d had a meal quite so lovely and tasty. Most of his victims were filthy, ne’er-do-well men who wandered into his domain by following his servants with the intention of harming one of them.

This woman had been the talk of the town when one of his servants had wandered into the city to collect more supplies. The prostitute Syria was widely known as cold-hearted, a schemer, a thief, and motivated by money and nothing else.

She had been perfect.

He had extended her an offer she couldn’t resist, knowing the greed she possessed wouldn’t allow her to pass up the sheer amount of the reward.
He idly rubbed a hand against the curled up form of the woman. She was silent now, her screams and wriggling having ceased as she suffocated from the lack of breathable air. He had been watching this one for a long time and knew that she had no one besides a few regulars that would miss her manipulative presence, and many of them had wives who would be furious at the discovery of them fooling around with the sly harlot. No, they would remain quiet, waiting for the sable haired prostitute with bewitching green eyes to grace them with her presence once more one day, but they would never actively look for her.

Dalan would be her final and closest client.

In the town of Renvall there is a legend; those who follow the path of good will live their lives in peace. Those who follow the path of darkness are lead astray by wandering spirits and disappear forever.