Enjoy.",
"writing": "[b][u][center]The Caribou Case\nFor SuperDuperDog\nBy Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMorris knew that the bartender knew he’d be up to something the second he walked through the door. Any other day, the white-furred wolf would have taken his leave and tried again when someone else was on shift, but it was too late in the month for that. The holidays were in full swing, and the goods waiting in the back could be moved at a moment’s notice. If he waited, he wouldn’t have a chance to lift them for his own purpose. \n\nSo, he walked in, sat at the bar, and shared a smile with the elk that served beer, spirits, and more throughout the night. The elk’s was more strained than his, more professional and knowing, but neither of them said a word. After all, without proof, the elk could only treat him as one more customer. And the [i]Rolling Tundra[/i] could use all the customers it could get. \n\n“Gonna be ordering any snacks?” the elk asked, polishing a glass. \n\n“Heh, we’ll see how long the drinks last. And I think I’ll need to be drunker than this to tolerate the food,” Morris said. \n\n“No need to be offensive.”\n\n“Tell that to the food.”\n\nThe elk rolled his eyes, but was called away before he could make a response. The white wolf chuckled, leaning forward over the bar. He watched the bartender out of the corner of his eye, waiting until he seemed to be engaged with a particularly complicated set of orders before putting a coin down on the bar and sliding out of his chair. \n\nOut one silver, but if he did this right, then he’d be raking in dozens of gold. Maybe hundreds, if he was particularly lucky. \n\nMorris moved on light paws to the backdoor, sliding through and ducking down. He crept past the small kitchen at the back of the bar, hearing the cooks shouting at each other at the tops of their lungs. Same sort of stuff that they always did when he crept back for a free drink or some other treat that the elk had stored at the back. Overpriced, usually, but it sold well when it didn’t immediately fill his belly. \n\nSame as always, nobody noticed him. He reached the storeroom door, timed the shouts of orders coming out, and stepped through as soon as all eyes were toward the front of the building. \n\nAs the door shut behind him, the white wolf was left to his own devices in the bar’s storeroom. Surrounded on all sides by crates piled higher than his head, Morris chuckled and rubbed his hands together. It was going to be a good night. \n\n“Let’s see, let’s see…”\n\nThe [i]Rolling Tundra[/i] might not have the sheer number of customers as some of the other bars in town, but it did have plenty of good stuff in the back. The customers that they did have were loyal because this place tended to keep the weird, exotic goods in the back, available for the regulars. And that was what Morris was looking for. \n\nNo Dragon’s Blood, sadly, nor any of the Black Gold that had been in last week. Those would have snared him a solid gold bar or two from the right buyer, but he’d waited too long. The stupid elk had probably already sold them all, the big fat jerk. \n\nBut there was something else, something that he’d never tried before, and it was lodged right in the very back of the storeroom. Morris nudged a few crates out of the way, kneeling down by the large wooden box. He blew the dust off the top and rubbed the wood smooth, looking at the printed letters. \n\n[i]Caribou Milk, Enchanted.[/i]\n\nNot something that he’d ever had himself, but he’d heard rumors of this one. Caribou were notoriously difficult to milk in the first place, and the ones that did put any out were heavily guarded further north. He’d heard that it was almost like a blessed potion to those looking for a buff before going into battle, and for those wounded…well, this was supposed to beat the pants off of the healing potions that the alchemists pushed out the door. \n\nAnd this was enchanted? Even a relatively weak enchantment would go a long fucking way towards filling his pockets. \n\nMorris flipped the lid, looking inside. A quick count confirmed that there were three layers of potion vials inside, and a solid seventy-five per row. None of them had been taken out or served just yet, which meant that he had a huge collection to bring to the right buyer. \n\n“Mmmm, good job, Morris. Good job.”\n\nPatting himself on the back, the white wolf started to close the lid, only to pause and look at the vials again. Seventy-five per row, three rows. That was a total of two-hundred twenty-five vials. He’d guess that each one was at least half a gold in price, considering they looked like they were meant to be diluted into various drinks when they were sold at a bar. So, half a gold, two vials to make a single gold…\n\nMorris whistled. One hundred five gold and five silver. Considering that a good thief could maybe make a handful of gold in one heist, this was doing pretty damn well for himself. \n\n“Still…”\n\nHe picked up one of the vials from the box, tilting it back and forth as he watched the thick, creamy milk inside shift about. The wolf smirked. \n\n“Be a shame to be paid in silver after all this…and the buff wouldn’t hurt…”\n\nWithout a moment’s hesitation, he popped the cork and downed the milk. It was surprisingly warm from being in the crate, but it didn’t taste spoiled. He chugged it down, feeling it stick a little in his throat in a strangely familiar way. Almost like the time that he had to bribe a guard to avoid getting thrown in prison, and…and…\n\n“Mmmph…”\n\nHe slumped forward, huffing as his head spun. The magic in the milk was hitting him already, and it was hitting him hard. He’d never gone from clearheaded to fuzzy-brained this fast, and that meant something was wrong. Morris tried to stand up, only for his legs to go limp under him. He barely caught himself on the edge of the crate, huffing and shaking as the heat spread from his belly outward, making him pant and sweat under his thick layers of fur. \n\nAs he panted for breath, sweat running down his forehead, something pulsed under his skin. His fur itched, getting warmer, somehow, and the pulsing ran down his arms and legs towards his hands and feet. A stiffness followed in its wake, leaving Morris’s fingers and toes less…less responsive, less flexible. \n\n“Nngh…”\n\nOnce more, he tried to get to his feet, his head still spinning like mad. He managed to get one hand off to the side, holding onto the wall, and he leaned against it. One leg under him, shaking, but still firm. He kept pushing, pushing, pushing – \n\nRIIIIP!\n\nHis boots tore, and he stared at pink hooves where his toes had been. His breath caught in his throat as something tickled his brain, reminding him what was supposed to be down there. Toes. Not hooves. Toes. \n\nHis head hurt, and he groaned as he dragged one shaky hand to the top of his head. He felt about until he found the bumps slowly taking shape on top of his head. \n\n[i]Enchanted…enchanted milk…[/i]\n\nThe realization rested in his head for a sum total of two seconds before a shock of warmth went right between his legs. He slumped down the wall, panting as his cock throbbed, something slowly wrapping around the base and getting thicker. In seconds, his pants were soaked through with pre-cum, oozing through the fabric and filling the air with a thick, musky scent that was…that was way too similar to what he’d just – \n\n“Mmmph…”\n\nHis head ached, his arms throbbed, and everything just felt hotter, and hotter, and hotter. His fur grew thicker, a coat that would have been suitable for something in the great white north rather than someone down in the walled cities. Morris kept gasping for breath as his headache grew stronger and stronger, the flesh eventually splitting in a moment of peak agony before the pain faded away. \n\nPulse, pulse, pulse went his cock between his legs, begging for attention again and again. The crotch of his pants was almost completely soaked through, bubbles of pre-cum rising through the fabric. His hands, stiff and not quite right anymore – his fingers almost replaced with a strange pink ‘nail’ that was almost like a hoof-finger – barely managed to undo them. Morris slumped forward, crawling out of them, and his sheathed cock wobbled back and forth ahead of balls more swollen than his had ever been. \n\nThe milk…the milk was changing him…warping him into – \n\n“Oh, for the love of fuck…”\n\nMorris looked up, his eyes glazed over as the elk bartender walked in. He thought that he should say something, but the words wouldn’t come to him. He just…stared. Eventually, the elk sighed, rubbing his forehead. \n\n“Looks like I got a new hire. Fucking – Okay. You drank the milk?”\n\nMorris nodded, a dumb smile creeping across his face as his cock twitched again, the throbbing heat keeping him happy. \n\n“Okay, covering that up…”\n\nThe elk dragged an apron over Morris’s head, having to wiggle a bit to get them past his new antlers. His cheeks burned with a blush that he couldn’t explain or understand, but the once-wolf giggled as he felt the apron immediately cling to his slippery sheath and cock. \n\n“That’s going to take some work…but…well, at least this way you’ll finally have some use around here.”\n\n“Mmmph…”\n\n“How much did you drink?”\n\n“Mmm…whole vial…”\n\n“Fucking hell…no wonder you sound like you’re completely wasted…”\n\nStill giggling, Morris allowed himself to be lifted to his hooves. He wanted to fall back down and take a good lick of whatever was hiding behind the elk’s pants, but he was too giggly to think that hard about it. \n\nInstead, he let himself be led out of the storeroom and toward the bar. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, but that creamy drink was still running through his system, and he hoped he could get more of it. \n\nIt felt good.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]\n\nSummary: A white wolf thief ends up trying some of the product he means to steal, with problematic results. \n\nTags: M/solo, Wolf, White Wolf, Reindeer, Caribou, Elk, Transformation, Arousal, Heat, TF, Erection, Sheath, ",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": "
The Caribou Case For SuperDuperDog By Draconicon
Morris knew that the bartender knew he’d be up to something the second he walked through the door. Any other day, the white-furred wolf would have taken his leave and tried again when someone else was on shift, but it was too late in the month for that. The holidays were in full swing, and the goods waiting in the back could be moved at a moment’s notice. If he waited, he wouldn’t have a chance to lift them for his own purpose.
So, he walked in, sat at the bar, and shared a smile with the elk that served beer, spirits, and more throughout the night. The elk’s was more strained than his, more professional and knowing, but neither of them said a word. After all, without proof, the elk could only treat him as one more customer. And the Rolling Tundra could use all the customers it could get.
“Gonna be ordering any snacks?” the elk asked, polishing a glass.
“Heh, we’ll see how long the drinks last. And I think I’ll need to be drunker than this to tolerate the food,” Morris said.
“No need to be offensive.”
“Tell that to the food.”
The elk rolled his eyes, but was called away before he could make a response. The white wolf chuckled, leaning forward over the bar. He watched the bartender out of the corner of his eye, waiting until he seemed to be engaged with a particularly complicated set of orders before putting a coin down on the bar and sliding out of his chair.
Out one silver, but if he did this right, then he’d be raking in dozens of gold. Maybe hundreds, if he was particularly lucky.
Morris moved on light paws to the backdoor, sliding through and ducking down. He crept past the small kitchen at the back of the bar, hearing the cooks shouting at each other at the tops of their lungs. Same sort of stuff that they always did when he crept back for a free drink or some other treat that the elk had stored at the back. Overpriced, usually, but it sold well when it didn’t immediately fill his belly.
Same as always, nobody noticed him. He reached the storeroom door, timed the shouts of orders coming out, and stepped through as soon as all eyes were toward the front of the building.
As the door shut behind him, the white wolf was left to his own devices in the bar’s storeroom. Surrounded on all sides by crates piled higher than his head, Morris chuckled and rubbed his hands together. It was going to be a good night.
“Let’s see, let’s see…”
The Rolling Tundra might not have the sheer number of customers as some of the other bars in town, but it did have plenty of good stuff in the back. The customers that they did have were loyal because this place tended to keep the weird, exotic goods in the back, available for the regulars. And that was what Morris was looking for.
No Dragon’s Blood, sadly, nor any of the Black Gold that had been in last week. Those would have snared him a solid gold bar or two from the right buyer, but he’d waited too long. The stupid elk had probably already sold them all, the big fat jerk.
But there was something else, something that he’d never tried before, and it was lodged right in the very back of the storeroom. Morris nudged a few crates out of the way, kneeling down by the large wooden box. He blew the dust off the top and rubbed the wood smooth, looking at the printed letters.
Caribou Milk, Enchanted.
Not something that he’d ever had himself, but he’d heard rumors of this one. Caribou were notoriously difficult to milk in the first place, and the ones that did put any out were heavily guarded further north. He’d heard that it was almost like a blessed potion to those looking for a buff before going into battle, and for those wounded…well, this was supposed to beat the pants off of the healing potions that the alchemists pushed out the door.
And this was enchanted? Even a relatively weak enchantment would go a long fucking way towards filling his pockets.
Morris flipped the lid, looking inside. A quick count confirmed that there were three layers of potion vials inside, and a solid seventy-five per row. None of them had been taken out or served just yet, which meant that he had a huge collection to bring to the right buyer.
“Mmmm, good job, Morris. Good job.”
Patting himself on the back, the white wolf started to close the lid, only to pause and look at the vials again. Seventy-five per row, three rows. That was a total of two-hundred twenty-five vials. He’d guess that each one was at least half a gold in price, considering they looked like they were meant to be diluted into various drinks when they were sold at a bar. So, half a gold, two vials to make a single gold…
Morris whistled. One hundred five gold and five silver. Considering that a good thief could maybe make a handful of gold in one heist, this was doing pretty damn well for himself.
“Still…”
He picked up one of the vials from the box, tilting it back and forth as he watched the thick, creamy milk inside shift about. The wolf smirked.
“Be a shame to be paid in silver after all this…and the buff wouldn’t hurt…”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he popped the cork and downed the milk. It was surprisingly warm from being in the crate, but it didn’t taste spoiled. He chugged it down, feeling it stick a little in his throat in a strangely familiar way. Almost like the time that he had to bribe a guard to avoid getting thrown in prison, and…and…
“Mmmph…”
He slumped forward, huffing as his head spun. The magic in the milk was hitting him already, and it was hitting him hard. He’d never gone from clearheaded to fuzzy-brained this fast, and that meant something was wrong. Morris tried to stand up, only for his legs to go limp under him. He barely caught himself on the edge of the crate, huffing and shaking as the heat spread from his belly outward, making him pant and sweat under his thick layers of fur.
As he panted for breath, sweat running down his forehead, something pulsed under his skin. His fur itched, getting warmer, somehow, and the pulsing ran down his arms and legs towards his hands and feet. A stiffness followed in its wake, leaving Morris’s fingers and toes less…less responsive, less flexible.
“Nngh…”
Once more, he tried to get to his feet, his head still spinning like mad. He managed to get one hand off to the side, holding onto the wall, and he leaned against it. One leg under him, shaking, but still firm. He kept pushing, pushing, pushing –
RIIIIP!
His boots tore, and he stared at pink hooves where his toes had been. His breath caught in his throat as something tickled his brain, reminding him what was supposed to be down there. Toes. Not hooves. Toes.
His head hurt, and he groaned as he dragged one shaky hand to the top of his head. He felt about until he found the bumps slowly taking shape on top of his head.
Enchanted…enchanted milk…
The realization rested in his head for a sum total of two seconds before a shock of warmth went right between his legs. He slumped down the wall, panting as his cock throbbed, something slowly wrapping around the base and getting thicker. In seconds, his pants were soaked through with pre-cum, oozing through the fabric and filling the air with a thick, musky scent that was…that was way too similar to what he’d just –
“Mmmph…”
His head ached, his arms throbbed, and everything just felt hotter, and hotter, and hotter. His fur grew thicker, a coat that would have been suitable for something in the great white north rather than someone down in the walled cities. Morris kept gasping for breath as his headache grew stronger and stronger, the flesh eventually splitting in a moment of peak agony before the pain faded away.
Pulse, pulse, pulse went his cock between his legs, begging for attention again and again. The crotch of his pants was almost completely soaked through, bubbles of pre-cum rising through the fabric. His hands, stiff and not quite right anymore – his fingers almost replaced with a strange pink ‘nail’ that was almost like a hoof-finger – barely managed to undo them. Morris slumped forward, crawling out of them, and his sheathed cock wobbled back and forth ahead of balls more swollen than his had ever been.
The milk…the milk was changing him…warping him into –
“Oh, for the love of fuck…”
Morris looked up, his eyes glazed over as the elk bartender walked in. He thought that he should say something, but the words wouldn’t come to him. He just…stared. Eventually, the elk sighed, rubbing his forehead.
“Looks like I got a new hire. Fucking – Okay. You drank the milk?”
Morris nodded, a dumb smile creeping across his face as his cock twitched again, the throbbing heat keeping him happy.
“Okay, covering that up…”
The elk dragged an apron over Morris’s head, having to wiggle a bit to get them past his new antlers. His cheeks burned with a blush that he couldn’t explain or understand, but the once-wolf giggled as he felt the apron immediately cling to his slippery sheath and cock.
“That’s going to take some work…but…well, at least this way you’ll finally have some use around here.”
“Mmmph…”
“How much did you drink?”
“Mmm…whole vial…”
“Fucking hell…no wonder you sound like you’re completely wasted…”
Still giggling, Morris allowed himself to be lifted to his hooves. He wanted to fall back down and take a good lick of whatever was hiding behind the elk’s pants, but he was too giggly to think that hard about it.
Instead, he let himself be led out of the storeroom and toward the bar. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, but that creamy drink was still running through his system, and he hoped he could get more of it.
It felt good.
The End
Summary: A white wolf thief ends up trying some of the product he means to steal, with problematic results.