Don't Enable Magic Animals

A cautionary tale about wishing that girls would find everything you say cute. Mature.

"That's not fair," said the young man.

"That's the rules," said the fox.

The fox was lying. There were no rules. Thus, there were no rules against lying about there being rules to get out of granting terrible wishes.

The little red beast stood atop a small boulder, which put him about at eye level with the man. The young man was standing on the ground, arms folded over a rough cloth tunic. A strip of fabric had been torn from the hem of his tunic and was now wrapped around the fox's left paw.

"That's the fourth one," the man complained.

"And all four of them were against the rules, so if you want a wish you'd better come up with one that isn't," said the fox.

"Can you tell me what the rules are?" the man asked.

"No. That's against the rules."

"Fucking..." He cringed and bit back the rest. "Okay. What about this? Whatever I say to anyone, even if it's dirty as shit, girls think it's cute. Like I can say anything and they'll be 'ooh Arthur hee hee hee'. Is that okay with the rules?"

The fox looked pensive for a few moments and then nodded.

"Yes, that'd work," said the fox.

"Finally! Okay, I wish that. All the stuff I'd just said," he said.

The fox simply turned around. The white tip of its tail fluttered up behind it as it bounded off into the brush with a limp.

...Had the fox been fucking with him? Arthur waited, expecting some swirl of sparks or creeping tingles. He should have suspected something was up when the fox didn't let him wish for the power to turn any woman into his slave. That was a cool wish! Fucking fox. He bet a genie would have granted that wish.

Arthur picked up his hunting bow as he retraced his steps toward the village. He needed a way to test whether the wish had worked before he decided whether he would be hunting foxes tomorrow. The miller's daughter would be good. Pretty hot, kind of a bitch—the sort of girl his technique didn't work well on.

A force collided with his stomach mid-stride and twisted and pulled upward. Prickling fear clenched his legs. His feet were no longer on the ground. Tears formed and were ripped from his cheeks by the air whipping around him.

And then he hit stone. He tumbled sideways but the wall stopped him. He was sore and processing his own anger but unhurt.

His hands picked floor from wall and he pushed himself to his feet. His jaw loosened as he took in the room. High ceilings and stone walls lifted the eye and made the masonry look lighter than stone should. Tapestries hung from the walls and a fine silk rug stretched across the floor. A warm rose-breeze gently rustled the canopy of the four-poster bed, coming from the tall doorways that opened onto a small private garden.

He was in a castle. In some noble's bedroom, a woman's, if the contents of the armoire he was searching through were any indication. He stowed the petticoat away and let the breeze draw him out toward the small garden.

If the fox had magic, that meant his wish should have come true. So this was like an opportunity to test it out? A countess or princess to charm would be a huge step up from the miller's daughter.

Arthur dug his fingernails into his pants and scratched at his thighs. Beneath the rough cloth, his body hair was vanishing, as if meticulously shaved. A slow, smooth feeling accompanied the gradual widening of his hips and reshaping of his legs.

Struck with curiosity, he returned to examining the armoire to get an idea of who lived here. Bending over, his ass stuck out just a little, tugging the seat of his pants more snugly around the softer shape.

Corsets, great, she'd probably be curvy. Dresses...he couldn't visualize a girl inside of them too well, but she didn't seem like she'd be unattractive. And he managed to dig up a bra and stick his fist inside the cup for comparison—and the cup was larger by a good amount. A high class woman and she'd have a great rack? That was just perfect.

Arthur stepped back with a shorter gait. His feet, shrinking, moved delicately across the silk rug. He paced around the open area of the room, taking it all in again, imagining what sort of woman might come through the door. As he passed the bed, his hips rocked from side to side. Past the armoire and he was up on his toes, past the door and his ass bounced against the seat of his pants. Rounding past the tapestry, his gait had become a full-on strut. When he sat down on the bed, there was a thick layer of padding between him and the goose-feather bed.

He leaned backward, fingers spread. He held himself up with his hands placed behind him, where they sank into the sheets. Lying there half-enveloped in soft fabric, his fingers grew slimmer. The nails which were worn down to the quick and dirty and cracked, were cleaned and smoothed. They were delicate and meticulously crafted into smooth white curves.

His broad shoulders shrank away. His muscular arms lost their tone by the second. What was left was lilting curves of faint muscles, only faint hints of what had been there before. Gone along with the wispy hair on the tops of his arms were the flecks of mud and remnants of hunting scars.

Something seemed wrong. A faint magical scent, like the air after a lightning strike, reached his nose. He lifted a delicate hand, held it in front of his face, and cursed.

"I'm gonna kill that fox."

Arthur sprung to his dainty feet, heels touching, walking in a quick strut. Halfway to the door, he stopped. He was in a castle he knew nothing about. There were guards in castles, and he was pretty clearly not supposed to be here. It wouldn't be a problem if he had a cute princess willing to vouch for him, but on his own he was fucked.

"Hear that?" he shouted. The fox might be gloating somewhere at Arthur's distress. "I'm going to shoot you, you dick."

The magic took its cue from Arthur's words. The slender-bodied young man let out a cry. His knees hit the carpet, then his palms. He lifted one hand to examine the situation. His delicate nails groped at his crotch. They wrapped around his package like a stranger's fingers, or a lover's, but not like his own. A throb of pain that wasn't pain surged through him, more like a sense of tightening vertigo. Then another, and with each throb, he shrank. There was less for his fingers to hold onto. Even squeezing them into his pants, even tugging at his shaft and balls, the sensation came again, and each time he was less of a man.

"Where are you hiding, you little bastard?" he demanded, crawling toward the bed. The mattresses served to prop him up as he pulled himself on top of them. "Come out and face me like a man!"

Arthur had made another poor choice of words, and it hit him like a slap across the face. He rolled over onto his back. His legs were spread wide with the pulsing, shrinking cock between his legs dwindling from view. He grimaced. Blood was rushing to his cheeks and lips and nose, face burning like russet rouge.

His lips puffed into tenderness, delicate with the gasping motions of his mouth. Bone was rounded and tugged, his chin softened and cheeks pulled higher, his jaw worn into a more feminine form.

His eyelashes batted as they thickened, eyes almost looking bigger, sparkling with the sunlight from the garden, tinged with tears of frustration. His clothes hung from his frame as if he were wearing the clothes of an older sibling. He had been six feet tall; now he was easily less than five-and-a-half. He sat up, and then a trembling mixture of pleasure and pain rippled through him. His back arched.

Arthur's cock let out its last tremor before it disappeared inside of him. Inside of her. Her hand reached down. She was afraid to touch it, afraid to feel what was surely not there. And she was right—it wasn't there. Her pride and joy was gone.

The tomboyish girl crawled off the bed and rose on soft feet. With a peasant's roughness, she repeated, "I'm going to fucking kill that fox."

"Princess?" The voice came out of nowhere from behind her.

Arthur's heart nearly broke through her ribs. Her eyes darted behind her. Someone knocked on the door loudly and said, "Excuse me, princess, but it's just about time for dinner. Are you dressed?"

A woman's voice, so probably a servant. Arthur couldn't see a way out from the room and garden except through the door. If the woman barged in, then...

"No! I'm naked right now so I'll need a few minutes!"

Her heart pounded. This wasn't going to work.

"Oh, all right dear," the maidservant said.

She'd still have to go out there. They were going to realize that she wasn't a princess. Or maybe this was part of the damn fox's big fucking plan, she thought. A snarl hung on her gentle face as she dug into the armoire.

Arthur didn't know how to dress a princess much less herself as a princess, so she started off simple. Panties, and since they were there with the panties, she also grabbed a pair of white stockings. Her slender fingers working up along her legs and unrolling the soft fabric brought purred delight from her throat and a violent blush to her cheeks. The fox might have put her in a girl's body, but she was still a tough hunter. Tough hunters didn't get excited about stockings. At least, they weren't supposed to.

She batted a lengthening lock of hair out of her face as she bent down to tug the white lace panties up around her hips. They fit snugly in a way she had never felt before, leaving her rubbing her legs together and chewing on her lip. She shouldn't have been getting so hot just putting on clothes.

Her once-short hair drooped to touch her shoulders and curled into tidy ringlets. Petticoat, that was easy—up around her waist, get it even all around, there you go. The whalebone corset was harder, as she had to pull it on, then try to lace it up from in front. Probably not how an actual girl did it but—oh fuck, that felt good when she got it tight. The flat-chested girl fidgeted, trying to catch her breath a little, while the corset squeezed her ribs inward.

Scratch flat-chested, she thought to herself. Peeking down at her chest she spotted a pair of mild mounds, no larger than a cupped hand, really, lifted by the corset. No time to worry about them, though they were increasingly distressing.

She tugged the first dress she could find off of its stand. Lacking any other knowledge of how to put on a dress, she tossed it over her head and tugged it down over her body. The midsection sat tight against her corset while the skirt billowed out thanks to her petticoat. The last piece was the alabaster white heels, stuffing her feet into them and taking a moment to take stock in a mirror.

She was a slender woman, with golden ringlets that fell down to her shoulders. The purple dress looked regal on her with its coiling arcs of silver trim. The dress was cut around her shoulders but with little to reveal, it sagged slightly. Softened lips pursed, she walked toward the door. The skirt trailed behind her slightly as she walked and her shoes batted at the front of it. The small motion, grasping the skirt by thumb and forefinger, lifting gently, was too natural.

They would take her and restrain her somewhere if she tried to run. The best thing Arthur could hope to do was play along, find an excuse to get out of the castle, and then find and throttle the fox until he turned her back.

"Fuck," Arthur sighed to herself as she opened the door. All of the clothes she had squeezed herself into were getting her hot, and not in terms of temperature. It was pissing her off and getting her horny.

The maidservant was an older woman—older than Arthur the man by maybe a few years, but older than Arthur the princess by a good five or six years. Arthur was pleased at the very least that she found the servant attractive, as it meant he was still mostly himself, even if he was getting off on being dolled up.

"Ah, good. Hopefully we won't be too late. Come along now!" The maid led the way and Arthur trailed a pace behind.

Arthur looked her up and down, the slight bounce in her hair, the dress she was wearing, the way her breasts were teasingly visible. The wish should be working, right? Anything she'd say, the maid would think it was cute. Might as well try her luck.

In a pouted whine, she said, "I'm ho-oorny. Can we go somewhere and fuck please?"

Her eyes widened and her dainty fingers clapped over her mouth. That hadn't come out the way she'd wanted to say it at all. Her cheeks rose slowly, looking more perfectly pinchable, especially when they flushed red.

The maid just shook her head and laughed. "You're so adorable!"

Arthur pouted furiously. His lips swelled into soft cushions in a sensual curve which only helped to underscore how cute she was. Rubbing at the corner of her thickening lips, Arthur got a bit of her pink lipstick on her finger. She looked at it in disgust.

"I'm super serious! You're really hot and I wanna sleep with you," Arthur said. She hoped that sex would be an avenue to escaping the castle.

"Miss Arlette, if you keep that up I'm going to have to hug you." The maid smiled down at her.

"I'm not being cuuute," Arlette whined. She huffed softly. Oh damn it, now she was using the princess name too.

The maid patted her on the head and stroked her ringlet curls. "I don't think that's possible, miss," she said.

Arlette stomped a delicate shoe and pouted fiercely with her plump, pink lips. She could only catch glimpses of the makeup spreading her face in the corners of her eyes, but she knew that her face was being made up with rouge and eyeliner and everything needed to make her so feminine that it hurt.

The maid announced Arlette's presence before she came into the dining hall, too upset to admire the tall ceilings and colorful banners. Guards stood at the doors to the room, looking on quietly. Her seat was the empty one, next to the tall chairs for the old but regal couple sitting at the head of the table. Luckily, she thought, the king and queen didn't seem too interested in talking to their 'daughter', so she could stare down at her plate and delicately jab at the pheasant with her fork. She needed a chance to escape, but she had no clue when she would get one.

"Arlette, dear," the queen said during a lull in the conversation. Arlette looked up, reflexively responding to a name she'd had for less than ten minutes. "How have you been?"

An idea rose through Arlette's mind.

"I've really wanted to go hunting. Could I go out to the forest tomorrow?" she asked.

The king snorted. "I hardly think you could even draw a bow, much less hunt."

Arlette pushed back her chair and stood up. "Hey, you," she called out to one of the guards standing by the door. "Give me your bow!"

The guard looked from Arlette to the king. The king nodded and the guard lifted the bow from his back and passed it to the princess.

Arlette held it confidently, grip in one hand, fingers on the bowstring, and nnnnrgh. Why wasn't it moving? Hnngh—the string twanged faintly, plucked more like the string of a harp than a bow.

"Arlette—" the queen said.

"Just let me do it!" she snapped. Fuck you, fox. You can't take this from me. Her teeth clenched, she tugged back on the string, slowly bending it. Every joint in her arm hurt, as if it all might snap off if she let go. The string dug into her fingers. Without the callouses there, it hurt.

Arlette let go, and the string snapped against her chest, whipped at her arm, and hummed as the bow fell from her hands onto the floor.

Her eyes glistened with tears and her lips trembled. The king rose to comfort her. But with a sob, Arlette dashed out of the hall. She didn't know where she was going, but she was angry at herself, angry at the fox, in pain, and still achingly horny.

Arlette collapsed onto the bed in her room, shoulders shaking with her soft cries while her hips trembled. She dabbed at her eyes, instinctively trying to keep her makeup from running. No. No! She wasn't supposed to have makeup. Or long hair, or a cute pout, or breasts.

Arlette sniffled and looked down. ...Or breasts. Her delicate fingers reached around them and squeezed. There was no doubt that they were larger. In fact, if she kept her eyes on them, she could see as the fabric of the dress shifted, sitting out comfortably around her bosom. As the corset underneath slowly shifted to accommodate her heavier bust it put more pressure on her waist.

Her back was against the bed, one hand at her chest, the other digging through her skirt and her petticoat to find her panties. She couldn't stand the pent-up heat. Her dedication to being male, to insisting she was still male inside, wavered.

A pounding came from the door. "Miss Arlette?" her maid asked.

"What?" she snapped, red-cheeked, fingers on the silk surface of her panties.

"You have a suitor arriving shortly. You were supposed to meet him after dinner, but I'll send him to your room when he comes," the maid called through the door.

Arlette was excited—no she wasn't! Yes she was, because a suitor meant she could relieve her lusts. Yeah, but with a guy. She didn't want that! She'd have to make sacrifices if she wanted to get through this. That didn't make it okay!

Her breasts jiggled faintly under her corset as she made her way to her armoire. A pair of silver earrings and a silver necklace she plucked from the jewelry box and wore with a proud smile. She found a bottle of perfume and sprayed it against the sides of her neck, enveloping her in a floral scent to match the petal-silkiness of her skin.

She didn't want to be dolling herself up, but at the same time, this was a chance to get rid of the powerful, pounding need inside of her. So she allowed herself to touch up her makeup, to brush her hair, to fix up her curls.

Her heels, demanding poise, clicked on the stone path around her little garden. She plucked a lily, gently perched it in her hair, then smoothed out her dress and tried to breathe slowly and not rub her legs together.

Arlette compulsively primped while she waited, until she heard the door open. The maid told her suitor that Arlette was in her garden, and she smiled at him as he came down the steps.

He was a handsome young man, a mane of dark hair, strong eyes, a forceful jaw, but a softness in his brow and lips that spoke of highborn blood. Arlette was simultaneously delighted and disgusted at herself.

"Hello! My name is Arlette," she said, rising to her feet, curtsying, then taking a step closer to him.

"I—I'm sorry," her suitor said.

Arlette hid a tremble. "What ever do you mean?"

"I can't. You're too cute," he said.

Arlette's eyes widened. Her lower lip wobbled. She leaned forward, trying to push her breasts together with her arms.

"I'm not cute! I'm a naughty slut. I need your dick hard," she whined, like she was about to throw a tantrum for not getting her way.

"That'd be hot, but... You make it sound adorable," the prince said. His cheeks were faintly red. He was frowning and looking off to the side and slowly backing away.

"It's not adorable! My little pussy wants your cock sooo baaad," she cooed with wide kitten eyes. She reached out, trying to grab his shoulder and his crotch, but with one hand and a gentle push, he kept her at bay.

"I'm terribly sorry, I'll just go. You deserve someone a lot better-looking than me," her suitor said, leaving the garden with Arlette on his heels.

"I'll suck your cock! I'll even swallow, or you can get it all over my face. You can tie me up! Make me fuck a donkey, I don't care!"

Arlette walked into the door as it was closing and toppled back onto the floor. A few tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, tears of combined frustration and anger. She hiked up her skirt and petticoat, pouting as if that would stop her tears, and pushed a hand between her legs.

She was gonna kill that fucking...


She was gonna find that naughty Mister Fox and make him undo all that mean stuff he'd done to her.