Cursey's Wolf

[The following is an original short story featuring my OC, Cursey, and a female anthro wolf character. Content includes growth; shrinking; portal-play/interdimensional involvement; furry; feeding/weightgain; breasts; grabbing/holding; vore; footwear/paws.

Cursey is my artistic persona, but is not a direct reflection of myself or my life. While this story does draw inspiration from real-life emotions, I do not recommend coming to any one-to-one conclusions/assumptions between Cursey the character and Curse Crazy the writer. Thank you.]

It had gotten out of hand. In some span of months that went by in a blink, Cursey’s zone had fallen into disarray, neglected and nearly abandoned during that time, her work having been staggered and subsequently stalled. It had been a slow decay, but it happened so quick; before Cursey had realized it, her labyrinthian library had become a complex of incomplete ideas, a maze that inspired confusion rather than curiosity or creativity.

“...I can’t work like this,” she complained, standing in the middle of her own mess, disgusted by disorganized bookshelves and blank sheets. “How did it get like this…?”

The Wolf rumbled with amusement, a hummed howl that could be heard from not so far away. She was always listening to Cursey’s murmuring, her keen ears following the witch like she were prey hunted in her own den. The beast taunted her with that knowing tone in her chuckle, well-familiarized by then of Cursey’s habits – not merely her habit of thinking aloud, but of the sins Cursey was guilty of, that which were the reason her library was in such disrepair: slothfulness. The Wolf licked her chops, hungry to feast on exactly that trait.

“It’s too late to fix it,” the Wolf called out casually. “Come here instead~ Don’t let it bother you so much~”

That had normally been enough to compel Cursey previously, and it very well tempted her into turning her attention away from the disorder of her workspace, but she resisted. Or at least, she hesitated, staring at the consequences of her hapless storytraveling – portals into story worlds left open, unresolved, the tales she had stepped into and began writing, only to stop short, somewhere stuck in the middle, left open like unfinished books. These windows allowed the stories to leak, and just as ink, elements spilled through her library and into each other's worlds. From dimensional rifts came various tropes brought to life, ranging from inch-high armies that marched across a foreign floor, to giant hands that reached blindly for something to discover and grab. All were lost in Cursey’s library, detached from their original stories and lacking a narrative to be routed to, and they would continue to be so as long as she delayed her writing duties, the characters cluttering her estate as much as they cluttered her mind.

“Overthinking again?” the Wolf chuckled. The floorboards and furniture creaked as she shifted position, wherever she was. “It won’t do anything. If you’re going to fall victim to a bad habit, it might as well be one you enjoy~”

Cursey tried ignoring the Wolf’s words, yet found herself creeping around the corner, peering past a bookshelf upon the black-furred creature that had burdened her library all these months. The Wolf had made Cursey’s lair into a lounge, sprawled over a wide couch that had since been dented in the middle where she laid daily, its legs comically ready to snap; one more growth spurt was all it would take. Cursey could barely remember the Wolf’s original size from when she first wandered out of a left-open story portal – a proper big bad wolf, an antagonist that fed off the woes of others. She appeared unassuming at first, as misplaced as any other character, but Cursey’s negativity proved to be plentiful, a daily diet of laziness, procrastination, and distraction, all traits she encouraged out of the author, everyday growing a little bigger, a little harder to refuse.

And each day, Cursey submitted to the Wolf’s whims, too easily convinced to leave her writing behind. The Wolf was devilishly alluring to all of Cursey’s senses, charmingly sly and bold, designed with hypnotic curves that her fur made especially tempting to grope; the large ears and eyes of a stalking beast, a way of looking at Cursey that grabbed her by the heart like jaws on a rabbit. They made fast friends at first, bonding over eating and smoking and an unwillingness to work, their evenings spent together in idle dimness – and often intimately together, the Wolf plainly content to let Cursey act on lust, knowing what it uniquely drained her of. Cleverly aware of this influence, the Wolf played to Cursey’s tastes in order to satisfy her own, performing a casual seductiveness to occupy the witch’s routine, such as how she posed herself then on the breaking couch, her ass on its side and aimed outward, her bushy tail waving as invitation.

“Are you ever going to leave?” Cursey asked, leering into the shadows that blurred the Wolf’s blackness. “You’re half the reason this library is such a wreck…” She glared at the evidence of the Wolf’s messiness, so much knocked over by careless movements, even more pushed aside intentionally so that she had room to maneuver.

“It’s not like it’s getting much use,” the Wolf scoffed, adjusting so that she was turned over – the poor couch whined under the pressure, even its arms strained by the foot-paws that were kicked on top. She sighed, “I’ll leave soon~ For now, don’t you want a hit…? I was just about to load the bowl.”

Cursey’s lip curled against the offer. “You’ve helped yourself to enough of my stuff,” she said dryly. “No more. Get up, find your original story, and go home.”

“Mmm…! But I like it here~ It’s cozy…!” The Wolf’s whine was sharp and cute, contrasting the quakes of her size moving upwards into a bestial stretch. Snap– the boards of the couch could handle no more of her twisting, the material bursting into a structureless nest from which she rose from. Cursey flinched – not at her furniture being dismantled, but by the scale the Wolf had reached, a height that had been mostly hidden when she was laid down and curled up; she was the culmination of Cursey’s bad habits, a goliath whose head peered past the top shelves of the library, not just taller but fatter as well, plusher all around and bearing a full belly. The Wolf boasted her enhanced figure knowingly, reaching up to emphasize her tallness, and specifically how she compared to Cursey, skinny and shy, standing up to her like a doll anxious about being played with.

A step closer, a lean forward – the Wolf consumed Cursey’s vision, grinning teasingly. “You don’t really want me gone, do you…? I’d hate to part ways with such a cute, little witch~”

“You’re way past your expiration date,” Cursey sighed, maintaining a chilly composure. “Look at how big I’ve let you get… Twenty-four feet tall?” She shuddered, realizing precisely how big a mere twenty-four feet could be – compared to the vast sizes and scales she was used to observing, either through others or as herself. Such a height should not have been so staggering, yet faced with the Wolf, all of her experience with sizes failed to matter. “So this is what my negativity has added up to…”

The Wolf’s hands sloped her thighs enticingly as she knelt lower, her bust perked forward as if ready to be dropped onto Cursey’s head. “You’ve given me a very full figure,” she giggled, jostling her enhanced heft for emphasis, and then crouching down to her knees to corner her host. “This is what you wanted – so have it~”

Cursey’s arms were taken into huge, furry fists and forced upward, her hands directed to dive into the Wolf’s bosom that hung overhead. Her fingers disappeared into the softness and fluff, unable to be drawn back, not while the Wolf had her grasped; likewise was her face shoved against the beast’s stomach, a pillow that muffled her complaints and outright spoke over her with a grumble of hunger. She gasped just before being slammed by that plushness, squished between the Wolf’s rotundness and the shelves behind her, from which books were knocked loose and dropped by the lustful impact. There was sparse relief when the Wolf withdrew, just to squeeze Cursey again with renewed tightness, humping her with a slow-paced and suffocating rhythm.

“Mhm~ Saying something?” the Wolf wondered, peering down the canyon of her cleavage to where Cursey’s moppy hair was visible. “Thanking me for reminding you of what you have…? Or are you just gasping for air?” She peeled back, only enough to feel Cursey’s frame depress from her belly so that she could sample the witch’s weakness. Already was Cursey red-faced and out of breath, her arms sore from being gripped, but the Wolf’s restlessness increased, as if tasting the submission when she licked her lips and swallowed.

The Wolf sat with a powerful thump, then rolled onto her back, dragging Cursey up and along with her so that she was pulled and draped across the stomach, beached upon a black-furred hill that wobbled from its own weight. Chairs and a table behind the Wolf became debris without any extra effort, breaking apart piece by piece under the wave of body mass. Cursey cringed at the crackling noise of her belongings, attempting again to be free and peel off the Wolf, but when she tried, a paw hooked her hips and hugged her back down, positioned so that her head was smothered between the heavy breasts. She saw the Wolf’s smirk just before her face was buried into the chest fluff and swirled into the bosom, treated as harsh as a washcloth, thrust side to side while her arms struggled to even reach around either globe. Without a wall at her back, Cursey could kick and squirm marginally more, but the hold on her ass was irrefutable; the Wolf was allowing her to strain herself, cherishing the slow and gradual defeat of prey trying and inevitably surrendering.

With little power needed to keep Cursey in tow, the Wolf rolled to one side so she could casually turn over and reach for something else. A joint, still embering from an overfilled ashtray, was plucked between her two large fingers; the long inhale was enunciated by claws clenching into Cursey’s back, equating the two as her belongings. Smoke exited the Wolf’s nose, exhaled down her chest and over Cursey’s face, sharing specifically the scent that so often made the writer concede. The Wolf smugly kicked one leg over the other, relaxing and taking another generous hit through her fangs while she felt Cursey drift into low-energy limpness.

Another noise resonated from the belly beneath Cursey – the Wolf huffed, “So hungry…” She always was, as around her den in the library were trays and plates left behind from past gluttonous sprees, of which Cursey was known to join in on, cast with a similar appetite. “Let’s just eat again~ Why don’t you pull something delicious out from one of those portals?”

Her suggestion was truthfully a test of Cursey’s will, or lack thereof. The one-handed hug around Cursey was relieved, but the witch stayed plastered into the furry torso, no longer itching to get away. She rose tepidly, using the boobs before her as handles to budge herself through dizziness, eventually lifting herself to a mounted seat upon the Wolf’s roundness. Their eyes met; while the Wolf was sly with the joint held in her smile, Cursey appeared dizzy and done, seemingly under the Wolf’s slothful spell once more.

“...Fine. Let’s eat.” Cursey turned and gently slid down the Wolf’s front, down between her legs which parted permissibly for her to exit, a v-shape of fur that directed her to a collapsed pile of hardcover books. She sighed and knelt over the selection, sorting out the choices that had a magical glow – an indication of a portal left open between the pages. The Wolf loomed just behind her, still oppressively big even while sitting; she observed closely, more eager to eat than she was trying to keep an eye on Cursey. Cursey paid her only a glance as she picked out a story and revealed the rift within. “Whatever. This’ll do.”

“Feed me~” the Wolf giggled, leaning in close enough that her breasts surrounded Cursey’s shoulders, each the weight of an entire person. Her mouth hung open past the author’s head, her long throat cavernous and yawning, almost drooling with want. “Give me something tasty~”

Cursey groaned at her impatience, but otherwise obeyed by reaching into the world of words, scouring the other side as if rummaging through a clustered purse. She made sense of the terrain by touch alone, figuring quickly that she had dug into a metropolis – a model-sized version of a sprawling city, its plot line derailed by a giant pale-skinned hand appearing randomly from the sky. Those black-painted nails raked through blocks of buildings, uprooting infracture and inhabitants into a fist that dripped with excess rubble. The abducted area was then pulled through the portal and into the vast library, where Cursey’s uncaring gaze was cast upon the survivors in her hand, coldly analyzed for their worth as a snack.

“...Here. Have this.”

The Wolf hummed happily as she lurched lower to the offering, taking whatever she was given. Her bestial mouth clamped around Cursey’s wrist, and with a twisted lick, her tongue wiped clean the civilization that had been taken, instantly consuming the handful in a single gulp, and leaving Cursey’s arm slobbered on. It was a few dozen lives and several skyscrapers, but it all amounted to just one bite to the Wolf. “That was basically nothing,” she remarked, using the tip of her tongue to pick out a straggler from her teeth. “Tasty, though. What was that?”

“Some… city. Damn. I forgot the name of it.” Cursey looked back at the pages – the paper, not the portal. “I was writing something… until I stopped.”

The Wolf shrugged, a motion that jostled Cursey under her. “Whatever it’s called, I like it. Have anything more written up~?”

Cursey’s focus lingered on the book, watchful of how the words disappeared right off the pages as a result of her interference. It pulled her curiosity, to consider rewriting and continuing what she had done in the story, especially now that it had been so derailed – but the Wolf nudged her, urging her to find more to eat rather than muse more fiction. “It ain’t like these stories are even gonna get finished,” the creature chortled, shoving aside stray hardcovers that were scattered nearby. “Is anyone even reading this stuff?”

Another book was chosen out of the pile, similarly glowing from within. Cursey sighed as she dipped her hand inside another world, gripping the first writhing thing she touched. She only glanced at the character briefly, a frazzled female scientist squeaking and protesting, before handing the prize off to the Wolf. The doll-sized victim was hardly a morsel, and so while she was being swallowed, Cursey was already searching again for someone or something else, dimly deciding on another story world and repeating the portaling process.

But every serving was so small to the Wolf, insignificant to her grand appetite. Protagonists and plot lines alike were consumed, some Cursey thought fondly of for only a flickered moment before adding the element to the feast, washed away and forgotten. Feeding that hunger was compulsive, no matter how empty it felt for her; the Wolf was overwhelming, obtrusive until satisfied, and so difficult to turn down and deny due to her wicked charm and tempting personality. Within the grasp of the Wolf, Cursey was a ragdoll – spineless and cold, pooled into the confines of the monster’s lap, convinced to continue reaping any contents from her writing.

Writing that was wasting away. Worlds left unread, forsaken to the beast, fading like smoke.

Cursey exhaled a cloud – awarded a joint by the Wolf, encouragement to keep feeding – as her eyes fell upon the next and last book from the pile she procured. It must have been mixed in by mistake, for there was no active portal; the story she had was complete, and thinly dusted from age, concluded long ago. The title made her pause, and gently, she flipped to one of the first sections.

A rumble came from the belly pillowed behind her. The Wolf laid a claw under Cursey’s chin, trying to tilt her attention back onto herself. “Isn’t there any more?” she asked, salivating still. “Or are you out of ideas…? Huhu…”

Cursey didn’t reply. A paragraph had captivated her, then the next, and onwards to another page. Her nose tingled, her eyes squinted – immersed in a world with no portal needed. Though her gaze was as bleak as usual, behind her unblinking expression was a subtle warmth of a candle relit – creativity.

“...There’s still more,” Cursey answered, pressed to respond when the Wolf hugged her breasts in the clutch of one paw. Unbothered by the groping-grab, the writer streaked a finger down a page of the book, slicing open a narrow entrance that she could pinch something from. It was offered like everything else: a bottle, delicate and miniature, containing a relative droplet of something pinkish-red. “Something for the dry mouth…?”

“Oh, yes~ But…” the Wolf agreed, amused however with what little there was to drink. To a creature as large as her, would it even wet her tongue? She claimed it between her fingertips, making it appear even smaller in scale. She wondered what sort of world Cursey withdrew the drink from, before casting it to her maw, glass and all, certain it would have the same effective taste of the witch’s other odd creations.

True enough, the liquid was nearly nothing to the Wolf’s saliva, but the flavor was successfully sour. The Wolf licked her lips back and forth, grazing the fur of her snout as she stretched that taste across her mouth. Her tongue tacked with a bitter tone; “Geh… What the hell did you come up with…?”

Too late did the Wolf begin to realize what kind of trick was being pulled. Her heart sank as she grabbed at her muzzle, regretting her sloth-like absentmindedness, until the feeling of dark magic sparked inside her. She stood in a surge, dropping Cursey aside on the library floor; the Wolf swayed and groaned, catching herself hard against one of the bookcases – a wall of shelves that she no longer peered over, that were growing taller around her as the curse took effect. Her tail whipped and her paws stomped, but no amount of fury could stop her from dwindling smaller, quickly losing the height and power that had taken her weeks of Cursey’s bad habits to acquire. Shelf after shelf passed her, until she was felled on her knees, shrunken to her lowest: a foot-tall runt of a wolf, no longer worthy of the big-bad descriptor.

In the pangs of a sizeshifting-induced headache, the Wolf reeled at what dawned upon her. From where she had been pushed down, Cursey rose to her feet, upwards to a stance that loomed over the Wolf, regardless of her slouched stature. Mary-Janes bullied the Wolf back with every step forward, cornering the creature to where she had nowhere left to whimper, and closer still did Cursey come, kneeling down and reaching low. Both hands clasped the Wolf, callous and commanding; like a stuffed animal, the Wolf was lifted by her waist, now the possession instead of the possessor.

“This makes you more manageable,” Cursey confirmed, easily turning and twisting the Wolf in her grasp, each motion producing a worried howl or yelp. She manipulated her as she wished, bony fingers feeling around fatty features and wherever else they pleased, exploring the furry crevices between her legs and beneath her bosom – the same casual humiliation the Wolf had put Cursey through, concentrated into a moment of payback. “Maybe playing with you should be my new habit,” the writer mused. “Maybe what I’ve needed is a stress toy to help me concentrate.”

“H-Hold on! I-I thought we were having fun!” the Wolf pleaded, strained to speak when rotated upside-down and with her ass in the air. “Wh-What happened to smoking together?! D-Don’t you want to eat something, too?! O-Or we can just cuddle!”

Cursey seemed strictly disinterested in making any deal, yet leverage was lost when the Wolf squirmed suddenly – shrunken just slightly more, smaller enough to slip out of the witch’s hands and be dropped to the floor. She landed on all-fours, from which she was punted in the rear, struck behind by the toe of Cursey’s footwear. Another kick was at the ready, prompting the Wolf to scurry and clamber up a collapse of books – more worlds left open, their portals waiting.

“Find yourself a new story to be a burden in,” Cursey demanded, “or else I’ll have to write you one myself.”

With one final whimper, the Wolf fled as told. She quickly flipped open to the middle of a story and burrowed into the portal, interjecting herself upon some other world – a tale Cursey would not be reading nor writing soon, as she decidedly took, shut, then shelved the book. She sighed conclusively and leaned her back against that corner of the bookcase, putting behind her that overextended streak of trouble.

But merely sealing the Wolf away was not the solution. Ahead of her, scattered messily through her library, was the work she still had to do. The Wolf was a burden, but not the problem – Cursey had only herself to blame for the unkempt conditions, and had only herself to be expected to fix it. She strode above spilled-over scenes from various stories, sweeping with her feet some of the characters and set pieces back into their nearby portals, to her desk where she had a stack of papers and a well of ink. The quill was heavy to lift, but familiar to hold; writing appeared, and thus Cursey began building another world.

Wars ceased in the vast shadow that had spawned across the continent, eclipsing the sun from restless nations and factions. In a world of never-ending political battles, something completely different arrived – a furry beast from afar, a different fiction entirely, dimensionally displaced and distorted. Soldiers and citizens alike looked to the sky where a heavyweight titan had arrived without warning, a miles-tall monster that observed the land before her with an immediately noticeable appetite. Her mood resonated in the air and earth, every sway its own event; her arms crossed and her knees bent, indicators that she could hardly resist any longer.

“Am I interrupting something~?” the Wolf wondered aloud, instantly pleased to feel the power of her own voice. She grinned wide and wickedly, clearly preferring to be big and bad than to be small and scared. A foreboding paw was left hovering above a distinct line of terrain – a battlefield where two armies clashed, their armaments amounting to nothing under the padded sole. Her toes curled teasingly as she spoke; “Don’t let me stop you,” she chuckled, “I want you to keep fighting. That witch was fun, but this – mm~! – is a whole world I can feed off of…!”