The Jewel Thief

    It was witching hour and the side streets of Farspire were covered in snow and shadow. A subtle creaking sound plagued one particular alleyway. A gentle winter breeze was causing a wooden sign to sway on it's hinges. Below it stood a little fox, black of fur and clad head to toe in rags. "This looks to be the place" he whispered to himself, squinting his emerald gaze to read the sign in the inky midnight darkness. Fumbling with his hodgepodge tools, the urchin began to play with the lock. 

    He made his way in after a few minutes. His growls and curses were hushed by his desire to remain unnoticed. The door was hefty and at least three times the height of the fox, maybe larger. It was clearly made to accommodate taller races. As foxes are in general quite small, our thief had to push it open with his shoulder. Peering around the shop, deserted of any customer or merchant, he looked satisfied. This seemed to be the place alright. All around the fox laid shelf after shelf of magical items. Potions, scrolls, elixirs, baubles, knick-knacks, rare artifacts and even enchanted weapons and armor were all on display and ripe for the taking. "Jackpot" mumbled the thief. His muzzle began to water at the thought of all the lavish meals he could afford after this score. Licking his chops, he dropped an empty sack at his feet. Scurrying from shelf to shelf the fox hurriedly began to fill it with loot.

    However this particular fox was not a lucky creature. One might think that was evident from his circumstances. Abandoned at a young age he had been forced to beg, scavenge, and steal. His criminal activities rarely left him with much coin, so he was poorly fed, thin, weak, and often in poor health. Natural luck was hard to come by for the boy, and tonight was no exception.

    "CRASH!" echoed through the small shop as shards of glass, clay, and other assorted fragments spread across the floor. In his efforts to grab something off a high shelf the fox had climbed atop it.... and knocked it over. "Fuck oh fuck!" shrieked the fox, quickly leaping off the shelf as it fell, tumbling towards his sack full of goodies. He yanked the sack over his shoulder and had just started towards the door when he noticed something queer. The door and window were consumed in an eerie purple glow. They slammed shut. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck" the vulgar fox repeated like an incantation, dropping his bag as he tugged on the door with his sharp vulpine claws.

    Then he felt something grip him. It didn't grab him by the scruff of the neck no. It felt like his whole body was being lifted equally. His ears, his tail, even the coal-colored fur that covered his body felt a tug that raised him about three feet off the ground. For a fox that barely measured two feet tall, this was disconcerting. His head spun, his eyes darted from corner to corner in the unlit shop. He saw noone. His search was interrupted when found himself pressed against a wall, and his invisible attacker made themself known.

    "I'm afraid we're closed." came a husky, male-sounding voice from atop the stairs leading to the owner's abode on the second floor. "But I think you already knew that, didn't you?" Teased the unknown man. With a simple flick of his finger, a radiant white stream of light circled through the air. It twisted through the isles of wares before curling up inside a lantern hanging in the middle of the shop. It took a few moments for the thief's eyes to adjust to the light. Those emerald orbs contracted, his lids narrowed. He tried to shield his eyes with his arm.... but he found it nearly impossible to move at all. 

    In the light the thief could finally get a look at his assailant. Roused from his slumber at an ungodly hour the creature wore only undergarments. He bore horns that nearly scraped the ceiling as he walked, growing ever closer to the fox. His physique was well-fed but strong, with only a little extra roundness to his otherwise muscular form. Short brown fur covered his body, save for the milky cream-colored fur on his stomach and chin. 'A stag?' thought the fox, gulping as he swallowed his fear. It was merciful comfort in some ways of course. A known herbivore wouldn't begin ripping him to shreds and devouring his flesh, at least. Those types of things were permitted when it comes to predators and home defense after all. Animal instinct gets a pass. What wasn't a comfort was the insane size difference. Standing from hoof to skull, stags were typically around eight feet tall, about four times the height of a fox.
    
    Inside the mind of our little thief, gears began to turn. How could he possibly make it out of this unscathed? Magic? He knew none, and this man was clearly an expert. Brawn? No. Just.... No. Smarts? "So little one, I'll ask you only once. Just what could have possibly brought you here to my shop?" asked the stag, narrowing his gaze as he stopped mere inches away from the fox pinned to the wall at chest-height. The stag huffed. The overbearing warmth of his breath washed over the fox. "Y-yer wha? I...'hic' this aint my house?" stammered the fox, hurriedly, and desperately trying to play off his actions as that of a harmless drunkard stumbling home from the tavern. Perhaps this merchant was either kind-hearted, or dumb enough to fall for it. Maybe he'd even find it amusing?

    A snort left the deer's muzzle. "Mmmmm. Funny, and a little sad. Here I go giving you one chance..." With a snap off his fingers, a ripping sound plagued the fox's delicate little ears. It sounded like so many rags being torn at once it was deafening. He yelped. He flinched. Immediately he looked around to find the source of the noise. Then, he realized it felt a bit drafty. "Ack!" he shrieked, trying to cover himself to no avail, leaving his body naked and exposed to the eye of the shopkeeper. "...One chance to be honest with me, maybe plead your case. Instead, you lied. Truly you are a wicked little creature, hmm?" asked the stag. "Answer me." he demanded, bringing his hand up to grab the thief's muzzle, forcing their gaze to meet. The stag's eyes were a natural burning amber, but flecked with blue brilliant as a shining jewel, the result of many years spent manipulating mana. "No! I'm not wicked!" shouted the fox in his own defense, growling and squirming in an attempt to free himself from the wall and the magical binds that kept him pinned.

    "Another lie. I suppose you leave me no choice...." mused the stag stepping away to pick up the fox's ill gotten gains, a bag overflowing with the shopkeeper's magical baubles. "You've filled your sack with my things, so I think I have a fitting punishment. I'm going to empty your sack of what's precious to you." He chuckled, sporting a grin at his own schemes. The thief actually dared sputter a sigh of relief. 'Thank goodness!' he thought. It was easy to part with his stolen possessions if it meant he could get the heck out of this shop, especially if it meant the guard wouldn't be called. "O-okay..." he agreed, giving a slow and measured nod.

    The stag dropped the bag on the floor, carefully of course, as he didn't want to damage any of his wares. "I'm glad you agree. It's a fitting punishment." the stag laughed, digging around on a shelf for a pot, an empty potion bottle, and a small brush. As he approached with his hooves clack-clacking on the wooden floor of the shop, the stag's eyes seemed transfixed on the fox's crotch. "H-hey... stop..." mumbled the fox, feeling the desire to cover himself grow even more. He felt violated. The stag seemed to enjoy that. Smiling, he whispered "Quiet now." as he made another hand gesture. The thief opened his muzzle once more.... but nothing happened. His jaw waggled, his tongue flicked, his lungs huffed but in his throat the fox simply couldn't find his voice.

    Now that there was no interruption, the shopkeep could finally get back to the punishment at hand. After setting the empty bottle on a shelf behind him he dipped the brush into the jar. Purple paint glistened and shined with the light of the lantern. Drawing closer to the now mute fox, the stag began running his hands over the fool's body. "You know, you are quite cute despite that corrupt little aura of yours." murmured the stag, drawing a thick, strong finger digit down the fox's stomach. "I think you'll grow quite accustomed to the new you, you might not even want me to reverse the spell... after all... you're not losing much." The word 'much' was punctuated with a firm pinch on the fox's sheath. 'What the hell was this?' thought the fox. 'The sack is right behind him. When the hell is he going to let me down?'. He grew ever more uncomfortable with the touching. Though, strangely, some part of it felt right. Well, at least for a moment.

    It was while the stag was massaging his tiny little fox grapes that it clicked, though it would take a while to put his thoughts together. The fox was more than a little distracted. Those strong hands rolled his orbs around in his tight, compact little coin purse. It had his mind swimming. He'd never been touched like that before. Frankly, it was driving him wild. The shopkeeper snorted. He was clearly amused at the sight of the fox's minuscule little cock poking out of his sheath. "Yes. Very cute..." murmured the stag, giving that tiny cock a non-magical flick with his finger. That caused the fox to squirm in pleasure. A single bead of pre formed on the fox's two-inch length, causing it to shimmer. By the time he felt those digits returning to his sack, gently pinching and tugging on his nuts, he finally realized which sack the shopkeeper had meant. I mean, why was the shopkeeper so interested in this, his other sack? 'Oh' he thought, and all at once those hands on his balls were not just invasive, but terribly threatening.
    
    He began fighting against the spell with renewed vigor, causing his stiff little fox rod to leap and bounce in the air with every squirm. Of course, this only amused the stag further, causing him to outright guffaw. "Finally figured it out, hmmmm? Yeah. This tiny little sack is going to be empty until you cleanse your aura." commanded the stag in way that was... a little too matter-of-fact for comfort. "It's not a big deal... literally." teased the stag, looking over the minuscule little package in front of him poignantly. "You better stay still though, you wouldn't want me to mess this up, you might lose more than I intend." With those words of warning, he began drawing on the thief's toy-sized nut sack with the brush. It was some home-brew spell of some type, clearly. Though it was difficult to fit all the runes that were necessary on such a small space. Once he finished, two carefully-painted runes clearly marked each testicle. The fox however could see nothing. He could only feel the cold, damp paint as it marked his fur. If he could make a sound it would be clear that he was whimpering. It's hard to say just how displeased he was with the turn of events though. His miniature canine cock was stiff as could be, throbbing and twitching in the air with all the excitement of a fox seeking a rut. Precum flowed from his tip. It likely contained the last traces of seed he'd ever spill.

    "All finished with the prep work" Muttered the stag, getting off his knees and taking a step back to admire his work. 'The bastard...' thought the fox as he saw something unmistakable before him. Inside the shopkeeper's undergarments was the clear outline of his bulge. It ran down his leg,  semi-firm and tugging at the fabric with every throb. '...He's enjoying this!' fumed the fox, scowling even though all the while the thought sent a queer shiver up his spine. It made him nibble on his lip as his head started to spin. For some reason he started to wonder what the stag's maleness looked like outside those garments, or, perhaps, even what they tasted like. His nose wiggled as he sniffed the air, tasting that scent. He bashfully sampled the smell of the stag's arousal with a blush on his cheeks.

    The stag closed his eyes and outstretched his arms. It was time. It started with whispering that the fox couldn't quite hear, but he could certainly feel the effects. It was cold, like an arctic breeze had just slipped up his inner thighs and tickled his tiny plums. He squirmed and thrashed, causing his cute package to bounce around violently. The cold increased, gripping and wrapping around his teeny orbs like a sheet of ice, causing a dull sting to creep through his torso. The chanting grew louder, but just as intelligible. To the fox of course the words were all gibberish. That bitter cold was soon replaced with searing heat. It felt like he'd been shoved against a wood-burning stove, with his little fox plums slammed inside the grill. They were baking! He opened his mouth to howl, but of course nothing came. Then, with one final shout from the stag it stopped. The fox was relieved at first of course, but then he noticed the change. There was no chill, no heat, but there was also no feeling at all. There was only void. It was that moment that he noticed something peculiar on the shelf. Now of course this wasn't a time for browsing knick-knacks, so he wasn't likely to give it a second look. However, something drew his eyes back to the small bottle. It's contents felt familiar. Inside the bottle, floating in some kind of glowing white liquid were his little testicles, no larger than grapes. The stag's hand returned to the fox's little sack. He pinched it, giving that empty patch of fur a tug, grinding it between his fingers. "Now I suppose we're both thieves, hmm?" teased the stag.

    The spell holding the fox quickly faded. He fell into a pile on the floor. "There there..." cooed the shopkeeper. "You'll get those useless little things and your voice back as well when you've renounced your wicked ways." Picking him up by the scruff of the neck, the stag threw the neutered fox over his shoulder, holding him by the tail. "First though we'll need to work off that debt of yours. Do you know how expensive that stuff was you smashed? Of course not...."

With the clop of his hooves they retired upstairs......

Continued in Part 2