FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

---

TERMS OF SERVICE

When spring's heat cycle reared its sultry head and descended on the city, it found Ozias prepared.

His first order of the day was a cold shower. As the husky shivered his way to peace of mind, he found himself repeating the three-word ethos that had been drilled into his skull every day for the past half decade. The mantra helped to center him now, just as it had during the hardest days of his training.

Once he was dry and focused, he dressed. Each button of his dress shirt that slid into place was an action years in the making; eight ivory reminders of how far he had come.

Ozias thumbed a smear of toothpaste from the corner of his mouth and stared himself down in the mirror. The dapper husky that looked back would have made his tutors proud: white and grey fur tidy and groomed, perfectly suited to the clothes he'd earned, clear-eyed and attentive and fit for duty.

If it weren't for the light blush colouring his snout, his presentation would have been flawless.

As if in reaction to that thought, the mirror rattled in its frame; his neighbors, already up and at it--though for a much different reason than him. Ozias ignored the pitched moaning and creaking furniture, stuffing the wanton noises into a plain, white room in the corner of his mind. He breathed through his mouth, slowly and deliberately.

In.

Out.

"Excellence through discipline," his reflection told him, cooly.

He unboxed the blue and gold tie that had arrived with the suit, and with steady fingers, willed himself through the familiar, mechanical motions. Over. Around. Under. Repeat. Adjust. Easy. Nothing to it. He breathed deeply, folded his collar down, and suffered the dreamy, intrusive notion that in certain scenarios, his immaculate tie-work could serve nicely as a leash.

He stuffed that thought into the white room, too.

Pulling on his suit jacket felt like donning a shield. His posture fixed itself almost automatically. The warmth in his midsection settled. Ozias and his reflection considered one another, both of them perfectly dignified. The back of his right ear itched. He ignored it.

On his way out the door, he grabbed his thermos from the counter, and removed the dozen or so peppermint teabags that he'd left to steep overnight. His Nan would roll in her grave if she saw the caustic, inedible brew--but the taste wasn't the point. He screwed the cap back onto the thermos, popped the latch, and held it up to his nose, cautiously.

The smell hit him like a minty brick; blunt and bitter, with an edge sharp enough to make his eyes water. Ozias grimaced, sneezed gently, then slung his bag over his shoulder, and stepped out into the world.

He'd been dreading the crowded commute. Thankfully, the stream of bustling people was barely a trickle today ; mostly cold-bloods and those lucky, nose-blind mammals who could pretend that the air wasn't soaked in sex.

At a crosswalk, Ozias drifted into his thoughts, and ended up elbow-to-elbow with a lanky Doberman. The other canine shifted restlessly, hands bunched in the pocket of his hoodie, drawstrings pulled comically tight. He stank of overapplied deodorant and fabric softener, and shot a knowing look at Ozias' thermos. They locked eyes for an awkward second, a silent exchange of mutual misery.

Without warning, Ozias was struck with the blinding urge to burrow his snout up the front of the Doberman's hoodie.

Instead, he cracked the thermos, held it up to his nose, and waited with watering eyes for the walk light to go green.

In.

Out.

***

When he came to the RenCo building, Ozias took a moment to center himself.

He prepared his clearances: keycards, ID lanyard, biometric data. It felt good to have everything on hand--even if all of it was redundant. The tattoo inked on the back of his right ear would get him to his post just as well as any plastic card.

The elevator to the penthouse was a glass-paneled artwork, and had only one destination. Ozias watched the city fall away beneath him, buildings and passersby dropping away like the little lives of lawn insects. The sun rose in wisps of pink and orange, landing warmly on his fur as he rose above the shade of surrounding buildings. His breath started to fog the glass. Ozias shook himself and stepped away from the view, just in time for the doors to admit him to the top of the world.

The RenCo penthouse was lavish in a way only an oligopoly could afford. Ozias' footfalls clicked on the marble as he strode across the atrium, past greenery and elegant paneling and floor-to-ceiling windows. A single work desk sat apologetically amidst the luxury, its chair empty, its embedded screens dark and expectant. On his way past, Ozias ran a hand lightly across the tabletop. Wood.Real wood.

Ozias placed his bag on the desk and inhaled deeply; the slab that made up the desktop smelled earthy, and vivid. Like he imagined a forest might. The tension in his shoulders relaxed. His tail flicked lazily, without his say-so.

The double-wide doors behind the desk were wood, too, though of a darker, smoother grain. He approached the door, squared his shoulders, and knocked crisply.

"Come in."

The brass handle turned silently beneath his touch.

The room beyond was vast, and surprisingly cluttered. Glass cases full of tchotchkes, heavy steel cabinets, and a dark-stained shelf along one wall, lined with corked bottles and brandy snifters and a steaming box of marbled ice. The view out the single massive window framed another, larger desk in the center of the room, carved from what looked like the cross-section of some ancient tree.

The lion sitting behind it was broad and golden. His mane was lush, framing a round, handsome muzzle showing its first signs of silvered age. The feline's eyes were a dark, unnatural blue, too vivid to be anything but the product of tailored genetics. Past the comely scent of wood, Ozias could smell the lion's shampoo, and cologne--and a third thing he chose to ignore.

Ozias closed the door, folded his arms behind his back, and waited to be addressed by his new employer.

Claude Renault, sole inheritor of the continent's largest tech conglomerate, scrutinized the dapper husky for a moment, raking Ozias with his too-blue eyes--perhaps trying to find a wrinkle in his shirt or a hair out of place.

Ozias endured the inspection primly, confident that he wouldn't find one.

Eventually, Mr. Renault flicked his ballpoint pen and let out a smooth, thoughtful hum. "You're Vaughn's replacement, I suppose," he said, mildly.

The husky nodded, crisply. "Yes, sir. Ozias Talbott."

The lion flicked his pen again, his trimmed claws clacking against the metal. "You wear a suit better than my last secretary. Where did you study?"

Ozias licked his teeth, trying not to let his confusion show. Was this a test? There was no way that Mr. Renault hadn't been involved in his acquisition. Graduates from Ozias' program weren't impulse staffers--they were_investments_. The kind that came with a Satisfaction Guarantee and an expedited hiring process.

"Applegate Institute, sir," he answered, neatly. Despite his unease, he couldn't help but stand up straighter as he spoke. "Executive Professional."

Mr. Renault made an approving noise. "Aren't you just," he said, with a hint of amusement. "You people have quite the reputation, you know. I'm told the instructional approach at Applegate is..." he cast around for a moment. "Thorough. Inventive, even."

Ozias nodded. Sometimes, he still woke to the feeling of damp fabric being belted over his muzzle and the shock of cold water, while the rest of his class looked on, awaiting their turn.

"I found it very educational, sir," he said, quietly.

The lion's mouth curled at one corner. "Excellence through discipline, eh?"

"That's right, sir."

Mr. Renault hummed. Then, seemingly satisfied, he pushed a stack of stationery across the desk. Paper--letters, written by hand. Obediently, and more delicately than he intended, Ozias picked up the pile. Then, when the lion waved a hand dismissively, he made to leave.

"Ozias."

He turned in the door, stack of letters held primly under one arm.

"My wife will come looking for me sometime this afternoon," the lion said, without looking up from his writing. "When she does, tell her to fuck off for me."

Ozias thumbed the doorhandle. Chewed his cheek in thought. "I'll send her on her way, sir."

Mr. Renault grunted, and waved him away.

The door closed behind him as silently as it had opened.

In.

Out.

Okay.

The letters were rough to the touch, and thicker than any paper he'd ever held. They fluttered nicely when he placed them down. Fighting off a sense of unreality, Ozias sat down, and ran both hands over the cool, sandy surface of his very own desk. The material warmed under his palms, rough and smooth at the same time. Satisfying.

He wondered idly how it would feel to fuck on it; a thought followed by Mr. Renault's golden muzzle flickering across the inside of his eyelids.

Ozias' eyes snapped open. He fished his thermos out in a hurry and breathed into it until he gagged. When he was done, he swept the thought into the white room with its fellows, where it belonged.

Having a familiar task to set his mind to was a blessing, even if most of the letters proved uninteresting. They were luncheon requests, pitch notes, meeting reminders; opulent wastes of the precious material they were written on. Ozias responded in kind, writing replies to each in careful, neat calligraphy that he hadn't ever expected to use outside of a classroom.

Few required more than niceties, or the occasional filling of a calendar slot via the desk's in-built computers. One letter, though, without a signature, caught his attention: it wasn't more than a few terse sentences.

It is my dearest hope that your failure to provide a suitable heir is one born of reluctance rather than impotency,_it read, blunt as a cudgel. _It would behoove you to provide stability to our shareholders, rather than indulge in your illness.

Ozias hadn't a clue what to do with that one. He read it twice before its implications properly sunk in.

He was trying to figure out who it had even come from when the elevator chimed, and deposited a lioness into his workspace. Her whiskers were curled at the ends, like she'd taken an iron to them.

Ozias stood, using the motion to flip the letter over on its face. "Good morning, Miss."

The lioness started, as if she hadn't noticed him standing in her way. She slowed her stride, reluctantly.

"Where is Claude hiding?" she asked, curtly. The lioness -who must have been Mrs. Renault- locked her sharp gaze on the wooden doors past Ozias' shoulder. Her tone wasn't angry so much as impatient. Like a harried solicitor.

Ozias swallowed, trying to ignore the scent that followed Mrs. Renault out of the elevator. His eyes flicked momentarily toward his thermos, sitting just out of polite reach.

"Tabard has him occupied, Miss," Ozias lied, forging onward before his nose could distract him further. "Their accounting team wanted to meet urgently regarding our ledgers."

She huffed. "Do they not own calendars at Tabard?"

Ozias bowed his head lightly. "Their office is staffed largely by ruminants, Miss."

She hummed at that. "I see. Our turn now," she said, making a show of fanning herself with her snap-purse, "their turn later."

Ozias held back a wince. The reminder that, in six months' time, he would be wrung through sex-scented Hell all over again almost made him miss the sterility of Applegate. He'd forgotten just how distracting and disorderly everything could be on the outside.

"Yes, Miss," he said, carefully neutral. "All things in their course."

She looked him over, maybe expecting him to say something clever. Before he could, she beat him to the punch.

"You're not Vaughn."

"No, Miss. I've been newly acquired."

"Hm." Mrs. Renault looked at him with a calculating expression. "Does my husband pay you well?"

Ah. What a loaded question.

Truthfully, Mr. Renault wasn't paying him a dime--at least, not directly. RenCo, just like any other massive corporation in need of excellent staff, subsidized Applegate, which in turn provided fully for the needs of its graduates.

If he wanted to get into semantics, proprietary assets weren't owed wages.

"I'm quite well compensated, Miss," Ozias answered smoothly. "The terms of my acquisition were fairly negotiated."

At least, he_hoped_ they had been. As the bespoke asset in question, Ozias hadn't actually been present for the negotiations. He hadn't even known who he would be assigned to until he'd been handed the RenCo dossier.

Oblivious to Ozias' wanderings, Mrs. Renault reached into her purse and slid a card across the desk. "Well--if you should run into problems adjusting to your position, do call me." She fixed him with a sympathetic look. "I think you'll find that picking up after Claude can be rather more than a one-man job at times."

Warily, Ozias picked up the card and placed it down next to his stack of letters. "Certainly, Miss. Thank you."

"When can I expect him home?"

Ozias did a quick calculation. "I wouldn't think before eight, Miss."

She sniffed at that, nodded, and left the way she'd come.

After she was gone, Ozias cracked his thermos and left it open on the desk. Then, he picked up the lioness' card and turned it over in his fingers, considering it carefully.

If this was a test of his character, he fully intended to pass; implicating himself as a snitch for his employer's wife would be tantamount to swallowing career poison, and not just at RenCo. Though, on the other hand, if the offer was_genuine_... well. That would make things interesting. The shoes Ozias had stepped into had been empty for a reason, and he was starting to suspect that the trap his predecessor had fallen into was the same one he was holding now.

The husky sighed into his thermos. First day of his assignment, and already dancing around corporate espionage.

At least it was familiar territory. Honestly, the Renaults' obvious marital dispute might prove to be a welcome distraction.

While he mulled that over, Ozias pulled out his burner phone and sent a message to his contact at Tabard, directing them to back up the faux meeting on their end of the field. Then, card in hand, he knocked on the double-wide doors to Mr. Renault's office.

"What is it."

Like before, Ozias entered, closed the door and folded his arms at his back, standing at a respectful distance. "Mrs. Renault came by, sir."

The lion sighed, dourly. "And?"

Ozias kept the satisfaction out of his voice. "And if she asks, sir, you're discussing intercompany accounting with Tabard until eight."

He waited for the lion's acknowledgement before he stepped forward and placed the lioness' card onto the edge of the desk. "Also, it was implied that she would compensate me for information regarding the dealings of your office. If you wished, you could use me as an avenue for misinformation."

If his wife's spying was news to him, it didn't show. The lion tapped a manicured claw against the card, then pushed it toward him with a nod.

"Thank you, Ozias."

Ozias nodded. He hadn't noticed before--but the lion's irises weren't_solidly_ blue, as he'd thought. There were little flecks of gold, too, catching the noonday sun.

"Of course, sir."

The husky picked up the card and slipped it into his pocket. As he went to leave, Mr. Renault made a tutting sound. Ozias heeled, turned, and waited.

"Vaughn was a friend of the family," the lion said, after a small pause. "It was his only qualification." When Ozias made no move to speak unprompted, Mr. Renault's mouth curled. "The improvement is astounding."

Ozias nodded, gracious--and a little confused. His predecessor must have been seriously unfit for service if Mr. Renault was impressed by basic counterintelligence.

"I hope the results of my tutors' efforts continue to impress, sir."

"Early days, Ozias." Despite the coolness of the words, there was still a curl at the corner of his mouth. "Though I have been wondering something."

"You need only ask, sir."

Mr. Renault studied him, unblinkingly. Ozias couldn't see behind the desk--but he could hear the lion's tail swishing, back and forth. "I never understood why a talented man like you would go through such lengths just to end up a_secretary_."

"It's important work, sir."

That got him a smile. "And how many semesters did it take before you thought so?"

"I've always thought so, sir."

The lion's gold-flecked eyes glinted. "Suppose you're just naturally subservient, aren't you?"

"Perfectly, sir. Some of my professors considered it a prerequisite."

Mr. Renault leaned back, mouthing the word 'perfectly' and giving Ozias a long once-over. "You people are a different breed. Look at you--first day on the job, waltzing through office politics and barely breaking a sweat. In the middle of a heat, at that."

Ozias' heart did a loop at lion's praise. "Thank you, sir--though canines aren't generally indisposed this time of year, sir, and males not at all."

"Mm. You've a good nose, though, don't you, Ozias?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your cock's still attached?" Mr. Renault bared his teeth in a bawdy grin--the first real expression Ozias had seen. "Assuming the worst of the rumors surrounding your institute aren't true."

Ozias flushed. "Yes, sir. That is- it is. Sir."

"But you don't find yourself... bothered?"

Bothered. Bothered._That's one way to put it. Between the stress of his first assignment and the preparation it required, Ozias hadn't had a chance to blow off steam in days. He can't crack a window without smelling the sex in the air, can't sleep without earmuffs for the noises of his neighbors, hasn't had time to touch himself since the wave began. Bothered. Fucking_bothered.

"No, sir," he said, evenly. "I'm at work."

"Ha! You're blushing, Ozias--everyone with red blood and half-decent company is busy fucking a hole through their mattress right now."

The little white room in Ozias' head was getting much too full for his liking. He could feel the lion leaning against his etiquette, testing the quality of his training, feeling around for cracks. On any other day, his propriety would be a fortress, reinforced with years of rigorous training and iron will.

Today, it felt thin as plaster.

"If distraction becomes an issue, sir," Ozias said, once again aware of shampoo and cologne and that third thing that hung in the air like rain, "I could arrange relief on your behalf."

The lion's smile_changed_ at that. "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. There are discreet escort services that I could get in touch with, if it pleased you."

The lion thumbed the golden curve of his jaw. "Really, Ozias?Escorts? What would my wife think?"

That your problem is_definitely_not impotency, Ozias thought. The notion sent a dizzy little spark into the parts of his brain that were still working.

"Mr. Renault," he began, standing up straight and speaking clearly, "I feel it should be stated that, on behalf of my handlers, and in my capacity as your personal secretary, my first and only concern is your productivity."

Mr. Renault raised an eyebrow. Ozias forged on.

"I have no priorities that do not serve your interests," he stated, plainly. "It is my place to fulfill your needs without question, and in the course of my duties, I am not obligated to abide by ethical restraints--nor legal ones, for that matter."

The lion's gold-flecked eyes studied him, as he had that morning. Like before, Ozias knew he would find nothing out of place, and so met Mr. Renault's gaze with the respectful candor expected of his station.

"Put simply, sir," Ozias finished, crisply, "I am fully, and without reservation, at your disposal."

"Yes," Mr. Renault mused, after a long moment. "I suppose you are."

Ozias waited at attention. The lion kept him waiting, lounging in his high-backed chair, playing idly with his whiskers. His blue gaze roamed up the lean shape of Ozias' legs, pausing at his beltline--before eventually settling on the knot of his tie.

"Escorts won't be necessary, today."

"Understood, sir."

"Make me a brandy."

Ozias nodded primly and strode to the vanity. He could feel Mr. Renault's gaze on him as he doled a marble of ice into the snifter. He kept his breathing steady--though there was little he could do about the rushing of his heart. He could feel the door to his white room bending under the lion's naked interest.

Straighten up,_snapped the voice that lived in the back of his head._Excellence. Discipline.

Brandy in hand, defenses shored, Ozias walked back to the desk and presented the glass primly. Mr. Renault took it, and rolled it in his palm, letting the ball of ice clatter around the bottom edge of the glass.

"Take off your jacket, Ozias."

Heat crept up his throat. Ozias took one steady breath. In. Out. He could feel Mr. Renault track the blush as it settled across his cheeks. It came to rest there, buzzing loudly in his ears.

Under the lion's measured stare, Ozias peeled off his suit jacket. When he was done, Mr. Renault held out his hand, expectantly. The husky handed it to him, and watched as the lion folded his jacket lazily over one knee--and then dropped it onto the marble between his polished shoes. He rolled the glass again; the sound of ice on crystal sounded dull and distant beneath the pounding of blood in Ozias' ears.

The lion's next words, however, rang crystal-clear.

"On your knees."

Ozias inhaled, once. Brandy. Cologne. Musk.

His fortress_buckled_--and then it slid into the fucking sea.

Without a word, Ozias rounded the desk and knelt down on his folded jacket, in front of the lion's open legs. Part of him wished he had been told to undress further--his tie felt suddenly far too tight. His thoughts churned slow, like molten glass.

Mr. Renault looked down at him, betraying nothing. Ozias held his stare as best he could, even as his palms grew slick on the fabric of his dress pants. If being a snitch was career poison, he figured_this_ was probably closer to career immolation.

Funny; the thought didn't seem so bad from down here.

"Go on, boy," Mr. Renault purred. The curl at the corner of his mouth was back. "They teach you how to suck cock at Applegate?"

"No, sir."

"Do you need me to teach you?"

His eyes dropped to the straining fabric between Mr. Renault's thighs. He swallowed. "No, sir."

"Good." The lion eased back, taking a sip of brandy. "Get to it."

Ozias reached up into the lion's lap, and undid his belt. An easy, practiced motion. Like tying a tie. It came naturally.

The lion's half-hard cock landed on his snout.

Ozias breathed. In. In some more. His exhale fluttered out of him, almost by accident. As if in a dream, he took the lion's half-hard cock in his palm, and guided it into his open mouth.

The fact that Mr. Renault hadn't been wearing anything beneath his tailored pants occupied a small, curious corner of his mind, but Ozias didn't dwell. He kept the tip of the lion's cock on his tongue as it hardened, coaxing it with his fingers, reveling in the sensation of soft barbs dragging across the roof of his mouth. Ozias suppressed a shiver at the first taste of pre on his tongue--then gagged lightly as the lion's cock pressed against the back of his throat.

His mouth was full, but he could still wrap one hand around the base of the lion's manhood. He did so, just to feel the warmth in his palm.

Ozias breathed through his nose, eagerly this time; the scent of musk was strong now, blanketing him. His head swam with it, thick as smoke. His throat bobbed against the cinch of his necktie.

One of Mr. Renault's hands came to rest in his hair, thumbing his tattooed ear. The lion looked down at him with his half-smile, sipping from the glass and petting him lazily. Ozias shivered again, took a long, musk-soaked breath, and allowed the scent of it to lead his cotton-filled head forward.

He choked, at first, and made to draw back--but the gentle pressure of the lion's hand might as well have been a vice. Ozias made a soft, wet sound around the lion's cock and bobbed his head, pressing as far down as he could. He felt his throat bulge against his shirt collar. The fur of his chin grew wet with spit.

"Get up."

Ozias was on his feet in an instant, wiping his chin on his shirtsleeve. The heady taste of pre clung to the inside of his mouth. He swallowed it down, thickly, and stood to attention as best he could with his own sudden need tenting his trousers.

Mr. Renault handed him the brandy glass. It was empty.

Ozias obeyed, wordlessly. This time, when he poured the brandy, his hands were shaking. This time, when he returned it to the lion's hand, he didn't wait to be told to get on his knees and take the lion's cock into his mouth.

"I wasn't sure you'd be worth it, you know," Mr. Renault said, twisting his fingers in Ozias' hair. "You people cost a small fucking fortune."

Ozias redoubled his efforts. The lion leaned back and purred, the pleased noise muffled by the snifter of brandy. "Turns out, you_can_ put a price on peace of mind."

The praise settled somewhere in Ozias' sternum, warming him to his fingertips. He could feel his own hardness throb at the lion's words, as his hand returned to his ear and his scent surrounded him. Ozias ran his tongue across the barbed cockhead, savoring the taste for one indulgent moment--before pressing himself steadily downward.

Mr. Renault sighed as Ozias took him into his throat. Like before, he had the urge to retreat, but this time, stifled it. He stayed there, lungs fluttering, eyes watering, until the lion's hand gripped his hair, and Ozias let himself be handled like a toy. He was pulled back and forth, slowly, and by inches, barbed cockhead popping in and out of his windpipe. Each motion blocked his breath one second, only to fill his lungs with musk the next.

He didn't mean to let out a groan, but one slipped out anyway. A choked, needy noise, cut off by the cock popping back into his throat.

"Mm," the lion hummed, satisfaction dripping from the noise. "Yeah, boy. Open that fucking throat." Ozias did as he was told, and with a sharp tug, the lion pulled him down to his base, until his muzzle met the soft paunch of the lion's stomach.

The lion held him there, as Ozias fought quietly to breathe.

"Are you sure you didn't take a class on cockwarming, boy?" The lion's voice was low and leering. He shook Ozias by the hair, roughly. "Or are you just a natural?"

When he didn't get a response, the lion pressed the toe of his shoe against Ozias' tent. The husky whimpered softly, and tongued the base of the cock as it suffocated him. His jaw creaked. His vision tunneled at the edges. His muddled thoughts chugged slower, and slower.

Suddenly, Ozias was wrenched back by the hair. He panted, shifting on his knees, staring up at the lion's bared teeth.

"I asked you a question," Mr. Renault growled.

Ozias gulped down his mouthful of salt and spit. The motion broke a thin string of it connecting his tongue and the lion's cock.

"No classes, sir," he said, hoarsely. "I learned on my own time, sir."

The lion's snarl turned to a grin. "You like the taste of cock, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

The lion drained the rest of his glass, and tossed it onto his desk. With the hand freed, he wrapped it around the base of his spit-slicked length and slapped it against the husky's waiting tongue. "There you go," the lion rumbled happily, letting Ozias' tongue roam. "_There_you go."

After a moment, the lion pulled his cock away and drew Ozias forward, lower this time, pressing his muzzle to the fuzzy pouch of his balls.

While Ozias panted and shuddered and tried not to fall to pieces, the lion laid his cock along the length of Ozias' snout and started to rub himself gently. Something wet and warm dripped onto the back of Ozias' neck, but he barely noticed. Everything felt hot and sticky and slow, and the whole world shrunk to the taste and scent of the lion above and around him.

"That's a good look for you, boy."

Ozias' eyes, half-lidded, rolled back, staring past the pillar of the lion's cock and into his gold-flecked eyes. The lion stared down at him, smiling indulgently. He lifted his cock, and let it drop against Ozias' flushed face.

"I think I'm going to keep you, Ozias." Mr. Renault told him, amusedly. He slid his palm up and down his length, the movement made slick by spit and pre, his knuckles brushing over the husky's snout. "I'm going to send your instructors a fucking_bouquet_."

Ozias felt a shiver roll up his spine. He hadn't been addressed, so he stayed quietly tucked away between the lion's thighs. Tentatively, he stuck out his tongue and licked the crease of the lion's sheath; then, when that wasn't reprimanded, he did it again, nosing deeper between the man's legs.

"Good boy," Mr. Renault groaned. Ozias licked and nuzzled, drenching himself in the lion's scent. His hands clutched at his thighs hard enough to hurt. Above him, the lion worked his hand, entirely unhurried.

By the time the hand in his hair pulled him away, Ozias' jaw was slack. His face burned hot enough to turn his thoughts to vapour. Mr. Renault tilted his head back, and his mouth fell open automatically. The lion slapped the head of his cock against his lolling tongue, smiling down at the wreck Ozias had become.

"You're wasted on paperwork," Mr. Renault said, softly. His hand moved lazily up and down his cock, playing its barbed head across Ozias' tongue. "I'm going to have you right here, Ozias. All day, every day."

Precum leaked freely into Ozias' mouth, salty and thick. The taste of it kicked something back on in his head, and he lapped at the source, staring submissively into the lion's dark, hungry eyes.

"You're going to thank me when I cum in your mouth." The lion's hand moved faster. "You're going to swallow it all, and you're not going to spill a drop."

He hadn't phrased either as a question. Ozias remained silent--though he found the wherewithal to fix his posture, even now. Even here. He'd been given a task.

"I'm going to send you back to your masters stinking of lion." Renault growled. His words were starting to slur at the edges, his hand jerking urgently. "Oh, Ozias," he said, rumbling low in his throat, "I am going to fucking_ruin_you."

The lion shuddered as he came. His mess filled Ozias' mouth, quickly enough that he worried it would spill over--but with a growled curse, the lion pulled away, releasing his grip on Ozias' hair and sinking back into his chair.

Mr. Renault breathed heavily, staring down at his handiwork with a satisfied smile. Ozias closed his mouth and swallowed, and didn't spill a drop.

"Thank you, sir," he managed, shakily. The words emerged haggard and wrecked.

Mr. Renault laughed. Then, he put himself away with a sigh and gestured for Ozias to get up off the floor.

Standing up straight was a challenge. His legs shook. His neglected cock showed no signs of softening. But still, Ozias got to his feet, and tried his best to come to attention.

Mr. Renault looked him over with a sort of admiration. Reclining in his chair, the lion nodded at his tent.

"You look bothered, Ozias."

It was all he could do to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Yes, sir."

"Show me."

Ozias unbuckled, and, forcing down a whimper of relief, pulled his aching cock out. It leapt to attention, hanging stiffly in the air. At some point, the thick knot at his base had filled out, ready and waiting. His tapered tip was smeared and beading with excitement. It throbbed in place, begging to be felt.

Ozias folded his hands behind his back.

Mr. Renault kept him waiting for a long moment, turning side to side in his chair. Then, reaching out, the lion rubbed the pad of his thumb over Ozias' leaking tip. The sensation sent a hot jolt through his whole body. He huffed, caught himself, then quieted. Mr. Renault hummed approvingly, then removed his hand. He licked his thumb clean and smiled.

"That will be all, Ozias."

"O-of course, sir." A little shakily, Ozias tucked his aching prick away, re-buckled his belt, then bent at the waist and retrieved his crumpled suit jacket from the floor. It was wrinkled, distressed in places from the weight of his kneeling. Ozias draped it over his forearm.

For a moment, he felt as if he should say something--though what that might have been, Ozias didn't know, and he'd been taught better than to speak unprompted. He'd availed himself, and now he was dismissed. What else was there?

Before he could embarrass himself by hovering, Ozias inclined his head, turned on heel, and strode to the door. The lion watched him go with lidded eyes and a hazy, delighted expression. The naked evidence of Mr. Renault's amusement struck Ozias as promising. Favorable. Satisfying, in its own way.

Even when he closed the door, Ozias did not allow his composure to slip. He shook out his jacket, his wrinkled shield, and donned it. There was a little stain on one of the sleeves; Ozias wetted a thumb and rubbed it away, making a mental note to get it laundered; and to put in a request with his handler for additional suits.

With the world re-emerging through the ardor of the past half-hour, he was able to consider his new, precarious position. He'd expected office politics with the assignment. Administrative maneuvering. Recalcitrant superiors with more power than God and appetites to match. All of that, he'd gotten. In spades.

Yet somehow, Ozias had failed to consider the possibility that those ravenous attentions might be focused on_him_--right up until Mr. Renault's cock was in his mouth.

The door to the white room had come ajar while his head had been buried between the lion's legs. The escaped thoughts ran rampant--a problem not helped by the fact that Mr. Renault had made good on at least one of his mindless promises.

Ozias _reeked_of lion.

He'd been trying not to think about it--but now that he was, it was the kind of thought that he could drown in if he wasn't careful. His prick, which had almost found its way back into his sheath, re-emerged, aching and hopeful.

The thermos, pungent as ever, helped. He dipped his fingers into the minty concoction and dabbed at the fur around his nose--but he couldn't spend the rest of his day huffing over-steeped tea.

Despite the unexpected development, he still had a job to do.

He sighed, casting about for a distraction. Outside the window, the sprawling, patchwork buildings of the city spread into the horizon, and beyond. Down there, lived people who would never see the shape of their lives from Ozias' high vantage. He'd been one of them, once.

He hadn't dared dream of a post this prestigious during the difficulties of his education. But the husky had learned, and learned well, that excellence begot reward--and that the path to excellence came through discipline.

Ozias played his fingertips over the wood grain of the desk that was his, that would be his until the day he was no longer of use to it. His neck ached mildly, and he thought of loosening his tie.

He let the thought pass, and left the tie as it was.

Tight around his throat.