FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The raccoon really wanted it again. That was the only excuse, Matt figured. Otherwise, how could he have tracked him down from the health supply store. The raccoon nestled up against Matt's front, and the otter felt himself go instantly and immediately stiff.

"Matt!" Stetson's voice said sharply.

He looked around to see his boyfriend standing in the doorway. "What's up, Stetson? You want in on this too?"

"Matt!" Stetson said again.

The raccoon - Gary, he thought it was. Wait, no... anyway, the raccoon pushed on his side, but it wasn't a raccoon after all. It was that husky... what?

Matt opened his eyes. The room was bright and sunny, and he was lying in bed, with Stetson pushing at his side. "You have to get up. We forgot to set the alarm."

"What?" His erection pulsed. He wished briefly that he could go back into the dream, but then thought better of it, and reached for Stetson instead. "No... no we didn't. It's..." He squinted into the morning light.

"It's Monday morning."

Monday! Matt sat up, scrambling out of bed, and his erection pulled the sheets halfway with him, making him wince. He staggered dizzily, still not used to seeing the floor so far away. It felt like he was standing up on a platform or something. He stared down at himself, looking past his broad chest, trying to will his morning wood away. It couldn't be Monday. "No, because last night was..."

"Sunday night," Stetson said, pulling his slacks over his broad feet and buttoning them. "And the night before, you spent at Saul's, and the night before that was Friday night, when all this started. Remember?"

"Crap crap crap," Matt said. Monday morning already. He went to the closet for his clothes.

"I know, I forgot too," Stetson said. He was already buttoning up his shirt. "But I did pick up some clothes for you yesterday. I hope they fit."

Matt saw them immediately, hanging in the left of the closet with the tags still attached: a blue dress shirt and chinos. He gave Stetson a grateful smile. "What would I do without you?"

Stetson nodded. "Just be prepared, you know, for some questions. You don't really look the same. I've got no idea how that's going to go."

The shirt was tight around Matt's arms and shoulders. His chest fit into it okay, but his back seemed to stretch the fabric even when it was unbuttoned. It wasn't going to look good no matter what he did. "Maybe I should just call in," he said.

The rabbit wiggled his tail through the back of the beltloops and buckled his belt. "It's not like you're going to be smaller tomorrow, Matt. You've got to go in sometime."

His thighs were too big for the pants. He tugged them up anyway, but they looked like ill-fitting tights around his quads, and fitting his sheath and sac into the front required some strategic arrangement and tucking. He hardly looked presentable. He turned and shrugged at Stetson, whose ears drooped backward at the sight. "Well, it's still better than going in gym clothes," the rabbit offered.

Matt nodded. "See you tonight, Stets." He stepped over and reached down for his rabbit, still amazed that he had to reach down at all. He hefted Stetson up against his chest for a kiss, and felt his still plump sheath pulse against the belt that he'd tightened across it. Stetson was so light in his grip, so easily lifted. He could strip those clothes away now and rut the rabbit up against the bedroom wall....

He pushed the thought from his mind. No. Time for work. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and eased his boyfriend back to the floor.

Stetson gazed up at him for a moment, breathing heavily, his nostrils flared. Then he shook his head as if clearing it. "Might want to take a jar of that protein to work with you in case you get hungry again. Are you seeing the doctor after work?"

"Going to try to," Matt said. "Hopefully they'll be able to tell me if anything is weird about what I took."

"I think we can safely say there is." Stetson patted his arm. "Try not to have too much sex today, dear."

Matt laughed. How had this ever become a consideration in his life? "I'll try."

Pilaris Industries was built with personal motivation in mind. As soon as you walked in the front doors, you felt like you were on your way up. And you were, because as soon as you entered, you had to go up a set of stairs or an elevator. Matt had no idea what was on the ground floor, behind the stairs. He assumed, that much like the various inspirational platitudes lining the walls, that there was nothing behind it at all. He swiped his id badge to get into the elevators and tried to ignore the stares of the security guards, which he felt more than saw. He wished now he had called in after all. It would at least have given him a day to pick up some better-fitting clothes. Had he not been late to work, the elevator would have been full of people crowding to squeeze in, so he was somewhat grateful for his tardiness.

It wasn't until he entered the office that the reality of his change really hit him for the first time. Here he was, in the place where he'd spent countless tedious hours typing away at his computer, shut up in a little cubicle. Only now, he was not the same otter anymore. He could tell by the way he could see over the tops of all the cubicle walls. They were five feet, eight inches high, just tall enough so that, before, if he stood up on the tips of his webbed toes, he could barely peer over their edges into the cubicles. Now he towered over them, the pathways through their labyrinthine arrangements easy to see, their occupants' semi-private lives laid out before him.

Casey looked up at him as he paused by the chocolate lab's cube, and grinned up at him. "Spyin' on me, huh, buddy? Come on, get off the chair before you fall."

Matt felt his ears go hot. "Yeah, okay, Casey. Have a good weekend?"

The dog frowned at him. "You feelin' all right, there? You sound a little weird. You shouldn't come in if you're comin' down with somethin'. I got enough to do here without havin' to take sick days."

He knew his voice had been a little deeper and rumbling lately, but if it was bad enough that people noticed immediately...

"I feel okay," he said. "But if I notice any symptoms, I'll let Gomez know I'm going home. Thanks, Casey."

There was no way this was going to work. How was he going to explain himself? It had been stupid to come in. He ducked his head down and quickly hurried past the rows of cubes to his own. He tried to dart inside so that no one would notice, but his shoulder struck the edge of the doorway hard and made the whole row shudder. "Sorry!" he called out hastily, hoping it would keep anyone from popping out to check. He sat down heavily in his chair, and it creaked in complaint with his weight. He felt like he was squatting: his knees were sticking up, and the arms of the chair were digging into his lats.

"A little late this morning, Matt?" Janelle's voice floated over his cubicle wall.

"Yeah, a little," he called back. He tried to make his voice sound higher. Janelle apparently found her tech writing job tedious, because she could be overly concerned with her coworkers' affairs sometimes. With one arm, he reached over the side of the chair and fumbled for the lever to elevate it. His fingers finally found it and he gave it a tug. The chair made a loud clock sound and collapsed to the floor. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

"Mr. Gomez was looking for you," Janelle said, an admonishing tone to her voice. "I told him I hadn't seen you all morning."

"Thanks, Janelle." Matt gritted his teeth as he said the words. "Appreciate that." He stood up, pulled the chair's lever, and elevated it all the way. He could see Janelle's antlers poking up inside her cubicle, and then her brown eyes and mussed fur as she blinked dully up at him.

"Having chair problems?"

The otter winced and ducked back down. "Yes." He adjusted his chair's arms so they wouldn't dig into his lats as much and sat down in it again. It creaked once more as if it were going to collapse.

"You know, you should have made that appointment with Terrell for your ergonomics assessment. We were all supposed to." The noise of her nails clattering away at the keyboard began its machinegun fire again.

Arguing with her would never get you anywhere. It was best to just keep agreeing until she forgot about you. "That's a very good point, Janelle."

"Anyway, he wanted to see you when you got in. Mr. Gomez, I mean. He's not pleased that you've been tardy so often, Matt."

"Thank you, Janelle," Matt sighed. He slid his chair under his desk and then nearly yelped as his knees slammed into the desktop.

"What is the problem over there?" the reindeer demanded, her tone growing more strident.

Matt bit his lip, hunching over, trying not to swear out loud at her. "Nothing. Just... banged my knees." At least, he thought, there was no chance at all of getting aroused today.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" came a voice from behind him.

Matt turned in his chair - gingerly avoiding the desktop this time. Marc Gomez stood in his doorway, shirt sleeves rolled partway up, powerful arms folded across his chest. The otter blanched. "Mr. Gomez, I'm so sorry I was late; I just forgot to set my alarm this morning."

A series of expressions shifted across the lion's face: recognition, then shock, then confusion, and then suspicion. "And just who the hell are you? A brother, I suppose?"

With a worried shake of his head, Matt answered, "No, sir, it's me. It's... it's Matt, sir."

The lion's jaws gaped in laughing incredulity. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" he spluttered. "It'd take three of that little runt to make up one of you."

Janelle came around the corner, peering in at him with narrowed eyes. "I thought he sounded funny, Mr. Gomez. There was something wrong the moment he came in, and he's been making all kinds of racket."

"Back to your desk, Janelle," Gomez said.

"And he was spying on me," Janelle continued, as if the lion had said nothing at all. "Over the top of my-"

"NOW," he roared. She squinted malevolently at Matt and then bustled around the corner.

Matt stood up from his chair, and now he could see heads over the tops of the cubicles, looking toward the commotion, like a colony of curious prairie dogs. "Sir, if you would just allow me to explain."

The lion looked around at the growing crowd of unproductive workers peering toward them. "In my office," he growled in a lower tone. "Let's go."

His ears folded back as he followed his boss through the cubicle aisles to his office. The room was windowless, the walls white and austere, except for a picture on one that said SUCCESS, and showed a lion sailing through high waves on a yacht. The caption below read, "Winning is having the strength to take courage in your own vision." And a yacht, Matt always thought whenever he saw it. The furniture was utilitarian, brown. There were barely any decorations on the desk: just a few photos of a lioness and two cubs. Matt's eyes strayed toward the lion's rump as he moved around the desk, the ropey tail switching above a muscled butt that his tailored pants couldn't quite hide. Matt had always been jealous: lions always had naturally great builds, and Gomez, despite his desk job, was no exception. The glance made him recall his fantasy of the night before, the one that had made him paint Saul's basement, and he felt himself stiffen in his pants, the belt strapped across his sheath starting to dig in a bit. Oh gods. Not here. Don't have sex in the office, not here, in this horrible, lifeless place. Not with Marc freaking Gomez.

The lion sat in his chair. "Close the door." He stared up at Matt. "It is amazing how much you resemble him."

"Sir, it's me." Matt reached up to rub at his head with one hand and heard the seams in his shirt begin to complain. He quickly lowered it again. "I know it seems strange, but something happened to me after work last week. Since then I've been growing. I swear it's me. Ask me anything about my job. Anything."

Gomez's yellow eyes narrowed. "Just how stupid do you think I am?" He leaned across his desk, his claws unsheathed, pitting the desktop. His tail lashed behind him.

Matt had never seen him angry and threatening like this before. He'd always been imperious, but he'd never seemed dangerous. He waited for the lion to continue, and when he said nothing, he finally said, "Mr. Gomez, I-"

"Be quiet!" the lion snarled. "You look a little like that little milquetoast otter, sure. Around the face and the eyes. But you honestly expect anyone here to believe some cockamamie story about how you're him? What's your game here? Why the story? You some relative trying to help him get a day or two off? That it?"

"No, sir, I told you-"

"I said be silent!" The lion's mane bushed out as he roared, his claws digging into the desk. The walls shook with the sound.

Matt bit his lip, barely daring to breathe. The yacht picture tilted to one side and then dropped to the floor, making him flinch. He was incredibly frightened... wasn't he? He reached down inside himself. There, true, some part of him was frightened. It quailed in terror, wanted to run from the office, to tear out without even packing up his things, just race away and never return. But now he found there was another part inside him, a part that was saying, This lion is smaller than you. Weaker. He should be put in his place. He felt himself straighten up, and his gaze locked with that of Marc Gomez, steady, unfazed. His shoulders spread a bit wider, and for the first time, he saw uneasiness flicker across the lion's face.

His name badge was clipped to his belt, attached by a retractable cord. He reached down and lifted it up, extending the cord to hold it up to Gomez's muzzle. "Look at my badge. Look at my face. It's me. I don't have any other way to prove it to you."

The lion's gaze flickered over to the badge and then back to Matt, then returned to the badge again. His ears went back, and his jaw slackened. "The badge," he muttered. "That's what this is about. They needed someone who looked like the badge to get into the building." He stood up from his chair, backing away from the desk a pace, his tail switching faster now. "This is industrial espionage, isn't it? That careless little whelp left a badge lying around and you found someone who looks like him to get into the building."

Matt tried not to laugh out loud in utter disbelief. He couldn't be serious! "What? No! Industrial espionage, are you kidding? You think I'm some kind of... giant spy?"

Gomez leveled a thick finger at him, the claw still extended. "Of course, your company had no idea from the badge that Matt is just a tiny little runt, so you just stuck some hired goon who looks like him in some office clothes and sent him in here to steal company secrets! Well, the joke's on you, buddy. Your little otter clone knows nothing. You hear me? Nothing!" He grinned, showing a row of predatory fangs. "Because that pathetic, simpering little faggot is the worst employee in our division. Always needs supervision, never takes initiative, never challenges anyone, never moves on his own. He's a whining, submissive, passive little suck-up. We keep him working with the lowest level data we've got - I wouldn't even give him keys to the break room. So this little breaking and entering scheme you've got going on here is utterly useless. You understand? You get nothing. And don't even think of trying this again, because as a result of this little stunt, he's fired. Gone, kaput. I'm revoking his access just as soon as I have security drag you from this office."

Matt could hardly bring himself to move as the lion reached for the phone. The words were like repeated kicks in the gut. He'd always known Gomez hadn't liked him, but this? Pathetic, simpering faggot. The words were cruel, crushing. Of course. He should have stood up for himself more. He should have spoken up in meetings, should have taken initiative. He should have done more than what he was told. And he should never have put up with all the crap heaped on his head every day. He should never have tolerated Jim, all the times that he'd dropped a heavy file of vendor forms on his desk and told him he'd be finishing those up, while the rhino went off with everyone else to an early Friday at the bar. He should have never have tolerated Janelle's miserable, meddling whining from the next cubicle over, week after week after week. And most of all, he should never have put up with that vicious, backstabbing, credit-stealing, unimaginative, arrogant, pompous...

"Gomez," he said. His voice was deep, and commanding.

The lion froze, one hand on the receiver of the phone.

Matt reached across the desk and grabbed the phone in one paw. He yanked it away from the wall and squeezed. The plastic crushed easily in his grip, his forearm bulging so thickly with the squeeze that it ripped his shirt. A torn edge of the plastic cut his paw, but he didn't care. He tossed the useless piece of junk aside. Gomez gaped at him and backed away from the desk, his eyes stretched wide with shock.

"You're right," Matt said. "I was not a great employee. I did what I was told and no more. And when people told me to do something the wrong way, I did it the wrong way, just because I didn't want to argue."

He strode around the desk, shoving it out of his way, the furniture skidding across the floor as if made of cardboard. The lion fumbled in his pocket for his cellphone, and then pawed at it uselessly, forgetting in his panic how to use it. Matt snatched it from his fingers and tossed it aside. Gomez looked back and forth in panic and backed up against the wall, his ears flattened against his skull.

"But you know what?" Matt continued. "A good manager recognizes his employee's strengths and encourages them. He recognizes weaknesses and helps his employees to work past them. I had all these strengths, Mr. Gomez, that you never saw. I'm smart. I'm creative. And I'll work my heart out for someone who respects what I do. It's not that I was a bad employee. You're just a really bad boss."

The lion crouched lower against the wall, the tuft of tail lying on the floor between broad feet. "What... what are you going to do to me?" he stammered.

Matt stood over him, cornering him. He suddenly realized his paws were clenched into fists, his arms straining his shirt. His boss was afraid of him. Never, in his whole life, had anyone been afraid of him before. He felt both powerful and awful at the same time, some part of him yearning to punish the lion for every miserable hour he'd worked here in the office, for every ugly comment. The other part felt sick at the very notion.

Gomez breathed in deep, close to his body, and then suddenly his ears went up. "What do you want to do to me?" he purred, his voice very different. He reached out with one paw and placed it on the front of Matt's trousers, right against the obvious bulge. He pawed higher and higher, trying to find the top of the bulge. "Oh my god," he said.

Matt took a step back. He didn't want this, he told himself. He didn't. His cock thought otherwise, though. How long had it been since he'd had sex? Half a day almost? It felt like a week. His sheath plumped, the belt digging into it. He could feel his tip sliding up, pressing against his shirt. A wet spot soaked the front of his shirt, the smell of his musk filling the office. He could feel his balls aching with sudden need.

Gomez stood up and stepped closer. "You want me," he purred, lower than before, a hunger in his voice. "I can smell it." His claws fumbled with the top button of his shirt.

It was true, Matt did want him, desperately. His cock slid higher in his shirt. The belt was digging into his flesh so painfully, so he reached down, almost unthinkingly, and unbuckled it. Gomez's gaze followed his fingers with rapt attention. Then the lion's gaze drifted across his desk, lingering on the photos of his wife, his cubs. He looked back to Matt with an expression of horror. "Oh my god," he said, taking a step back. "What are you doing to me?"

He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He forced his fingers to buckle his belt over his sheath again, albeit looser than before. Just the brushing of his paws against his sheath made him shudder. But all the same he stood up straighter, ignored the pulse from his loins. "Mr. Gomez," he said. "I quit."

Then he turned, opened the door to the office, and stepped out. His coworkers were staring as he walked out, but he ignored them. He tried not to think of the obscene picture he posed, walking through the office, his pants straining, shirt ripped, the front of it soaked with the spreading stain of his musk. Too, he ignored the sounds of sniffing and groaning as he walked by. He stopped back in his cubicle and looked around. There was nothing he really wanted to take; just a framed photograph of Stetson. The rest was facile, superficial. Work documents he'd never need again, computer books that were outdated, desk toys that would only ever remind him of all his time working there. He took the photo of Stetson and left, walking right past Janelle who gaped at him as though he were something astonishing and loathsome, like a serial killer.

He took the elevator down to the lobby, headed through the security station, and down the stairs to the parking garage. He felt sort of numb and floating. He was free. He'd hated this job, always hated it, and now he was free of it. There was a terrifying dizziness to the feeling, as if he'd just leapt over a precipice - perhaps not floating after all, but falling. What would he and Stetson do? They needed the income. How was he going to break it to the rabbit? As quickly as the anxiety appeared, it vanished. He'd just tell him the truth, that's how. Stetson wouldn't hesitate to support him. He'd tell him they'd find another way to work it out. He'd always been amazing like that. Yes.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief as he reached his car. Everything would be all right. He reached down to open the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice rumbled. Gomez stepped out from behind a pillar, his tail switching predatorily behind him. His eyes had a hungry look to them.

"I'm going home," Matt said. "I quit. Remember? I don't work for you anymore."

"Yes." The lion stalked closer. Matt could see now that his dress pants were bulging in the front. "I remember that. But there's also that little matter of the industrial espionage. You didn't think I was just going to let that go, did you?"

"Oh, for cryin' out-I told you, I'm Matt."

"It's a ridiculous story," Gomez said. "And no one will ever believe it. Especially not the FBI."

Matt froze. If the FBI got involved, there would be no way they'd believe he was the same person. Not without DNA tests or something. And who was to say that stuff he'd swallowed hadn't done something crazy to his DNA, anyway? Not to mention, if they were poking around, they'd probably find out something about the highway cop he'd fucked. And if they talked to Saul, what would the cat tell them? "What do you want?" he asked.

"Fuck me," the lion said, through his hungry grin.

Seriously? His pheromonal effect seemed to be getting stronger. Or maybe Gomez had just actually been gay the whole time. He felt his cock stiffening again inside his sheath. "You can't do this," he said. "It's sexual harassment."

"No it isn't." Gomez stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, tail swaying lazily behind him. He started unbuttoning his shirt again, revealing a broad, tawny, powerful chest, a thick line of dark brown fur running down it. "You quit."

Matt stared, feeling his resolve weakening. The tip of his cock poked between two buttons of his shirt, pushing into the cool air of the parking garage. "Then... then it's blackmail!"

"Uh-uh. The whole office saw you leave my office with an erection. They smelled you leave it. Everyone knows you want it. You know you want it."

He did want it. He wanted it so badly. "But you've got a wife, two cubs!"

Gomez scowled. "They hate me," he said. "Paula's had the kids in our summer house for two months now. She won't take my calls." He seemed to dwell on that thought for a moment, and then breathed deep. "But don't think about them. Think about yourself. What do you want, spy?"

The lion unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. That brown line of fur went all the way down into his pants. He had a lean and powerful build, his golden fur short, accentuating the heavy set of his pecs, the ridged, inward curve of his abs.

"Hey, get a room!" someone's voice echoed across the parking garage.

"Mind your own business, Max!" the lion snarled. "Or find a new job!"

He padded right up to Matt, who backed up against his car nervously, and unbuttoned the shirt buttons around his cock, which jutted up proudly in front of him. "This tells me you want it," he said. "So what's it going to be, spy? You going to deal with the FBI poking around your life? Going to deal with investigation, courts, prison?" He turned around and unbuttoned his trousers, letting them fall around his ankles, exposing the heavy, masculine globes of his rump, his tail pushing up his dress shirt as it lifted high. "Or are you going to take something you want?"

"Oh god!" the lion roared, gripping at the hood of his Porsche with both paws. His breath fogged the windshield as he panted. Matt's thrust squeezed pre out of the lion's rump as he pushed in hard. The otter's paws squeezed the front fenders tightly, the force of his hips making the car's tires screech as they skidded backward with his push. "Oh god!"

Another thrust, and then a crunching sound as the car's rear bumper hit the concrete wall. The sound filled Matt with a visceral satisfaction; he thrust again, and heard the crash of a tail light breaking, mixed with the yowl of the lion.

"Oh, my car," Gomez moaned.

"Fuck your car," Matt growled in his ear. His biceps strained as he lifted the front end of the Porsche and then shoved forward with his hips again, rewarded by another shattering sound.

"I'll have you -oh god!" Gomez's rump squeezed tight around Matt a few times, and then he sprayed his seed across the hood of his Porsche. "-have you arrested for this!"

"No you won't," Matt groaned back through his teeth. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Crash, crash crash. It was more the grip of his arms and the push against his thighs that was smashing his car against the wall. Gomez was just along for the ride. "Security cameras. On the. Ceiling."

He shuddered, hesitating for a moment as he felt the unstoppable rise of his climax, and then pushed forward as hard as he could. There was a dull crumpling sound, and then the hood dented in, the bumper of the car coming off in his grip. The front of the car dropped to the ground, bouncing, and at the same time, he came, his cock jerking convulsively as he erupted into his former employer, flooding into him. He collapsed across the lion's back, panting, crushing him into the hood of his car with his bulk, his hips spasmodically twitching into the beefy cat beneath him.

Then, before the climax was even over, the change came. Gomez actually seemed to shrink beneath him, his arms sliding a little farther over the edge of the car. His muscles strained with the new power surging into them, his toes slid against the ground. Then his shirt and pants tightened around his limbs, and began to tear. Matt had always loved the Incredible Hulk as a cub, and those iconic scenes of the scrawny fox tearing his clothes apart. But it turned out that the show got it all wrong. That wasn't how clothes tore at all. With the Hulk, clothes split across his biceps and chest and back, diamond-shaped tears opening across his thighs, his calves splitting the material apart. Instead, Matt's clothes bunched up into all the narrowest places - elbows, armpits, around his knees and crotch, and dug in deep, painfully. Then the material tore, down his forearms and between his knees. Stitches pulled apart, the sleeves of his shirt separating from the sides, buttons ripping away. He winced as the fabric of his pants suddenly squeezed at his sac, cramping his balls, and was grateful he had unfastened his belt.

The lion's ass was uncomfortably tight around his cock, and he was whimpering with the sudden new pressure, so Matt carefully and slowly pulled out of him. As he withdrew, backed-up seed spurted out of his tip in a few sudden arcs, soaking Gomez and his car even more. Matt stood there, erect and dripping, rings of fabric clinging around his limbs.

Panting, Gomez lifted up his head and turned, his own tip still dripping. His eyes widened. "You... you were telling the truth," he gasped. "You grew."

Matt looked down at him, lying in a puddle of seed on his damaged car. Had he done this? Did he even feel bad about it? He tried to cover his erection with his paws. "I... I have to go," he stammered.

He ran back to his car and fumbled with the keys, unlocking it, then ducked down, trying to get in. He bumped his head. He hunched his shoulders, turned sideways, and squeezed through the door, working himself into the seat. There was no question about it. He'd grown more than last time. The effect was getting stronger.