FSE

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Matt's eyes opened. He felt like he hadn't really been asleep, but just too confused and lost to understand what was going on. He had vague memories of movement, of watching the sky go by above him. A dull headache throbbed behind his eyes, and he was growing increasingly aware of a sharp pain digging into his wrists.

The world before his eyes was a dizzying, foggy mess. "Where am I?" he tried to say, but it came out a deep, rumbling, "Whrrrrr."

"That's it," a thin voice purred. "Wake on up. You can do it."

Saul. Matt blinked his eyes, trying to clear and focus his vision. He was tilted forward, his weight pulled across his chest and shoulders. Something was really digging into his wrists. His knees were scraping against the ground, his feet pressed up against a concrete wall. He struggled, trying to stand up, and managed to get to his feet. The pain in his wrists eased. He could hear the clinking of metal. Before him, he could see the fuzzy shape of a cat seated in a chair. The room around him was brightly lit.

"Yeah," Saul said. "You're gonna be feeling much better in a minute or two. The tranquilizer I used has an antidote that lets you get back up and in the game. They use it on racehorses, but it works pretty good on big otter boys, too."

Matt shook his head, and the confusion seemed to slosh out of his ears. "You tranqed me? But... I don't... what's going on? Did I do something... bad?"

The cat tilted his head back and laughed at that. He was sitting in some kind of fold-up lawn chair, Matt could now see, and holding a martini glass, with a couple of olives floating in it. To his right was a video camera mounted on a tall tripod, its red light glowing. On his left, a television on a stand. The camera was hooked up to it. "Oh, you've been pretty naughty, Matt. You've done a lot of bad things."

Looking around, Matt could see he was in was the basement he'd been in before, though apparently Saul had cleaned it up a lot. There were a lot of things piled around: snacks; lube; dildos; a stack of what appeared to be DVDs; and a laptop. To Matt's right, a large plastic bag was hanging from the ceiling, filled with a viscous, dark brown fluid. A clear plastic tube with a nozzle on the end dangled from it. Matt's fur stood on end, all up his tail, back, and neck. "What do you mean? What have I done?"

"We'll get to that." Saul got to his feet, still holding his glass. He took a sip and stepped forward, his tail moving behind him in a predatory sway - though from the exaggerated tilt of his movements, Matt guessed that he wasn't exactly working on his first martini. "But the important thing is that you and I are going to have a little fun." He came forward, and reached up to put his paw on Matt's chest. He looked so small, and frail. Matt blinked down at him, and realized suddenly that he was stripped of all his clothes. His head was clearing a bit. "Don't you want to have fun with me, Matt?"

"No," he answered. "What's going on? Why am I here? Where's Stetson?" He looked around, and then saw his arm, held out to the side, gripped by a manacle around his wrists. A thick chain extended up to a solid plate bolted into the wall. His other arm was similarly bound. He tugged at the chains. "Why am I chained up again? What happened?"

Saul took a step back, his expression darkening. "Like I told you, Matt, you were doing some bad things. You had to be stopped. I had to take precautions."

Matt furrowed his brow, remembering. "Wait. No, I wasn't doing bad things. I was going home. I was looking forward to seeing Stetson. And then... the dart. And then you... you shot me!"

The cat's tail twitched. He sighed. "All right, technically true. And it was quite the ordeal getting you down here, too. You're a monster, you know that? You must weigh a quarter of a ton at least. You should have seen how low my truck rode with you in the back."

"You shot me," Matt repeated, "and then drove me here? And... and chained me up?"

"Yes, yes, of course, my dear, sweet, little muscle beast. But you know, I had to. You said yes to me, don't you remember? Two nights ago, when you were down here before, you said yes." His face twisted in a bitter expression. "And then that rabbit interfered. He came between us." He softened his expression and looked up in a half smile. "It's not just the pheromones, you know. I've always wanted you. Even back when you were just a little strip of a thing. You were always beautiful to me."

This had to be some sort of weird nightmare, a disturbing sex dream. "This... is crazy, Saul. I don't want to be down here with you. I want to go home. I don't want to do anything."

And for the first time in days, it was true. His cock was safely snugged away in his sheath. Well. Most of it. Not all of it seemed to fit inside his sheath anymore; a fat inch or two was poking out even though he felt completely soft. But the desire for sex was utterly absent.

The cat chuckled, his tail swaying as he walked away, looking up at the staircase as he drained his martini glass. One of the wooden railways up to the ground floor was broken. "You'll want me, stud. You'll want to feel everything I can do for you, all the amazing ways I can make you feel. It's just a matter of time."

Matt growled, and the rumbling, monstrous timbre of his own voice actually startled him a bit. It was going to take some getting used to. He tugged at his chains, feeling the manacles bite into his flesh again. They were pretty loose around his wrists, but his paws seemed thicker and meatier than before. There was no way he could slide the cuffs off. "No, Saul. I've learned a little self-control since then. I can resist sex when I want to. And believe me, I want to. Besides, when I said yes before, I was on drugs."

The cat turned toward him, his fangs bared in a predatory grin. "And that's how I know you'll say yes to me soon," he purred.

A heavy ball of nauseating fear formed in his belly. "What did you do?" His voice was shaking. "What did you give me?"

Saul drained his glass and licked the corners of his muzzle. "Not the stuff you were on before, sweetie. I thought about it, but it's hard to make an unconscious guy swallow pills. Besides, I wasn't really sure what filling you up with six or seven would do. No, this was just a little cocktail of my own devising," he said. "You learn a lot when you're hitting up seedy clubs for thirty years, you know. A little pinch of GHB, a dash of roofies, and my proprietary blend of other herbs and spices. Then I crank everything up to dose a guy four times as big as normal, and I'll have me an insatiably horny otter stud in... oh, about forty-five minutes now."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This is sick, Saul. It's... it's just nuts. You know how strong I am now? How strong I'll be in... in an hour? I'm gonna break loose of this."

Saul laughed. He turned, slinking over to the wall, where he refilled his glass from a couple of clear bottles. "I don't think so, sweetie. Those manacles aren't the ones you were in before. The chains are rated to three thousand pounds. You're not breaking those, I'm afraid."

The chains did look thicker than the ones he'd been bound with before, now that he looked at them. He gave them a little tug, and they clinked heavily.

"That, by the way," Saul said, pointing to the large bag of liquid, "is a whole lot of very high-grade protein. Convenient for when you get hungry. As I suppose you will be doing a lot."

That was even more ominous. "So what are you going to do? Just keep me down here forever?"

"Forever?" Saul turned, flicking his gaze up and down Matt's body. It felt creepy now, unwholesome. "Don't be silly, boy. I'm not looking for commitment." He winked. "Just a little fun. Besides, you'll be too big for me soon enough."

"But you know I'll go to the police as soon as I get out of here!" He probably shouldn't be saying this, but he couldn't help himself. He was starting to panic now.

"Mmmm, no." Saul came back, tracing across the top of Matt's chest with one finger, the claw slightly extended. He gave a shuddering, hungry breath. "A little side effect of your medicine is the inability to form short-term memories. Amnesia. You won't remember most of what happens after the stuff kicks in. Go to the police, and what do you think I'll say?"

The cat stepped back then, his ears flattening back, his eyes widening in an expression of horror. He huddled in on himself, and began shaking violently. "Horrible. It was horrible. He... that... that monster. That thing. Attacked me. Attacked me in my home. He forced me to... forced me to do things. Please, I can't... don't make me talk about it." He looked up, his expression turning predatory once again. "Who are they gonna believe, the poor little cat? Or the terrifying brute without valid identification?"

Matt couldn't believe he was hearing this. "They'll... they can test my blood! They'll find the drugs!"

"Which you no doubt took as part of your supplementation routine. Look at you, with all that chemical enhanced muscle. Who knows what other drugs you're on? My dear otter, even you don't know."

"But Stetson will vouch for me. He'll back me up."

Saul laughed at that. "Oh, you want to bring in witnesses, do you? Let's talk about witnesses." He walked back to the chair and bent down to pick up the remote, lifting his tail to flash Matt a glimpse of his ass. Matt looked away. The very idea of it was revolting, now. Stepping back, he turned on the television and started a DVD. The picture that flickered into view was a black and white image of a small store. It took a moment for Matt to recognize it as the GNC he'd been to the other day. It took him a little longer to recognize the muscular, thrusting hips of the otter, pinning a raccoon up against shelves, ass flexing as he drove his cock into the smaller, writhing creature.

Saul let the footage run. "Look familiar? Turns out that having sex in a store like that is a firing offense." He clucked his tongue. "I know. This society with its barbaric laws and social niceties. All the same, your little playmate Terry there didn't want to lose his job. So guess what he'll tell the police if they ask if he was forced."

Matt stared, aghast.

"Or how about this little scene?" The cat clicked the remote again, and the image changed. This time, Matt could easily recognize his own car being recorded from a mounted dashboard camera: a horse in a police uniform tilting back his head, eyes squeezed shut, as an otter, even bigger and bulkier than the one before, rutted into him, half-crushing him against the car, the whole vehicle swaying as his hips pounded. Saul clucked again. "Rape of a police officer. Or so he'll say, if this footage ever gets out." He grinned at Matt, wrinkling his muzzle as he feigned a friendly whisper. "Obviously he'll keep quiet if it doesn't."

"How did you even get this footage?" Matt stammered.

"Sweetie, you don't get to be where I am without making a few connections here and there. I followed you. And then I just talked to the right people. So let's see what other clips we have!" He changed the scene again. It was another top-down scene, obviously the parking garage. Right below the camera was a Porsche. Of course Gomez would park it right where it would be most easily viewed. A massive creature, barely recognizable as an otter, was gripping both sides of the hood, his whole body thrusting down and forward with terrific force, wide back rippling and bulging with impossible strength as his movements dented in the hood of the vehicle beneath him. The struggling lion pinned between the two could barely be seen.

"I understand he fired you just before that," Saul purred. "So there you even have motive." He shook his head in mock dismay. "Like I said before, Matt, you've been doing some very bad things. I bet I'll find even more to use against you if I find out what you did with the rest of your day today. And that's why you're not going to the police. You understand me? If you say one word to them about what's going on, I'll tell them you assaulted and raped me. I'll have literal bucket loads of DNA evidence, recorded footage, and witness accounts all ready to say that you forced yourself on them. You'll be a registered sex offender, Matt. Good luck ever finding a place you're legally allowed to live, if you ever get out of prison."

He sighed through his nose. "I don't really understand why you're making this so difficult. You can ruin your life, or you can have a few good times with me. That's all I'm asking."

Matt slumped to the floor in despair - at least, as far as his chains would let him, his arms pulled out wide. "This... how could you do this to me, Saul? You're... you were our friend! This is rape. That's all it is."

Saul shrugged. "You guys were really shitty friends. Besides, it's not rape if you want it. And you're really going to want it. You're going to beg me for it."

"You're forcing me to want it!" Matt shouted.

"Oh really?" the cat sneered. "Does that make a difference? Isn't that what you did to those fun little toys of yours on the tapes? Didn't you, with your crazy, magic, sex-god scent, make them want it?" His face contorted in sudden regret. "Didn't you make me want it? If that's what makes the difference, then, my dear boy, you started it. You did it to me first."

"Don't even pretend that's the same! I never chained you up and shoved drugs down your throat while you were unconscious. I never shot you with a tranquilizer gun!"

Saul shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Semantics. I'm sure you'll feel better about things in, oh, about half an hour. But all this shouting and whining of yours is very unpleasant. I'll be back down when you're feeling a bit more agreeable." He looked around the room briefly. "I know what you're thinking, but there's nothing in reach. Your arms and legs are quite secure in those chains. I've left the key upstairs. So there's no point in struggling."

The cat's expression softened. "Look, I'm not... I'm not really a bad person. I'm just... I never get a turn, you know? You're... so gorgeous. I can't forget the way you looked from before, the way your scent drove me crazy. The way you looked when you begged me for sex, before your little boyfriend stopped us. Besides, I need the money. I really need it."

Matt furrowed his brow. "Money? What money?"

Saul looked over toward the video camera set up next to his chair. "This whole thing you have going with you, it's got this... fetish... behind it. If I can get video of a guy like you growing like you do? Like, actually for real, and not some cheap computer-generated thing? If I go to the right people with that, I can name my price. It would help a lot." He gave an odd little laugh. "I mean, manacles and tranquilizer guns don't pay for themselves!"

Sighing, Matt said, "So that's it. You're gonna grow me huge and have sex with me. There's nothing I can do."

"Well, you could try to just accept it and enjoy it. But you know what? I'm a fair guy. If I come down once the drugs are really going, and you still say no to me, I promise I won't do anything. I won't touch you until you say yes, just like before. But Matt, you're going to say yes. So don't worry about it. It will be ecstatic."

Saul patted his chest again, and he flinched away, his chains rattling. "Don't touch me."

The cat scowled. "I'm going upstairs now," he said. "And I'm not coming back until you're in a better mood." He turned, still holding his glass, and stalked up the stairs. At the top he paused. "Oh yes," he added. "Soundproofed room. So, you know, don't go wearing your voice out for nothing." He closed the door behind him.

Matt stared after him for a moment, and then slumped again. His weight really tugged on his chest and arms, but it didn't hurt at all, except where the manacles chafed at his wrists. He stood up and gave both of the chains at his arms a forceful push, straining with all his might. His chest pushed out so thickly he couldn't put his arms all the way forward, his triceps mashing outward into the chain. It wobbled around as he pushed at it, but the metal itself showed no signs of stretching or breaking. Again and again he tried, but it was still no use. He sighed, leaning back against the wall and panting slowly; the exertion had heated him up. If each chain would really hold three thousand pounds, there was no way he could break them. He had been trapped with less than eight hundred pounds at the gym, unable to budge it until he grew, and even then it had taken a huge effort. There was no way, even if he grew many times.

He walked out as far as he could to the ends of the chains, but it wasn't very far. Everything in the room was far, far out of reach of the chains, and besides, he couldn't see anything that would help him get free. The bottle of lube, maybe, but his paws looked far too big to slip out of the cuffs, and his feet definitely were. There was no way out.

He stared down at his feet, feeling helpless. There was nothing on the floor around him, nothing but white and gray dust, gritty under his webbed toes. Some kind of concrete dust, he guessed. Probably from when Saul had put in the new manacles, which only proved his claims from before. Rated to three thousand pounds each, then. The cuffs, the chains, and probably the bolts that clamped them to the wall, too. He froze.

But not the walls.

No, the walls were probably made of cinder block; that's what the dust under his toes felt like. And while he wasn't sure how much pulling a cinder block could take, it was probably a hell of a lot less than three thousand pounds. Still, it hadn't budged when he'd tugged at it. He wasn't strong enough to move it. Yet. He had one surefire way to make himself stronger.

He hesitated at the thought of it. Did he really want to try to do this? As soon as he asked himself the question, the answer seemed obvious. It was grow now, of his own will, and escape, or grow later, at Saul's whim, and probably give in to him.

He closed his eyes, focusing on drawing his lust. He waited. And waited. But it wasn't coming. Every moment of the past several days, his lust had been just a mere stray thought and a heartbeat away, but now he couldn't make himself get hard. It was his situation. It was Saul, and what he'd done. It just wasn't erotic at all; instead it was creepy and frightening. And still, lurking about his mind, was the faint haze of the tranquilizers.

He thought of the homophobic wolves in the gym, Ray and Trav, and how they'd threatened him because of the urges his scent had aroused in them. He thought of Devon, thrown into personal crisis over what he'd done. There was Gomez, his boss, who he'd practically ragefucked atop his car, and Will, who had reminded him that his life wasn't all just about him. There was Terry, the raccoon from the GNC, threatening to call him rapist because he'd risked his job, and Officer Cokie, who had threatened him with arrest if he didn't fuck him. Everything had occurred because Matt could create desire. He could make guys want him. And okay, maybe it wasn't bad like what Saul was doing to him now, but it was still just desire.

He'd always wanted to be desirable. He'd thought, back when he was a skinny little underwhelming otter, that having everyone look at you and crave you would be the best thing in the world. And true, it had been fun, most of the time. But now, because of it, he was trapped in a basement by some skeevy guy who couldn't say no. Desire wasn't enough. It was fun, but empty. It could even be monstrously selfish. It could make people just want to eat you whole. Cokie, Terry, Ray, Trav, Gomez, Devon, and Saul. And, of course, Stetson.

But then, Stetson had always desired him, even when he was that skinny little underwhelming otter. He sighed, suddenly remembering fondly the way he'd bent his boyfriend over the kitchen table, lathered up his buns with butter, and squeezed into him. He remembered his moans as he thrust, his whimpers as the tip of his cock hit the underside of the table.

His sheath pulsed. There was a sticky sound as his shaft rose an inch or two from it; he couldn't see it over his own chest to check. He wished the rabbit were here now. Even if he couldn't unlock the chains, just to have him here. The last time he'd been chained up here, Stetson had just climbed up him and rode him. Gods, that had felt good. His balls throbbed with the memory of it. He could feel the fur on his abs sliding against his flesh as it rose. He closed his eyes, imagining Stetson's paws on his shoulders, his broad feet locked behind his waist, the tightness of the rabbit's rump as it squeezed down around him. Yes. His shaft ached with sudden hardness. A hot trail of precum oozed down his channel, and he sniffed the air, inhaling his intoxicating scent, still not opening his eyes, imagining a delicate pink rabbit tongue lightly tracing up his shaft, stroking him clean.

The soft touch of fur bumped against his tip and he opened his eyes in surprise, expecting to see the rabbit there, but no. There was no one. He tugged at his chains and felt the movement of fur against his tip again. It was his chest; the end of his cock nudging up against it. He gasped at the thought of it, and braced his broad paws, pushing his hips upward a little. The top of his glans slid along the smooth cleft between his pecs. He drew his breath in sharply again, giving his hips a twitch. His cock flexed, almost by itself, bobbing downward - he could feel its weight tugging at his loins as it did - and then slapping up against his chest once more, wedging beneath its shelf and simultaneously painting the bottom of it with hot syrup. He could feel it seeping into his fur, crawling down his belly. His scent was getting to him now: his breaths were getting deeper and shuddering. He pushed his hips up again, his tip stuck below the bottom of his chest, the shaft bowing outward as he did so. Again he pushed, and again, flexing his chest to squeeze at the sensitive flesh below. His sac bounced against his thighs, the weight of its contents drawing up. His cock flexed again; he felt his pre soaking down to his legs, but also squeezing up between his pectorals until it glistened at the top of his chest. He breathed in deep, leaned forward, curled his tongue out, and licked the taste of himself off of his chest. It was utterly and overwhelmingly male. He wanted more of it. He mentally commanded his balls to make more of it, and felt, though surely it was only his imagination, a surge of heightened lust race through him. His cock pulsed several times, and with each, sent more pre soaking up over his chest, running down his shaft, each jet of it far more than he had once ever been able to cum. He felt drops of it on the floor, around his toes.

Almost deliriously he began to pump his hips again; he felt his tip slide free suddenly from below his chest, the fur too slippery now to keep it wedged there. It bobbed heavily in the air again, and then smacked against his chest and belly once more, and then the smell and the taste and the sensations overwhelmed him. His sac tightened his hips convulsed, and then he stared as a small fountain of white splashed up past his chest, soaking it, pleasure and satisfaction gripping his mind and making his back arch. His cock dipped as he thrust forward, sending thick ropes of his seed halfway across the room, splashing across Saul's chair. He craned his head forward eagerly, wanting to taste it, but his tip was out of reach. A few more splashes coated the floor in front of him, and then he felt it just bubbling out, streaming down his cock and dripping off of his balls onto his thighs.

The growth he had yearned for hit him then: he flexed his shaft hard, involuntarily, straining it, feeling the tip creep up higher against his chest, and then he saw the top of it beyond his pecs, broad as an orange, soaked in white, with more oozing out. His body tensed, every muscle tightening, his wrists involuntarily pulling at the manacles about them, and he grew. His tail slid against the wall, and the rounding of his glutes pushed it up higher. His back pressed against the wall as it thickened, and he watched the floor drop further away. He could feel his traps bulking up higher behind his head, his neck widening, and he could watch as his pecs jumped and twitched, his pelt stretching out as new fibers of muscle crawled beneath it, adding layer after layer of power, his still-dripping tip teased as the sinew shoved it out farther.

He panted for a second in the aftermath, and realized then that he wasn't satisfied in the slightest. He still yearned to cum. Had the drugs Saul had given him already begun to take effect? Or was this just what his libido was like, now? Maybe he had to cum more than once before he was finished, now. At any rate, his balls were still pulsing.

His stomach growled, and he sniffed the air, scenting the irresistible odor of his own cum. He hungered for his cock, and he was determined to have it. There was no reason why he shouldn't; he was strong enough to get it. He shifted his grip in the manacles, turning his wrists to grip the chains in his broad paws. He squeezed them tight and then hefted his own weight in them. Lifting himself was easy. It was as if he weighed nothing at all. He braced his thick tail against the wall and then pushed, using his abs to curl his hips upward. He saw his knees rise up in the air past his chest, and then the tip of his cock pushed forward, guided by the cleft between his pecs, trailing pre as it arched upward along his chest and into his waiting muzzle.

He had trouble squeezing it in at this point; it was pretty thick, but fortunately, an otter's muzzle was broad, and his was broader than most - perhaps any other's - thanks to his growth. His tongue lapped smoothly at the top of his glans and he groaned, sealing his lips around it. He could actually feel the load of pre traveling up his channel, pushing its way past his lips as it jetted into his throat, and he swallowed it hungrily. His mouth felt good, tight. He began to rock his hips upward, fucking into his own face, his body suspended by the chains gripped tightly in his paws. He realized, distantly, that he was both pulling up and crunching hundreds of pounds, but the effort was trivial. His back thumped against the wall as he pushed his hips upward, and pinched at it as the muscle flexed to support his weight. He could scarcely pay attention to that, though; he was lost in the sensation of suckling at his own tip.

Because it was his own cock in his muzzle, he quickly learned just how to slide his tongue, exactly how hard to suck, when to push into the back of his throat, when to avoid his teeth. He was learning more about oral sex than he ever could have on his own, and the sensations were quickly overwhelming him. His shaft jumped with sudden straining, filling his muzzle with mouthfuls of hot pre that he struggled to swallow in time, but his swallowing just made his throat and tongue tease him even more. Before he was ready, another climax was rapidly approaching. Some rational part of his mind told him he should pull his tip out of his muzzle in a hurry, but a more defiant (and crazed with pleasure) side of himself instead curled up his abdominals hard, pushing his tip into the back of his throat. His cock bulged slightly larger for a moment, and then he felt his climax erupt into his own mouth. He choked on the first load, the back of his muzzle spasming delightfully against his glans as he did so, and he barely managed to recover and swallow before the second load jetted out. His balls throbbed. Seed poured down his throat, making him feel bloated, the sensation of swallowing so much so quickly intensely uncomfortable, but he couldn't care. The pleasure was too great. Again and again he pulsed, humping up against his own face.

He felt his cock strain again, mid-erupt. In his mouth, he could feel it pulsing, feel the flesh moving against his tongue and palate as it stretched, forcing his jaws farther apart. It poured a little more seed down his throat, and then reeled out a bit, pushing deeper into his gullet and making him gag. He began lowering his hips to pull it out of his muzzle, and just then every muscle in his body flexed hard. His chest began ballooning out in slow, stretching movements, pushing out against his shaft and levering it away from him, the tip popping free of his jaws. Cum drooled from the corners of his muzzle and spilled onto his chest. He could feel his back sliding against the wall again, the angle of his grip on the chains changing as his arms lengthened. The weight of his body seemed to decrease even further. He slowly uncurled his torso, lowering his toes to the floor and stood up. He was much broader than before, he could tell. Every muscle felt overstuffed, crowded. Looking down at himself he could tell that even were he back at his original height, he would still be enormously muscled, as much so as even the biggest guys he had ever seen. Every part of him was rounded bulges, stretching out his pelt with powerful sinew. He looked like a comic book hero, almost. He wondered if the rate of his growth could have increased even more than before.

His gut felt bloated and full, though, and it gurgled with the meal of seed he had just consumed. He tried to reach to touch it and the manacles gripped at his wrists, more tightly than they had before. He tugged at them in annoyance. Perhaps he was strong enough to pull them out now. He ought to be, he thought, considering he was the size of a forklift now. He lifted an arm and gave one chain an experimental tug, briefly distracted by the way his triceps pushed out, by the way his shoulders mounded. His cock had started to soften, but now it rose again. No. He couldn't give in to his appetites. He had to get free. He started to push again, but then his stomach growled once more. He was hungry. More than that, he was suddenly achingly, desperately hungry. He'd added so much mass so quickly. He needed food.

The protein bag was to his right, the feeding tube dangling below it. He couldn't reach it with his hands, but he could lean down and grab it in his jaws. His chest and shoulder bulged out, getting in his way as he tried to nip at the tube, but he finally got it. He worked it around with his tongue and teeth until he had the end in his muzzle, and then he sucked urgently at it. The thick fluid that filled his mouth was cold and sickly-sweet and foul-tasting, but he barely noticed, swallowing as rapidly as he could to stave off the intense hunger that clawed at him. He emptied a good quarter of the bag before the cravings left him.

Panting, he let go of the tube and looked around. He had been trying to get free. His panting breath made his chest slide up and down against his tip. The scents of musk and seed were heavy in the air. He felt his balls throbbing with need, his sac feeling like it was gripping them too tightly. He could hear a steady dripping as pre trickled from his sac to puddle between his webbed feet. The urge to fuck... something... was overwhelming. But no.

No, he needed to escape. He wrested his attention away from his aching cock and lifted his right arm, eyeing the manacle around his wrist. With a quick movement, he twisted his body forward, pulling his right arm across his body to yank at the chain. The metal links held, jerking at his arm as he reached the end of it. The steel bit hard into his wrist, painfully, but it felt like the chain might have shifted a bit in the wall. He yanked again, just as hard. The bulge of his chest and biceps was making the movement more difficult, but he was learning how to move around them. Again the steel cut into his wrist, and again he felt the bolts shift in the wall. He put as much power as he could into the movement, tugging again, four times, five, and on the sixth, there was a crumbling sound and the chain pulled free, whipping forward across the room, the bolts still embedded in a chunk of cinder block that had torn out of the wall.

Matt stared at the chain for a moment, heart pounding in awe. He'd just ripped a steel chain out of a basement wall. He lifted his arm, ignoring the clinking sounds of the chain dragging on the ground, and stared at it, moving his hand from side to side, watching the overstuffed swells of muscle ripple like shifting iron beneath his short fur. No otter had ever been this big before; probably very few - if any-people ever had been this big. He was something new. He splayed his short fingers, pulling the webs tight, watching his forearm bulge with the casual movement. Trancelike, he lowered his paw to his cock and gripped it just under his glans, feeling heated precum bubble out and spill down across his knuckles. It felt so good. He could escape in a minute or two. Just now he needed to ease the pressure just a bit. He began stroking.