FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It's one of those extremely boring days. You look at your videogame collection, but none of the games appeal to you. There are no good shows on TV. You are not in the mood for a movie. Your cell phone is completely discharged. And to top it all, it seems like it's going to rain. Definitely it sucks to be all by yourself in your house, in this extremely boring and uneventful day.

Just as you are considering going to sleep early, just to skip boredom altogether, someone knocks at your door. Wondering who it is, you head to your door, expecting one of your friends paying you a surprise visit. You are still out of luck however, as there's a delivery boy holding what seems to be a huge, black duffel bag. According to the guy, the duffel bag was found on the 'lost and found' bin and mailed to the address written on the duffel's bag tag. You tell him that this is a mistake, you never have had such a duffel bag, but the delivery boy insists as this is the only address the company authorized for the delivery. As you see the boy growing increasingly concerned about the impending rain, you decide to sign for the duffel bag.

As soon as you finished signing off, the delivery boy heads to his motorbike and goes away, while you are still standing in front of your opened door with the huge duffel bag. What is wrong with him? You feel the raindrops starting to pour by, so you pick the duffel bag and head inside. Back to your boring afternoon in your boring life inside your boring house. Wondering who the hell might have sent this duffel bag to your house, you decide to read the tag on the side of the duffel bag. Surely you find your whole address there.... except for one little detail: the street listed on the tag is barely readable, as the last word only reads -e-st. This explains the confusion! They were meant to send this bag to the EAST part of the street, yet you ended up receiving it on the WEST side!

You consider your options. You couldn't manage to catch the delivery boy's name, or the company for which he works, so you cannot call back to explain the situation. You are not heading anywhere, as the rain is getting heavier by the second, and it might get dangerous to drive all the way to the other side of town. You cannot even browse on internet who the possible owner of the duffel bag is, since you decided earlier to format your computer and now it's just an empty useless husk.

Wondering who the heck is the owner of the mysterious duffel bag, you take it to your room and place it on your bed. In any other situation you wouldn't have been snooping onto someone else's property, even if it had been mailed to your address. But then again, you are bored, with a mysterious duffel bag from an unknown owner and the heavy contents inside of it. It could be anything from a bunch of stolen cash, or random gym apparel, or maybe just some random tourist's travel stuff. Letting your curiosity get the best out of you, your hands head to the zippers, grab them and slowly open the bag... but then you gasp in shock as its contents are nothing like you have expected.

Past the unmistakable musk of dirty clothes, you find a pair of huge, yellow boots, some varied padded protectors, a pair of blue lycra thighs with tribal symbols on each side, a pair of knee protectors, two huge sleeveless gloves, and a blue trouser... Your heart skips a beat, as you remember having seen all this pieces of clothing somewhere. Following a hunch, when you flip the trousers, you find to your suspicions to be true: In yellow letters, you can read "KING" with a subtitle "ANGER OF BEAST" below it.

Frantically, you move the whole contents of the duffel bag to find the decisive evidence, to clear up your doubts, until you spot a mysterious brown leather bag, nicely tied with a single lace. Untying it, you reach inside and...

No. This is highly improbable. More than that, this is impossible. What are the chances, of all the people in the world, to be the one to which this is happening to? But the proof is on front of you, covered in yellow fur and dark spots. With huge, pearly white fangs. And sharp, triangular-shaped ears. And incredibly mesmerizing emerald eyes.

You wouldn't consider yourself a sports fanatic, even less of a lucha libre fanatic. You are just a regular couch potato guy with no interest whatsoever in such things (even more evident because of your lack of physical fitness). But even you have heard the stories of the legendary powerful wrestler, of the musclebound masked Mexican who has fought in so many vicious battles, who had defeated all kinds of fighters from all around the world. His imposing figure and raw strength turned him into a media sensation, and even you had to admit that guy was seriously going places.

And now, in front of you, lies the centerpiece of his persona, which granted him with the air of confidence and mystery that made his adversaries to cower in fear and respect to him: a realistic one-of-a-kind lucha libre mask shaped like the head of a jaguar, with a perpetual growling snarl and realistic-looking eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul.

You have the full wrestling equipment of King, from the infamous Tekken tournament, right in front of you.

Recovering from the shock of this realization, your brain tries to find some reason or explanation, trying to make any sense of your situation. Why would anyone send that to your house? Could this be just a cosplay? Perhaps this is part of a prank? Or... is this the real deal?

You decide to leave the leather bag in your bed, as you are settle back into reality, perceiving back the heavy rain pouring outside your home. You are definitely not dreaming, as you can feel the black duffel back occupying part of your bed, and all wrestling-related items inside of it. Another realization kicks in: this was meant to be headed to the other side of town, so whoever was meant to have it wouldn't have it for the moment, at least not while you are trapped in your house with rain falling down. You end up concluding that, whoever person meant to receive the contents of the duffel bag was, in fact, the one and only King.

So you have King's whole attire. What now? The first choice is the obvious one, to return it to its owner as soon as possible. Perhaps you will be able to meet the wrestler in person while you deliver it, even asking for an autograph in return. Not that you are a fan of his, but it would be a nice thing to have. Another option would be to auction it on Ebay; there are many of his fans who would pay a thousand bucks for the whole duffel bag as is. A third option would be to put it on display on your house. However... There is a fourth option.

You are all alone, you have nothing better to do, and you have already all the pieces of King's equipment... wouldn't it be nice to check them out? After all, it's not like the real owner is ever going to notice, and he probably wouldn't be missing this stuff at all. Isn't he like, super rich? He must have had hundreds of replacements at home, he surely wouldn't miss this one. And there's also the infamous jaguar mask, which nobody has been able to replicate before with such level of realism and perfection. It would be a huge mistake to miss the opportunity, right here and now, to check it out. Opportunities like this are just once in a lifetime chances.

Your heart begins to beat faster, and your hands to tremble, as you grab the bottom of the duffel bag and turn it upside down, dropping all of its contents into your bed. The first thing you take are the boots - a pair of really big yellow boots. The boots are kinda heavy, with three straps on each one to secure its wearer's foot, and the front shaped like shin protectors. Next you pick the yellow kneepads, and place them on the bed next to the boots.

You pick the lycra tights and expand them. You become amazed of the elasticity the material can withstand without deforming or ripping, althoug given that this is meant to be worn by a luchadore, makes sense. Then you notice the material is kind of moist and smelly, and you drop it immediately. Probably the wrestler was wearing those clothes before packing them in the duffel bag, which would explain them being soaked in his sweat. That's when you notice something: inside the lycra tights, nicely folded, was a piece of cloth you never had seen before - a jockstrap. You decide not to examine it and place it next to the "KING" trouser, which served no purpose but to be worn over the tights.

The various protectors for King's arms were as yellow as the boots, but he could recognize their function by a glance: a pair of elbow padded protectors, one forearm protector, one bicep band, and of course the fingerless gloves. In fact the gloves were the coolest part of them, feeling them on the inside you could perceive them to be also moist and smelly, and covered with various scratches on the inside. You could only begin to imagine the amount of wrestlers that had been grabbed and grappled by those gloved hands, to be thrown and punched mercilessly. And then, you accidently unstrap the left glove, inviting your hand to go inside and try it on.

After all, if you have the chance to check them out, well... maybe could use the chance to try them on too.

No! you reprimand yourself as you keep holding the left glove in your hand. This is bad, this is wrong. It's a bad, bad idea. Not only you do NOT have the body to pull it off, you are talking about dirty wrestling clothes that were placed on the bag to be washed off. It's anti-hygienic at its worst. Yet... what would be the harm on trying them once? Just to see how it looked, to get to know what it feels to wear all of that. To get to know for a moment how does it feel to be one of the most famous and strongest wrestlers in the story of... well, wrestling! The more you think about it, the more appealing the idea sounds... and the more aroused you become, as your cock begins to harden at the thought. Maybe you could try these things on, nothing big, just put them on, take them off, and then shower yourself. Nobody would ever notice, it would be the perfect crime!

Leaving the left glove, you grab your shirt and remove it, revealing your unappealing torso, covered in some fat and little hair. You do the same with your tennis, untying them and leaving them aside as you remove your pants. Being only in your boxers, you wonder if you would dare to put the jockstrap on. After all it's been used, and doing that would be gay as fuck... Then again, you are on your own, so nobody would have to know that you did. You only live once, after all, you say to yourself as you take off your boxers, leaving yourself in the nude.

You pick the jockstrap, which looks really moist and smells like sweat and BO, and in a swift movement, you slid it on, adjusting it to have your privates properly accommodated. You try not to think about it, but the fact you're wearing someone else's undergarments with stains of what you'd like to assume is only sweat, only manages to make your boner even bigger. You pick the lycra thighs and slide your legs on them, adapting to your regular leg size as you feel the moistness of the sweat all around your legs. It's not that it's wet, but the fact that they fitted you perfectly, what makes you feel all weirded out. You notice the smell of BO and the manly sweat coming from the tights as you put the blue "KING" trouser on.

With that done, you sit on the corner of the bed, and slid on one of the knee protectors. Then, you pick one of the boots and slide your leg inside of it, securing it as best as you can with the straps on each one. The boot is really big, even as he tried harder to secure the straps he felt his foot was not big enough for the boot. You assume King would be one of those males with "big feet", as you take the other boot and repeat the operation. The boots make you feel clumsy when you give a step or two to try them out, so you decide to stay close to the bed.

Taking the left glove, you slide your left hand fitting each on your fingers, and then strapping the glove as best as you could. You repeat the same with the right glove, and although the glove impedes some of the movement in your hands, it's not significant enough to keep you from picking the elbow pads and putting them on. The forearm protector was no problem, but the bicep protector was a challenge, as you didn't have enough definition on your bicep to keep it on. For the time being you decide to let it slide to the elbow pad.

You know there's one piece left to complete the ensemble, yet you want to look at yourself first. With certain difficulty, you head towards the mirror on the wall, and when you look at yourself... the only thing you see is an unfit body trying to pull off a mediocre cosplay. The pants and the protectors look like they might be hand-downs from an older brother, as the boots make you feel little in comparison. The jockstrap does a very good job concealing your privates that you cannot notice the raging boner on the trunks. In that moment you decide it's finally time to check the leather bag in your bed, and pick the mask inside of it.

The amount of details on the mask are amazing, as the fur covering it is extremely realistic and proportionate to a real's jaguar head. The ears, the fangs, the black lips, the sandpapery tongue, the pink nose, and those amber colored eyes! No wonder that nobody has been able to build something even remotely similar. Where or how the hell did King manage to have this mask has been a big mystery, as he had kept silence on the matter for years. Inside the mask you can feel what only could be described as some sort of black flexible latex, leather, or some material similar to those. The mask is meant to embrace the face of the wearer completely, concealing it from the outside world and not letting anyone to remove it so easily. Given that nobody had ever seen King without his mask proved that the mask did a very well job keeping the real identity of King a secret to everyone.

Grabbing the mask from the edges, you know that there is no turning back. You are really going through this even if you know that you'll look ridiculous. You give it a quick sniff, it smells like it has been used countless times before, a musk of manliness and sweat fills your nostrils. You inhale deeply, exhale, and in one swift motion you pull the mask towards your head. At first it seems like the mask is too small for your head, but slowly your face begins to slide until the top of your head reaches the inside of the mask. You fondle with the edges until your mouth aligns with the mask, and your eyes are aligned with the mask.

The only thing you are able to hear on the inside of the mask is the noise of your mouth breathing. It takes you some time to adjust your eyes, as you're able to see the world in a slight tint of yellow, but for some reason that doesn't impede your vision at all. Despite its design the mask feels comfortable, yet alien at the same time, and the more time you were wearing it the less alien it felt. Holding one of your gloved hands to your head, you could feel its fur as if you were petting a real, live animal. The mask was starting to feel suspiciously warm, too...

You did it! Now you are completely dressed as King! The situation is really silly, as you are wearing clothes meant for someone bigger than you, and the fact that you're not wearing a shirt makes it even sillier. It really makes you feel like a novice cosplayer as you walk back to the mirror in order to appreciate yourself. But then you look at yourself wearing the mask... and you look amazing! Perhaps it would be even more intimidating if you had the body to back it up, but nevertheless the jaguar mask reflects a ferocity you never thought you had before. And it seems your cock approves as you are already leaking pre into the jockstrap. You're so horny that your right hand heads to your groin and begins rubbing it slightly over the KING trouser.

Without you noticing, however, a mystical energy began to emanate from the mask, and to spread all over your body in a matter of seconds. At the same time, the mask became tighter, as the edges of the mask closed in to your head. In the midst of pleasure, your muscles began to feel strained, burning even, as if you were working out intensely, as the mystical energy surrounded you whole and activated the ancient power lying dormant inside the mask. You only noticed it when your mouth was forcefully opened, being pushed towards the snout in the mask as your eyes began to merge with the golden lenses of the mask... leaving a pair of realistic feline eyes in their place.

Assuming this was an allergic reaction to some component inside the mask, you decide to take your hands towards the edges... but you are stopped mid-track as your hands are trembling again... only this time, they are also shifting and pulsing with heat and energy. You turn to look at your hands, and at the same time that your hands are becoming bigger, your vision is becoming sharper. Now your gloves fit your growing hands better and better, until your hands become perfectly fitted to them. But that's just the first of the changes you'll be noticing.

Clenching in pain in front of the mirror, you manage to see your torso pulsing with the same energy that changed your hands. Your chest slowly begins to expand and reform into a pair of big, square-shaped pectorals, while your abdomen turns into a chiseled six-pack. Your arms began to feel heavier with every pulse, as your biceps and triceps develop at an alarming rate. The bicep straps become very tight all of a sudden. Whichever body hair you had before, it has grown into a visible treasure trail in the midst of your new rock-hard abs, as your arms are coated with a thin layer of body hair, from the back of your hand to your shoulders.

As the magic of the mask starts heading to your lower parts, the mask feels more constraining than ever, as your ears are being pulled from the side of your head to the top, and the round ears atop the mask start moving on their own. Your lips fuse with the jaguar's black lips, as your teeth lengthen to fill up the fangs on the snout, and your tongue fits nicely inside the raspy, sandpapery one. As this happens you finally manage to close your mouth slowly, as the mask begins to reflect your own face emotions, which in this case would be a face of simultaneous fear and intense pleasure.

Your legs grow to the size of tree trunks, in order to withstand your new weight, as your feet begin to fill nicely those huge boots. You can feel your legs being covered in body hair as the lycra of the thighs stretch to withstand this new size. And, at the same time... your cock starts to change. You cannot see it, but you feel it becoming longer, bigger, and more sensitive by the second, at the same time as your balls grow to the size of baseballs. You feel the jockstrap holding it all on its place better than before, as it should be capable to manage someone with your (new) size without any issue, yet it's becoming dangerously wet with your own leaked pre as to begin to stain the lycra thighs.

-What the...- You manage to say after all this time. Somehow your voice now sounds slightly deeper and raspy than before, as you contemplate all the changes you're going through. You can barely feel your face at this moment, as your head is so tightly pressed against the mask you cannot tell where your face ends and when the mask begins. Somehow your nostrils are perceiving thousands of new smells, including your own body odour, which somehow is becoming more similar to that of the clothes you are now wearing. You can feel your body pulsing and growing by the second, as your feel every part of your body being filled with strength and testosterone, and your new ears flicker in surprise.

As your body keeps growing and growing by the second, you start to feel a weird presence fill up your mind. At first it was nothing but a tiny whisper, but the deeper your new transformation went, the stronger the presence was becoming inside your head. Suddenly you began to feel stable, stronger, sexier, and more confident that you have ever felt before. Different images began to randomly flash on your head, visions about stuff you haven't ever seen before: countless hours of rigorous training, impressive battles against different foes, various keys and grips learned over a long time. You can see one of King's fabled moves in full detail, as your muscles begin to acquire the memory reflexes for each one, as if you had been training and practicing them your whole life. Those memories were clearly not yours, yet somehow they are beginning to feel less foreign and more familiar to you.

One part of you decided to keep struggling against whatever was happening to you, as you regained enough control to be able to look at yourself. You find out that your eyes slightly shifted their perspective, no longer looking from, but looking from the mask's eyes, as your mouth finishes adjusting to the snout. -Gotta... gotta stop this... the... the mask... -You manage to say. Whatever is happening to you is not normal, and that the jaguar mask must have something to do with all of this. Your voice is deeper and manlier than before, as the presence keeps flooding your mind with all kind of strange-yet-now-familiar visions and memories. But doesn't matter how much you try to protect your mind, you are being distracted by the powerful rod between your legs.

-C... Can't... Thinkrrrr...- You say with your new voice, which now sounded a tad more feline, almost as if you were growling at the same time. Your dick (or rather King's, at this point) demanded all of your attention as the mask continued its task to change your body and mind into someone completely different. As your muscular growth rate slowed down, you gain enough control to move both of your hands and get a hold on your masked face, in order to try and tamper with the mask. It's fruitless though, as the mental projections become far more intense and clear, your feline eyes turn glossy as the presence keeps conditioning your mind for your new body.

-STOP.... NOWWRAAWR...- You yell, but the transformation is far too advanced to do anything at this point. The presence ensures you that this is normal, that there's nothing to worry about, which makes it easier for you to compel and obey. It convinces you that things has been always been this way. That the mental projections inside your head are not fake, that they have really happened. That this body of yours is the product of an intense training you've been enduring for decades. That you are not just a bored suburban dude, but someone else. That you are someone powerful, someone respected. That you are a confident macho lucha wrestler. That your name, your real name, your only name is K...

-"NO! My name is not... My name is...-You yell again with your manly voice. However, for you it is impossible to focus, as your right hand heads toward your cock and begin stroking it. Doesn't matter how hard you try to recall your own name, the pleasure that now runs through your whole body is so intense that it leaves your paralyzed in pure ecstasy. -"My... My name...- You grit your strong jaguar jaw tightly, trying your best to ignore the waves of pleasure, but it's getting even harder to resist. You end up tripping and falling to your bed, facing the roof as you keep stroking, and your left hand heads to your rock-hard abdomen, caressing your six-pack.

The presence insists on you saying your name, as your new memories are settling forever in your mind. You know that this is nearly over, but if you manage to regain control before you climax you might revert all of this. Using the last of your will, you drive your right hand away from your dick, and once again drive your hands towards your head, in order to remove the mask. But then you place your hand on your snout... and you feel it. Not only you can sense the warmth of the skin, or the whiskers moving with your breathing, or the blood pumping though your head, you can also smell your huge gloved hand. And it smells like a King's dick. It smells like King's sweat, like King's musk. That's the last thing you could stand before your resistance shatters completely.

-My... MY... NAME... MY NAME IS...- Slightly pulling down the lycra thights, you remove the jockstrap, which is now completely wet with cum and sweat, and reveal your huge, veiny, powerful cock, which is at full mast. Instinctively your hand circles your cock and resumes pumping it, making you reach new levels of pleasure. Except this time, there is not a presence making you to do so, but you are doing it willingly. You are so pleased with yourself that somehow you start making weird purring sounds, and after a whole minute of loudly pleasuring yourself you finally admit defeat.

-KING!!!!- You roar loudly, your dick spasming in your hands as you came, your seed splattering several feet towards the ceiling, into your own hand, and then towards your own chest. Your body tensed up, muscles flexing, as you raveled in the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced... in this life or any other you might have had. You take a deep breath through your jaguar face, as your body begins to cool down, and your mind (whichever part that happened to be intact, anyways) begins to assimilate what has just happened.

You grunt, bringing your jizz-coated right hand to your muzzle and take a quick lap of your prize with that new wide feline tounge of yours. As you keep cleaning yourself, like the good kitty you are now, you realize the world feels different, somehow. Like if you have just awoken from a long dream, and you were now finally ready for action. Raising up from the bed, you have a chance to feel the full weight of your muscles in your body, as your boots hit the ground with a loud noise, and you stand up and head to the mirror once more.

The wimp that stood in front that mirror is long gone, for your reflection is an almost perfect replica of King. Your muscular body is drenched in sweat, after the vigorous physical activity you have endured, so you can distinguish each and every one of your muscles. You raise one arm and sniff at your hairy armpit, and you confirm that King's BO is now your own. You see your cat whiskers move as the ears in the top of your head twitch in anticipation, as your hand gets to carefully palpate the long and sharp fangs in your mouth.

You notice the bicep band is extremely tight against your powerful bicep, as you suddenly flex it to accommodate your forearm protector, and once you started flexing, there was nothing in the world that could stop it. You gaze at your manly pectorals, your very own washboard, your beefy arms and your strong legs, you see them harden and contort as you experiment performing every bodybuilding pose that you have ever seen bodybuilders do, as you appreciate this body belonging to a man in his prime. Your only regret is to know about all the photos and videos you could be taking if your cellphone wasn't discharged.

The only thing that gives you away, as far as you can tell, is the dorky and surprised jaguar face that looks back at you, different from the confident and fierce expression that King displays in public.

But that's right! This was meant to be delivered to the real King! But looking at your face, looking at your awesome new bod, it dawns on you. This IS King's wrestling attire! Whoever this dude was, the reason he became the all-powerful wrestler everyone admire is because of the mystical powers contained inside the jaguar mask. The very same mask that is now affixed to your head, that how makes you the wrestler you're watching in the mirror. The presence in your head was right. Somehow you know that the mask has chosen you to be its new wearer, so... so fuck the previous owner! Now all of this is yours: Your wrestling attire, your boots, your body, your jaguar mask. They're all yours now, and you are now the new King!

Closing your eyes, you easily access all of your previous memories, plus a couple more: namely, the contacts at the wrestling associations, the various wrestlers you personally knew, the different parties you have attended, and the different partners you have ever been with. All it took was you walking into a room like this to get men, gay or straight, right on your knees. They could feel the power, they could feel your domination on and off the ring. That's why they cheered for you, that's why they worshipped you as their champion, chanting your name, cheering you on.

Tossing the empty duffel bag aside, you begin walking around your house, feeling shivers as you do so, and thinking about your mostly fortunate situation. What are you going to do now? Now that the mask and all the wrestling apparel belongs to you, somehow you know that you can remove the mask anytime you want and return to your original self... But why would you do that, now that you are enjoying yourself? You smirk, then your feline tongue licks your black lips in excitement. A new world of possibilities open in front of you, and you start considering each one of those.

The immediate first idea on your mind is to purchase a Gym membership. You can almost imagine it: Coming inside the lockers as yourself, then putting on the mask, and coming out as your muscular self. Going to the different machines, weightlifting heavy stuff and intensely working out with all the women wishing to be with you, and the men wishing to be you. Or is it the other way around? A similar idea would be the beach, which would be exactly the same except a whole lot of people would be watching you instead.

And what about a strip club? Now you could easily become the most expensive and coveted chippendale in the city, and you will get the chance to dance barely naked in front of strangers. Or maybe a bodyguard, which with your body and abilities would be a piece of cake. And of course, one of the obvious solutions: you could resume King's wrestling career when it left off. The wrestler has been out of the scene for at least a year, so why wouldn't you give your fans what they are asking for?

All those thoughts about your future, while you prance around the house in your huge body, are giving you again a boner, which makes you think that the mask probably grants you too an infinite amount of stamina since you feel energetic and not tired at all. Resisting the urge for now, you decide that your first course of action will be to buy large sized clothes as you might probably need to wash your semen-stained tights and trunks. But this will have to wait until the morning at least.

Before you go to bed, however, you decide to look in the mirror one last time. Concentrating, you close your eyes until you focus, and when you open them you give a huge snarl at yourself, watching as your jaguar face becomes the fearless face of a masculine and fierce wrestler. You really are a wrestler now.

Who would have guessed that such a boring afternoon turned you from Pauper, to King.