FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A colorful burst of advertisial splendor engrossed the main floor. In a maze of utilitarian kiosks, bright billboards boasted of impossible experiences and hawkers hollered over the buzz of conversation, the hiss of fizzy beverages, and the revealing pop of aluminum cans cracking open. It's the Comic-Con of soft drinks, Nick thought. The bi-annual Cola-Con was open to the public, featuring an endless all-you-can-drink collection of novelty drinks yet to hit the market -- for a price.

But Nick's admission price was only the cost of a single can of Bubble Bride soda. A glossy and sugar-soaked promotional ticket bobbed in the ebbing dregs of his afternoon drink. He'd won a sweepstakes, hosted by the Bubble Bride corporation, to be flown out to the convention for free. It included a VIP backstage pass and the opportunity to speak personally with the CEO. Not exactly a riveting reward, but he was promised "a lifetime of Bubble Bride" and he planned to collect.

It was best not to linger. The sooner he shook hands with the rich billionaire, the sooner he could wander the stalls carefree. Backstage was a misnomer. Beyond the event floor, the convention center was ensconced with loading docks on nearly every side but the main entrance. Cubicles from countless companies had been raised and personalized with whatever promotional items were on hand. Luckily for Nick, he had a lifetime of experience surrounded by the Bubble Bride's mascot and effortlessly spotted the international icon in the sea of vivid shades.

A slanted poster of the famous girl was slapped onto the thin plywood beside the curtain that made a makeshift door. Bubble Bride, the curly-haired anthropomorphic vixen in a polka-dot dress, sat on a soda bottle rocket that pierced the stratosphere. She was the original mascot when Bubble Bride first hit the market and a lasting remnant of the Atomic age. With countless outfit variations, it seemed she had been employed in nearly every prominent profession of the past fifty years. She'd been a bride just as long. Just who was Mr. Bubble Bride, and why hadn't they tied the knot?

Nick knocked on the plywood wall. "Hello? I won the Cola-Con sweepstakes and was--"

"Come in, come in!" rang out a bombastic voice. A flimsy table comprised most of the tight space, along with an out-of-place house plant in the corner beside the door. The name plate read, Mr. Lynsor, CEO.

Nick took a seat on a plastic yellow chair after sliding the curtain divider back in place for privacy. Before he could part his lips, the black-haired, sharp-suited 30-something broke into an enthusiastic smile and eyed Nick from top to bottom and then down again.

"You know, I think you're the first sweepstakes winner that's not a woman. Well, don't you worry about that," Mr. Lynsor said, pushing a pen and sheaf of papers towards Nick's side of the desk. "Everyone can be Bubble Bride material. Go on. Sign your name -- just some legal mumbo-jumbo. Makes our lawyers happy."

In addition to a long flight, Mr. Lynsor's overbearing smirk readied Nick to sign anything. And he did. Non-disclosure agreements are more complicated than ever.

Mr. Lynsor scanned the paperwork, tapped the neat stack pointlessly atop his desk, and then used a can of Bubble Bride as a paperweight. Nick hadn't seen the new can; it must be a new reveal for the convention. On the soda can and in a pop art style, the Bubble Bride was simpering in a sleek modern wedding dress with her vintage curled hair, embracing the neck of a bottle which sprayed a geyser of fizzy liquid. Beside her was a text bubble that read, "I can't help but be bubbly!"

Two strangers suddenly slipped into the room and flanked Nick at either side. His heart began to beat, and he bit down on his bottom lip. This was exceptionally uncomfortable.

"Well, we're really excited to have you working with us," Mr. Lynsor said. "It's always an exciting time when we reveal the new Bubble Bride design and have to raffle a new permanent mascot."

A new mascot? Permanent? "Wait. There's been a mistake!" Nick gasped, but the two buff gentleman both grabbed an arm.

"Which part of 'a lifetime of Bubble Bride' did you not understand?" Mr. Lynsor rolled his shoulders and then shrugged. "Anyway, you already signed the paperwork and gave your permission. Time to get you suited up -- and quickly. The convention opens to the public in less than half an hour, and we need you prepared at the kiosk!"

Nick tugged against the two men as Mr. Lynsor pulled a large bucket from under his desk. The lid was undone, revealing a white and pasty liquid, thick as oatmeal. With a spraygun in hand and its hose in the bucket, the businessman pulled the trigger. A heady warm mist washed across Nick's face.

He slammed shut his eyes and lips. The goo reeked of vinegar. He opened his mouth -- or at least, tried to, but he found his lips were stuck tight together. It was an industrial adhesive, Nick realized. He recognized the scent from his own place of employment. The glue had been out of production for years. As well as its solvent. And only the matching solvent could ever remove it… I can't let it dry!

Mr. Lynsor angled the vapor downward and across his chest as the two men holding him down began to undress him. Once he was completely nude, they forcibly raised his arms, spread his legs, and ensured every inch of the lucky winner was drenched and dripping in the quickly-cooling adhesive. Blind and mute, Nick complained in muffled protest.

His left leg was guided out and away and into the embrace of a thin, stretchy material."Gr-hmph!" Nick grunted. Something wet splattered against his face, and now his mouth felt looser than a moment ago. At least the dirty company had been generous enough to give his face a spritz of solvent. Nick wondered how much of the rare dissolving agent Mr. Lynsor still had on him. Fortunately that meant he'd be able to speak and see again. Unfortunately, the solvent took several minutes to eat through the bindings of the glue.

Next his arms were pulled through something, and there was a new unfamiliar weight on his chest. It felt like he was adorning a full-body biocontainment suit. It tightened around him from heel to neck. "The Bubble Bride is an international icon adored worldwide. You were extraordinarily fortunate to win the sweepstakes. Advertising, photoshoots, fundraising, pictures with the public -- you're going to be a busy girl."

The adhesive covering his eyes began to thin. He yanked against the two workers as they pushed him to his knees and then was blinded in a sea of orange as the headpiece of the Bubble Bride's smiling face was lowered over his head.

It zipped around his neck in a full circle. There were holes for the eyes and a hollow, ribbed rubber ring-gag serving as a mouth attachment -- but nothing more. The mouthpiece was slicked and dripping with adhesive and the latex squeezing around the eyeholes were unbearably constrictive, ensuring a hermetic seal. The gag's rubber was pliable enough that he could speak like a slurred bimbo with great effort. But when he relaxed his jaw the thick rubber would force his lips back into an open, inviting, and perfectly cylindrical ring.

He yanked on the floppy deflated ears of the hood. But zippered in place, and with everything below his neck soaked in industrial-grade adhesive, there'd be no getting out without assistance. And who would help him? How could the solvent even reach the adhesive hidden under the suit? Was there even enough left on the planet to dissolve this? No. He'd have to get out before the adhesive set completely.

On his hands and knees, Nick stared at his reflection in a corner mirror. Everything was too saggy and ill-fitting to make out properly. And then suddenly, he gasped. A hand raised a flap around his hips, presumably the deflated tail, and fondled the space below it. Right where his star should be there was now an air valve. An air tank had been carted in with a nozzle and hose, which unceremoniously kissed the valve hidden between his cheeks. There came a consistent hiss as everything around Nick began to embrace and ooze into form.

Now his reflection was taking shape: the material on his bust was inflating -- along with every contour of the suit. It must have been double-layered. There was the dull latex attached to his layer of bare skin, and then the outer glossy portion, with room for air in-between.

Nick's new face came to life first: The Bubble Bride's floppy ears swelled with air and stood upright and attentive and a pair of cartoonish puffy lips burst forth, trapped in a permanently coy smirk. Though for as swollen as they were, they still held a perfect O-shape, parted just enough to reveal the eager ribbed ring hidden beneath.

Even the Bride's hair gushed with helium. The mascot's curly tresses were a single solid mass that squeaked to life. Two gravity-defying beachballs expanded until they were wider than his chest and pressed against his arms. And while his torso and belly were otherwise left the same size, his hips surged outward into an ultra-feminine hourglass figure along with her pumpkin-sized ass that now smothered the air hose.

The doll's thighs grew chunky, her haunches inflating until they were at least three times as large as before, and the bloated latex compressed and stiffened her hands and feet until they were thickset. Nick may as well have been wearing bondage mitts and ballet heels. Feverously, he pressed his new bulbous mitt around his neck, and the latex let out a vibrant squeak~!

Though he could scarcely feel it, he'd found the zipper's pull tab that kept his hood attached to the rest of the suit. At some point, it'd been padlocked. He had no hope of even grabbing the tab with his useless, pool-toy shaped mitts, but he was certainly adept at pointlessly batting the padlock that kept it firmly snagged in place.

"Dere's 'in a misundahstanding," Nick said, struggling to speak with his new bloated fuckdoll lips. His voice had raised in pitch, raised high into something squeaky and feminine and nubile. It wasn't air they filled the mascot suit with: It was helium, and it was leaking under the neck zipper and into the hood. Already, Nick felt dizzy, out-of-place. Ditzy. Why's everything, like, so squeaky?

He wobbled -- with the help of the two workers -- to his quivering, bulbous legs. Each step was a challenge. The Bubble Bride's feet had become bubbles themselves, too stiff to truly bend an ankle or rock a sole. Creak. Creak. SQUIK! Her beachball tits sang out as they rubbed against each other, and so did his thighs as he stepped forward.

Mr. Lynsor pulled out something just as glossy as his tuxedo suit: It was the Bubble Bride's wedding dress, though it too was completely inflated under the bodice. The businessman gave the underside a quick dunk in the bucket and pressed the bodice against the mascot. Nick didn't pull away. He let out a confused squeak, a hiccup, and wobbled uncomfortably from side to side.

"'Ike, what's 'dat?" The mascot's breasts bounced against his chin, stuffed with too much helium for the constricting latex to hold in place. But Mr. Lynsor held them down and pressed the bodice against the new bubbly mascot, squeezing the perky tits in place, before adorning the new worker with an imitation-diamond tiara. It seemed heavier than expected.

Mr. Lynsor walked around the trussed-up vixen brusquely, looking at her from skirt to head before nodding. "She's perfect. You'll make an excellent new Bubble Bride!" He beamed obliviously and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Nick idly slid his mitts across his chest and over his new bodice, hobbling of his own accord. The ridiculous inflated vixen walked as if she wore a hobbleskirt due to the constricting squeeze of the wedding dress' train. The tips of her helium-engorged feet carved two bulges along the bottom hem of her new wedding dress. Bubble Bride skreaked with every step. The longer he breathed in the helium, the more ditzy he became, the more lost, the more confused, the more in need of direction.

As the curtain divider parted, Mr. Lynsor held a hand on her back and helped walk the retro vixen through the loading dock and into the hubbub of the main floor. "Congratulations again on winning the sweepstakes," he said, as if permanently stuffing the winner into an inflated pooltoy-styled fuckdoll of a mascot was a benign, agreeable reward.

The crowd outside Cola-Con had been waiting in the afternoon heat all day, growing a thirst. Nick blundered about the kiosk, an inflated mitt tapping his parted bimbo lips. The decor was all polka-dots and vibrant colors and mountains of carefully stacked Bubble Bride heliumated soda. Beside that, a sign in clear view of the entrance hall: Get your picture taken with the one-and-only Bubble Bride! $30. Cash only.

Nick tried to hobble away, but compacted beneath layers of latex and helium, he flounced like a Disney princess during evening tea. By the time the crowds arrived he was surrounded, unable to wobble off anywhere.

He struggled, or felt like he was struggling, as he languidly slid his stiff paws against the back of his neck again. The zipper and padlock were both hidden under the glue-soaked latex wedding dress. And while the clothing was still damp his bare skin was no longer soaked. The permanent industrial-grade adhesive had dried, forever locking him within the bloated walking sex doll that was the voluptuous Bubble Bride vixen.

"'Ahn, like, 'ere's been a wistake!" the ditzy bimbo whispered to the crowd.

A fellow Bubble Bride employee leaned over the kiosk and pressed a finger against the diamond jewel atop Bubble Bride's head. A fake giddy voice rang out from speakers hidden on the Bubble Bride's permanent headpiece: "I just can't help but be bubbly~!"