FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Shirley was a good employee. To hear her describe it, she was essentially the powerhouse of her entire team. And sure, there was no denying that she was a prolific, efficient programmer. However, like many who thought themselves completely indispensable, she had a habit of pretending as though she was indispensable. She would routinely be heard trying to get favors from anyone who dared bother her, at her cubicle. She would hit on coworkers with a style that, given the shepherd's significant height and sheer physical presence, would often border on the physically threatening. And then, of course, there was the incident with the broom closet. There, a good half the office got tangible, audible proof that, among other things, Shirley Mathis fucks.

Unfortunately, for both her and her ego, the broom closet incident also put her directly in the line of fire of the supervisor. Roger the regulator. Roger the repressive. Roger the... anal... retentive... that last one didn't quite work, but for Shirley, the sentiment was all that mattered. What mattered was that, clearly, the stuffy rabbit quite clearly didn't like her. He always made it a point to have his glasses on, whenever he talked to her, and in the language of stuffy corporate types, that apparently meant he was in Boss Mode, around her, at all times. He always had time to be a friend and a coworker to everyone else, but apparently you rail someone in the broom closet one time, and you're persona non grata.

Whatever “persona non grata" meant.

However, Shirley knew better. There was far more to Roger than the cheap, sensible button down shirts and the regular contributions to his IRA. Somewhere, deep down in that rabbit's soul, there was a libido. Roger made his first mistake, when he revealed he had a HardCast account. His second mistake was coming back to it, after he had sat in on Shirley's first stream. Now that Shirley and her girlfriend Carol were regulars on there, being online at the same time as Roger was just a matter of fortunate timing.

Of course, Shirley didn't believe in luck. Using a program she slapped together, she took advantage of HardCast's frankly lawsuit-threateningly lax privacy features. Whenever Roger showed up as online on Shirley's end (his third mistake was accepting her friend request), the program would check his profile, see the username of the person he was watching, and log it. This went on quietly for several days, by the end of which Shirley had her prize: a list of every cam-whore, exhibitionist and adventuresome couple Roger had tuned into. The result was... honestly much worse than she'd expected. In her head, she'd imagined Roger spent half his time between work days with his pants around his ankles.

Even so, it was enough for step two.

Shirley spent a Sunday afternoon, hand-building a program that would comb through the usernames of the channels Roger visited. There, it would compile tags, sorting them by most common, and attempt to find connections. This was a top priority project, for her, and so she pulled out all the stops. She wrote every line of her code from scratch, in her own home, at her own personal war-room computer. She even put on her customary “serious coding" outfit; a pair of comfortable lounge pants and literally nothing else.

This is why, when Carol sleepily walked out of her bedroom, the little mouse could take one look at her and see that she was coding. Shuffling over, she wrapped her arms around the shepherd's neck. “Hey."

“Hey," Shirley whispered back, angling her head up to plant a gentle kiss on Carol's cheek. “You have a good nap?"

“Yeah. What are you working on?"

“Just doing a little info gathering. You know how Roger seems to have it out for me?"

“He doesn't have it out..." Carol's brow furrowed, as her eyes roved over the code of the program. “Babe."

“What's up?"

Carol sighed, shaking her head. “Are you spying on our boss?"

“What?" Shirley snorted. “No! No, of course not. You silly little thing, of course not." She let the thought hang in the air for a second, before she came clean: “I've written a program that spies on our boss for me."

“Shirl," Carol whined.

“It's fine!" Shirley pointed at the screen. “Look! Everything here's out in the open. It's not like I'm hacking or anything."

“Oh, my God." Carol stood up and walked away from the computer. “Hold on. I need coffee, if I'm going to continue having this conversation." The mouse was very rarely mad, but when she was, even Shirley knew better than to press her luck. A tense silence fell over the apartment, broken only by the hiss of a coffee maker in the kitchen. Eventually, Carol returned, a cup in her hand and the edge taken off of her expression (but only slightly.) “Okay," she said. “So, I just want you to explain what you think this is going to do. From my point of view, it only looks like you're trying to get fired for sexual harassment."

“Right." Shirley pulled away from her desk, hands indicating the screen as if it illustrated anything. “So... all this. Like I was saying, you know how Roger seems to just always be on my ass?"

“No," Carol responded, patiently, “because he's not. I've already told you, the man is just doing his job."

“Look, you say that, but it's been, like, two months since the whole broom closet thing. He's cool with you, but every time he and I meet up, it feels like he's waiting for me to whip it out and start throwing it around."

“Right. And you've done nothing to merit that suspicion, have you?"

“No, I haven't."

“You didn't send him the link to our HardCast channel?"

“Well..."

“You didn't convince Ian to go hit on him in order to 'loosen him up?'"

“Hey, that's..."

“You didn't try to 'smooth over' the broom closet incident by having sex with him?"

“Look, that was..."

Carol pointed her free hand to the computer monitor, the unspoken fifth question in her eyes.

Shirley sighed and relented. “Look, all right. I get it. This was all probably a bit..." She wracked her brain, trying to find a way to describe her behavior. Eventually, she was forced to settle on “...excessive."

Carol nodded, vigorously.

“I just..." The shepherd struggled, the realization slowly setting in that she had spent the last several days being, as she herself would describe “unbelievably skuzzy." “I just... The guy doesn't like me, all right? He doesn't like me, and it's driving me nuts, and I thought... I thought, if I could just figure out what makes him tick, I could... fix it."

Carol drank the rest of her coffee, while she thought the situation over. When she was done, she could only exhale through her nose. Walking forward, she put her arms around Shirley's broad shoulders, planting a gentle kiss on the top of her head before resting her muzzle on it.

“Babe, it's gonna be fine," she said. “So what if one guy in the office doesn't like you? That's just something that happens, and dealing with it's just part of working a job."

“I... know that," Shirley replied, her voice muted.

Carol chuckled, pulling back to place a second and third peck on the shepherd's head. “If you're serious about this, you just gotta give it time. Keep your head down, show him you can do your job like I know you can. I'm pretty sure he cares about that more than he does about getting laid."

Without thinking, Shirley chuckled and muttered “You aren't seeing the same data I'm seeing."

Also without thinking, Carol's brow knitted. “What do you mean?"

“I mean..." Shirl motioned towards the screen. “The guy's been on a tear. The past few days, he's been hip deep in the site. And if these tags are to be believed, he's..." Shirley squinted, then blinked. “...a massive cock-aholic."

“Really?" Carol pulled back, hands still on her girlfriend's shoulders. “I would have guessed he wasn't a complete dead fish, with everything that's happened, but..." She squinted, over Shirley's head. “Wow, that's... a lot of channels flipped through. Is that all in one night?"

“Looks like."

“Huh. That's... surprising."

“Yeah..." Shirley leaned back, sighing. “Too bad he's a dom."

“How can you tell?"

Shirley pointed to a different part of the screen. “Here. All the channels he stuck with are down here. You see the tags? All subby little so-and-sos. I think..."

Carol nodded, pointing. “Yeah, yeah. That's KnotKnabber, right there. Remember her? She does the thing with..." She made a bunch of gestures with her hands, reminiscent of an a horrible tangled mass of something.

“Yeah, and the..." Shirley turned in her seat, making still more gestures of roughly the same bent. “That proves it, I think. Knabs is as sub as they come."

“Okay, but..." Carol thought for a second. “How do you know he's not a sub, then? Maybe he's watching these channels and imagining himself in their position."

“Is that what you'd do?" Shirley asked, smiling wryly.

“No, I'd be looking for big, strong, forceful..." Carol blinked. Stepping away from the screen, she made eye contact with her girlfriend. She scowled. “I am not getting involved in this." She took a few more steps back, determined to put distance between her and the screen before she made herself learn anything more about her boss. Her hand was raised, finger pointed, warding off temptation like it was a living thing, as she slid around the corner and disappeared into the kitchen.

Shirley shook her head. Then, she turned in her seat and closed her program.

It had been her plan, at that time, for this to be the end of the story. But then, she remembered that Conference Room Week started, a few days ago.

---

Roger was, as a general rule, always available. He was not one to hover over his employees, or to drop in to their cubicles, or call a million and one meetings. Instead, he subscribed to the philosophy that everyone should be able to find him, at all times. For about three weeks out of the month, where he could be found was in his own cubicle. He didn't have a private office, and he never asked for it, preferring instead to work in the same spot he's always worked.

But then, there was Conference Room Week. Nothing important changed about Conference Room Week. Roger was still available, could still be very easily found. The big difference was that instead of in his cubicle, where he could be found was an old conference room that normally only ever held job interviews and performance reviews. Nothing about his workflow changed; it didn't seem to anyone that Roger was handling particularly sensitive work, or work that demanded more of his attention. And so, it became something of a curiosity among the employees. Or, at least, inasmuch as anyone is inclined to be curious about the behavior of their boss.

However, armed as she was with new information, Conference Room Week suddenly took on a whole other dimension. In fact, as she stepped off the elevator into the building, ready to start her day, her mind was still buzzing with thoughts best described as “conspiratorial." Was it just a coincidence? Roger takes steps to work in privacy, and then goes home to stare at cocks? No, this meant something. Roger was clearly doing something shady. Or, perhaps, something saucy. And as she waved to her girlfriend, and settled in to her cubicle, and opened her program and prepared herself for a normal, regular, totally-not-liable-to-get-her-fired day, she could still feel it.

The gnawing certainty, deep in the back of her mind, that she was absolutely going to investigate this, further.

At first it was innocent enough. A trip to the bathroom here, a visit to a coworker's cube in lieu of using the group chat there. The conference room used in Conference Room Week had large windows along the hallway wall, and Roger made it a point to keep the privacy curtains open unless he was talking to somebody. This meant that, in her passes down the hall, she could get brief glances inside, where she saw... Roger on a laptop. Roger reading papers. Roger using the landline to talk to someone. Roger... yes! On the fourth pass, she saw what she was looking for: Roger on his smartphone.

You want I should help you with that?

Roger scowled at his phone, angrily typing back: No, Travis. Tbh I'd prefer to get through the work day without thinking about it.

There was a pause, and then the cheetah's response came in: Oh, right. My bad.

Roger chuckled. You want to try that again?

A slightly longer pause, then: Sorry, Sir. I misspoke.

Not yet, you aren't, Roger promised. You know better than anyone what'll happen, if I accept your offer of help. Let me get through the rest of the day with my sanity intact, and maybe we'll see if I'm in the mood to use you.

Thank you, Sir.

Radio silence, Travis. I need to focus.

The exchange done, Roger looked out into the hallway. Shirley quickly resumed walking, disappearing down the hall. Roger put the phone away. And then he cursed to himself, under his breath, because now he was definitely thinking about it.

Safe around the corner, Shirley took stock of what she had seen. Roger was normally very much a “no cell phones at work" kind of guy. Seeing him furtively crack out texts would have been proof enough, that something hinky was going on. And yet, she knew that wasn't enough. It was only noteworthy because of what she knew about her boss, and even then it wasn't all that special. There wasn't anything about his expression or manner that suggested he was, say... looking at cocks at work. Shirley was convinced that she could tell the expression of somebody looking at a cock, from a distance of at least twenty meters.

Or, like, twenty feet. She didn't really know metrics.

Back in the conference room, Roger took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was working on about ten percent the caffeine he was used to, and it was absolutely starting to catch up with him. It was tempting for him to blame his lack of focus on the fact that he would have been on his second or third pot of coffee, by now. He knew from experience, however, that going out for more was not going to help. It would stop the encroaching headache, certainly, but doing so would mean having to pass by several cubicles, to look at coworkers like... “No," he muttered, under his breath, “no, don't... think of examples."

Shirley watched this scene of torment, having gathered her courage for a second peek. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but dimly she recognized the series of expressions the rabbit went through. Leaning back in his chair, one leg bouncing anxiously... was he biting his lip? Shirley's eyes widened. He was! Shirley felt a thrill course through her body. This must have been what it felt like for a detective, in one of those crime movies, when they've finally cracked the case. Or a scientist, when they make a breakthrough. Or... or... what a stunning canine programmer feels when they finally catch proof of the boss being a horn-dog at work!

Whatever this highly specific feeling she had was, it evaporated quickly when she and Roger made eye contact. In its place was that equally specific, but easier to drill down, feeling one gets when they're caught doing something embarrassing. Roger, for his part, wouldn't have flinched more violently if he had actually been caught with his hands down his pants. Shirl's eyes wouldn't have been wider, either. For a brief moment, the two were frozen in place: Roger still leaned back in his chair, Shirley clinging to the conference room corner as if it were still possible for her to slip away.

Then, Roger leaned forward. Shirley's heart seized, just a bit, when she saw him go for his glasses. She knew what that meant. It meant she had just put her foot in it, that soon Roger was about to go full Boss Mode and chew her out. Standing up, she began to look around, frantically hoping that the environment would give her something she could latch onto as an excuse for her hanging around. Not helping her efforts was the fact she was kicking herself. After all the talk she did about trying to make things better...

She stopped with her anxious thoughts, when it slowly began to dawn on her that Roger had stopped. His hand hovered over his glasses, but they didn't grab them. Their eyes met. His expression was not one of anger. Well, it kind of was. However, underneath that, gears were turning. Shirley could see that her boss was... thinking. If it were at all possible, the nature of those thoughts, whatever they were, seemed like they might have been somehow worse than mere anger.

Roger stood. He marched to the windows, closing the blinds one by one. Shirley watched as he closed two, then appeared on the other side of the door to close the two on the other side. Then, the handle turned down. The door opened. Roger's head scowled from the doorway.

“Get in here."

---

For maybe ten seconds, after Shirley closed the door, Roger just stood with his back to her, hands clasped and rubbing together, eyes closed. Shirley had never seen the rabbit have to prepare, like this. Normally, he had something suitably tough and Boss-like to say, no matter what. Was it true, what everyone said? That the Boss could only act like the Boss with those dorky little pince-nez on his face? If Shirley wasn't still potentially staring down the barrel of a write-up, she might have been fascinated to see this.

“Right, so..." Eventually, Roger turned around. His expression was a modest attempt at being serious, but without the glasses it felt strangely... disarmed. “I take it you're caught up on your assignments."

Shirley flinched, forgetting that she was supposed to pay attention to Roger's words, as well as his body language. “Boss?"

“You're looking for more work," Roger elaborated, folding his arms. “That has to be the reason why you were hovering around, out there, right?"

Every instinct in her body was telling her to jump on the opportunity to save face. She couldn't think of a smoother exit, on her own, and taking on extra work was hardly a challenge for somebody as disgustingly good at what she did as she was. Still, there was something in the air that made her pause, a lingering feeling that something was different. So, instead, the words she heard coming out of her throat were “Boss? Are you... okay?"

“As okay as one can be, with milestone deadlines looming." The words of his reply were about what Shirley could expect, but the timbre of them was... off. She couldn't place how, but it made her pulse quicken. Roger only seemed to respond by attempting to harden himself. “Are you trying to change the subject?"

“No, no... I just thought you seemed a bit..." Shirley scratched the back of her head, unsure of what she was going to say next until it was already in the air. “...distracted?"

Roger shook his head, turning around to poke at the folders on the table. “Of course I'm distracted. I have to coordinate a dozen different people in three different departments, keep up with Corporate, and make sure the Sterling account is going to... going..." His words died in his throat, when he suddenly noticed a suspicious puffing noise, just behind his right ear. He turned around, looking up to see Shirley's snout pointed at his head. “Are you sniffing me?"

Shirley's tail began to wag. “Holy shit, Rog. Are you in heat?"

“Are you fucking sniffing me?" Roger repeated, angrily.

“Wow, man. I didn't even know you were a..."

“Are you fucking kidding me?!" The rabbit held his palms up, in mingled confusion and indignation. “Did your mom ever teach you it's rude to shove your nose in people's business?"

The air was thick with awkward silence. Awkward for Roger, in any case. Shirley was once again feeling the immense satisfaction that came with seeing all the proverbial pieces falling into place. In the face of that withering overconfidence, Roger could only throw up his hands.

“Yes!" he admitted. “Okay? Yes. My anti-heats work for birth control purposes, but they're not strong enough to suppress the secondary symptoms, completely. It's a pain in the ass, and I've talked to my doctors about it, but I can't medicate the problem any more than I already am, so I have to settle for keeping walls between me and everyone else, as much as possible." He folded his arms and shrunk into himself, a bit, though his aggression was not at all blunted. “There. Happy?"

“I mean..." Shirley laughed. “...it definitely explains a lot."

“Explains a lot of what?"

“Er, well..." Shirley scratched her cheek. “You know... you taking up residence in this conference room, and all that."

“Uh-huh," Roger's jaw set, and it was clear by his expression that he wasn't buying it. “What else?"

“Uh..."

“Have you and Ian been talking again?" Roger tapped his foot, scowling off to one side. “I told that cat a hundred times to stop..."

“No, no, no..." Shirley missed yet another opportunity to flog her troubles off on something else. “Ian didn't do anything. I just... saw you were on HardCast a lot, lately."

Roger's ears flattened, in horror. “Oh, gawd. Were you spying on me?"

“'Spying' is such a loaded word." Shirley tried her level best to shrug and chuckle, by way of deflecting the accusation. “I'm just on the site a lot, as part of my other job, and I happened to notice you were online. And... you know, the website lets me know what you're watching, and..."

“Wait... it does?" Roger's horror deepened. “Why would that be a thing? They don't have, like... privacy settings or something, preventing that?"

“Nope."

“What the fuck, man? Are they trying to court a lawsuit?"

Shirley shrugged. “Pretty sure the site's based in some offshore tax haven, so they probably don't have to worry about that."

Roger once again seemed to get small, and this time there wasn't an accompanying rise in aggression. Now, more than ever, the difference in size and presence between the two of them was readily apparent. Eventually, Roger turned his head and spoke in the direction of the wall, to his left. “So," he said, “you've seen what I've been watching, have you?"

The combined effect of Roger's withdrawal and more muted tone of voice made Shirley perk up and take notice. “Uh... yeah. You've been... kind of busy."

Roger's lip twitched. “Anybody else know?"

“I might have told Carol, but she's not gonna blab." After a pause, Shirley scrambled to add “I'm not gonna, either."

“Thanks." Roger sighed, pulling out a chair from the table and dumping himself into it. “It fucking sucks, you know? You're lucky you weren't born with an estrus system."

“How you figure?" Shirley asked, half-sitting against the table, next to the rabbit.

Roger laughed, humorlessly. “Put it this way. All this? This is me when I'm medicated. Back in college, I couldn't afford anti-heats at all, and lemme tell you... that sucked."

“Yeah?"

“Like trying to sleep with a swamp between your legs."

Shirley threw her head back, cackling like a madwoman, before she managed to catch herself with an apologetic glance.

Despite himself, Roger smirked. “Pretty sure I'd take popping boners over that, any day of the week."

“I mean..." Shirley shrugged. “Boners can be a bit of a pain. Every time I wear these tight skirts..." She motioned down to her pencil skirt. “...there's always the risk that I start thinking about sex. It only takes like a quarter chub to start tenting this thing."

“Have you considered not thinking about sex when you're wearing skirts?" Roger asked, sardonically.

Shirley shook her head, smirking. “Pretty sure psychology doesn't work that way. You ever consider not thinking about cock?"

“Hey, fuck you. I've got a condition."

“So do I. It's called 'having a dick.'"

Roger scoffed. “You know, most dick-havers are more subtle about it than you are."

“Only the boring ones," Shirley bit back. “Are you telling me you'd be a boring dick-haver?"

“No," Roger replied, whipping his head around to look at Shirley, “I'd be a fucking..."

He stopped, when his eyes fell on Shirley. More importantly, her skirt, and the vague beginnings of a bulge that tented the front of the fabric. Shirley froze, as well. Slowly, very slowly, they met each other eyes.

Shirley scratched the back of her head, bashfully. “Right. That's... probably the second worst thing. Once puberty hits, your nose kind of hyper-tunes in to the smell of people in heat."

Roger's ears flattened, again. “You... you can smell me from over there?"

Shirley's ears followed suit. “I mean, the cologne kind of covers it up, but..."

“Fuck." Roger stood up. “I'm so sorry. I was supposed to re-apply that stuff, an hour ago. Hold on. I'll go open a window or something."

“Wait."

Roger stopped, in mid stride. Looking back, his eyes were wide, but the rest of his face was incredulous.

Shirley's lips shrugged. “I mean... I don't mind, all that much. It's a nice smell, after all."

“Yeah?" Roger raised an eyebrow. “That's kind of the problem?"

“Well... 'problem' is such a loaded word..."

“Don't."

Shirley stood up. “I mean, we're both adults..."

“Stop."

“...we're both in open relationships..."

Roger backed up, as Shirley advanced. “You need to stay away, you hear me?"

“...and you said your anti-heats work where it counts, so..." Shirley began to reach one of her large hands out towards Roger's face. “...maybe what you need right now is..."

Roger's hand snapped out, clamping down on Shirley's wrist. His expression was severe, cold.

“I don't need anything," he growled. “What did you think, you were gonna get me to start begging for you, like someone in a cheesy porno?"

“No?" Shirley lied. Then, she shook her head and repeated, with greater confidence, “No. You've clearly got more pride than that."

Roger didn't respond. His glare more than adequately communicated, however, that he thought she was talking herself into a hole.

Shirley pressed on, regardless. “Look, you know I like to be direct. I might not have the plumbing you have, but I've had friends in heat, before."

“Uh-huh." Roger raised an eyebrow. “And you've offered to do to them what you're trying to suggest doing to me, have you?"

“Yes," Shirley responded, flatly. “I have." She scoffed, when all she got back was a look of incredulity. “What? You think I go around taking advantage of people in their cycle, like someone in a cheesy porno?"

“I do."

Shirley flinched. The rabbit hadn't hesitated for a second. “W-well, I don't. I just don't think that people should be forced into hiding, once a month, just because they're ashamed of what their body wants."

That statement made Roger deflate, to such a degree that even Shirley had no problem noticing it. He let go of her hand, stepping back and folding his arms. “I... am not ashamed of anything."

“Are you sure about that?" The shepherd was dimly aware that she might have just struck a nerve. She pressed on, in spite of that (or, perhaps because of that). “I mean, here you are hiding in this room, and..."

“I am not hiding," Roger insisted. “I just... want people to do their job without getting distracted."

“Yeah, I don't buy it."

“Fucking excuse me?"

“I. Don't. Buy it. Seems to me like there's a big difference between wearing those scented pads and taking the stairs, and hiding away in the confe-"

“I already told you," Roger growled, “I am not hiding!"

“If the over-sized shoes fit..." Shirley growled back.

“Don't you talk to me about over-sized, you fucking giant!"

“Am I a giant, or are you just a pipsqueak?"

“You...!"

Suddenly, they both stopped, when they realized they had advanced close enough to each other nearly to touch. This close, Shirley's body was once again starting to react to her manager's smell. That, and the adrenaline of a good fight, meant that what was once an easily ignored rise in her skirt was now straining the fabric. It was also jabbing Roger directly in his gut.

Shirley stared at Roger.

Roger stared at Shirley's skirt.

Shirley felt Roger's gut flutter, in anxious anticipation.

Then, Roger looked up into Shirley's eyes.

“This doesn't leave this room. You hear me?"

Shirley felt the corner of her mouth quirk upward.

---

The conference rooms were built with privacy in mind. The windows and curtains wouldn't stifle the noise of, say, people screaming at each other, but assuming one knew how to use their indoor voice, it was relatively safe. More importantly, Roger knew that the room was on the long list of rooms that did not have camera coverage. He'd looked over that list, as soon as the CEO had handed it to him, but to think that he was going to be using that information, and with this woman, of all people...

Still, there was no denying that he needed this. Shirley's hands were rough and ungainly, but the feeling of a palm against his thigh sent fresh spasms up his body. He tried to keep his voice under control, but he couldn't help gasping into her lips, as they plowed down on his with all the gentle restraint of an alleyway robbery.

“Damn," Shirley whispered, her fingers questing blindly for the band of Roger's slacks. “You're a furnace, down here."

“No talking," Roger growled back. “You'll kill the mood."

“I dunno," Shirley laughed. “Feels like the mood's pretty alive, to me."

“If anyone could figure out how to pull it off, it'd be... fuck!"

She did it. Perhaps Roger should have guessed that even hands like that would be deceptively dexterous, after years of pounding away at a keyboard. Or that a woman as terminally horny as Shirley Mathis would know her way around trouser buttons. Whatever the reason, Roger was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that his pants were occupied, that his compression shorts were being stretched open, and that teasing pressure on the outside of his pants was now an electrifying pressure directly on his aching button.

“It'd be fuck?" Shirley teased. “Who's this Fuck fellow?"

“Fuck you," Roger bit back, bitterly trying to keep the moan out of his voice.

“Patience, man. Haven't you ever heard of foreplay?"

“Gawd! Just... s-stop talking..."

Before he knew what was doing, his rump was on the conference table. His pants and underwear didn't follow, forced down by the motion of a strong and insistent wrist. The only thing that kept them from falling to his ankles, entirely, was the instinctive splay of his legs, as he parted to his assailant. And assail, she did. Shirley's fingers parted his vulva and drove into his sex in an artless display of lewd force. It lacked the grace of certain others who had found themselves down there, the gentle, searching exploration of people who knew him and knew what would get him where he needed to be. In its place, however, was something the itch in the back of his mind might have appreciated more.

Roger had never had reason to think that Shirley had large hands. Everything about Shirley was large, and so the thought hadn't quite occurred to him. But now, as the second of her fingers was tagging in to stretch him open, the thought was inescapable. The moment he felt the stretch, the little strain that told his body he was being filled, it all started to run away from him. He wanted deeper, wanted to feel that stretch further in, hated every millimeter of tunnel that twitched uselessly against itself, without something to grip and milk. Those fingers were battering him into a frenzy, and he knew that they weren't going to be nearly enough. He needed more. He needed the thing that was stabbing him on the outside of his thigh, pulsing and throbbing even through Shirley's clothes.

It was no great play on Shirley's part, that she chose that precise moment to occupy her other hand, lifting her skirt and reaching for her underwear. Brutishly simple as she was, she probably had lost her patience with being cramped, decided that then, of all times, was when she needed to negotiate some room for herself. Whatever her reason, Roger had a front row seat to the unveiling.

He and Shirley's member were, unfortunately, already acquainted. He was content to have only ever seen that angry red spearhead of a thing in photos and video, once each. Now, however, it was in front of him. Or, more accurately, to the side of him. Resting on his thigh. Leaking the first of a promised bounty into his fur from its pointed tip. How a little slip of a mouse like Carol could so confidently take such a large cock made Roger marvel. Just the thought of that knot at the base stretching him open...

“F...f-f-fuck!"

Shirley was too focused on the feeling of relief that comes with letting one's cock out of its cloth prison, and so Roger's sudden spasming caught her off guard. She might have withdrew, if the rabbit wasn't gripping onto her fingering arm with both hands. She watched Roger roll and shake, from crotch outward, over and over again. Eventually, realization hit. “Holy shit," she whispered. “Are you cumming, already?"

“N-no..." Roger gasped, eyes closed, breath unsteady. “I'm just... shaking... with rage... over how bad you are at this."

Shirley chuckled. “Wow. I know people tend to get a bit cock-hungry when they're in heat, but I've never seen someone cum just from seeing it, before."

“I didn't," Roger half-lied. “It's because you're fucking punching me, down there."

“Am I hurting you?" Shirley asked.

Roger flinched. He had been prepared for mockery, for Shirley to press on any vulnerability she could find. Perhaps that was unfair of him to think. However, in the face of such a simple question, full of genuine concern as it was, he could only lean back. “Pull them out," he replied, quietly. “I'm starting to get sensitive."

The shepherd made a wordless noise of understanding, drawing her fingers out from his sex. Her hand, his thighs, and the table below were just about soaked, and the motion had drawn out a fresh puff of rabbit-in-heat smell that made her cock writhe against Roger's leg.

Roger couldn't take his eyes off of it, as he spoke. “You didn't hurt me. I just... I'm quick." After a moment, he hastily added. “When I'm in heat. When I'm in heat, I can be pretty quick."

“Looks like," Shirley replied, distractedly. Her nostrils flared, cock spitting as it no doubt demanded to answer the call that was ringing out to it. “Bet that kind of comes in handy." Her eyes remained locked down between Roger's legs, the same way Roger's was locked between her's.

“It's got it's... ups and downs."

Outside the conference room, a young dalmatian took his hand off the door handle, looking around the hallway with the sort of nervous trepidation that he always felt, when he encountered any impediment to his job. When the middle-aged weasel in the tropical-patterned dress appeared around a corner, and started to walk towards him, it was not really his intention to ask her for help. However, the expression on his face must have unambiguously screamed “helplessness," because the weasel came to a stop next to him.

“What's up?" Cassidy asked.

Arlo fidgeted, holding the folder in his other hand to his chest while he tried to summon up the courage to speak. When he did, it was softly, like he was already anticipating that he was in trouble. “I... I had a form I was supposed to run down to... um... Roger, in Team Three."

Cassidy raised an eyebrow, pointing to the conference room with her thumb. “He's in there."

“I know, I..." He scratched the back of his head, nervously. “I tried the door, but it's locked."

“I see." Cassidy, ever one to guess about people around her, guessed that she could have some fun by pretending like she was higher up the corporate ladder than the dalmatian. “Is it important?"

“I think so?"

“You try knocking?"

Arlo froze. “I... I was going to," he lied.

The weasel chuckled, striding over to the door. “Watch and learn, kid. This is how you bug the boss." She raised her fist, prepared to bring it down on the wood with a sufficient amount of “manager in a hurry" energy. Before she could start, however, her ears twitched, as voices started to filter out from the other side.

“We're gonna have to take care of that, before you get out of here."

“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind?"

“Fucking... come on, Shirl. You know what I'm gonna say."

Cassidy's eyebrows quirked up, as she turned her head to one side, to get a better listen."No way," she muttered. “There's no fucking way."

Arlo's eyes twitched between the weasel and the door. “What is it? What's happening?"

Back in the conference room, Shirley had maneuvered herself into a position that made it clearer, to the both of them, that this was about to happen. She had to pull one of Roger's legs out of his slacks, a maneuver she pulled off with her signature lack of care. Not that Roger had much time to complain, because he was then forced to deal with the fact that Shirley Mathis was pressing against his inner thighs. Her fuzzy balls were pressed against his rump, her cock drumming against his labia with a series of wet slaps that made the rabbit's ears flatten and his heart race.

Shirley sawed back against him, pointed herself to the right angle for penetration. Then, she paused. “It's... safe, right? The pills still work? I could go grab a condom if..."

“No." Roger's face burned. He answered her way too quickly. His abs visibly fluttered, anxious to receive something more substantial than the dog's fingers. He looked off to the side, and muttered “Just... do it."

“What's that?" Shirley traced the pointed tip of her cock along the inside of Roger's sex, drawing out more shudders and a labored breath. She felt a toothy grin come on. “Can't hear you, bud."

“Dammit, Shirl, just..." Roger screwed his eyes shut. “...just fuck me, already."

She could have just left it at that, but the insistent little spark of greed caused her smirk to widen. “You sure I can't get you to just beg a little bit? I bet I could get you to..."

The glare Roger fixed Shirley with, when he opened his eyes again, had all the feral intensity of a vengeful spirit. “Put it the fuck in," he said, darkly and quietly, “or I will put it in, for you."

Shirley's expression fell, even as the sheer force of Roger's “threat" made her twitch in her hand. Without another word, she pressed forward.

Roger threw back his head.

The sound of a desperate, unmistakable moan rumbled out through the door, into the hallway.

Arlo's ears flattened, expression tightening into something almost like fear. “Is that... what I think it is? A-a-are they...?"

Cassidy stepped away from the door, her smile bright with victory. “I fucking knew it!"

The first kiss of flesh around Shirley's member was both a relief and a maddening invitation to take more. Much faster than she had intended, she was already bottomed out to the knot inside her boss. Fortunately, he was more than slick enough for her. If anything, the clenching mass she found herself in was even more impatient than she was. She began to throw her hips into the kind of rhythm they were both overdue for.

Roger, for his part, could do nothing but lay back. Gripping onto the edge of the table with both hands, the whole of his focus was taken up with making sure he wasn't fucked out of Shirley's reach, that that thick tool could get as deep as it possibly could. Second to that was trying to tame his treacherous voice. Despite his efforts to keep it down to heavy pulls of air, his body was alive. His heat had the horrible tendency to make every dick he took feel like he had spent the last twenty years in a cloister. Every exhale carried with it the faintest ghost of a warbling moan, one that only got louder the more his pleasure mounted.

Soon the two of them were more than loud enough that Arlo could no longer pretend he misheard. He took a step away from the door, heart pounding in his chest. “Oh, jeez. Oh, jeez." He tugged at his collar, with his free hand. “What do we do? They're... they're actually fu-"

Cassidy made a sharp movement with her hand, a shushing noise out of her lips. “They're gonna hear you," she warned, more to quiet the dalmatian than out of any genuine concern. Rather, she leaned against the far wall, folding her arms. “Oh, if only I had my phone..."

The rutting that took place was chaotic, almost violent. Shirley held Roger open, a hand under each of his knees, her hips making hollow impact noises as they slammed into the base of the rabbit's rear. She panted, mouth open, eyes unfocused as she barreled closer and closer to the peak. Roger wouldn't admit it (at least not with words), but it was precisely the kind of primal force he needed, right at that moment. Not that it mattered; when he went over the edge a second time, Shirley could feel his approval over about six inches of her. She didn't warn Roger, that she was about to go over the edge. She didn't ask permission. Instead, almost of their own volition, her hips ground down hard.

Roger's eyes widened, a soundless noise in his throat, as he was stretched open by the shepherd's knot. Further, and further... until suddenly she was stabbing even deeper into him. His trembling insides were flooded with thick, hot cum. He was in no state to be sure (and he, again, wouldn't admit to it later), but that may very well have been his third orgasm.

“God! Fuck! Yes!" As soon as she found her voice, Shirley began to growl. “Milk my knot, you fucking..."

Arlo could not flatten his ears any harder than he already had, though it did nothing to stop him hearing every word. Helplessly, he looked to his coworker.

Cassidy met his eyes. Then, her gaze wandered downward.

Arlo looked down at himself. Then, he threw the folder down to cover his crotch, with a panicked yap. “I-I-I-I'm... just gonna come back later." He turned and beat a hasty retreat, down the hall, before Cassidy could say anything.

Cassidy watched the dalmatian leave, biting her lower lip distractedly. Then, she turned to go down the opposite end of the hallway. “I can't wait to tell the girls about this," she chuckled.

Roger threw a hand up towards Shirley, almost drunkenly. “Hey! Keep... keep your voice..."

Shirley flinched, suddenly remembering where she was. “Right, right. Sorry, I..." She closed her eyes, lurching forward a moment. “...fucking hell, you're still gripping it."

Roger put a hand on his stomach, on the vague bump that still throbbed and spat inside him. “God damn... nnngh..."

The two of them stared into each other's eyes. For maybe thirty seconds, any thoughts they had on each other were the last things on their mind. Nothing mattered but the tingling mass between them, the sounds of each other's breath, the way any odd twitch or sway led to pops of sensation.

Roger was the first to recover. “You're... locked in, aren't you?"

Shirley shook her head. “Uh, yeah. Might be like twenty minutes."

“Whatever. Warn me before you try and pull out."

“Got it."

A heavy silence fell over the both of them. Shirley looked down, at the point where the two of them were joined. She chuckled. “So, is this how you looked?"

Roger raised an eyebrow.

“When you saw mine and Carol's first Cast. Minus the knotting, obviously, but..."

Roger said nothing, for a moment. Then, shaking his head, he stretched himself out on the table. “Just focus on emptying your balls, Shirl."

Shirley shrugged. She would use the twenty minutes of silence trying to turn this encounter into a victory, on her part. Just more proof that, whatever other awesome things she did, Shirley Mathis fucks.