FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Nyx – well, it wasn’t his real name, but it was what he usually called himself – wandered down the street towards the industrial part of the city. This time of the year, the wind was ice cold, and the November rain didn’t help. Unfortunately, the kind of industry he was about to become a customer of really couldn’t exist in the city itself, only on the outskirts with fewer prying eyes and snooping ears.

Well, as far as he knew, anyway. He still wasn’t entirely sure that what he was going to existed. It was a well-kept secret shared only in the most well-vetted of darkweb groups, a mention whispered only to the ones known beyond a shadow of a doubt to have the same interest, and even then, only the most stable, safe, and trusted individuals.

That tale was of “The Mascot Factory”, a shadowy organization that supposedly, allegedly, converted regular humans into cartoony and very sexual rubber mascots with some sort of proprietary living latex and brainwashing masks that permanently changed the wearers’ minds and bodies.

Now, that couldn’t be real, right? Yeah, Nyx had gone through all the stages of denial, and skepticism to boot. It didn’t sound possible, but weirder things were often true regardless. Like black holes, he told himself. Those seemed rather impossible too, but all the smart science people agreed they existed anyway. So maybe, somewhere in the depths of the haphazard, labyrinthine, confusing industrial zone, that “mascot factory” might exist too.

If it did, he was going to find it, Nyx thought, as he wrapped his jacket more tightly around himself to keep the icy wind out and the even colder drizzle away from any exposed skin. And if it didn’t, well, he’d be a little embarrassed but no worse off for asking. And a little cold. But at least the extremely long walk there was exercise, which really couldn’t hurt either way.

What it was that he wanted? Simple. He wanted a “mascot” of his own to play with. And there was nowhere else that could even potentially fulfill that fantasy. As such, he had been reduced to seeking out this fever dream of an industry that maybe existed out here.

Certainly, there was a rubbery scent in the air. There was a factory that manufactured rubber and such nearby, and that was, according to what those cryptic whispers said, the front business. Purportedly a simple chemical plant, their real business took place behind twice-locked doors. If you were to hide a mind-controlling mask business, Nyx supposed this was as good a place as any. After all, where else would you put it?

The closer he got, the more oppressive the chemical smell in the air, until he was at the front doors of Progress Chemicals. That was, they’d told him, the front business. And then he was supposed to exchange some codewords with the secretary to make clear that he was here for that business and not the surface one. Why did anyone buy industrial quantities of rubber anyway? Tire manufacturing? He had no idea, but it was surely important to the people who did.

Nyx stepped inside, into the warmth and light from the icy weather outside. The interior was well-lit and passably warm, but entirely sterile. The floor was black and white tiling, the secretary’s desk metal and glass. There was a little rainbow pride flag on the desk, but nothing else whatsoever that might be considered a personal effect. Her name plate read Camille.

Behind the desk sat a bored-looking woman, who was presumably Camille. She had brown hair, a perfectly tailored suit, looking otherwise average but pretty in that feminine way that most women did, but the most striking feature was assuredly her tired eyes that didn’t immediately lift to meet his gaze. She looked like she hadn’t been sleeping well, and the makeup around her pale blue eyes was a little smeared. Maybe hastily applied, or maybe it was just the rain outside that’d gotten her too.

That gave him a moment to notice his own reflection in the almost mirror-shined floor. He looked even more tired. God. With the rain, his short hair was a mess, and though he was well enough dressed for the occasion, the half-soaked look wasn’t doing him any favors. At least the way his clothes clung to him showed off some measure of muscle.

“Can I help you?” the secretary suddenly asked, evidently having realized that a potential customer had entered. She sounded surprised, and Nyx jumped too, just having lost himself in thought.

“Oh, yes, I was looking to buy a… hold on a moment,” Nyx stuttered, before digging out his phone as the secretary cocked an eyebrow. “I’d like to visit the company masquerade.”

He felt like an idiot. It sounded so fake and clichéd that it couldn’t possibly be a real phrase. But that’s what he had been told, and now the secretary would look at him with utter abject confusion and slowly explain that they had no company masquerade, at least not in the middle of November.

But she didn’t. Instead that bored expression melted away in an instant, replaced by a sharp-eyed, inquisitive and examining stare. She then pressed a button underneath her desk, and two men so large and muscular that they could’ve been professional wrestlers came in from a side room. One asked to see identification, and the other was already scanning his face. Maybe it was some kind of security check, to make sure that he wasn’t a government agent, or from a rival company.

One of the meaty men nodded to Camille. “Clear,” he said, in a voice that conveyed absolutely nothing except the literal meaning of that one word.

“The masquerade always accepts new guests,” she finally replied, after determining that Nyx was a customer and not a threat. “My apologies, we do get a lot of spies, thieves, would-be private dicks and all manner of similar things. If you’ll just wait another second – might I get you some coffee? Tea?”

She had already stood up to approach a piece of abstract art on the wall next to her, the opposite direction of where he could see the dead factory floor through multiple thick windows. She stood on her very tippy-toes – a feature given her already high heels – and then pressed her face against the painting. The painting whirred, and then replied with a satisfied blip as it completed what Nyx could only assume was a retinal scan. Slowly, the painting slid to the side and revealed an elevator, as sterile and clinical in design as everything else in the building. At the same time, she punched a few keys on her little tablet, and Nyx heard someone else come to occupy the front desk while he was being shown around.

“…no coffee, thank you, I’m nervous enough,” Nyx replied when he realized that the secretary was still waiting for an answer.

“If you’re sure. Might help you pick out a mascot, though. Come here, please,” the secretary replied, and Nyx quickly obeyed her, getting into the elevator once the doors opened.

“…assuming that you don’t have a person in mind,” she continued once they were behind the soundproof doors and the elevator began to move. Downwards, of course. “You can simply give us a photo and an address, and we’ll fetch them.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Nyx reassured her. That was somewhat more serious than he had expected, but then, what had he expected of a shady company that technically didn’t exist.

“Right, we have plenty of high-quality bases available. What should I call you?” she asked.

“Nyx,” he replied.

“Nyx? That’s very nineties hacker-chic. IT? No, don’t tell me, it’s better for me not to know, and the company already does,” she smiled. But this time, he could tell the smile was fake and cold as a shark’s grin. “They have your name, your employer, your relatives, everything down to your DNA, just in case you get cold feet.”

Well, that was a chilling reminder of the kind of people he was dealing with. Nyx swallowed hard as the elevator continued down, until it finally reached its destination. The doors slid open, and they were faced with what looked like an assembly line surrounded by cells, best described as a hybrid of a factory and a prison.

“Yeah, it’s not the most welcoming place,” Camille admitted. “But you know, sausages are delicious, but you definitely wouldn’t want to see how those are made. At least our process is entirely ethical and even enjoyable.”

Now it was Nyx’s style to raise an eyebrow. He never did that, but he couldn’t help it as he heard that brazen lie leave the secretary’s lips.

“Enjoyable, I could see, but ethical?” he asked, and immediately regretted it. This was the kind of place where you quietly nodded along not questioning things.

“Yes, I’ll show you soon. What species are you looking for?” she asked, pulling out a phone and tapping at the screen.

“Um, I think an otter would be nice,” Nyx replied. “Female ideally, with, you know-”

“-yeah, I know. Great pick. They’re always so playful, and we emphasize that fact, make them very happy-go-lucky and constantly excited,” Camille replied. “Let’s see if we have any in stock.”

She tapped on her slightly larger than average phone again, and then glanced back up at Nyx. “While that search runs, I think you’d be interested in hearing about our new cutting-edge advances in mascot technology.”

He was, and wasn’t, but regardless, Nyx didn’t quite dare interrupt her. He had the constant feeling that if he did anything wrong, he’d end up with a bullet in his neck, or possibly locked up in one of the cages, ready to be “pleasantly” turned into a mascot. At least the transformation would be ethical, too, so he didn’t really have anything to worry about, Nyx reminded himself.

“We’re just on the cusp of having self-reproducing mascots, or toons as we call them internally. They’ll function exactly the same way humans do, but without any of the associated mess. That means you can just grab one of our toons, do whatever reproductive act your perverted little heart desires, and then a few months later you get a new one. Isn’t that fantastic?” she asked.

“Well, yeah,” Nyx replied, pondering just where the other set of genes would come from. As far as he was aware, latex didn’t usually have any, but maybe they’d simply engineered the “toons” to produce a clone of themselves. Or maybe it used the genetics of the subsumed human. “I guess it is.”

It was a fairly hot idea. Breeding had always been a kink for him, and the thought of being able to do it with no pressure and no child support was a pleasant one. He just wasn’t sure of the mechanics behind it. Then again, it didn’t matter.

The secretary’s phone chimed again.

“Oh, it seems we do not have any otters in stock. Not to worry, the system will select one of our candidates and you’ll get to watch your ideal toon being created in just a few minutes,” Camille smiled that predatory smile of hers. “Come back here, to the start of the assembly line, right.”

He followed her again, behind the large machine in the middle of the conveyors. Once there, she hopped up on the belt.

“We’ll bring the best candidate here, usually a little medically assisted to prevent any unnecessary panic or such,” she continued. “They’re tied up like this.”

She stretched her hands towards a similar conveyor belt above them, with little handles on it, leaving both her legs and arms spread. “Then they go through the machine here which applies the initial latex, though it’s not really necessary. The mask alone is enough, it’s just that the process is less overwhelming if the body has been covered first. Otherwise, I’ve been told, the disjointed sensation between mind and body can be rather... taxing.”

She hopped off, circled the machine, and then gestured upwards. Above them, several masks were suspended on claw-like mechanical arms. One of them looked exactly like a large, cartoony otter might. He saw other animals, too. A fox, a horse – or pony – a bull, a… squirrel?

But there was one question, one burning question that he had to ask.

“So how is it that you keep this process ethical?” Nyx asked.

“Well, am I ever glad you asked. As far as we here are concerned, the initial state of mind of the candidate doesn’t matter, as long as they’re happy afterwards,” Camille chirped.

“But if they don’t consent to it initially…?”

“Doesn’t matter, because once they’re happy in the end, they’ll realize they should’ve consented all along. Much the same as treating someone experiencing psychosis,” Camille stated, with a fluency that indicated that she had repeated something similar quite a few times.

Nyx supposed this place had many customers. It had to, with how extensive the operation seemed to me.

“So, you’re arguing that… well, never mind. The mask is what really transforms them?” he asked, dropping the earlier line of questioning for the sake of his own continued safety.

“Yes. It’s a fairly gradual but fast, powerful effect,” the secretary-turned-saleswoman explained. “The mask binds immediately to use the user’s head and begins to selectively replace most of their thoughts. Some core elements of the person remain, but only the essential parts, and with only the most desirable emotions remaining. The rest is replaced by the mask’s own personality.”

“The masks have personalities?” Nyx asked. “Aren’t they just rubber?”

“Living rubber coaxed into various configurations. The personalities are only partial and require a person to attach to,” she nodded, before hopping up on the assembly line again. Above her, the masks suddenly moved.

“Huh, that shouldn’t be happening,” she muttered. “Nobody’s being processed…”

Nyx saw everything happen as if in slow motion after those fateful words. One the masks – the otter – was suddenly released from the upper rails, and while Camile was distracted by her phone, tapping in a fault code for the earlier movement, one of the mechanical arms grabbed it and slid it over her head.

Camile froze entirely. Her phone fell from her hand, and the glass display shattered as it struck the conveyor.

“W-what, why, I don’t-“ she stuttered, her voice muffled by the mask. Her hands immediately began to clutch and pull at it, but just like Camille herself had said only moments ago, it had immediately bound itself to her.

Nyx could only watch with morbid fascination as the “otter’s” eyes suddenly opened, large and expressive, with her body still struggling to get it off. He thought about how it would feel. Maybe like being drugged, except permanently.

For some reason, the display that should’ve been terrifying was making all the blood rush to his cock. Nyx was painfully aware of how it was straining against his pants. Camille barely managed to stumble off the conveyor before sinking to her knees as more and more control was wrenched away from her.

As Nyx continued watching, the latex, the rubber, whatever the black goo the masks seemed to be made of began to spread down her neck, and then her shoulders, dissolving clothes everywhere it touched. Her shirt came off, half melted, leaving her modest but beautiful breasts free for a moment.

“I d-d-don’t… oh god, why… me,” she groaned. “I… f-fuck, it feels good, so… nice and…”

She was struggling to get any words out at all, but from the way her entire body trembled, and how she kept moaning breathy little moans, it was obvious that it did feel good. Nyx supposed she had just argued how only the end result mattered for any “treatment”, which made this rather karmic in a sexy way.

“Your order is now being processed,” a mechanical voice sounded over unseen loudspeakers. “Please wait for the all-clear before touching your future acquisition.”

He heard someone snort at the end of the announcement, almost breaking into laughter. Though it made sense for a company as seemingly cutthroat at this one to simply turn one of their employees into a mascot if it meant profit.

Camille’s skirt dissolved and fell off, and Nyx almost gasped as he saw a rock-hard cock spring free. He hadn’t thought the secretary was anything other than an average cis woman, but, well, soon she would be, in a sense. Nyx had requested a female otter, and specifically indicated that he wanted a pussy.

That request now echoed in his head as he watched Camille’s adorable girlcock buck and bounce as she moaned, those motions that had been trying to pull the mask off slowly turning into half-eager caresses of her increasingly naked body. As her tits were engulfed by the latex, she giggled at the sensation, and immediately moved to squeeze and knead them as they swelled and grew in her equally rubber-coated hands.

The protesting, almost panicked moans were quickly turning into much more pleasured sounds, the pained and fearful gasping turning into more giggling as the toony otter’s features became clearer and clearer, with large blue eyes and a seemingly permanent, vapid but happy smile on her broad muzzle.

She glanced down dizzily, staring at her cock for a moment, hands still kneading away at those rubberized breasts.

“That’s… cute,” she said, in a questioning tone, as if she wasn’t sure if she liked what she saw. As if two personalities with their own preferences were fighting in her head, which was exactly what was happening. “Mmh, cute.”

It was a little alarming for Nyx to see how quickly all that sharp wit and practiced intellect melted away, leaving a horny and increasingly otterlike mascot with exaggerated proportions behind. By now, the latex had fully overtaken her breasts and grown them to perhaps double Ds, and was quickly continuing down her belly.

“Why can’t I, I can’t, I can’t,” she suddenly replied, one last flare of anxiety from earlier. “My name, I can’t r-”

Her voice cut off and her head slumped forward, as if someone had flicked a light switch in her head.

“Just going to give her a little break from consciousness there, that’s the only bad moment,” the voice on the speakers said, though it sounded distant, as if the speaker had forgotten to turn the broadcast system off.

That probably meant that she had already been changed enough for whatever remote controls the masks incorporated to have kicked in. It didn’t last long, however. Soon Camille, or whatever was left of her in her new otter body, raised her head again. And this time, she moaned almost instantly, cumming hands-free at whatever sensation the mask flooded her head with. That little cock jerked and throbbed, spurting out a silver rope of cum over the factory floor – with Camille herself shuddering and moaning like a slut, at the top of her lungs, and then another, and a third, before it was quickly subsumed by the flowing latex.

It seemed to instantly reshape her crotch. One second, she had had a cock. The next, she was smooth. And then, a puffy mound and labia began to form, immediately followed by a very visible trickle of wetness down the slick black rubber of her thighs as her slit yawned open.

“Oh,” she stuttered, a moan cut short. “Ooh. I feel greaaat,” Camille continued, slipping a hand down to cup that new sex of hers, while giggling, slurring words, and stretching them in a matter rather unbecoming of a highly educated and high-strung secretary, but very becoming of a cartoon otter version of the classic slutty bimbo.

“Kinda feel… really good, like,” she huffed, pushing a finger into that wet, slippery mess.

The elevator doors slid open behind him, and two more employees arrived, interrupting the moment, but of course, Camille didn’t stop fingering herself. If anything, the audience seemed to only make her want to do it more, and soon the otter was knuckle-deep inside herself with three fingers, desperately moaning as she masturbated with shameless joy.

“Well, that’s a transformation,” one of the other employees, a man with greasy hair that looked like it’d stain the white lab coat he was wearing, said. “Gotta say, I prefer her like this.”

“Eyes off the merchandise,” the other snapped. He looked like the default character from an action video game and had the voice to match. “She… it is for our customer here. Nyx, was it? Don’t look too surprised, we took your biometrics the moment you walked in.”

“Well, uh… do I just… do you do home deliveries?” Nyx asked, trying to inject some levity into the situation. He had just watched someone die, in a way.

In a very hot way.

“I’d recommend trying it out first,” Mr. Action Movie noted. “The mascots are usually perfect, but sometimes things go wrong. You know, fuck it, touch it, whatever, make sure it’s up to spec.”

His insistence that Camille was now merely it was unnerving, to say the least. But she looked so adorably desperate masturbating. Nyx glanced at the otter again. The rubber that was her body squeaked a little as she forcefully rubbed herself.

“Yeah, they can’t cum by themselves unless we enable that function,” the man in the lab coat said. “They’ll happily masturbate forever, but like he said, you should try out the merchandise.”

Nyx stepped closer. “Can I touch you?” he asked, and immediately realized that the question wasn’t really needed as the otter looked up to him with adoring, toony eyes.

“Of course you can!” she chirped. “Please fuck me!”

Normally he would’ve declined such a direct offer. It almost seemed suspicious, especially as Camille immediately leaned back onto the floor and spread her legs, letting Nyx stare at her puffy, soaking wet pussy. “I’ve aaalways dreamt of having a cute pussy for boys to fill,” she giggled, a hand slipping down to spread herself open for him.

Well, that made sense, at least. Nyx figured a lot of trans girls did dream of that, though maybe not turning into rubberized cartoon mascots with so little brain activity that she might as have been a toy.

So yes, normally he would’ve declined the offer.

But the otter looked so desperately needy and adorable, fingering herself eagerly.

And his cock was painfully hard. He needed relief. Something about the whole idea of being transformed like that was a powerful aphrodisiac, and he couldn’t resist it.

He glanced at the two staff members.

“Don’t look at us, the toy is all yours,” the one in the lab coat grunted. “Use as you please, you’ll pay on your way out if you’re satisfied.”

Well, it felt incredibly wrong, but he didn’t want to miss the opportunity. Nyx hesitantly unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and let them down as he knelt in front of the otter, who was so excited that her eyes were practically twinkling with anticipation.

“Come ooon, put that sexy cock in me!” she whined, staring at Nyx’s shaft. He was fairly attractive; tall, somewhat muscular, distinctly masculine with a sizable cock, but he had never, ever felt as desired as he did right now. To a regular woman, he was still just a good-looking man. To the toony otter, he was everything she wanted.

At least right now.

Slowly, he leaned down and guided his cock towards her leaking entrance, only to gasp at just how intensely warm her body felt. Almost like molten rubber rather than merely liquid. Maybe too hot.

But just as he hesitated, Camille hooked her legs around his hips and pulled him in forcefully, with another playful, lusty giggle-turned-moan as he slipped all the way into her. She clenched around him, around all of him, so tightly that it made him throb instantly. She felt unbelievably good.

“Aw, what a cute boy you aaare,” the otter slurred in that half-there voice. “Now fuck me properly!”

Well, Nyx’s hips were already moving on pure instinct, thrusting into that wet, warm bliss. It only took him maybe half a minute to feel close to cumming with how the otter’s artificial pleasure-hole suckled on him, rhythmically rippling around him to massage every single inch. It was like fucking someone and getting a blowjob at the same time, a sensation that’d instantly have hooked any male, and Nyx was no better.

“Ooh, you have like, the best dick ever,” the otter crooned, using her legs to forcibly pull the human deeper into herself. All that enjoyment, he could tell, was genuine. The mascots weren’t exactly given the option of not liking it when they got fucked, and it was almost enough to make him forget the plethora of human rights violations that evidently always happened to create one.

Scratch that: It was enough to make him forget, and forget he did, his entire body tingling with a deep sense of erotic anticipation that grew exponentially with each thrust and quickly left him panting and moaning in tune with the otter.

It was strange, though. The sensation really did seem to engulf his whole body, but not in a way that Nyx found alarming. Should he- did he- the squeezing sensation of the otter’s pussy drove all the other thoughts away.

But the nagging feeling remained, beneath the delicious sensations jolting through his body. There was something off, but he ignored that warning from his subconscious, opting to keep thrusting, damn near for dear life. The entire world was that that dripping wet latex cunt, milking him dry. It was like he was twice as big as normal inside her, that’s how insanely turned on he was.

“Come on, breed me!” Camille whined. “Let’s make some cute babies!”

Well, it wasn’t as if Nyx could really resist, especially hearing her beg for it. He screwed his eyes shut, ignoring the tingling sensation, and focused on the burning need for release that was threatening to swallow up his entire lower half in a maelstrom of pleasure.

For a few wonderful seconds, Nyx teetered on the edge, so deep in the throes of pleasure that he forgot about where he was entirely, forgot about the two staff members trying to not watch him lose himself, the sterile factory floor and the terrified first reaction the beautiful, cartoony otter beneath him had when she began to transform. None of that mattered; only the pleasure did.

With a groan, Nyx hilted himself inside her hot, slick depths. He shuddered and held himself there, the pleasure accompanying the first spurt of cum from his jerking cock so intense that he almost passed out. It was instantly too much to bear, and he was cumming so much that he felt the backwash splash over his swollen balls. Though he was in no state to compare it consciously, the amount of cum was five, maybe ten times his usual output, and Nyx couldn’t even try to stop.

He kept cumming, one heavy pulse after another, each one like a strike of lightning to his senses. He emptied everything he had, without thinking about how exactly he had so much to give. More like a stallion than a human, he flooded the otter to the point where her belly was ever so slightly distended with the amount of cum inside her.

Then he slumped down on top of the toony, soft otter.

“Oh… fuck,” he groaned. “Yeah, I think I’ll have to buy you.”

“Mm, please do,” Camille purred, in that squeaky way an otter would probably purr if it could, and clenched her beautiful cunt around Nyx’s cock again, squeezing a few more drops of cum into herself. “Unless you’d rather have a cute, sexy owner like, buy us both.”

She giggled again, by now fully transformed and having accepted, or been forced to accept, her bubbly new self. Nyx didn’t immediately realize what she was actually saying, though. He was too dazed by his massive orgasm, strong enough that his balls actually ached now, feeling almost too empty, if such a thing was even possible. So he rested against the otter, letting his breath slowly steady as reality slowly came dripping in again.

Nyx was suddenly very aware that he was naked and being watched in an industrial locale, but it wasn’t until he had been buried in that sweet, warm bliss – far, far better than any natural pussy could be – for a few minutes longer that Nyx realized something really was wrong, when he opened his eyes.

He was faced with the sight of the otter giggling as he suddenly noticed that the black latex was spreading and clinging to him, too. In a staggering rush of adrenaline, he pulled out so abruptly that he ended up on this back on the floor, pawing at himself in a vain attempt to get the rubber off, just like Camille had. Everywhere it touched, h9is body tingled and burned, and muscle seemed to be melting away, leaving him with a more feminine build.

It felt good. His cock was already coated in it, maybe entirely replaced by it, but it didn’t even look like a human manhood anymore. It also wasn’t shrinking, despite his body growing skinnier and slenderer. It looked equine, and almost twice as long and thick as it had been. Suddenly, Nyx felt dizzy. He felt a pang of desire for himself as he unwittingly admired the beauty jutting out between his legs. It was practically begging for him to touch it, and it looked so beautiful and alluring and drippy. Nyx’s mouth suddenly felt very dry despite how he was drooling, staring at himself.

“Well, looks like this one’s pretty eager too. Man, I wonder if people will ever realize what kind of prices we actually charge,” action man laughed. “You’d have to work for, ah, I dunno, a thousand years? Until then, you only have a chance as a new toon for us.”

He tapped Nyx’s head, but Nyx was far too enamored by the sight of his cock to even notice. Meanwhile, Camille had stood up to fetch another mask; this one a reasonable facsimile of a cute cartoon pony. She handed it to the other worker, with the lab coat, who quickly and carefully took it into his gloved hands to do a quick examination.

“Aw, aren’cha just so cute like that,” she drawled, her dialect having settled somewhere between her old self and a stereotypical bimbo. “Like, have a taste. It’s gonna feel sooo good to suck your own sexy cock!”

Camille reached out to cup Nyx’s swelling balls in her hand. “Mm, looks like these cuties need some emptying too,” she giggled.

“Yep, looks like it’s all good to go here, enjoy the trip,” someone muttered behind Nyx, and then he felt a tightness around his head, quickly replaced by darkness as the mask slipped over his head. Darkness and quiet, with all of the world outside of himself ceasing to exist in an instant, bar for feeling in his body. He felt nothing wrong at first beyond a tingling around his scalp, a kind of electric tickle that seemed to seep through his skull, but it was by no means unpleasant. In fact, with each second it became a little nicer, his head beginning to feel just like his body everywhere the rubber touched.

Soft, malleable, sensual. All of those things and a dozen more. He felt his cock throb even though he only saw darkness. Suddenly, there was sound again.

“…pretty calm, yeah? Told them it was much easier if the body gets transformed first,” someone said.

“Still going to be some fighting, he looked pretty straight to me,” another voice replied.

“Juuust gotta wait until you can open that silly mouth of yours so you can stuff it with cock, I just can’t like, wait at all!” a third voice chimed in, and that one, Nyx immediately recognized as the otter. His mind felt so foggy that anything else except the sensation of his cock jerking and twitching, and the otter’s voice, felt like the blurry background, out of focus in a close-up video.

And then, suddenly, he had his vision back, only the world looked much more vivid than it ever had before. Everything was brighter and more colorful, so colorful and inviting that he immediately wanted to reach out and touch everything, but…

…with that return of sight came the protests of his remaining human mind. The understanding that he was being overwritten, or at least reprogrammed into something that wasn’t himself. Something that hungrily demanded that he suck his own cock, but also that he fuck and breed the beautiful curvy otter next to him. The urge felt like someone was physically pulling him, and with a promise of the best sensation of all time, the same way an opioid addict might feel about their next fix. But he had to fight it, didn’t he?

If he didn’t, would there be anything left of him? Why did his own cock look so incredibly tasty? Why was he drooling staring at it? It was everything that a straight man like himself wasn’t supposed to enjoy looking at, much less even think about sucking. And he was- no, he wasn’t-

Who and what was he? It was becoming so difficult to remember. His body didn’t even look like he remembered it looking. He looked effeminate, bar for the huge cock. He could recall breeding other toons, in a scene that looked like a simulated pasture. It had felt so amazing, to empty himself inside some mare in heat and then settle down to suck himself dry before the next needy female came around.

But none of that was real, was it? The thought felt like a splinter lodged in his mind, one that made thinking uncomfortable and unpleasant. He wasn’t supposed to question it, he was a cute, dominant pony stud and for some reason, someone was trying to make him forget all those pleasant memories of being used for exactly that, his whole purpose in life; breeding.

…and sucking his own cock…?

All he had to do was obey that urge and he’d never have to worry about those unpleasant, splinter-like thoughts again.

“Just have a tiny little taste, be a good girly boy for me, and then you can fuck me, and we can have a lot of cute babies together,” the otter squeaked happily, her fingers tightening around his growing horsecock again. Gods, it was heavenly, that sensation alone nearly threatening to make Nyx black out. He wanted to obey, but he couldn’t.

“I promise, just a little taste. You dooon’t even have to cuuum if you don’t want to,” Camille squeaked. “But all cute pony boys suck their own cocks when they don’t have anyone to breed!”

Did they? That didn’t sound right to the newly transformed Nyx. Or did it? It felt like his thoughts were trying to flow through thick rubber, as if his head was already full of it. He heard a nickering sound, and realized it was his own, dry mouth making it. He was getting dumber, more pony-like, more horny and studly but at the cost of his brains. He had to… had to think! One plus one was still two. Two times two was four. Three to the power of three was twelve. He could still do math!

He wasn’t…

Camille slid her hands under his slender hips and coaxed them upwards, with a surprising strength that her lithe body certainly hadn’t had before. Nyx was immediately transfixed by seeing his equine cock inch closer to his mouth. He was so long that all he’d have to do would be to crane his neck a little, open his mouth, and that delicious-looking length would be in his mouth.

On pure mascot instinct, he stuck out his tongue, and with a gentle nudge from the otter, managed to reach his leaking cocktip. Nyx lapped up some of the precum he was leaking, only to be surprised by how good it tasted. Of course, his tastebuds were warped, by now, and so was his cum, both designed to appreciate the taste and to taste as good as possible.

And it really tasted good. Like a mind-filling taste of lust, impossible to ignore. He actually gasped at the feeling, and immediately pursed his rubbery lips against the tip, feeling his mind dim instantly at the jolt of pleasure and another gush of precum flooding his mouth.

Why shouldn’t he suck himself? After all, all-

“-the good boys do it, and it looks sooo cute,” the otter giggled, reaching to play with his heavy balls again. “Get yourself all ready to breed me.”

Four times four was also twelve, Nyx reminded himself. He could still manage to think. Maybe it’d be okay. It was just impossible to resist. Slowly, almost worshipfully, his lips parted to let that broad cockhead pop into his mouth. Instantly, he knew it was the right thing to do as he throbbed and jerked against his own lips, stretching them so pleasantly. Nyx forced himself deeper onto his cock, slurping and suckling eagerly, moaning and whinnying around it in an increasingly confused voice of mixed human and pony.

He was so close, but as much as he wanted it, Nyx also knew that making himself cum and swallowing that mess would forever break something inside him, something that was already panicking and straining against the mask’s influence. Men weren’t supposed to just suck their own cocks for pleasure, were they?

But ponies? Nobody had rules like that about studly breeding ponies.

Six times six was forty-seven. Three times three was seven and a half. He could still think. He could still… do something. Was math important? It felt like it paled in comparison to the thick, hot, rubbery equine shaft spreading his tender lips wide. It felt like a problem for someone else while he savored the taste of his flavorful, tangy precum.

He would cum and he would forget everything. There was a twinge of panic, even if it was muddled by his sluggish mind and felt distant, like something that his previous self should’ve worried about. It just didn’t feel important. His cock slid between his lips at a leisurely pace, brushing against his tongue, and each eager lick or suckle made his balls tighten a little more. His three-times-as-big-as-before balls, swollen and full of delicious cum for both him and the otter.

He had to stop, though. He had to. With a supreme feat of willpower, Nyx managed to make his hips stop moving. He managed to still his tongue, even though it took every figment of focus he could muster. He could still get out of this, he could-

-Camille squeezed his balls, and with a muffled neigh, Nyx came, pushed hard over the edge and into the precipitous, blissful abyss that yawned open beyond it. His cock throbbed so hard it almost slipped out of his equine muzzle, and all those doubts lingering in his head were instantly melted away as he came into his mouth, thick and creamy and delicious! He swallowed down that first load of seed eagerly, and continued, desperately bobbing his head up and down, thrusting his hips as he fucked away what little human resistance that remained inside his head.

“Theeere you go,” the otter purred. “Let it all out so you can make a fresh load to fill me with. You’re such a good boy and you look so hot creaming your own slutty mouth like that!”

As if to make sure that he emptied every drop into his own belly – and why not? The mascots were quick to recharge – Camille massaged Nyx’s balls more firmly.

Unlike him, she had succumbed almost instantly. The otter had never had much of an attachment to life as a human regardless, perhaps owing to the dysphoria of being born in the wrong body to begin with. And that made sharing the moment a deeply beautiful, sexy experience, enough to make her spontaneously cum as she watched Nyx swallow down his thick, creamy load with absentminded, submissive desire.

“You know it’s going to be us with those masks sooner or later,” the man in the lab coat sighed. “Gotta say, the contrast is really cute, though. All feminine but with a horsecock.”

“Yeah,” replied his colleague. “But maybe it’s not that bad. I mean fuck, Camille’s just squirting hands-free.”

“I’d still prefer to remember who I am, at least,” lab coat replied.

“I mean, yeah, but… hold on, I think he’s just about done. Man, kinda makes me wish I was flexible enough for that,” the other said. “Time to make them breed. Hey, if this actually works, we’ll need way fewer candidates.”

“Yeah, ain’t that the dream. Maybe they won’t mask us- hey, pony stud, you want to get to work breeding the otter already?” lab coat exclaimed.

Evidently, he was in a hurry. But Nyx had been dumbed down by the mask to the degree that he barely understood what he was being asked to do. His cock slipped from his mouth, yes, replaced by an empty-headed and very happy smile, but rather than moving to action immediately, he simply stared at the workers, who sighed in turn.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be like, a dominant stud?” lab coat asked his coworker.

“He is, just not very smart. Hey, otter, show him what you need him to do,” the other commanded.

While Camille was hardly anything even remotely resembling intelligent now, after her own transformation, she did know what she wanted. It was easy to keep track of when there was only a grand total of one thing, every other concern having been blown away like a Post-it note in an office with an open window.

She only cared about getting fucked. As often as possible.

With Nyx still staring blankly, she eagerly got onto all fours, wiggling her rump – and cum-dripping snatch – at the newly minted pony.

It still took him a good few seconds to figure out what she wanted. Every thought was slow, but pleasant to slowly work his way through. He saw the toony otter’s puffy, well-used slit spread in front of him. He thought about the cock that he’d just been sucking. Someone had mentioned breeding, too?

Oh, that’s what they wanted from him!

Nyx bounced up, grabbing hold of the otter’s soft, rubbery hips as the right instincts finally kicked in, much faster than his attempts to think. Much more pleasant, too. Thinking was too slow; studs shouldn’t have to think, and he wasn’t going to. Instead, he smushed that broad cockhead of his against the otter’s leaking folds, feeling his last human load smear over his length and drip, wasted, onto the floor. Of course, he didn’t think much about that. The touch of the otter’s snatch against his rigid cock was like ambrosia to his reduced mind, and with a happy neigh, he thrust firmly into her.

His cock was at least twelve inches long, but her body swallowed all of it, just as it was designed to do, and that sensation left Nyx snorting and whinnying like a feral pony might, digging his fingers firmly into the otter’s hips as he kept thrusting. Nothing existed except for him and his weirdly mustelid broodmare, and all he had to do to feel as accomplished as he ever would, as happy as he ever would, was to keep thrusting, to fuck every last drop of his toony seed into the otter’s womb, to make her slutty belly swell with his foals… or her pups? There was no reasoned thought to any of his actions; everything was pure manufactured, professionally designed instinct and the mask’s own personality fully taking over.

And so, he fucked her, as hard as he could. The workers whistled in awe as his hips really began to pump, driving into the otter’s sloppy, drenched pussy with a mixture of machinelike precision, animalistic savagery, and cartoony, exuberant passion and enthusiasm.

“Feel… so… good,” he grunted, unable to really formulate anything more eloquent. Not that he needed to. The emptiness in his head was almost as euphoric as the squeezing cunt around his thick equine length. It felt like liberation, freedom, like peace, and with it came a boundless horniness that would never be sated. After all, when one had no other worries in life, lust was the one constant.

And there was no reason for it not to be. There was no shame, no stress, only pure breeding bliss. Nyx gigglesnorted as he pounded into the happy-go-lucky otter’s soaking wet pussy. How had it taken him this long to realize just how good not thinking was?

He sped up his pace, until his hips were thumping against the thick rubber or the otter’s rear. Camille’s tail curled around him, egging him on as she pushed back against him. He could feel every ripple, every clench of her need.

Nyx was going to breed her! He’d never impregnated anyone before, and yet he felt like an old hand at it. As if he had done it a million times before. And he had, or at least, the mask that had become him had. Or thought it had. Reality mattered little at that point. Just like everything other than the white-hot wet squeeze around his cock, it didn’t matter one bit.

“Breed me!” the otter squealed, as she careened towards her orgasm. Her massive breasts bounced as she quivered, and her legs trembled, barely able to keep herself upright despite all the programming. Pleasure had a way of robbing you of control, and she had been robbed blind long ago. She came like a fountain, squirting and gushing, soaking the floor with each spasm of her pussy, simultaneously milking Nyx’s whole length and trying to pull him into that wet and messy orgasm, and into filling her new womb – that her former self had always dreamt of having but never did – with virile seed that’d finally fulfill even that distant, maternal fantasy.

And Nyx? Well, he succumbed instantly to her milking. With a proud whinny, he drove himself as deep inside the toony otter as he could and came. For him, it was business – being a stud was his whole reason for existing – but that didn’t make it any less heavenly to finally reach his peak. He filled Camille’s waiting body with rope after rope of thick, hypervirile cum, and with each throb of his shaft he was finally sealing both of their fates as what they had become; a bimbo broodmother, and a dumb, horny stud, both perfectly content and happy in their roles.

The orgasm went on for what felt like forever, with both participants designed to make their partner’s climax last ass long as possible. And it was beautiful. Endless wet, messy bliss that’d inevitably result in a pregnancy, but unlike humans, they didn’t worry. This was simply what they did. They fucked whoever wanted it, and they bred. The afterglow, once it set in, was like a divine light of false clarity, lulling them both into perfectly peaceful relaxation, and ensuring that he remained balls-deep inside Camille for a little longer, to guarantee that she conceived.

And that was that. Where there had previously been a secretary and a customer, now Camille and Nyx were simply two happy toons. One might’ve resisted the corrupting influence of the masks a little longer, and the other barely at all, but either way, both felt the full, blissful freedom of no longer having to think, and being truly happy.

“I guess it’s true what they say, ignorance really is bliss,” lab coat pondered as he helped clean up the constantly giggling otter. “Just look at their expressions.”

“I mean yeah, the company designs the masks to look like that. God only knows if they’re actually happy underneath. What if it’s just a façade?” the one that still retained his action hero-like stoic expression replied.

“What, like you think they’d be all panicked inside? Not a chance, just look at him,” the other replied, and gestured vaguely at Nyx. “That’s the face of a fully satisfied dude, toony or not.”

And he was right. From there on out, Nyx’s entire life would never again include offices or taxes, and he couldn’t have been any happier, even without knowing that a new generation of hybrid mascots were already growing inside Camille’s spacious new womb; ones that needed no masking, and yet, would be able to transform others as desired, with infectiousness that nobody at the mascot factory had predicted.

That would, however, be something for them to worry and stress about once they found out about their catastrophic mistake. The mascots themselves certainly didn’t care; simply having playful and constant sex with every customer who wanted it was much nicer than worrying, after all.