FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cliff scrunched his nose, wearing a face that sat directly between general skepticism and mild disappointment. It was a look that crossed his father’s graying muzzle often, one Darien knew so well he could hear it in his father's tone. "When do you think you'll be done with the install?"

"Ten minutes ago." Darien muttered, holding a miniature flashlight in his lips as he secured a final bunch of cables into a neatly ziptied bundle. Extracting himself from the cramped space under dad’s antique wooden desk, the chocolate-furred Chesapeake Bay Retriever cracked his aching neck with a sigh. “Can you do me a favor and leave the wires alone from now on?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cliff shrugged. Knowing this was the closest he’d get to an apology, Darien silently pushed himself to his feet. Standing side by side, the family resemblance wasn’t subtle: both father and son sported a similar belly and stood at just about the same average height, with Darien’s half-inch advantage negligible at best. In contrast, Cliff’s russet-colored coat covered a body both molded and broken by years of construction work. The wood-panel walls of his office were decorated with all sorts of sticker-covered safety helmets and union awards from his many years of service. It had been a very well-organized trophy room, put together with thought and pride, though it had become noticeably dustier over the past two years.

"So," Darien put his hands on his hips, cocking his head in the direction of the computer beside him. "Now for your part of the bargain."

"Yeah, I uh..." Cliff's discomfort was palpable. Darien didn't flinch. At times like these, the canine knew better than to give his father an opening. All he had to do was maintain eye contact - the guilt of trying to weasel out of his promise would do the rest. Cliff finally grumbled, "I dunno if I'm ready to talk to people."

"You don't have to talk to anyone." Darien tapped the PC’s power button as he stood aside. Holding out his hand in a welcoming stance, he breathed a small sigh of relief as his dad slumped into the cushioned office chair before him. "We're just going to get your avatar set up and I'll show you a few worlds, that's it."

"If you say so." The older retriever's hands were on his thighs, his thumb running over the fabric of his jeans as his son clicked here and there, plugging in the VR headset that sat idly next to the monitor.

Bellyaching notwithstanding, Darien was proud of how far his father had come with technology. Cliff had made similar grumbling protests when the VR headset first entered his home a little less than a year ago. Packaged with a brand new racing wheel and pedals compatible with all the latest games, even Cliff's curmudgeonly attitude had fallen away once he took his first virtual test drive. Before long, he was excitedly blabbing to his son about his latest leaderboard scores and new cars that his favorite sims had added - all things that meant next to nothing to Darien, but that was fine. It was just nice to see his dad smile again.

"Here goes nothin', I guess." Cliff huffed, rolling his shoulders before strapping the headset over his eyes. The monitor blinked, displaying a mirror of the headset's output so Darien could guide his dad when - not if - he got lost.

Clicking past the sleek, minimalistic logo, Cliff was blinked into a sterile, futuristic lobby that quickly populated with all sorts of crisscrossing ads and signs. The older canine groaned, his scowl only growing stronger at the sensory overload surrounding him. Darien had to act quickly.

"Don’t worry about all that. First, you’re going to want to turn to your left and click on the mirror. It says 'Avatar Settings'."

"Whoah, why am I a mannequin?" Cliff recoiled in his seat, waving his arms at the virtual mirror and watching his featureless gray avatar wave back.

"That's the default avatar, we're literally fixing that right now."

Pushing through Cliff's predictable complaints at the avatar-shopping stage - "people pay real money for this?" and "why can't I be a McLaren F1?" among the most common refrains - the two had managed to settle on a compromise: a model of a suited up racecar driver, his head obscured by a matching white helmet.

Darien's phone alarm went off just as Cliff was about to enter his first world.

"I'm gonna switch the wash." Darien patted his father on the back. "Your assignment while I'm gone is to just hang around. Take a walk, maybe listen in on some weird conversations, and when I'm back we'll see if you wanna keep going."

"Sheesh, throwin' me to the wolves already." Cliff groaned, the loading bar holding him in suspense. As Darien made his retreat, he winced at a sudden bewildered outburst from behind. “Oh my god, that guy looks like such a fag!”

“Dad!” Darien scolded, rather powerlessly.

Though it may not have sounded like it, both canines felt truly grateful for the closeness they shared. There hadn't been much of a relationship between them to speak of prior to a few years ago. Darien’s mom had practically been his best friend - she doted on her son even after he'd left home, making sure to keep in contact regularly no matter what. For most of his adult life, the week wasn’t complete without at least a brief visit with her. She was always there for him.

Cliff, on the other hand, would just be there. Whenever he attempted conversation, it was mostly a paltry attempt to connect over hobbies, of which Darien and his father had nothing in common. Cliff would blab incessantly about Formula One racing, while Darien would nod along and try to contribute by chatting about his latest computer game obsession. They would go back and forth like this a few times, nod politely, and that would be about it.

Then, on an early spring morning, Darien got a call. Cliff could barely find the words, but enough was clear: his mother had died suddenly in her sleep.

It happened quickly, from what they’d heard. In fact, everything happened too fast: talks with the EMTs, funeral arrangements, frustrating trips to the bank and calls with insurance companies all blurred together. Fast food bags accumulated in the trash. They must have slept at some point, but neither man recalled having a single restful night during those times.

Perhaps, Darien assumed, it was this lack of rest that finally broke his father’s guard.

For the first time since Darien’s childhood, through gasping tears, they talked. Neither of them wanted to drift apart - doing so felt like letting another piece of her go. They would stick together. And despite a stilted and imperfect effort, they did. Darien visited his dad as often as his schedule permitted. In time, facing the little things that reminded them of her became a little easier.

Pausing before switching the dryer on, Darien felt a little pang in his heart. Laundry was one of those things. It had been a weekly routine at his parents’ place long before his mother passed, one of the many little tasks around the house that he and his mom would work on while chit-chatting and listening to their favorite music. The basement just felt too quiet now, even when Darien blared music on his phone just to drown his lingering thoughts out. So, he listened only to the hum of the dryer as he shoveled his father's laundry into the washing machine, taking care not to touch more than he had to.

--

When he emerged from the basement, Darien was surprised to hear the steady clacking of his father's hunt-and-peck typing. Stepping softly back into the computer room, Darien’s eyes went wide - his dad was talking to someone. Creeping closer, the younger retriever peeked over Cliff's shoulder, observing a short but pleasant conversation with a punk-rocker vixen avatar. She was taller than Cliff's moderately proportioned racer-man, putting her lovingly animated tits front and center in his line of sight. They seemed to be hardly past introducing themselves, likely the fault of Cliff's glacial typing pace, but she seemed to be acting patient and interested enough. Darien left as quietly as he entered, sliding the door closed behind him.

It was a half hour later when Darien heard the computer room door open again. He had been killing time on his phone, wondering how long that virtual vixen would keep his dad on the hook. He didn't make a habit of prying into the details of Cliff's online escapades for this reason - best to just let the lonely old man do whatever he had to do. Sure enough, the Cliff that joined him in the living room was wearing a different shirt and notably refreshed.

"Shit, I didn't realize how much time I spent on the VR!" Cliff said with a smarmy grin. "Even had a conversation with a nice young lady who showed me around her favorite 'worlds', so I guess your old man's still got it!"

"Check out mister social butterfly." Darien grinned wryly. "You do remember what I told you about 'nice young ladies' online, right?"

“Aw, she didn’t sound like a fag, and honestly if fags looked like her I’d be thinking twice!” Cliff gave himself a congratulatory heh as he plopped onto the couch beside his son, his hand reflexively going to the TV remote.

“Dad, please.” Darien groaned.

“What, come on, I’m complimenting them!” Cliff griped in response. “All I’m saying is if, people who are that way, were as gorgeous as this girl was then, I dunno-“

“OKAY, whatever, good for you, I just didn’t sign up to hear you talking horny stuff.” Darien took a breath, steadying himself in a practiced manner. “Honestly, you’re moving way faster than I figured, but that’s a good thing. Just maybe hold off on the gory details.”

“Yeah, yeah, ya got a point. I’ll save it for the memoir.”

Rolling his eyes but cracking a smile, Darien checked his phone again. It was just a little after 4 o'clock - an hour before his usual bow-out time. "You need a break from screens, or...?"

"Nah, let's get a movie in before you go?"

All of Darien's visits ended this way, if only because he didn't have the heart to refuse. Cliff clearly wanted to spend some last bit of time together, even if it was spent watching whatever screwball comedy or war documentary he was interested in that day. Fortunately, this afternoon's selection seemed to be the imperfectly aged romantic comedy, "The Broad on Dyckman", which featured neither blood nor bullets and was mercifully short.

As the opening logos of the movie faded in, Cliff cleared his throat. "Thanks, uh, for showing me all this new stuff. I know I'm probably not the easiest student, but um. You know. I appreciate it."

"No problem, dad." Darien smiled, giving his father an affirming pat on the shoulder. "Anytime."

A few days of mandatory overtime later.

Darien was barely conscious, staring at some vague point on the ceiling.

He'd stripped his scrubs off the moment he closed his apartment door, collapsing into a mostly-naked heap on his couch. The lights remained off, and only a slice of sunlight was able to force its way past the drawn blackout curtains. Sleep tugged at his eyelids, and though he knew he would have to amble to his bed in a little while, he got nice and comfortable anyway. A nap to kick off a three day weekend was more than deserved.

*bzzt bzzt*

Staying motionless for a couple of rings, Darien sighed, then picked up his cell phone.

"What's up, dad?"

"Hey, son!" Cliff sounded surprisingly chipper, though there was a sense of fatigue in his voice. "Sorry for being a little incommunicado. That VRForum is a great time, I've been really sucked into it lately."

"You're fine, I told you I had overtime." Darien closed his eyes as he flopped back on the couch. "Glad you're having fun though. Everything okay?"

"Mostly. I've been getting some weird glitches in the VR, and they kinda give me a headache if I look at 'em for too long." Cliff sounded a little sheepish. "Sorry but, you think you can come by and take a look at it when you're free?"

"You're probably playing for too long, just give your eyes a rest." Darien grumbled as he rolled over, and when his father didn't immediately give snark back, he relented. "Fine, how's tomorrow?"

Tomorrow.

Hello? You home?

Darien stood on the porch outside of his father's home, his patience short and his texts unanswered. Cliff was usually waiting by the door whenever Darien came by, and on the rare occasion he wasn't, Darien would have received a bluntly worded text that amounted to "let yourself in, I'm in the bathroom" or "come around the back, I'm mowing the lawn."

It was another few minutes of uncertainty before Darien's phone pinged.

sory was on the vr........lol. comming - c

When the door finally swung open, Darien was met with a sudden eyeful of thickly furred pecs and gut. His uncharacteristically shirtless father was panting slightly, his eyes looking tired and apologetic.

"Am I interrupting something?" Darien hesitated to go in for his usual hug, but Cliff motioned him forward anyway. His father's fur held a slight sheen of sweat.

"Hah, yeah right." Laughed Cliff, holding his hug just a little too long. "The AC broke down is all."

"You're in a good mood." Darien remarked as he followed Cliff inside. It did feel quite a bit stuffier in the house since he had visited last, the summer heat barely mitigated by a few cracked windows and drawn living room curtains. This haphazard approach struck Darien as a little odd - Cliff wasn't the kind of guy to just let a broken appliance sit. If something in the house broke, Cliff usually couldn't wait to crack it open and tinker with it until it somehow whirred back to life again.

"What can I say, that forum is a really good time! It’s actually kinda nice talking to people again." Cliff paused, taking a sharp breath as he clutched his head. "Damn, I’m getting a hell of a migraine from those glitches, though."

The computer was already on, an idle post-game screen on the monitor. Darien's eyes widened when he noticed his father's total playtime so far. "Jesus, dad, 20 hours? It's been two days!"

Cliff shrugged. "Hey, I’m having fun! You were makin' such a stink before about how I need to get out and meet people, and that's what I'm doing."

Darien sighed as he booted VRForum, taking the headset in his hands. "Yeah, and you're burning your eyes out. Do me a favor and take a nap while I look at this."

Cliff's grumbling faded into the background as Darien pulled the headset over his snout. Before logging in, he called over his shoulder, "And put a shirt on!"

--//||

A strobing pattern bombarded Darien's eyes, lasting only a fraction of a second. Cliff had definitely screwed something up. The world that his father had logged out of was loading back in at a staggered, glitchy pace. Characters and scenery popped into existence around each other until Darien found himself standing in a sleek, futuristic nightclub. Most of the floors and walls were a shiny black, with accents of neon shooting under the bar top and across the ceiling.

And then, some images of naked men loaded in. Quite a lot, actually. Lining the walls and displayed on screens were buff men in speedos and leather gear, grinding against each other and groping at very prominent bulges. Some of the images were even animated, looping short scenes of riding crops smacking exposed, furry buttocks, or slinky ermine boys working poles on seedy stages.

Thinking that something had gone wrong, Darien checked his account's login activity. But Cliff had indeed come to this place on purpose - multiple times within the past couple of days, often spending stretches of several hours there before logging out. Darien was frozen in place, surrendering only after a long and dumbfounded minute, moving his avatar towards the bar just to keep himself from thinking about it too much. He had a job to do, after all.

A sudden attack of motion sickness struck Darien. The textures and models of the world were not lining up, flickering and lagging the moment he moved in the virtual space. After doing a few emergency tweaks in the graphics settings, the canine found himself able to navigate the space without getting nauseous, but still noticed some bizarre noise covering most of the bar. There was still the hint of a flicker, but he could only see it when he moved his eyes.

"How the hell did you manage to screw this up so quick...?" Darien grumbled as he worked through his usual routine of Cliff-borne troubleshooting. The glitches were far less noticeable in other worlds, but they were still quite intrusive. Clean installs of all relevant programs and drivers seemed to do little good, and it wasn't a problem with his hardware. In a fit of desperation, Darien returned to the off-kilter bar, asking in general chat if anyone else was experiencing these issues.

hm, that's weird. did you try updating the GPU drivers? A robotic feline avatar in a thong unhelpfully asked.

Darien sighed, feeling a sluggish defeat washing over him. There were a few players in the bar willing to listen, but they kept asking for more details and coming back with nothing helpful. He could almost smell the sweat of the half-naked men in the bar, fogging up his capacity to talk tech-support stuff with a bunch of well-meaning but useless randos. Shaking his head, Darien checked the in-game clock and was shocked to realize he'd been sitting in the bar for an hour. It was well past time for a break.

Pulling the headset off, Darien blinked and then sputtered - Cliff was standing right next to the chair, his shirtless and sweaty belly inches from his son's face.

"What the hell, dad?" Darien stumbled to his feet, putting some much needed distance between them. Cliff seemed to have been staring silently at the screen beside his son, only moving to clear his throat after Darien's outburst.

"Uhh, sorry about that." Cliff sounded a little disoriented. "Just curious what you were up to."

"Whole lot of nothing. The most I can figure is that bar you've been hanging out in is pretty messed up." Rubbing his eyes and stretching his back, Darien was prepared for some sass to be thrown his way, but it didn't come. Cliff seemed at a loss for words, an unusually vulnerable look in his eyes.

It hit Darien like a truck, sinking his grumpy mood into sympathy. "Oh dad, I didn't mean...I just meant like, messed up with the glitches and stuff."

"No, no I get it, uh..." Cliff cleared his throat, eyes locked on the carpet. "You didn’t want the gory details."

"It's fine, I promise." Putting his hand on Cliff's shoulder, Darien felt himself shift into damage control mode. His dad may have had a very mystifying and sudden bout of self-exploration, but wasn't that what Darien had been hoping for in the first place? That he would get out and meet people again? "I just didn't expect to...I mean, no judgment. Seriously. "

Cliff cleared his throat, then put on a wavering smile. "Thanks, son. And, really, I was just checking it out..."

"I know. Like I said, no judgment. It's none of my business." Darien affirmed, trying his best to keep the reassuring smile on his muzzle genuine. "Now, seriously, put a shirt on."

"Yeah, yeah..." Cliff paused on his way to his bedroom, then cast a pleading look over his shoulder. "You uh...got time for a movie before you go?"

Today's movie was "In the Trenches", a somber war documentary Cliff had watched so many times he could likely recite it from memory. Darien hated it. It was a two and a half hour slog through droning letters from soldiers and day-by-day accounts of a platoon stranded in enemy territory. But it was a sure-fire comfort movie for Cliff, so Darien obliged. If it could take both of their minds off of the embarrassing conversation earlier, that was a win in Darien's book. They settled next to each other on the couch, and though his father still hadn't put a shirt on, Darien just sighed and sat back as the opening credits rolled. Within a few minutes of the narrator's monologue, Darien felt his eyelids begin to droop.

--/

In his dream, Darien was motionless on the couch. His eyes were half-lidded, his mouth hanging slightly open as a sleek bar materialized around him. He was back in the VRForum bar, placidly staring into a blurry distance as scantily clad men swam around the couch and went about their lascivious flirting, dancing, touching. The flickering was there too, shimmering around every character and surface like a psychedelic aura. It looked a lot more pleasant than it had earlier, giving everything and everyone such a vibrant and strange texture that even if Darien could look away, he didn't want to.

Two men, stallions with leather straps and bulging codpieces, pressed their muzzles against one another. Darien stared, placid and sleepy, as their tongues explored each other's mouths, as hands played with stiff nipples and tucked beneath waistbands to fondle stiff sheathes.

"Mm. Mmm."

That mumbling could only have been Cliff. Darien could feel his dad sitting next to him on the couch, shifting slightly as he moaned, but couldn't turn to face him. All he could do was watch as one of the stallions, a piebald with a blonde mane, pushed his muzzle against his friesian partner's waiting sheath. The smell of men around him felt so much thicker at that moment, and Darien felt distantly jealous of the piebald, who rubbed his velvety snoot against a steadily dropping stallion cock. The friesian’s pink shaft grew thicker and longer with each heartbeat, and Darien could almost feel its warmth.

"Mmh. Hmmh." Cliff's weirdly breathy noises made Darien want to look over at him, to see if he was okay. But the younger retriever's head stayed put, glazed eyes focusing on the piebald rubbing a stiff, pink horse cock against his blissfully smiling muzzle. Every time the piebald's lips kissed at his partner's soft flared tip, Darien's head filled with the intoxicating smell of dick. Drool crept from the corner of Darien's mouth as the piebald's tongue worshipped his lover's length, the moans beside him picking up to a fever pitch.

"Oh. Oh. Ohh, fffuck..."

Darien tried to say something, to ask if Cliff was okay. His mouth hardly moved, his tongue fixed in place by the feeling of a hot shaft thrusting to the back of his throat. The piebald's muzzle was getting a rough fucking now, the friesian's swinging balls slapping heavily at his chin as he gagged and gulped and drooled.

When he was finally able to move, Darien found himself snapping awake with a sleepily drawled "Dad?"

"Good morning." A wryly grinning Cliff sat next to him, bathed in the blue light of an idle TV. Judging by the clock, the movie had been over for a good 20 minutes. "How the hell you always manage to pass out during this one baffles me."

It felt like there had been something he wanted to ask his dad. Something that concerned him, that felt kind of dirty, but it had already slipped from Darien's conscious mind. With a stretch, Darien sat forward, but stopped before he got up. He was a little stiff in his sheath, his sensitive red rocket poking just far enough out of his sheath to cause an inopportune tent in his pants. Covering his awkward pause with a stretch that morphed into a yawn, Darien shot his smug dad a look, biding his time as his cock slowly retreated. "Yeah, it's a real laugh a minute."

The moment his dick was soft enough to stand without arousing suspicion, Darien couldn't leave his dad's place fast enough. A hurried goodbye with vague, half-true excuses about his shift at work tomorrow did the trick. When Cliff simply waved a lazy goodbye instead of walking Darien to the door, he just chalked it up to the old man needing a nap on the couch.

He had purposely not given much of a glance to his shirtless father on his way out, already having seen enough of him throughout the day. The splattered ropes of cum that decorated Cliff's belly went entirely unnoticed.

A few days later.

Just as Darien emerged from Cliff's basement, an overstuffed bin of warm laundry in hand, the doorbell rang.

Grumbling as he set the laundry basket aside, Darien winced when he opened the door, midday sun piercing his tired eyes. A buckskin-coated stallion stood at the door, holding a small box under his arm.

"Package for Clifford Cole?" The stallion smiled. Perhaps it was the grueling workweek catching up with Darien, but the horse seemed a little too cheerful to be working a delivery route in the sweltering summer heat. Taking a compact but weighty box from the stallion's outstretched arms, Darien murmured a "thanks".

"No problem, enjoy the day!" The stallion winked, strolling briskly to a nearby delivery van. His black tail swished above his tight khaki shorts, leaving little of his equine physique to the imagination. Before the delivery-horse could catch him staring, Darien cleared his throat and hurried back inside.

It took a few knocks on the computer room door to get a grunting response from Cliff, and a subsequent couple of repeated shouts of "there's a package for you!" before the door finally opened. A sweaty, masculine smell crept out from the cracked door, and though Darien could only see his father's red-eyed face, he had a feeling that his father wasn't wearing much else.

"That was quick!" Cliff perked up at the sight of the package, though it still looked like he hadn't slept for a week. Stopping his son before he could back away from the door, Cliff gave a few faltering _er_s and _uh_s before finally finding his voice. "Would you...mind hooking this up to the PC? It's one of those perineal things, and I don't know the first thing about getting it to work with the VR."

"Peripheral, dad." Darien frowned, motioning for Cliff to open the door. His father stood in nothing but his underwear, a stretched pair of tighty-whiteys whose goods were mercifully obscured by his dad's gut. "Am I gonna regret looking at the computer?"

"Sorry, got a little uhh...carried away..." Cliff scratched at the back of his neck, exposing a fluffy and sweat-drenched armpit. "Please, son?"

Not bothering to answer, Darien marched into the musky room, waving his dad away. "There are clean shirts and pants in the hallway, please put some on."

Taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose, Darien took a few deep breaths to center himself. He was doing a good thing, helping his dad find some kind of community. Sure, it may have not been the community he expected - and it would have helped if the air didn't taste like sweaty old man - but he wasn't going to let that scare him off. What kind of son would abandon his dad just for getting a little gay? A real asshole of a son, that's who.

Cutting open the package, Darien's face fell. A box with audacious pink lettering stared back at him.

REVERIE VIBRATOR

Discreet and Powerful Anal Stimulation

---

"I'm doing a good thing." Darien grimaced, unwrapping a small silicone dildo from its package. Cliff had left VRforum open, a sub-menu reading "Peripheral Support" hanging open. Darien's eyes already hurt just thinking about that glitchy bar, but he steeled himself - it shouldn't take that long to get the thing working.

"I'm doing a good thing." Repeated Darien as he plugged the dildo into the PC's USB port and strapped the VR headset on.

--//||

...

wasn't enough. never felt like enough.

first time today. waking up at 6:30 AM even though it wasn't a workday. couldn't go back to sleep without taking care of himself. barely enough time to pull his boxers down before he spurted hot seed on his stomach. relief. toweling himself off as he drifted back to sleep.

second time today. in the shower, soaping up and letting his mind wander. didn't realize he was already hard, already stroking for a minute. bracing himself against the tiled wall, he felt himself get so close just by imagining himself on display, in front of countless hungry eyes. the bar flashed in his mind as he came.

third time today. restless before driving to dad's house. felt pent up again, couldn't concentrate on anything else. brought up one of his favorite videos just to bust to something quickly. felt like something was wrong at first - couldn't finish while Kandi Apple was fingering herself in full view of the camera like he usually did. but when a fat-cocked bear pushed her to the ground and shoved himself into her mouth, it hit him all at once. grunting, screwing his face up at the ceiling. a bit of cum landing on his chin.

fourth time today. bathroom at dad's house. the smell was unbearable. but it was everywhere. and he was hard. smelled like dad's dirty laundry. dad's sweat. sitting on the lid of the toilet while he pumped his cock. of course he was thinking of girls. girls taking cock. girls moaning around mouthfuls of hot, thick cock. whimpering into his palm as he spurted, dribbling onto the toilet seat and floor.

"Son...?”

||//--

Darien snapped awake. He was lying on the couch, resting his head on a throw pillow that had collected a damp spot of drool from his muzzle. Cliff stood in the doorway of the living room, a loose tank top over his belly. Still in his underpants, of course.

It came back to him slowly. Once the installation was complete, Darien had dropped the thing on the office chair and fled unceremoniously to the living room, overwhelmed with the sudden urge for a nap.

"Um..." Cliff scratched at his belly absently. There was a look in his eye that Darien couldn't read - a tiredness, perhaps, or maybe he was a little embarrassed about the whole afternoon. But then Cliff blinked and coughed. "Guess it's too late for uh...movie?"

"Shit, yeah. Sorry." Stumbling to his feet, Darien shifted until his boner sat more comfortably in his pants. Making hurried goodbyes to his father, Darien rushed out the door, feeling an ache in his balls again. He needed it, and it took every bit of discipline he could muster to stop himself from pulling off the road to rub a quick one out.

--

"Son, there's uhm." Cliff stood in his hallway as Darien's headlights faded from the window. He held his cell phone, fingers hovering above the number pad. There was a half-remembered sentence in his brain, fighting a fog that seemed to cover every corner of his thoughts. It was important. Wasn't it important? His murmurs were the most that could escape from the pleasant haze that relaxed his nerves, made his thoughts spiral off into non sequiturs. "Son, the...the..."

Ting

Cliff's cell phone chimed, and his muscles went slack. He sighed in euphoria, cell phone falling to the carpet as a dopey grin spread over his muzzle. In the space of a slow blink, Cliff became a passenger. He felt his legs move, and his cock stiffening in his sheath, but his mind was wrapped in a lazy, blissful happiness.

Wandering with plodding steps to the computer room, Cliff adjusted the growing boner in his underwear. The last coherent thoughts he had were on his son.

"Mmmthe...time for...movie..."

One week later.

---

It wasn't a big deal.

It was just once, and he had a very good reason.

He had arrived in a bad mood. The past week of back-to-back shifts under the worst doctors in the ER would have left him grumpy under normal circumstances, but that only scratched the surface of Darien's frustration.

At the beginning of the week, he couldn't make it through a shift without sneaking off to the bathroom to rub one or two out. And even when he did, he would come home exhausted but pent up, unable to fall asleep until one last grunting orgasm finally shut his brain off. Though Darien was surprised to be as horny as he was in his teens, it was an easy problem to solve.

But then came Tuesday morning, dead in the middle of his workweek. Darien had slipped into a free bathroom during a lull, seating himself on the lidded toilet and pulling his scrub bottoms out of the way. And for the next half hour, no matter how hard he was, no matter how many of his favorite videos he played, no matter how close to the edge he was, he wasn't able to cum. He squeezed his knot, pumped harder as he felt what surely must have been his limit - but the moment faded without climax, his just-as-needy boner clutched in his slick, precum covered fingers.

Shifts began to blur into one another. He'd grumbled at doctors and caught himself almost snapping at a few patients. Half of the hours he was supposed to be sleeping were spent jerking himself to the point of exhaustion, only managing to fall asleep defeated, balls aching for a release that never came. It had been two long days of this, and the last thing he wanted to do in this state was spend a day off doing laundry in his father's stuffy, air-condition-deficient house.

But the laundry had to be done, so here he was.

Cliff didn't help when he opened the door in his underwear, again. His father had a dopey smile on his face and an obvious half-tent under his gut.

"Heya son, whass' eating you?" Cliff was slurring his words, scratching at the underside of his belly and drawing Darien's attention exactly where he did not want to be looking. For a moment, something felt off to the younger retriever. Why was his dad acting like...oh, wait a minute.

"You been hitting the gummies again?" Darien sighed, needing to slowly but firmly push his spacey father out of the way. Cliff's only response was to giggle, which Darien took as a yes. "Good lord. I'm gonna get started. You'd better be drinking water."

"Uhhuh," Cliff smiled and waved his son off, ambling toward the computer room.

By the time the first load was sloshing in the washing machine, Darien had tidied Cliff's bedroom and kitchen, vacuumed the carpets and floors, and cleaned out trash in the fridge. The computer room door remained shut the entire time, with Darien only cracking the door open to throw a water bottle in like a grenade. It was traumatizing enough to hear the occasional moans and grunts spilling from behind the door - the less Darien could see, the better.

Sitting in the basement next to a rumbling dryer, a pile of dirty laundry, and an open window, Darien found himself absently rubbing at his crotch. He wished he wasn't jealous of his dad, but it was a jealousy that was hard to deny. He'd been busting his ass all week, at once pent up and drained in the worst ways, and even this weekend was offering no relief. But here was his dad, stoned and jacking off on the internet all week, not a care in the world.

With a sigh, Darien found himself hard again. He knew how this would go, but he couldn't stop himself from trying. Shuffling his pants open and leaning back in his folding chair, the retriever whipped his phone out, pulling up a video that never failed to get him off. Darien grimaced as he corrected himself: never failed, until recently.

The video was a single shot, fixed on a thick-thighed feline girl tied to a park bench beside a popular jogging trail. Her bob tail was tied against her lower back, revealing her ass and pussy to many sweaty men who jogged by, copping a feel or giving her a spank on their way. The passing men took more and more, of course - a buck working his fingers in her soaked pussy gave way to him mounting her and fucking her raw. Her face and body wore rope after rope of fresh cum with each man who stopped to use her, hot seed from all sorts of cocks dripping into her fur and through the bench while onlookers gawked and took pictures.

Nothing. Barely more than a surge of lust when the antelope stuffed the feline's ass with a thumb, slick with her own juices, making her squeal through her gag and attracting even more attention. Yet Darien was no softer, still feeling the urge to pump his cock and squeeze his pulsing knot, frustration bubbling up within him instead of an orgasm. He'd busted so many times to that part alone - what was wrong with him?

Giving his shaft and wrist a break, the canine's head fell back with a defeated sigh.

Something delicious wafted into Darien's nostrils - a heady, manly smell that made his slowly softening red rocket perk up. His hand returning to his shaft without a thought, Darien took a few deeper sniffs of the air, guided by the stirring feeling deep in his shaft, pent-up and all too eager to burst, building in his balls and the base of his cock.

"Oh my god," Darien muttered, gripping and pumping harder with each sniff. The retriever's head lolled to the side, giving a delighted moan as his nose found the source of the heavenly musk. By the time Darien fully realized he was huffing at his dad's sweaty underwear, he couldn't bring himself to stop. The pressure in his aching cock was unbearable, pure pleasure and need welling up to the tip of his cock with an intensity he hadn't felt in years. "Oh thank god, yes, fuck..."

His phone began vibrating in his off hand, chirping out a cheery tune completely at odds with the huffing, sweating orgasm that was finally, blessedly approaching.

"DAD is calling..." The bright phone screen practically bellowed.

Darien was motionless. One ring. Maybe it was a butt dial. Two rings. He squeezed his knot and whimpered. So close his breaths came short and shallow. Three rings.

Muttering a cuss, Darien released his grip as he put the phone to his ear.

"Hey dad," Darien grunted with a staggering gasp.

"Hey yerself! I'm ordering lunch from the sandwich place, what do ya want?"

"Uh. I don't know. Some kind of salad."

Cliff chortled in his ear, "Faaaaag salad," seemingly cracking himself up before ending the call.

Darien's cock had retreated into his sheath, the moment ruined instantly. Did Cliff think that was funny or something? Stupid, stoned old man.

Sitting up in a hurry, the canine made it a point not to look at the laundry basket his snout had been savoring just a moment ago. Fixing his pants, Darien stood, made note of the time left on the wash, and slammed his fist hard on the dryer with an ugly, frustrated yawp.

Cliff didn't come out of the computer room for lunch. The old man only showed himself again once the evening rolled in and Darien's busywork had waned into listless phone scrolling on the couch. He still looked pretty baked, clumsily tugging at his underwear when he ambled into the living room and plopped his butt down on the cushion next to Darien's head. The smell of sweat, cooped up from the computer room and barely contained in Cliff's well-worn briefs, hit Darien like a truck. Quickly sitting up straight, the younger retriever adjusted himself, hoping to pre-empt the boner he already felt peeking from his sheath.

"Sorry for bein' all antisocial, the uh...the fuckin’...day got away from me." Cliff gave a glassy-eyed look to his son, either not noticing or caring that Darien was refusing to make eye contact with his mostly naked father.

"You should take it easy on the edibles, dad." Darien shrunk into himself a little bit, his eyes locked on the carpet. Faltering for a moment, he took a small breath and continued. "Honestly, you're kind of worrying me. I thought you hated being high in the daytime."

"Highhh...?" Cliff rolled the word around on his tongue, like he had been handed a tool and had no idea what to do with it. Clearing his throat, the older retriever rubbed his eyes and sat up. "M'sorry, son. I don't wanna worry yuh. Let's watch a...you know, if you got time for...uhh..."

"Movie?" Darien grimaced, the complete brushing aside of his concerns only souring his mood further. "Fine, make it a quick one though."

Cliff was already on his feet, ambling over to the TV. He fumbled with a USB stick, managing to plug it into the TV after hitting it from several wrong angles.

"What are you doing?" Darien's ears sank with his frown, the view of his dad's bare back and thighs unavoidable and backlit by the blue screen of the TV.

"Mm. Movie..." Cliff ambled back to the couch, picking up his cell phone as he slumped into his seat. He prodded at the screen in a slow and robotic way, still mumbling but not saying anything coherent.

"Who the hell taught you to use a-"

Ting

It was only a small, single chime from the phone in Cliff's hands, but it stopped Darien's words in his throat. A heaviness spread through Darien's limbs, gravity calmly but firmly pushing him back into his seat on the couch.

"Fflash...drri...ve..." The younger canine's words had become molasses. His throat, tongue, and thoughts grew slower still, struggling to hold onto the shape of the things he had been trying to say. The couch enveloped him, its soft cushions draining all his aches and stresses away. The TV screen went black, then showed a few scrolling credits.

"Mo...vie?" Darien slurred under the cozy blanket of mental haze. There were words scrolling on the screen, but Darien couldn't read them. Too difficult. The couch shifted as Cliff settled into his seat, his eyes also locked on the screen as the credits rolled away.

A jump cut brought, with no fanfare or lead-in, a close-up of fast, feverish fucking. The details came to Darien's slow mind in gentle waves: hard cock, with a pair of fluffy brown balls, sinking into as fast as it could unsheathe from a plump, shamelessly spread equine ass. Beneath a pair of roughly groped buckskin buttcheeks, a heavy set of equine balls swayed while delighted grunts came from off camera.

I don't want to watch this. Why is this on?

Silence. Darien meant to say that out loud. Moving his mouth was surprisingly difficult, let alone shifting his head to turn away from the sudden blast of hardcore pornography. Everything was moving in slow motion, and his thoughts were getting even slower. Darien steeled himself and spoke up.

Dad, what’s wrong with you? Turn this off, Darien didn't say.

He didn't have a chance to feel uneasy. By the time Darien fully understood it, the most he thought of his predicament was a subdued: Oh. I can't talk. Okay then.

The couch rocked and shifted softly. Though it took several seconds too long, Darien realized with muted surprise that his dad was stripping his underwear off. Cliff's cock was suddenly on full display, moving with the momentum of his legs as he attempted to kick the pair of tighty whiteys off of his foot. The underwear flopped back off of the elder retriever's foot, falling onto the cushion inches from Darien's face.

Cliff wasn't looking. His eyes were glued to the TV, and his hands were...

Squeezing, rubbing. Cliff's thumb brushed at his thick glans, smearing the bead of precum that had formed at its tip. Grunts, pleas and whimpers blared from the TV, the pace of the nonstop fucking on screen only getting rougher, more animalistic. Cliff was utterly enraptured, his jaw hanging open as he stared ahead. With every slow, firm pump of his fist around his plump, sweat-sheened cock, Cliff grunted harder and breathed heavier.

I shouldn't look at my dad's dick. My dad's dick is really big. Dad is acting weird. My head feels weird. Simultaneous and sluggish thoughts were stuck in a lazy traffic jam in Darien's brain. All fighting to get through, none quite knowing how, some losing their way and forgotten entirely.

Dad's underwear is on my nose, one thought rang with sudden clarity. Darien blinked, and indeed, his snout had drifted to the pair of underwear cast to the couch cushion beside him. He had been drawn to that familiar scent again, so much more fresh and powerful than it had been in Cliff's laundry basket. The sweat-soaked fabric felt so thrilling against the tip of Darien's nose, driving him to push his snout a little further in. His lethargic hand suddenly sprung to life, calmly grabbing the discarded pair from the seat cushion and pushing it against his face.

Each huff was heaven. The smell of his dad's sweaty nuts was so strong, flooding Darien's nostrils and crashing to the back of his head, pushing all other thoughts and senses out until the younger retriever could only inhale more, desperate to be buried in his father's addicting scent.

While he buried his snout in his father's underwear, his other hand was moving as well, undoing his pants and freeing his stiffening length. His head was swimming, dragging his nose and lips back and forth over the pungent fabric in his face. Darien was touching himself with a renewed fervor, spurred on by the whimpering groans of his father, the breathless begging of the twinky stallion on TV, and the intoxicating scent of a mature, virile man.

"Haah." Cliff moaned aloud, catching what little wisps of attention his son had left. Not letting the underwear leave his snout, Darien turned to his father.

Cliff's legs were in the air, leaning back in his recliner seat. It was an impressive position for someone his age - still propped up in the seat with his droopy eyes glued to the TV screen, but both of his hands hard at work between his legs. One of his hands - those rough, working-man's hands - gripped at his fat shaft tight, pumping in waves and irregular bursts of arousal while the older retriever's tongue hung out of his snout. The other hand, Darien noticed with a distantly felt blush, was burying itself just a little lower than Cliff's thinly-furred balls. He rocked his arm up and down, plunging a thick finger in and out of his tailhole. Noises that Darien had never thought his father capable of making spilled from his snout, feral grunts both strained and hungry for more.

Darien was helpless to watch as his father reduced himself to a rutting, slobbering beast. The man beside him didn't seem to notice his own son gawking while he forced lascivious moans from his own throat, squeezing at his knot and squirting precum into his bellyfur. Bucking into his hand, Darien let out a muffled groan of his own, only consciously just realizing that he had been stroking himself the whole time. And he was close - the orgasm that he'd so foolishly given up before was stirring in his balls again.

From the way Cliff was starting to suck in air, he was on the edge himself. A lone thought surfaced in Darien's head. It suggested that he shouldn't be doing this, that there was something wrong with cumming in front of his father. Cumming a fresh, hot load of spunk, right in front of his dad was...wrong, wasn't it? If only he could remember why. If only he could think of anything other than the point of no return, his aching cock so ready to spurt, his breaths tightening as he watched his dad tilt his head back, sticking his panting snout in the air as he buried a knuckle deep inside-

Cliff's eyes fluttered open, his glassy gaze falling immediately on his son. And when the two locked eyes, they both came.

A thick spurt of cum painted a streak over Darien's gaping muzzle, bathing his outstretched tongue in the taste of his own seed. His cry was a whimpering howl, the boy far too gone to be self-conscious. All his pent up lust shot from him in arcs, soaking into his shirt and dribbling into his tummyfur. Gripping his red knot with everything he had, Darien wailed, coating his knuckles and torso in cum, the dumbest smile plastered on his underwear-draped muzzle.

Drifting back to earth, Darien sighed as he let his hands fall limp, the underwear falling from his face. Cliff was grunting with pleasure, a simple ruhh, ruuhh, ruuuhh his plump belly dripping with seed. His thick arm was shaking, the finger buried deep under his nuts clearly prodding at just the right spot to make his thick cock dribble and spurt a prolonged, squirming climax. As his muscles fell limp and Cliff deflated into the couch with a deep, satisfied groan, Darien let out his own fluttering sigh of relief.

"Dad..." Darien was startled to hear his own voice. His tongue was heavy, and it was hard to pull words together when the stallion twink on tv kept begging to be fucked harder. "Why are we--"

Ting, Ting

At the second chime from Cliff's phone, both men instantly fell into a deep sleep.

The next thing Darien remembered, he was climbing into his car and getting ready for the drive home. His shirt was a little wet in places, but it was a fact that kept slipping from his periphery. His shirt had always been wet, hadn't it? Or, maybe it was normal for his shirt to have wet spots?

The thought didn’t stick in his brain for long. Navigating the sparse evening road home, the only memory that lingered was one of huffing his dad's underwear in the basement.

It was only one time. And he really needed to cum. That's where the wet spots must have been from. Why had he been so upset?

Slowing down at a yellow light he could have easily passed, Darien rolled down the window and took a deep breath of summertime air. When he got home, he stripped naked and tumbled into bed, not a care in his head as he drifted to sleep almost immediately.

He didn't have anything to worry about. Come the next morning, he wouldn't remember anything unusual happening at all.

One shift later.

"No, not again-" Darien grunted as he finally let go of his dripping erection. Surely, his libido was just exhausted from whatever happened yesterday...

Another shift later.

"Please, please, ffffucking please," Darien's breaths were choked. His grip around his shaft was so hard it was starting to hurt, but orgasm still felt just another pump away. And then another. And then another. And then

Another desperately horny shift later, in the work bathroom, at the end of his fucking rope.

Darien's shift had ended a half hour ago. He sat on the seated toilet, his pants around his ankles and his knotted cock on full display above his sheath. The retriever covered his face with his hands, letting out a stifled but furious whine as the ache in his balls slowly receded. It took every ounce of restraint in his body to not punch the wall.

--

A week without orgasm later.

"Any change in your pain level?" Darien asked as he stared into his work tablet, digging at the laggy screen while he rushed through a list of patient checkup questions. The exact words of the patient - a nervous looking terrier in his late 60s - didn't stick. Complaints about noises, food, and middle of the night checkups flew in one floppy ear and out the other as Darien gave several forceful taps to the tablet screen to indicate a simple, succinct no.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Darien stifled a groan while the patient kept blabbing. He usually never carried his phone on shift, but the situation with his dad had only grown more concerning.

A headache, subdued hours ago with a few over the counter painkillers and coffee, was beginning to resurface. He hadn't slept right for days. Erections and erotic dreams would wake him at all hours of the night, and though he tried with all his grip strength, the canine would still end up defeated, pent up, and staring fruitlessly at his phone.

So last night, out of a sleepless and blueballed sense of curiosity, he’d looked up his dad's new favorite club.

It wasn't easy to find, but Darien had nothing but time on his hands. And when he found it, he was almost sorry he did.

The only external site Darien could find in the club's homepage did not look like it was meant to be found. It was a barebones collection of images, sorted into a mostly inaccessible bunch of folders. The only accessible folder, "scrapbook <3", was a veritable treasure trove of gay porn - men taking dick in their mouths and asses, wearing ropes of cum on their smiling snouts and displaying their needy holes to the viewer. All the models looked to be on the older side. Around the same age as Cliff, judging by the gray in their muzzles. And they all had a strangely familiar vacant glint in their eyes...

That had been enough for Darien. He was going to have a chat with his dad today, to try and make sure he wasn't getting involved with anything shady. Bidding a distracted farewell to his patient, Darien dipped behind a nearby wall and surreptitiously checked his phone. One new message from Cliff:

gonna have to rain chekc today.......meet up with friends from vr so i wont be home.......lol - c

With a cuss, Darien dialed his dad on the spot. No answer, straight to a voicemail that would never be checked. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he opened the Family Finder app on his phone, hoping that maybe he was just overreacting.

Cliff wasn't home. His dot on the map seemed to be in some old industrial district, about an hour's drive away.

"God damn it, dad." The beleaguered canine's legs moved without a second thought. Throwing a vaguely worded excuse about a "family emergency" at his supervisor, Darien kept his brisk pace up until he reached his car and made for the highway.

The drive was tense, punctuated by several aggravating traffic jams and a few close calls with speed traps. He'd made a few calls and texts to Cliff while stuck on the road, but the old man wasn't picking up his phone at all. Darien's head was starting to spin, imagining his dad meeting up with a scammer or some creep who wanted to sweet talk him into the kind of "modeling" he'd witnessed the other night. When he realized the thought of his dad surrounded by those men in the pictures was giving him a boner, Darien pounded the wheel with his fist and tried desperately to concentrate on anything else.

Anxious spiraling in his head and a defiant boner still in his pants, Darien pulled up to a warehouse bar called Donner's. Making his way through the surprisingly crowded parking lot, Darien pushed open a heavy door and found himself in a jarringly familiar place.

It was the club - a very faithful recreation of the virtual space he'd found his father messing around in. Or perhaps it was the other way around: the sci-fi neon lighting was a lot more subdued than its virtual counterpart, giving the club a more underground vibe. But it was certainly the same place, right down to the portraits of naked men adorning the walls. Daylight was shut out entirely from the sweaty warehouse, with lighting rigs and thumping techno music guiding a small but passionate group of men to grind, thrust, jump, and kiss.

And sure enough, there he was.

Sitting at a table, chatting with a few guys around his age, was Cliff. His back was turned to Darien, but his specific plaid shirt and jeans combo was unmistakable. Steeling himself for a confrontation, Darien sucked in a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, took a step forward - and stopped in his tracks.

Cliff had just burst out in laughter. Not in the sardonic way he would follow a slur with, or the kind of nervous chuckle he made when he was out of his depth, but a genuine, joyous laugh. The kind of laugh he used to share with his mom - one Darien hadn't heard in far too long.

Slinking back toward the bar and ordering a rum and coke, Darien felt a pit in his stomach. His dad was happy. Like, really happy. The truth was so obvious it hurt to look at: Cliff had finally taken Darien's advice and stepped outside of his isolation. He was out, happy, and living again. And here was Darien, about to ruin it for both of them.

"Busy today?" Darien blurted to the bartender, a manul cat with a crop-top pulled tight over his fluffy coat.

"Pretty normal for a Saturday." The barkeep smiled as he pushed a glass to the canine. "The older guys like to come out early before the music gets too loud. It's cute, but they're stingy with the tips."

"I bet." Darien took a swig, all too familiar with Cliff's aversion to tipping unless he absolutely had to. He really had found his tribe, hadn't he?

"I'll be real, it's nice to see someone who isn't collecting Social Security during this shift. Er, don't tell the guys I said that." The manul gave Darien a wink, which caused a blush under his chocolate fur and a twitch in his fluffy sheath. "What brings you here, cutie?"

"Oh, uh." At a sudden loss for words from the manul's charm offensive, Darien found his tail flicking with nervous excitement. "Thanks, I mean I'm not...I mean, I just had a weird day. Needed to go somewhere new."

"I get you." The cat gave Darien another warm smile, this time leaning a little closer over the bar. "Well, if you didn't come here for the GILF action, let me just casually mention that my smoke break is coming up soon and I sure wouldn't say no to some company."

Darien's blush deepened, his erection peeking from his sheath at the mere hint of sexual tension. A defensive "I'm not gay" was caught in his throat. Something about the manul's smile was melting the hesitation he felt. For a moment, he even forgot about his father, yukking it up with old gay guys not ten feet away from him. Almost unable to believe he was saying it, Darien returned the feline's gaze, "You know? I actually-"

Ting

It was the same chime that played from Cliff's phone, in a memory that had been submerged and painted over. The fact that it came from the overhead speakers was irrelevant. Words fell from Darien's head as his eyes unfocused. The warm blanket drifted over his thoughts again.

"I wuh...I..." His muzzle kept moving, trying in vain to finish a thought that had already dissolved. With a stumbling, barely conscious effort, Darien found himself getting to his feet and taking slow, plodding steps away from the bar. "Nnneed to...go..."

A puzzled manul watched as Darien ambled away. The cat had enough experience being rebuffed that this sudden lack of interest didn't really phase him. He failed, however, to note that Darien was following a small crowd of men as they filed slowly to one of the back rooms.

It wasn't his job to pay attention to that sort of thing, anyway.

The Back Room

Darien was a passenger. He felt his legs move, his hand touching the door frame on the way in as he held it for the person behind him. But he was in control of none of it, and that lack of control was the sweetest high and the coziest dream. He barely felt his body moving, working, lining up alongside people he didn’t care to look at. It was pure, docile bliss.

There was someone nearby talking in a sugary, indecipherable voice. It kept threatening to pull Darien out of the dream, and Darien tried with all his might to stay. Stay and let his body move all on his own forever. The haze wavered for just a split second, long enough for Darien to focus his eyes and see what was in front of him.

His father was naked, his erection sticking eagerly out of his sheath as he stood, staring blankly ahead.

"Dad!" The word was a life preserver, and upon speaking it Darien surfaced so fast he almost got dizzy. "What are you..."

Feeling a breeze on his sheath, Darien covered himself in a panicked instant. He was just as naked as his dad, and so were the five other men standing on either side of him.

"Who the hell are you?" An irritated, effeminate voice rang out in the otherwise silent VIP room.

Rising from his kneeling position near one of the other naked, erect men, a short buckskin stallion marched his way over to Darien and looked him up and down. The equine's chest was completely bare, a tight speedo just barely cradling his hefty sheath and balls. Darien had seen his body before. On the unsettling website gallery, being tended to by all manner of men, including the gang of older guys silently lined up around him. That cheerful delivery guy who came by Cliff's house with the vibrator. And the subject of a video from that strange, embarrassing dream he had about jerking off with his dad...

"Wait, oh my god." The buckskin recoiled, covering his giddy smile with his hands. "You're the son! Cliffy's son, right?"

"What are you doing to my dad?" Darien lunged towards the scrawny horse, who promptly snapped his fingers. In an instant, the men on either side of Darien grabbed his arms and yanked him back, a bull on his left covering his muzzle with a meaty palm.

Unfazed by Darien's muffled protests, the stallion looked at him closer, as though he were a bug under a microscope. "So the audio trigger worked on you, but you were aware enough to see your pops and wake up...?"

Clasping his hands and popping a foot up in the air, the buckskin squealed, "Holy shit, am I good or what? Half-programmed and falling into my lap before I even knew I had you!"

Gesturing briefly to the men, the equine pranced along as Darien was dragged to a large, U-shaped couch. The bull, a brown-furred huffing man with a gut and a beard, tied Darien's wrists together and pinned them on the seat with his knee.

"You wanna know what I did to daddy?" The stallion knelt down to Darien's eye level, meeting his furious gaze with a mocking smile. "You wouldn't understand the specifics, so let me dumb it down for you: Cliffy spent a nice, long time in my bar. I built that environment from the ground up and jammed every subliminal trick I could think of into it just to see what would happen. I thought I’d maybe make some guys jerk off for me on camera, like, at best!"

Another snap from the kneeling stallion, and two men quickly stepped forward, pressing their cocks to either side of his lasciviously grinning muzzle. One of them was Cliff, fully unsheathed and staring forward while the horse gave small kisses to his slowly swelling knot. "But I guess I'm just so damn good, I built me a little harem."

"Dad! Help me!" Darien shouted, doing his best to focus on his dad's face instead of the equine tonguing his cock. Cliff's expression remained blank, his jaw hanging slightly open. The only movement on his face was an occasional lethargic blink.

"He can't hear you." The stallion shot Darien a wickedly sweet smile before taking Cliff's entire shaft into his muzzle, right up to the root. The older canine moaned and mumbled softly as equine lips and tongue worked their magic on him. No words came from Cliff's lips, though - it sounded more like he was talking in his sleep. "Mm. Sure felt that, though. Damn, your dad's got a nice cock. Don't you have a nice cock, Cliffy? Say yes."

"Yes, Master Orobas," Cliff responded, his voice monotone and slurred.

"Let him go, you fucking weirdo!" Darien struggled, his wrists unable to budge from beneath the bull who knelt on him, as still as a statue. With another gesture from the horse, an idly standing badger retrieved a duffel bag and proffered it to his master.

"Don't want to, no thank youuuuu~" Orobas dug in the bag for a moment, producing what looked almost like the VR headset that Darien had bought for his dad all those months ago. There were a few parts that seemed to have been crudely modified, bits of wiring had been installed into the headset, connecting a ring of six small circular pads that lined the headstrap. "You know, I was actually thinking of testing this baby on him. I wanna know what effect a touch of electrostimulation could have on the programming process. Your pops is so deep though, it might have just fried his brain."

Orobas laughed at the thought until he saw Darien's furious face. "Oh, come on, don't be like that. He isn't getting his brains scrambled today - that's your job now! In a couple of hours, you're gonna be just as obedient as daddy."

"You're not making me your sex slave," Darien spat. Orobas looked back at him like he had just sprouted a second head.

"Ew, god, of course not. You're like, way too young for me. I'll keep you as a hole for Cliffy to fuck until I get bored of you." Brandishing the janky looking headset, the stallion leaned forward with a mad glint in his eye. "Now open your eyes nice and wide for me..."

The headset loomed over Darien's head. He managed to dodge a few of the stallion's attempts to force it against his eyes before Orobas leapt on Darien's chest, taking the wind out of him and forcing his head forward. Like a stablehand wrangling a headshy bronco, Orobas moved too quick for his canine prey to react, looping the headstrap over Darien's ears and tightening it in one smooth motion. As he felt the cushioned set engulf his eyes, the canine slammed his eyelids shut in a final, desperate act of defiance.

"Son...?" Cliff's voice suddenly rolled into his ear, close enough to feel the whiskers on his muzzle. He didn't stop to think. Darien's eyes shot open.

The headset displayed a feed from a nearby security camera, looking down on the couch that he was pinned to. He watched, from above his father's back, as Cliff crawled over his own body. Little brushes of chest fur against nipples, of body warmth and gentle touch, sent shivers through Darien. There was something layered over the footage that reminded him of the weird glitches in the VR club - a flicker he could only see when he moved his eyes.

"You have to make him feel good, daddy." Orobas whispered into Cliff's ear as he stepped back. "The better he feels, the deeper he goes. You want him to feel so good, don't you Cliffy? Say yes."

"Yes, Master Orobas." Cliff mumbled into Darien's face. Their bellies were pressing together, and Darien recoiled at the feeling of his dad's erect cock sliding through the fur on his upper thigh. His father's breath was in his mouth, and when Darien tried to call his dad's name, his muzzle was swiftly enveloped in the warmth of Cliff's lips before he could make a sound.

Any attempt at a struggle was nigh impossible for Darien, his sense of his limbs and body and tongue all jumbled into a state of sensory whiplash. The headset projected an image of Cliff from above, humping against his own mostly obscured body. Any visible movement was subtle, barely noticeable half the time. But there was no such distance in the possessive, hungry way in which Cliff's tongue had forced its way into Darien's mouth, how his hands grabbed and caressed at his son's nipples and sheath, the heat from his dad's thrusting cock as it smeared precum into his tummyfur.

Dad, please. This isn’t right.

Some part of him seemed to disagree with his silent protests. His cock was rising from his sheath, each heartbeat stiffening his shaft against his father's groping hands and soft bellyfur. Even in the maelstrom of sensation threatening to pull him under, Darien felt a shameful blush cross his muzzle. It had been so long since he'd felt someone else’s warmth. Definitely before nursing school, when he was a stupid teenager who didn't know what he wanted. And if he were to believe what the electricity under his fur was telling him, what he wanted was the cock that made him, pulsing with life and humping hungrily at his body.

Cliff's fingers caressed and pinched at his nipples, eliciting just enough of a whine from his son before he relented, only to grab at his hips and push his sloppy kisses even deeper. His own father ravished him with the ferocity of a stud in heat, and though he could barely catch his breath, he felt himself surrendering. Surrendering to the need in his shaft, cushioned on all sides by a rotund, muscular gut. Surrendering to the taste of his father's lips and tongue bathing his wet muzzlefur.

It felt like love. A love that smelled like his father's sweat, and felt like the masculine growl in his kiss.

Dad, please! Listen to me!

Darien's attempts at wriggling his way out of his father's embrace were growing clumsier by the moment. All while he watched himself from above, his attempts at resistance looking increasingly like quivering pleas for more.

"Wow, someone’s a fighter, give her a hand she's amazingggg." Orobas lisped with perverse delight from somewhere near Darien. From his forced vantage point, Darien watched as the horse sauntered back into frame and knelt beside him. Giving a sharp smile to the camera above them, Orobas messed with a few dials on the headset. "Oh well, guess I have no choice but to hit you with the good stuff! Cliffy, let up for a sec."

Gasping and panting as fresh air was allowed into his lungs once more, Darien's attempt at a scream came out as an airy, shivering whimper. "Dad...haah...help..."

Cliff had been motionless once he obeyed the stallion's order to retreat. But at his cry, Darien felt his father's cock twitch against his tummy. The older retriever's head tilted to one side and then the other, something stirring in his head.

"Help..." Cliff echoed sleepily.

"Yes, help, Cliffy." Orobas leaned forward, his soft equine snout against Cliff's ear, though he made no attempt to hide his words from his captive. "Because I’m about to light his pleasure centers up like a Christmas tree."

"Dad...!" Darien took a sharp breath as Cliff leaned over his son again, engulfing the younger retriever's dick in his precum-soaked bellyfur once more. "Stop him!"

"Help...I..." Cliff's breath grew close again. His mouth was agape, huffing in the scent of his son's arousal. Before Darien could do anything else, Orobas tapped a button on the headset.

--//|| ||█ █ █ █ █ █ █ █

---

"OooOhhHHH--!" A cry erupted from Darien's throat. Burning, primal arousal blasted through his nerves, his erection pulsing hard, growing firm and eager. The canine humped against his dad's gut, the softness of Cliff's undercoat against his sensitive shaft sending sparks dancing through his head. He couldn't stop. There was no such thing as "stop". Darien was driven only to thrust, to feel his dad's wonderful tummyfur, to dribble precum and to crave more touch, more wet, more heat. Pleasure was the only sensation, the strain of the bull's knees on his arms erased in an instant. He had to cum. It felt so good. Dad felt so, so good.

"He...lp." Cliff rolled the word around in slow motion as Darien squeaked, shivered, and whined just inches from him. Clumsily bracing himself against the couch, Cliff picked up his belly and softly clutched his son's cock, lowering his own thick and hot shaft until they touched. Within the firm grasp of Cliff's hand, the two bucked together, Darien's breathless fervor and his father's steady, unyielding touch keeping a perfect pace with each other. "Let...me help you...son..."

The colors on the headset flickered wildly, overwhelming signals reaching through Darien's eyeballs, into his brain, and buzzing all the way down to his toes. His swelling knot squeezed tight against his father's as the pretty colors flitted through his limbs and tongue and cock, only permitting him to thrust and whine. Still, a part of his shattered consciousness was keeping a weak grip. Trying with all his might, obscenely bobbing his cock up and down before his mostly vacant audience, a single word hissed weakly out of Darien's gritted teeth and twitching, unevenly smiling muzzle.

"Noooo...da...aad..."

"Get rougher, Cliffy." Orobas walked over with a huff, grabbing Cliff by his hair and gently pulling him away. Darien kept pushing his hips, desperate to feel his father's warmth again. The stallion planted an affectionate kiss on Cliff's spit-soaked muzzle, one the older man returned with no hesitation. "He's resisting me, and I don't like to be kept waiting. You're going to teach him to obey his master.."

"Yes...huh...help..." Sitting up, Cliff shook his head lightly, some cobwebs shaking themselves loose. He seemed to move with more awareness now, shimmying off of the couch and moving to the foot of the couch.

Darien's legs were free, but his squirming had devolved far past trying to escape. They at most shook with his effort to hump at the air, his proudly erect shaft aching for his father's cock to return. Hands suddenly grabbed his shins, and though he couldn't see past Cliff's back, the way those strong hands pulled him towards his end of the couch made their owners all too clear.

"Help you...help you get some sense into that head..." His father's voice, more coherent but still a little sleepy, towered over him. Darien could hardly see himself, and that was when he could see what the lenses were showing him at all. More and more, the colors just sparked and danced and rolled around in the synapses of his brain, causing his tail to wiggle and a listless, happy whine to spill from his snout. Cliff's sturdy grip felt like the only thing keeping him from floating away altogether. One hand was steady on Darien's thigh, a thumb running shamelessly over his soft, chocolate fur. The other, while not in direct contact with Darien's body, was quickly made obvious. Cliff pumped his cock gently, giving it a few gentle slaps against his son's thighs before resting his thick, tapered tip on Darien's dark-furred balls. "Son, you listen to me. I need to make you cum, okay? I...I have to. You’re gonna cum for your daddy, and that's final."

His father's suddenly stern voice made him feel small. No less brain-scrambled or hornier than a pack of wolves in rut, but even Darien's restless squirming had shrunk in submission. The younger canine could hardly think of anything aside from the feeling of his dad's cock against his scrotum, so agonizingly close to him. Heat radiated from Cliff's pulsing length, the dripping tip coming into occasional contact with his knot for just a tantalizing moment before pulling back.

There was a little shuffle by Darien's exposed bottom as an entranced grandpa of a badger came briefly into frame to give a helping hand. A shock of cool liquid dripped over the younger retriever's tailhole, forcing a vulnerable moan from Darien’s throat.

“Quit whining.” Cliff’s grip on his son’s hips tightened. His cock, with a shaft almost as thick as his knot itself, was drifting south. Dragging his leaking tip over Darien’s taint, resting his warm glans against his son’s sensitive entrance. The anticipation burned in Darien’s head, colors dancing and electricity buzzing, his confusion, excitement, and need all jagged, disjointed, and screaming for attention at once.

“God damn fuh...faggy little brat...ooh,” The older retriever grunted hard as he leaned forward, stretching his son’s ass with the tip of his canine cock. Signals blasting through Darien's brain made him twitch and shiver, milking his father's cock more vigorously than any pussy he'd ever had. Cliff gave his boy only a few slow thrusts before plunging himself in deep, stopping just as his engorged knot bumped against his panting son’s hole. “Think you can just mmh disobey Master Orobas? I won’t allow it...!”

There was nothing Darien could say. The shards of his self-control were dancing with strobing colors, drool dribbling from his mouth as unknown words utterly failed to form. His dad, huffing and dripping with pungent sweat, was so deep inside his ass that every little twitch, slip, and push turned the sparking signals in his head to fireworks. Darien felt his own cock pulsing, spurting watery seed with every thrust his father gave, bullying his previously untouched prostate into quick and quivering submission.

“Oh, I hope you’re still in there.” Orobas gave a breathy laugh from somewhere above Darien’s face. When heavy, warm flesh touched his tongue, some primal part of the young retriever realized there was a flaring horse cock rubbing against his lips. The stallion was standing to his side, jerking his equine meat at an angle, and relishing how his newest prey deliriously tongued at the cock above him. “You know why? Because I want you to know just how close you are to being mine.”

Orobas gasped with delight at the thought, pumping his cock harder and slapping it against his captive’s face. “Because when you cum? When your daddy fucks you so good you empty those big doggy balls all over yourself? Your brain is going to be drowning in pleasure, and my little invention is going to keep you in that happy place for a very. Long. Time.”

The disparate pieces of Darien’s mind, barely hanging together as his father’s cock shook their foundations, knew that what the stallion had said was scary. It was bad. Or hot? Definitely important. His brain was important, right? But with Cliff’s heavy thrusts grinding him into the couch, each push of his fat knot stretching Darien's ass a little more, it was hard to remember why. All the addled retriever could hold on to were little scraps of self that squealed, uttered, blathered and drooled from his lips. He wanted to cum, but he couldn’t. Dad was telling him to cum, and he should listen to his dad. But dad was...wrong. Why was he wrong, again...?

“Ohh, fuck, 'atta boy. You’re so tight. So -nnh- tight for daddy...” Cliff leaned forward, his huffing breaths growing increasingly growly. His thrusts were slight but deep, most of his shaft buried in his son’s virgin ass while his still-swelling knot steadily pounded at the boy’s entrance.

“You wwuh, want daddy’s knot, don’t you.” Cliff wasn’t asking. Darien’s only response was to milk his dad’s dick with a twitching, needy hole - his head was too full of buzzing static to say otherwise. “Take it, son. Take it like a good boy. Do what you’re ff-fuckin told...”

One more push, sliding in with the help of cool lube and piping hot precum, was enough. A rush of air forced its way into Darien’s lungs, his wide-eyed gasp giving Orobas a delightfully twisted chuckle. Falling over his son’s body, Cliff’s grunts were loud, barking in his boy’s ears with a rough, unyielding timbre. Cliff was a working man again, and his job was sprawled in front of him, a tight sleeve for his knot that begged to be used, thoroughly filled and bred. Not just any tight hole. His son. His son needed to be bred, and he was the only man for the job.

Darien was humping at his belly, burbling and giggling at nothing, telling the older retriever that he was close to the edge. Cliff was, too. Orobas had told him to make his boy cum, so it was all he ever wanted. He was obeying, and obedience felt good. Sharing obedience with his son was obeying Master. Cliff’s breaths were becoming sporadic and halting, the simple feedback loop in his brain driving his impending orgasm to a dizzying, intoxicating inevitability.

“Oh ssson, I can't hold back...” Orobas’ cock hung between both father and son’s mouths, an irresistible target for the older retriever to tend to with his own lips and tongue, loosely kissing his wildly moaning son while they lapped up dribbles of Master's tasty pre-cum. Shoving himself balls deep in Darien’s hole, Cliff felt his gruff voice wobble as he clutched his son’s body hard, giving the boy no choice but to hump himself over the edge on his fluffy, sweat-soaked belly. His orders spilled through a mouthful of cock: “Listen to your f-father, boy. Give in and cum for Master. Ohh. Oh, I'm cumming, son, daddy’s gonna--aaAH...!”

One final, deep push came with Cliff's breathless exclamation, his knot pulsing hard as his first few spurts of cum painted his son's insides. Darien's sides were sore from his father's grip, his eyes hardly able to focus, Cliff's cock twitching and cumming hard at just the right spot to finally push the boy right to the edge.

"D...da...d--!" He spoke with the last echoes of his consciousness as they felt the fuzzy blanket of submission slowly folding over them.

He came.

Darien howled, a noise so stupidly gutteral and orgasmically girly he wouldn't have believed it came out of his own throat. But as hot cum spurted into his daddy's bellyfur, pulsing and pooling and matting the warm russet tummy, what little remained of Darien was succumbing, waves of electric pulses and orgasmic bliss tucking him in with a smile, putting those parts of him to sleep forever. When Cliff pulled back from his son, his fat knot unleashing a small splash of seed from Darien's hole, the boy was still cumming weak little spurts, dribbling into his chocolate tummyfur while his breaths evened out in whimpering little pants.

The headset on Darien's eyes had stopped showing anything other than strobing lights, disjointed colors, and pretty patterns. Hardly remembering to blink, Darien's eyes lay open and absorbed it all. Flashing, splitting, twisting, spiraling. He didn't have to think. He wouldn't have to think ever again.

It was wonderful.

"Oh, fuck, open up--!" Orobas pumped at his cock rapidly, laying it on Darien's outstretched tongue. The boy stared blankly ahead as thick, heady horse cum pulsed into his mouth, swallowing dutifully and with no hesitation. Rocking his hips and squeezing out all of his seed, Orobas gave a nicker to the ceiling, wiping himself off on Cliff's cheek before pulling the headset off of Darien, admiring his work.

Darien's gaze wiggled back and forth, unable to focus on the nondescript ceiling tiles dancing in his dilated eyes. His mouth hung open, dribbling drool and horse cum down his chin and into the cushions. His panting and glassy eyed father watched his son's twitching face from above, basking in the smell of canine semen painting their coats and Darien's tail.

"Doesn't that feel better?" Orobas chided, a wicked smile on his snout as he held out his hand. The bull rose from Darien's wrists, lumbering over to a bag and pulling out a digital camera. "Say yes, Cliffy's boy."

There was a slight, excited spark in Darien's head. An order! A faint smile crossed his cum-splattered muzzle. He knew just what to say.

"Yes, Master Orobas."

A twitch shot through his spent cock, a dribble of fresh seed sinking quickly into his soaked belly. It felt so good to obey.

now

Next he was aware, Darien was face to face with a man he hadn't seen before. He stood in the doorway of his father's home, dressed in a tank top and a pair of very tight shorts.

"Cliff around?" A grumpy bear in a plaid button-down glared down at Darien. "I'm his neighbor, from across the street."

"No, he's busy." The words came easy, like a script reading itself through his lips. His dad was busy though...right? "Is something wrong?"

The bear gave a skeptical little grunt. "Just been seeing a lot of weird guys coming by. Coupl'a real hooligan types."

"They're my dad's friends. We're giving them a place to stay while they get on their feet." He believed what he was saying, but there was something strangely automatic about how he said it.

"Uh huh. I guess just have him call me when he can. It's Tim, he knows my number."

"Sure, no problem." As the bear turned away and Darien closed the door behind him, he...

--//||

Fell away. Orobas had told him to pretend to be "Darien" when people came to the door, and he was so good at it every time. Shedding his shorts and shirt at the door, the young retriever ambled up the stairs, crossing by a ransacked and completely rearranged computer room before arriving at his father's bedroom.

"Tim from next door seems concerned about hooligan types, he-" Darien spoke in a monotone, before being hissed into silence.

"Oh my god, shut up, tell me later." Orobas, naked and laying on his stomach across his dad's bed, pulled his snout from under Cliff's tail. His father's coat was soaked with cum from all angles. The bull, the badger, and a sleekly muscled tiger stood at attention by the bed, their jockstraps wet with sweat and semen. A video camera set up on a tripod captured the whole thing, framing his father's ravaged and panting body front and center. "Get over here, on all fours. Cliffy's been a good boy today."

"Yes, Master Orobas." Darien replied, the joy of obedience rolling through him in a pleasured sigh. Crawling on the bed, the younger retriever got on his hands and knees, lifting his tail to the ceiling and staring forward.

The buckskin stallion gave Cliff a couple of slaps on his butt, which seemed to rouse him from his stupor. "Good boy, Cliffy. Go ahead and fuck your son. Do it like you're gonna knock him up. Obey."

"Y-yes, Master Orobas." The older retriever growled as he sat up, a facsimile of consciousness returning to his eyes. Pulling Darien's tail into the air, Cliff cupped his son's balls before giving a smack to his ass. "That's my boy. You're hungry for daddy's cock, huh?"

"Yes, daddy. I'm hungry for your cock." Darien responded, his own shaft slowly peeking from his own sheath in anticipation. Orobas traipsed off of the bed and leapt into the bull's arms.

"Boys, jocks into the hamper and get dressed. We're gonna have a nice little chat with this Tim guy. Darien, laundry duty and tidying after this." There was a small chorus of 'Yes, Master Orobas' in response, the men around Darien stripping their sweaty, cum-soaked jocks and throwing them on his ears and muzzle. Huffing and licking at the masculine sweat that drenched him, Darien's world was one of musky jockstraps and mature men, lighting up the buzzing pleasure centers of his thoroughly reprogrammed brain. "And remember, camera's on! Put some passion into it."

At Orobas' command, his dad's breath was on his ears. Cliff's red cock, slick with lube and stiff with excitement, prodded at his hole. With a growl and an impatient thrust against his pucker, Cliff demanded: "What do you say, boy...?"

"Please fuck me, daddy. My only purpose is to get fucked by my da-AAHD--!" Though his words were programmed, his pleasured cries came from deep within. Mounted from behind and surrounded by the musk of horny old men, Darien whimpered into the bedsheets, drooling from his sheath and mouth alike. The bedframe squeaked under the weight of Cliff's rough, feral thrusting. No words were needed between them. Just heat, sweat, and balls slapping against each other, desperate to be emptied in a thoughtless, incestuous bliss.

Directly across from Darien, just past the camera recording his forceful breeding, Cliff's old bedroom TV was playing a loop left on by Orobas. There was no sound, but it wasn't needed - all Darien had to do was watch himself on screen. Scenes jumped all around his old parents' house, Darien getting mounted and fucked by his hungry father on the sofa, in the kitchen, out on the lawn and in the garage. Right now, he watched a clip where a half-conscious Cliff held a conversation with his neighbor over the fence, all while Darien huffed at his father's sweaty balls just out of sight.

"Mm...mo...vie..." Darien drooled, his voice shaking from his father's heavy thrusts. Though the word meant nothing to him, there was something about the sound of it that made him relish the feeling of his father's belly against his back just a little more.

---

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