FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Starbucks on the corner of 6th and Main was always packed with customers before eight o'clock in the morning. Today was no exception, and a tall, heavyset bull-tiger hybrid dressed in a clean-cut business suit was thumping his thick fingers against the counter in annoyance as he waited for the barista to make his order. A small crowd of people were clustered around him for similar reasons, though most of them didn't seem as impatient as the imposing hybrid. The barista was a short, very flustered ferret who frantically poured the bull-tiger's coffee into one of the venti-sized paper cups. The hybrid's eyes narrowed as the ferret topped the drink off with whipped cream and capped it.

"Venti mocha for Tarke," the ferret said and his eyes widened as the bull-tiger's narrowed gaze met his and the hybrid poked the drink with a claw. The ferret fidgeted with his nametag as the hybrid spoke.

"I specifically asked for no whipped cream, Joel," Tarke hissed.

The ferret turned to look at his fellow barista at the cash register, an athletic looking, female coyote who just shrugged at him.

"Make it again," Tarke commanded menacingly. "And make it fast, I'm nearly late for work."

The truth was, Tarke could have shown up at the office whenever he wanted. He was the boss, after all. He just wanted to watch this dumb ferret squirm. Joel grimaced as he dumped out the drink and began making a new one from scratch, while his coyote coworker moved off the register to help pick up the slack. After a few minutes, Joel put the corrected drink on the countertop.

"V-venti, no-whip mocha," he said.

Tarke snatched the drink without so much as a thank-you and sipped it as he turned away, pushing through the crowd of customers toward the exit. Someone yelped as he shouldered them aside to leave the store, but Tarke didn't even bother to glance back. The bulltiger shoved the door open and stepped out onto the street. 6th Avenue was bustling with traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, as the hybrid made the short walk to his office. Tarke moved through the crowd like a bulldozer. His nearly seven foot height allowed him to cover distance more quickly than the average person, so it wasn't entirely his fault that he moved faster than everyone around him. There was something so empowering about being able to push less important people aside, though. It only took a few minutes for Tarke to reach the office building where his business was located, and he strode through the marble lobby like he owned the place. The silver doors of one of the elevators greeted him, and he waved his ID card over the reader before slapping the call button a few times in annoyance.

A husky in a grey business suit approached shortly after and stared at his phone while waiting nearby. Tarke narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar canine and quickly stepped into the elevator when the doors slid open. The husky was distracted by his phone for a few seconds too long, and by the time he looked up and moved to enter, the bulltiger had already hit the door button and the doors slid closed in the husky's face. Tarke smiled to himself as the elevator started moving, and he leaned against the back wall, watching the numbers climb on the digital floor display. The elevator stopped at the seventeenth floor and Tarke stepped out. He turned right and pushed open the glass door with a flashy decal for "Tiger Architects" printed on it.

"Good morning, Mr. Tiger," a cheerful, bespectacled vixen said from behind the reception desk as Tarke stepped through the door.

"Morning Karen," Tarke replied. "What have you got for me?"

"Mr. Bishop is working on the Corvus Project, but he said he could use your input whenever you have a free moment. Samantha Rosenstreich from the city planning commission called and asked that you call her back, but wouldn't say why. Also, Stephen Mease is meeting with Mr. Tobias right now about an addition to his highrise complex."

Tarke sighed. "Very good. I'll speak with Bishop now and then I'll give the city planning commission a call back from my office."

The hybrid trudged passed the reception desk into the office proper. It was a moderately sized space, mostly filled with cubicles in which his employees were busily working. He walked by Tobias' cube and gave a polite nod to Stephen Mease, the otter businessman who was chatting with the jackal architect.

Tarke only had a handful of architects working for him, but despite the small number, they were skilled enough to rake in some hefty cash. He soon arrived at the cubicle wall of Brent Bishop's "office" and leaned against it, sipping his mocha as he watched the older lion work in silence for a few moments. Tarke had always found Bishop to be quite handsome, but deep down, he was rather shy about outwardly showing him any affection. Bishop was nearly ten years older than Tarke and that made him even more attractive in the bulltiger's eyes. Tarke could smell the lion from his position as well, a mixture of pine and ginger-scented deodorant that barely masked the feline's masculine, natural musk. He didn't realize how long he'd been staring until Bishop spoke up.

"Are you going to say something or just stand there all morning?" Bishop asked abruptly, without looking up from his drafting table.

He was an old-fashioned lion. All of his plans were sketched on physical paper first before he transposed them into the design program the entire office used. Tarke had to give him credit- he was one of the best damn architects in the office and the extra effort he put in never seemed to slow him down.

"Karen says you wanted my opinion on the Corvus Project, Brent," Tarke said.

The older lion nodded and spun in his chair to pull the plans for the project out of one of the shelves under his desk. He unrolled the paper over the drafting table and stood up to hold down the edges. Standing, he was taller than Tarke, but only by a few inches. Brent pointed a finger at the kitchen area of the restaurant.

"The clients originally asked for this layout for the kitchen. Now the electrician is telling me that the layout is impossible to wire safely and that the client won't listen to him."

Tarke scratched his neck as he looked over the plans. "Will the wiring meet the minimum standards to pass a building inspection?"

"Barely," Brent said. "But it wouldn't take much for something to go wrong."

Tarke shrugged. "Tell the electrician to do his job. The client is footing the bill so what they want is what they get."

Brent stared at him in disbelief. "B-but it can easily be avoided by moving the-"

"I don't care. If we upset the client, they may take the project to another firm."

"Look, we could just explain to the client-"

"I've made my decision," Tarke turned and started to walk away toward the door to his office. "If you'll excuse me, I need to make an important phone call."

Brent shook his head as Tarke walked away and the lion pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Tarke crossed the room to his office and stepped inside, locking the door behind him and setting his coffee cup on his desk as he took out his own cell. The room was sparsely decorated with a few potted plants about the place, and some photos of interesting-looking buildings dotting the walls. Tarke lifted his feet onto his desk as he scrolled through the apps on his phone. He had no intention of calling the planning commision back. They would just drone on and on needlessly until he was blue in the face from boredom. No, he had something better in mind. Seeing Brent always seemed to get the hybrid hot under the collar, but there was no way that he could stoop to actually going out with an employee. Tarke found the icon for "Prowlr" and tapped it, licking his lips as a gallery of delectable photographs populated the screen.

His eyes were first drawn to an athletic wolf whose shirtless photo was cropped just above his crotch, but low enough to show his entire, toned torso down to his bushy pubic fur. Tarke tapped the image and hungrily glanced over the wolf's profile, but his lips curled into a grimace when he noticed that the wolf was only eighteen. Too young. Back on the main gallery, the hybrid scrolled down a bit until the thick, beefy body of an older grizzly caught his eye. This time, Tarke glanced at the bear's age before tapping the picture. Seventy-seven was far too old.

As he continued to peruse the photos, he realized that maybe he didn't actually have to contact any of them. Merely looking was enough to get him worked up to full hardness already, and his dick throbbed in his pants as he tapped the photo of a muscular hyena and was greeted by a full frontal erection pic in the hyena's profile. Tarke licked his lips and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, giving one of his nipples a rough pinch as he gazed at the hyena's meat. Tarke closed that profile and kept scrolling, giving his dick bulge a firm squeeze as he tapped on a rhino's photo. The hybrid huffed through his teeth as he unzipped his fly and pulled his hard cock from his pants. The rhino was muscular like the hyena, but his older bod had a bit of a gut and one hell of a thick shaft. Tarke found himself imagining what it would feel like with that cock sliding down his throat or sandwiched between his ass cheeks before the no doubt brutal pounding the rhino would give him. Tarke closed his eyes at the fantasy, stroking his throbbing cock with each thrust of the rhino dick in his mind. His nuts twitched as he quickly approached the edge. He was almost there, almost ready to cum-

His phone buzzed.

Tarke opened his eyes, annoyed to see that it was a Prowlr message notification. Despite his frustration at being yanked from his fantasy, he was curious, so he opened it.

"Hey, handsome," it said. "I want that sweet ass of yours. Check my profile and hit me up if you want your mind blown."

Tarke smirked at the tactless message. He didn't think he would ever get used to the way people talked on the app, but he was guilty of doing the same. He opened the sender's profile out of curiosity and a wide, beefy lion torso came into full view. The face was cut off, but damn, this guy had a great bod. The tawny muscular chest was framed by the lower part of his rust-colored mane above and his slight gut underneath. A silver nipple ring hung from one of the lion's fleshy nubs and Tarke licked his lips at the treasure trail of dark brown fur that ran down the center of the lion's torso and stopped in a thick bush above a mouth watering, uncut erection at the bottom of the photo.

"Experienced top seeking all subs who want to relinquish control. Give in to your desires and let me blow your mind. Must be above 30 years old. No games. Will send face pic on request."

Tarke had to admit that he was tempted. The lion's profile said he was in his fifties, and that age was just right for the bulltiger's tastes. He wasn't completely on board with the "relinquishing control" thing, though. He did know that a lot of tops on Prowlr talked a big game until it was time for the actual sex to start. Then they would often devolve into nervous wrecks. But what the hell, right? No matter this lion's level of experience, Tarke would at least get his leonine fix.

"Sure, stud. I'm game," Tarke typed into the reply window. "When is best for you?"

It took seconds for the lion to respond: "Tonight. No excuses. Be at 7A, in Rhinestead Apartments on 20th Avenue at 7pm."

Tarke frowned. He didn't appreciate being ordered around. Maybe he wouldn't show up after all if the lion was going to be an arrogant prick about it. A beep from his PC distracted him from the thought, however, as the machine alerted him to incoming mail. It was an email from Brent.

"New software update for the inter-office chat client. Please install ASAP."

Tarke double clicked on the attachment. Brent was always sending updates around the office for the various programs they had to use. He might have been old fashioned in his drafting technique, but he was also surprisingly technically savvy. The program opened and started installing while Tarke slipped his now soft cock back into his pants and zipped them up. He took a sip from his mocha as he watched the progress bar slowly fill. Faintly, soothing sounds began drifting over his speakers as he watched the bar, and he found his eyes beginning to droop gently. A voice, deep and comforting began speaking over the sounds, but he couldn't really understand what it was saying. He thought about that progress bar and his mind drifted off as he began to wish that it would fill up completely. He sat there in a stupor, unaware that his dick had returned to rock hard stiffness in his pants and he was stroking and squeezing it as the voice over the speakers told him to. He was so close, but he couldn't finish. Why wouldn't the voice let him finish? Tarke whimpered and bucked his hips as his tongue hung from his mouth and time became meaningless.

The install bar finished and his computer made the familiar Windows "ding" noise, snapping him back from his daydream. He sat up in his chair, his stomach growling in annoyance as he realized it was already past lunch time. Tarke clicked "OK" on the install box and the program closed, leaving a new icon on the desktop only labeled "BB". Tarke couldn't remember what that meant, but he was sure that the program had installed correctly. He stood up from his chair and re-buttoned his shirt. Why had he unbuttoned it again? He couldn't recall. He shrugged. The bulltiger was sure he would remember eventually if it was important. For now, he was hungry enough to eat a horse!

The rest of the work day progressed as normal after Tarke returned from lunch. He spent almost an hour on the phone with Samantha Rosenstreich and consequently ignored most of what the snarky cunt had said. All she ever did was complain and belittle Tarke's business for not following the planning commission's suggestions, and the bulltiger had stopped caring about her opinion months ago. Rosenstreich kept insinuating that clients would stop coming to Tarke's firm if he didn't start listening to the planning commission, but that threat was never followed through so Tarke didn't care.

The bulltiger yawned a bit as he closed his email program, and he was about to turn off his pc when his mouse cursor drifted over that "BB" icon from earlier. He was supposed to remember something, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Was it something he was supposed to do after work? Yes, that was it. A date, right? With a guy on Prowlr at 7pm. Shit, it was almost 6:30 already! Tarke scrambled to shut down his computer and hurried out of his office. Most of the other employees had left already, and he made sure the outer door was locked before jumping into the closing elevator. A husky in a business suit glared at him as the elevator started moving. The husky was familiar, but Tarke couldn't place him. The two shared the elevator in uncomfortable silence as it descended to the lobby. The husky pushed past Tarke to step out of the elevator and the bulltiger was about to snap angrily at him, but a subconscious thought told him not to. Instead, the bulltiger exited the elevator and left the building through the side exit. He hurriedly made his way toward 20th Avenue, checking his phone every few minutes to verify the time. When he reached Rhinestead Apartments, it was already 6:56 and he prayed that the elevator wasn't a slow one.

The building was a fairly normal-looking high rise apartment with glass front doors and a small security desk inside. The floor of the lobby was covered in black and white linoleum tile made to look like marble, and the walls looked like they were straight out of the 1970s with mirrors glued to the lower half and marbled, brown tile above them. A bulldog security guard sat behind a wooden desk and stood up as Tarke entered the lobby. The canine was pudgy around the middle, probably from sitting on his ass all day, and he looked about 40 years old.

"Hello, sir," the bulldog said. "May I ask who you are visiting?"

"Uh, the tenant in apartment 7A."

The guard dog frowned. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you inside the building without at least a last name."

Tarke didn't have a last name. The guy on Prowlr hadn't given him one. He started to panic. If he didn't get inside he would be late, and who knows what the Prowlr lion would do to him if he was late! His heart thudded in his chest as he tried to figure out what to say or do to get by the guard. His lips, though, seemed to move on their own.

"B-Bishop," he stammered. Why had he said that? It was the only name that came to mind.

But the guard nodded. "All right, thank you. Elevators are to the right at the back of the lobby."

"Have a nice night," Tarke said as he walked to the elevators and jabbed the button. The guard sat back down at his desk and started fiddling with his cell phone. Tarke was gripped with unease as he waited for the elevator. He wasn't sure what was happening and he wasn't sure if he liked that. He had always been sure about his decisions before, but he was suddenly very on edge, like he wasn't completely in control.

The elevator dinged as the doors slid open and Tarke stepped inside as if in a daze. He tapped the 7th floor button and after a few seconds of silent riding, the doors opened again and he was greeted by a maroon carpeted apartment hall. The walls were covered in tacky, green wallpaper and every few feet, opposite one of the apartment doors, an ornate lamp was fastened to the wall. Tarke checked his phone again: 6:58. He strode down the hall until he reached 7A and knocked.

After only a few moments, the door opened and Tarke's eyes bugged out of his head at the sight that greeted him. Brent Bishop stood there, shirtless and wearing only a pair of jeans. He had the same, delicious torso as the lion from the Prowlr app, and he smiled kindly at Tarke as he beckoned him to come inside. Tarke hesitated.

"B-Brent!?" The bulltiger yelped hoarsely.

"You seem surprised," the older lion said.

"I... I shouldn't be here," Tarke stammered. "W-we shouldn't be doing this."

"We're not doing anything yet," Brent said with a devilish smile. "Why don't you come in and relax."

Relax... that word made Tarke's legs move on their own. He stepped into the apartment and closed the door.

"Good boy," the lion cooed in a pleasant voice. "Now, get comfortable while I finish preparing."

Tarke's hands reached down, unbidden, to yank off his shoes. Then they unfastened his belt and dropped it to the floor. He tried to will his limbs to stop, but they continued as he stared down at them as if in a daze. His pants hit the floor next and Tarke stepped out of them, shucking his shirt moments later, before he moved into Brent's living room in nothing but his white briefs and sat on the tan couch opposite a large, flatscreen television. Tarke blinked and looked back at the space he had walked through as if he were seeing it for the first time.

Near the door, there was a row of coat hooks and under that, a shoe tray where Tarke had deposited his shoes. He had walked over a rectangular oriental rug that sat on the hardwood floor of the entry hall. The entrance to a small kitchen area was to the left of that and opposite that entrance was a nook with a small desk, which held Brent's PC.

Against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room rested a glass table with several wooden chairs around it. The doorway to the rest of the apartment split the wall to the left of the TV and from where he sat, Tarke could see the entrance to a small bathroom through it. The living room had a shag rug and a few shelves on which various books were stacked. The titles were mostly academic, though a few of a different genre stood out to him. "Mental Manipulation", "Hypnotherapy", and "The Art of Bondage" in particular made the bulltiger's skin crawl in apprehension. He was beginning to think that he didn't really know anything about the kind of man that Brent really was.

Tarke fidgeted as he sat on the couch. Brent was probably making him wait on purpose. The hybrid noticed for the first time that there were no visible clocks or timepieces anywhere in the living room or entry hall. He had no way to tell how long he had been waiting already. Finally, Brent returned, but he had shucked his jeans and was now wearing only a black jockstrap. Tarke couldn't deny that the lion had a gorgeous body. Despite Brent's pudgy belly, the rest of him might as well have been chiseled out of stone. His legs and arms sported powerful-looking muscles, and Tarke found himself wanting to bury his face between the lion's beefy pecs and lick all the way down Brent's treasure trail. The Prowlr photo really did not do the lion's body justice.

Brent smiled as he gave Tarke a predatory gaze. "Very good. I see your conditioning is already starting to take hold," he said. "I would have made the program more intense if I had known you would be so susceptible to it."

"W-what-?" Tarke began to ask, but the scent of Brent's musk struck him full in the face and sent his train of thought careening off of the tracks. It was a powerful scent that was reminiscent of masculine sweat and dried semen. Tarke couldn't form words. He could hardly think. The lion's scent became his entire world. He wanted to wrap Brent's musky jockstrap around his nose and never take it off so he could smell that wonderful scent forever.

Somehow he became aware that he was on his knees in front of the domineering lion. He didn't remember getting off of the couch, but that hardly mattered with Brent's crotch pressed against his nose and lips. Tarke chewed on the lion's bulge and ran his tongue over the flavorful, scented jockstrap. He felt Brent's cock thickening under his tongue and lips and he whimpered when Brent stepped backward away from him.

"Stand," Brent commanded.

Tarke got to his feet and a metallic clinking sound accompanied his movement. He looked down and then lifted a hand to his throat when he felt a leather collar around his neck. When had that happened? He should have been offended. He should have been angry. But something about the collar was comforting. The metallic sound had come from a tag affixed to the front of the collar under his chin, much like a pet license.

"You're mine now," Brent's soothing voice turned Tarke's attention to the lion's ravishing face. "You will do as I say."

Tarke couldn't stop himself from nodding.

"And I say you need to change your arrogant attitude. Is that reasonable to you, pet?"

"Yes, sir," Tarke replied. He was a part of the conversation, but at the same time separate from it; it was as if he was looking down on himself from outside of his own body. That was quickly changing, though, the more the lion's manly scent invaded his nostrils. He wanted Brent to hold him close to that gorgeous body. He wanted to feel the lion's thick erection embedded in his throat and deep in his ass. Was being Brent's pet worth it? The only words running through Tarke's mind in response to that question over and over again were: "Hell yes!"

Brent produced a leash from behind his back and clipped it to the collar. He smiled kindly at Tarke and gave the leash a firm tug. Tarke gasped as he fell forward into the lion's powerful arms and Brent hugged him tightly to his chest. Their bellies rubbed against one another and Tarke's cock quickly rose to attention.

"Now, it's time to have some fun, Tarke," Brent said, pressing his lips against the bulltiger's own after the last word left his lips.

Tarke let out a muffled groan through the firm kiss as Brent's tongue shoved its way into his muzzle. When he was this close to the lion, Tarke was enveloped by Brent's heady musk. It made his head swim with lustful need and his dick throb incessantly against the fabric of his white briefs. Their tongues wrestled together in his mouth, rolling and coiling around one another in sloppy bliss as he inhaled Brent's delicious scent through his nose and lost more and more of himself in the lion's sensual embrace. Tarke had no idea how long the kiss had lasted when Brent finally broke it, but he was panting as if he had been on a quick jog and his briefs sported a growing wet spot on the front near the tip of his cock.

The lion pulled his leash to get him moving and the two of them left the living room into the back hall of the apartment. Brent turned left, away from the bathroom and led Tarke into a spacious bedroom that housed a queen sized bed and a rather large wardrobe that looked like it was probably bought from IKEA. There was a set of four fur-lined cuffs on the quilt near the pillows, but that was the only overtly kinky thing that Tarke could see. Brent pulled his pet to the side of the bed and then pushed Tarke backward onto it. He gasped softly as he fell onto the quilt and then yelped as Brent fastened the smaller pair of cuffs around each of his wrists.

"Quiet." the lion commanded.

Tarke nodded and held back his whimpering as Brent lifted his legs and clapped the larger pair of cuffs around his ankles.

"You will speak when I say you may," Brent said. "If I tell you to moan, then you will moan. If I tell you to speak candidly, then you will do so. Is that clear? Speak."

"Yes, sir," Tarke replied.

"Good boy. Lift your hands."

Tarke raised his wrists until the metal clips on the four cuffs were aligned, and Brent snapped them together. When Tarke relaxed his arms, they stayed aloft and fastened to his ankles. Likewise, he couldn't lower his legs. His dick throbbed in his briefs, both at the sensation of being bound and from Brent's scent, which seemed to permeate the room and grow more intense the longer Tarke remained. Brent moved to the side so the bulltiger could see his whole body, and climbed onto the bed, his leonine tail flicking back and forth playfully. He crawled over to where Tarke's head rested on the quilt and then lifted his arm so that his armpit hovered over the bulltiger's face. A fresh wave of the intoxicating scent slapped Tarke's olfactory sense and made his cock rigid from pulsing. Brent grinned and lowered himself until Tarke's nose and lips were enveloped in the lion's musky armpit fur.

Tarke's eyes rolled up into his head in bliss as the scent became his entire world. The room disappeared, his body disappeared, his mind shattered into a million pieces, and time itself ceased to exist. His tongue automatically dragged along that delicious fur over and over again as Tarke lost himself completely and Brent smeared the sweaty, musky pit all over his nose, lips, and tongue. Despite his nearly catatonic state, Tarke could hear Brent's commanding voice like a beacon through the haze of lusty pleasure.

"You will respect others," he said. "You will defer to my judgement in the office. When under my control, you will obey my commands to the letter. Do you understand? Speak."

"Yes, sir," Tarke whimpered through the lion's pit fur.

"Good boy," Brent said as he removed his armpit from Tarke's face. The bulltiger could still smell the lion's stink on him, and he resisted the urge to moan at the thought of that smell hanging about him so that everyone would know who he belonged to.

Brent climbed off of the bed and grabbed a pair of scissors from the nightstand. He stood in between Tarke's legs, and the bulltiger gasped as he felt his briefs being pulled away from his ass. The scissors snipped and open air caressed Tarke's winking asshole above his tail. Brent slid a finger under the waistband of the briefs next and snipped them away as well, tossing aside the ruined underwear and gazing down at Tarke's throbbing shaft. Tarke watched expectantly through his legs as Brent pulled his own jock down to his ankles and his thick dick sprang free. Tarke's mouth watered and he began to pant in anticipation of that thick cock stretching his hole wide.

Brent opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube, squeezing a generous amount of it over his fat length and smearing a portion of it over Tarke's quivering anus. There were no fingers to loosen him up, no preparation at all other than the lube. Brent's erection speared him forcefully, thrusting as deep as possible into Tarke's hole in one push. The bulltiger's mouth opened in a silent, gasping moan as his leonine lover hilted and Brent's heavy sack pushed up against his tail. Brent pulled the leash, keeping it taut as he pulled back to the halfway mark before shoving his cock back into the tightening ring. Tarke hissed as his entrance involuntarily tried to expel the intruder, spasming wildly around the lion's sizeable dick. Some part of his original psyche was barely holding on, still trying in vain to exert some control over the situation.

"Relax." Brent said and the last vestiges of Tarke's rational mind vanished.

Brent was his entire world now. All that mattered was pleasing the lion. He did as he was told and opened his hole for his new master. Brent smiled down at Tarke's vacant expression as he began slow, deliberate thrusts into the now more welcoming warmth. The lion gritted his teeth as Tarke squeezed him when he hilted and then relaxed for the lengthy pull back only to squeeze again to pull Brent's throbbing erection back inside. Soft grunts and the slick sounds of sex filled the room as Bent fucked Tarke for several minutes without saying a word. The lion simply gazed at the bulltiger, admiring his hypnotic handiwork as he steadily increased his fucking pace until he was roughly pistoning his prick in and out of Tarke's entrance.

For Tarke, it was different. He had always heard stories of hypnosis, but experiencing it didn't feel at all like it had been described. He was fully aware of everything happening to him and around him. He could feel every exquisite sensation; every pulse of his master's shaft and every clench of his obedient ass. There was no haze or sense of separation anymore. He simply wanted this now. In fact he was pretty sure he had always wanted this.

"Moan for me," Brent said. "Tell me what you want, my pet."

And moan Tarke did. He groaned Brent's name like a whore and begged to be stuffed with the lion's fat cock over and over again.

"Please, breed me, sir," Tarke whined. "I need your cum!"

Brent growled and lifted Tarke's ass to provide a better angle. He pushed his throbbing, dripping erection directly into Tarke's prostate with each deep-dicked thrust. Tarke's moaning was swiftly bringing him closer to climax, and he could feel his sack tightening as his heavy balls churned eagerly to release their pent-up load. Brent gritted his teeth, huffing with desire for his adorable pet as he watched Tarke writhe and cry out in bliss on the bed before him. He gripped the bulltiger's cuffed limbs with one hand and tugged tightly on the leash with the other while his hips crashed repeatedly into Tarke's rump.

"Very... good... boy," Brent said through his panting. "When you feel... me shoot inside... you may cum."

Tarke nodded in response, his back arched from the pleasure of being filled by the lion's length with such deep thrusts. Brent stuck his arm through Tarke's lifted legs to gently rub the bulltiger's brown chest fur and then began mercilessly pounding the warm, massaging asshole with reckless abandon. Tarke yelped and squealed and whined, making his own length fire spurts of precum onto his belly as Brent's pudgy gut slapped the back of Tarke's sack each time the lion hilted. The lion's lips pulled back into a snarl as he slammed his rod home and roared. Tarke's eyes opened wide, bugging out of his head as his pleasure peaked and an explosion of leonine semen filled his bowels. His own cock erupted without warning, firing ropes of bulltiger cum up onto his chest and belly. Tarke shuddered and gasped, his entire body convulsing in orgasmic waves of bliss.

Brent's dick throbbed thickly with every spurt of jizz that he fired into his pet, and he grinned down at Tarke's cum-covered belly and oozing cock. Unfortunately, their orgasms had to fade eventually and when they did, Brent's softening dick slid out of Tarke's well-used and dripping asshole. But the lion wasn't quite finished. He opened the nearby drawer of the nightstand again and Tarke whimpered softly as the cold thickness of a large butt plug stretched him open and locked Brent's cum inside of him. Tarke tiredly looked up at his master's face and Brent smiled back down at him, clasping one of Tarke's hands in his.

"You will wear this plug throughout the day tomorrow," the lion said. "You will not remember this encounter until I say your trigger word. You will only respond to the word when it is spoken by myself. When I use the word, you will become my pet once more and be eager to serve. Do you understand? Speak."

"Yes... sir," Tarke replied, panting.

"Good boy. Now relax."

At that final word, Tarke's conscious mind took a vacation.

***

Incessant beeping pulled Tarke from slumber and he rolled over in his bed, slapping the alarm clock in annoyance. He sat up reluctantly and rubbed his eyes. His head felt like a herd of rhinoceros had used it as a dance floor. Had he gone drinking last night? He couldn't remember. Fuck. The bulltiger pulled the sheets off of him and stared down at himself. He was wearing a black jock strap, but where had that come from? He didn't own any jocks. A familiar, tantalizing musk wafted up from the jock and Tarke groaned softly. He slid the underwear from around his waist and brought the pouch to his nose, inhaling a deep, longing breath of the heady musk. His cock instantly stood erect and Tarke grabbed it, losing himself in the powerful, masculine scent while he stroked his throbbing cock. His eyes rolled up as his pleasure peaked, but he couldn't get over the edge. Why? He tried to fantasize about hotter things, but nothing was able to get him over that final hump and he eventually collapsed back onto the bed, sweaty and panting in frustration. As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling with the musky jock over his nose and his dick pulsing angrily, he seemed to remember something he had heard the night before.

"A good boy waits for his master's permission."

What the fuck did that mean? He sighed as he caught his breath and his erection slowly drooped, as if it was sulking. Tarke grumbled to himself as he climbed out of his small, twin bed and groggily made his way to his bathroom to shower. On the way, he caught a whiff of himself and it made his heart thud in his chest from excitement. Damn, he smelled pretty raunchy. It must have been one hell of a good time last night. He just wished he could remember it.

"Fuck alcohol," he muttered, stepping into the shower and letting the soap and warm water rinse away the stank of good sex and sweat.

As he washed himself, he felt the end of the plug still inside of him and grinned to himself. It must have been an awesome night for sure. Fuck it, if he had a stud's cum in him from the night before, he was going to keep it there all damn day. Besides, he felt so good with the plug stuffing his ass. Tarke turned off the water and dried himself, taking a lengthy piss into the toilet afterward. As he left the bathroom, he glanced at the clock and his heart skipped a beat. He was already late for work!

Tarke dressed as fast as he could and pulled his shoes on at his apartment door. He didn't have time to fix himself anything for breakfast, so he would have to get it on the way. The bulltiger flew out of his apartment and down the nearby stairwell- he didn't have time for the elevator. When he reached street level, he carefully stepped into the crowd of walking commuters so that he didn't unnecessarily shove anyone. He was in a hurry, but there was no reason to be a jerk about it.

It was lucky that he lived only a few blocks from his office and doubly lucky that there was a Starbucks on the way. But did he really have time to pick something up from one of the busier coffee shops? Tarke nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he suddenly remembered how he had acted the previous morning. Well... now he had no choice. He had to go in and apologize to that cute ferret... Joel, was it? He was already late anyway.

Tarke entered the coffee shop when he reached it and waited patiently in line. He could see the ferret barista giving him nervous glances as the line became shorter and it was really making Tarke feel worse about what he'd done.

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks," said a cheery buck who was manning the cash register.

"Hello, could I have a sausage and cheddar breakfast sandwich and a venti mocha please, with no whipped cream?" Tarke asked.

"Sure, may I have your name?"

"Tarke."

"Alright. That comes to $8.82, please."

Tarke handed him the cash and stepped down the line to the bar where Joel was desperately trying not to make eye contact with him. After a few moments, the buck approached with his sandwich in a paper bag and Tarke waited patiently for Joel to finish his drink. The ferret capped the beverage and brought it to the counter.

"V-venti m-mocha-" he stammered, but Tarke interrupted him.

"Thank you, Joel," he said. "I want to apologize for my appalling behavior yesterday. I was really out of line."

The ferret was too shocked to speak for a moment. Tarke took a sip of the drink and smiled.

"T-thanks?" Joel eventually said.

"You're very welcome. Also, this mocha is excellent. Here." The bulltiger handed the ferret two dollars from his wallet before he turned away and left the store.

When he reached his office, it was already well past his usual arrival time. Karen had the phone at the front desk pressed to her ear, but she quickly put it down when she saw Tarke coming through the door.

"Mr. Tiger! I was just calling you at home to ask if you were coming in today."

"Good morning, Karen. Are there any messages for me?" Tarke asked.

"None yet, sir. I'll be sure to forward any calls to your phone."

"Thank you," Tarke said as he made his way to his personal office.

He entered the room and closed the door behind him, sighing as he consciously squeezed his ass around the plug and shivered in delight from the feeling. He took three steps into the room and a large hand wrapped itself around his mouth, forcing a muffled yelp from his throat. Tarke struggled briefly, but a familiar, masculine scent hit his nose and made his knees weak. A ball gag was stuffed into his mouth as he felt a thick bulge pushing against his rump. Tarke couldn't stop his cock from stiffening in his pants and his ass clenched involuntarily, sending shockwaves of pleasure up his spine as it squeezed around the plug.

"That's it, my boy," Brent's voice cooed into his ear. "Just relax..."

***

Tarke blinked, sitting up in his office chair abruptly. How long had he been sitting there, staring into space? He couldn't recall. He did feel satisfied though. Very satisfied. His asshole ached like he had been ravaged by a whole football team and he stretched in his seat, letting out a wide yawn.

Was it the end of the day already? Man, time certainly seemed to be slipping by him more and more often lately. Tarke shrugged. He glanced at his monitor and immediately blushed as he saw the multiple tabs of porn that were open in his browser. Well that was embarrassing... and very inappropriate for work. Some of the images were certainly hot though. Most had a bondage theme, and Tarke could easily imagine himself in those positions. The thought of it was actually starting to get him hard-

An electric stab of pain shot up his spine from the tip of his cock and he winced. Similar stabs came from his nipples as well and Tarke opened his shirt out of curiosity. Two silver hoops were pierced through his nips. When had he had those done? Earlier today? Why couldn't he remember? They were hot though, he had to admit that. Tarke unzipped his fly and wasn't very surprised to see a similar silver ring through the tip of his cock. He could have removed them, but something deep in his subconscious told him not to. It told him that they belonged there. And they did belong there. Why else would he have gotten them if he didn't want them? It would make jerking off a bit difficult for a while, but he was fine with that. He looked even hotter with the piercings anyway.

Tarke straightened out his clothes and closed the pages of porn on his PC, and he glanced over the payroll documents sitting on his desk as he stood up from his chair. His employees were probably due for a raise, right? At least the ones who had been there the longest. Karen should definitely get one for dealing with the complaints Tarke's behavior had caused in the past. That reminded him, he needed to call the planning commission and apologize. Though, maybe it would be better to go there in person. Perhaps he could bring Brent for backup and as a confidence booster. Yeah, that's what he would do.

Tarke yawned again as he turned off his PC and stepped out into the almost empty office. Brent waved him over from the exit.

"You're still here?" Tarke asked as he approached.

"Of course. You're going to need some help recovering from those piercings after all."

A lump lodged itself in Tarke's throat. "You... know about those?"

"Yes I do. I was there when you got them, remember, my pet?"

Tarke swooned. He did remember now. It was so hot when the lion held his hand and squeezed it while he was pierced. Brent whispered into his ear all the while, telling him he was a good boy. Tarke would be a good boy. After all, he wanted nothing more than to please his master.