FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

As you were eating yet another bowl of porridge for breakfast, owing to the lack of a regular pay check, you found your eyes wandering over the wanted ads in the free newspaper. Wrapping your thick blanket around yourself, you struggled to focus in your cold apartment, but one ad caught your eye: "Assistant mascot wanted".

"Are you the life of the party? Do you like entertaining people? Now you can earn money while having fun at The Mascot Factory - where all the characters of your dreams come alive. 18+ as we require mature co-workers ready to..." your eyes passed over the rest. It was so damn cold in this apartment, and that was with heating. If you couldn't afford next month's heat bill it'd be cold you'd have to wear a jacket inside.

Right now, any job sounded good, so you tore that ad out and put in on the fridge door. The ad said to come directly to their offices for an interview, no application necessary, which sounded somewhat fishy, but how fishy could a mascots-for-hire company possibly be? They'll put you in a suit and have you dance in front of some kids, right? Tomorrow, you'd go. Besides, right now any job sounded good, given the urgent need for more money. If you managed to squeeze some fun out of it, all the better, and worst come to worst at least you'd get to spend the day in a warm, fuzzy suit rather than sitting in this cold shithole and worrying about whether or not you could afford food this month.

So you decided to prepare. You dug out your old suit out of the closet, wondering if you'd even need to dress up for a simple job like that, but better safe than sorry, right? The rest of the day seemed to crawl to a halt as you spent it online playing games and looking for other work alternatives, but ultimately finding none. There was precious little to do when you had to keep an extremely strict budget, but at least you had the internet. On a whim, you decided to look up some reviews of said company, and to your surprise, they were all positively shining. Well-paid and fun, they said. Life-changing, even. Great management, once you get to know them, and the suits are so well-made they feel like part of you. Well, that was encouraging.

Even slow days eventually end, luckily, and soon enough you were ready for bed. It wasn't a big bed, but it was comfortable and warm still, and you found yourself quickly dozing off, just barely remembering to set an alarm; you'd be at the company bright and early, prove yourself a real bright-eyed and bushy-tailed go-getter, a team player, comfortable with many tasks at once, with customer satisfaction your number one priority... all that usual stuff. As you dreamt, you found yourself entertaining kids in a hyena suit, from that one movie with the lions and the whatever. Perhaps it was a good omen, or perhaps not. But when the alarm rang out, you felt rested, and quickly had a shower and shave, preparing for the interview.

And now, here you stand, in front of The Mascot Factory. It's a pretty big, imposing-looking building, somewhat of a cross between a factory and an office. There are countless windows to countless offices, neon lights spelling out the name on the front, and a rotating door as the entryway. Steeling your nerves, you straighten out the suit you're wearing, the one you already straightened out five minutes ago, re-adjust your tie, and walk in with what hopefully looks like a confident stride. In your hand Is a briefcase with your CV, a cover letter, and all the other things they might want to see, although you have a feeling that for a relatively low-grade job like this, all that might matter is a clean criminal record. You had that, at least.

Stepping inside, you notice that the decoration is somewhat bizarre. It's both garish and colourful, yet minimalistic. The short hallway opens up into a big reception area, with statues of the "most beloved characters" on the sides; you see an otter, a hyena, a lion, and so on. On the walls are portraits of the founders. The floor is clean to the point of being sterile, however, and there are no carpets either. Beyond the eye-catching statues, the room is dominated by a central desk, populated by several receptionists. You approach, trying to keep that confident expression and pace.

Before you can open your mouth, the receptionist greets you. "You're here for a job interview, right? Take the elevator, topmost floor, first door on the right. Good luck!" she chirped with well-practiced cheerfulness.

You figure you must at least look the part. The elevator is opulent in comparison to the lobby, and you feel like there must've been several interior designers at work, or perhaps the building has gone through several renovations. It's slow, large and has a big screen inside that plays a short, looping introduction to the company.

"At The Mascot Factory, we make all your mascot dreams come true! Whether you need an inspirational mascot for your football team or an adult entertainer at certain kinds of conventions, we have what you need. All of our workers are so good that you won't be able to distinguish them from the character, and best of all, all of our employees are fully satisfied with and committed to their jobs! Welcome to The Mascot Factory, where your favourite characters come to life!"

It loops once before you reach the top floor with a ping. As you step outside, you're greeted with a breath-taking view of the city, lit by the morning sun. Man, having an office up here would be something, wouldn't it?

You enter the first door on the right, and are greeted by another receptionist. "The interview, yes? Have a seat, and the boss will be here soon. We like to do our interviews personally, but don't get nervous; he's a very agreeable man," she says, and you try your best to follow her advice. But the head of the company interviewing you? That was unusual, but maybe not unheard of...

Sitting there, you are surprised to see one of the mascots leave what is presumably the owner's office. It's an otter, rather effeminate, but you suspect it being male due to a lack of breasts. You watch as he first walks by you and then spins around, as if noticing you after the fact.

"Hello", he says in a fairly androgynous voice. The mouth moves as he speaks, which is another surprise, and everything about the suit just looks very real. From the eyes having a natural shine to them, to the ears flicking occasionally, and his tail moving on its own. The toony proportions are fairly interesting too; he looks almost stretched out, with shorter legs and arms than a regular person, and you find yourself wondering how they accomplished that illusion.

You greet him back and he smiles. "Are you here for a job interview? Oh man, you should be excited," he giggles. "I love this job, and you will too. If you get the option, I strongly suggest being an otter too, our roles are very fun," he continues, excitedly, licking his lips. The tongue even looks wet, it's amazing what modern technology can accomplish.

"Well, what do the otters do?" you ask.

"Oh, we do all kinds of things. Entertain people, play with everyone, and of course the most fun part is..." he pauses. "...maybe you should find out yourself, but trust me, it's fantastic. Anyway, I have to meet some clients, nice to meet you!"

He shakes your hand, and you're again astonished by how nimble and warm the thick pawlike fingers feel. As he leaves, you watch his tail swaying along with his rear. He seems to have some wet spots here and there, but you figure it's probably from whatever they use to make the saliva and such look so real.

Well, it sure does seem like a fun job, you think to yourself, although you're still not entirely sure of what exactly the mascots do beyond entertaining people at parties. With a suit of that quality though, you can imagine all kinds of things, some more wholesome than others.

Finally, after a few more minutes, the owner comes to greet you. He's a quite rotund but jolly-looking man, and he shakes your hand vigorously as he invites you into his office.

If the elevator had been a bit opulent, this office looked like something from the 80s. Lots of gold and wood, and decorations in every corner. His chair looks more like a throne than an office chair, and so does the one you sit down on, on the other side of the desk. "So, how do you like what you've seen so far?" he asked. Unusual opening question, but they did say he was more personable than the average boss.

"Well, I noticed all of your employees seem really happy," you reply after a moment's thought.

"And we're very proud of that! We don't mention it in the ad, but we provide free lodging for our employees too. Nice, if somewhat small apartments. We take both customer and employee happiness extremely seriously," he answers back, making a serious face for a moment, perhaps as a joke.

"Free lodging? I assume there's a catch?" you ask, hopefully.

"Well, yes and no. If you ever quit, you'll lose it of course. You'll also be expected to work on demand, excluding weekends and holidays, but chances are you'll love it so much here that you won't regret it," He answers.

"I was wondering about what exactly your mascots do, though. It seems kind of vague in the ad itself," you start, hesitating to ask about those hidden specifics.

"Well, my dear lad, in one word: entertainment. Rest assured we'll never force you to do anything you don't want. But if you do want to, yes, you can also provide adult services," he answers, grinning widely. "There's a surprisingly big market for that!" he adds.

"But it's optional?" you ask.

"Yep. We never force anyone to do anything, it's part of why people like us so much. But I'll give you a word of advice; you might change your mind when you put on one of our suits. It's like being a completely different person!" he says, in a happy tone.

You talk a little more the specifics, work hours ("on demand, but expect around eight total per day") and the lodgings, and thinking back on your cold little apartment, you find yourself pretty much convinced, and tell him as much.

"Great, we just have some paperwork to do. Are you available for an introduction today?" he asks.

You tell him yes. Better that than sitting by your computer all day. He calls in his secretary, who brings with her a surprisingly thick stack of papers.

"So this here is the contract, which you'll need to sign. You should read through it carefully, but there really isn't anything terribly deceptive in it," your future boss says, grinning that grin again.

The contract looks like it's around fifty pages long. You skim through it. Employees agree to act their characters, must be available during normal work hours, yada yada. Can quit with one month's notice...

You find your eyes glazing over. Screw it, if the company is doing something shady you can go to the police, right? Slavery and such aren't exactly well tolerated. You sign the contract.

"Welcome to the team!" your new boss beams. "Oh, one question. Currently, we have openings for a few characters. We have hyenas - all the open positions are very active, sporty, that kind of thing - and lions, fairly dominant in bed If you decide to go for that, otherwise proud and all that, and otters, who are, well, you probably met Bubbles on his way out. They're like that. Any preference?"

You think back on that otter, apparently named Bubbles. He seemed to enjoy his job, and playfulness couldn't be a bad thing. "I'll go with being an otter," you reply, barely hesitating. Otters are pretty adorable animals anyway. Probably not many demands for adult services from those, you think.

"Great choice", he answers. "The otters are my favourites too," he grins, almost predatory-like. "Well," he continues. "You'd better get to the suit fitting room. It's bottom floor, and I have people there that'll get you started. Off you go!"

As you leave the office, you can't quite shake the feeling that you should've read the contract more closely, but it's not like they'd be getting away with anything illegal for this long. The secretary nods at you with a knowing smile, and you step into the elevator, hitting the bottom-most button.

Something about all of this feels fishy to you. You didn't even have to show your CV, no credentials or anything. But on the other hand, it was a mascot job, maybe you just didn't need a lot of skills. You had plenty of time to think it over on the way down, and went over the worst-case scenarios. If they tried to force you to work for free or prostitute yourself, you'd go to the police, right? That had to be the worst outcome, and it didn't seem that likely; these guys were big and had been operating for quite a while, which wouldn't be the case if the business was blatantly illegal. Not to mention, the employees would complain sooner or later.

All in all, you have mixed feelings. Maybe it really is just a great, fun job. I mean, pretending to be an otter, entertaining people? Can't be that bad.

The introduction video for the corporation loops in the background as you ride down in the elevator. You have a quick look at the button you just pressed, and it says floor -20, which is another surprise in a long line surprises today. Just how deep does this facility go? What use could they even have for all that underground space? Is that where the employee lodgings are? Regardless of what's down there, it's where you're going, albeit very slowly.

Finally, the elevator dings again and the doors slide open. You're greeted by two mascots, who apparently also handle introduction duties. One's a lion and the other one's the otter you met earlier. Bubbles, you remind yourself.

"Ooh, what'd you pick?" the otter asks excitedly.

"I went with your recommendation," you answer, and he squeals with glee. "That's fantastic, I bet you'll love it as one of us," he continues, but the lion interrupts him in a deep tone.

"We'll need you to strip," he says. "If you're feeling shy about that, you can use the dressing room right next to us here," he pauses, and the continues. "But you'll have to be naked for the suit trial regardless, so you might as well get your clothes off now."

It's still fascinating how realistic these suits look. Somehow, they've made toony proportions look perfectly real, and you can barely even tell that the fur on them is a separate layer; it looks like their own skin. You hesitate for a moment. The lion points, mutely, at coat hangers on the wall next to you, and then to a locker room. You take it that these are our choices.

Screw it, you think. If you have to be naked anyway, you might as well get naked here. It's not like mascots who apparently sometimes get fucked haven't seen a nude man before. So, you strip off your suit, hanging it all up on the coat hangers, careful not to get it too wrinkly. Ironing suits is just a pain. All the while, the lion looks at you with utter disinterest, while the otter smiles, almost looking shy, but also smiling.

Your body is nothing to be ashamed of. While you might not be that young anymore, you're still in decent enough shape, as the two workers discover. There's a little bit of muscle definition to outweigh the bit of belly you have going on, and as you finally strip off your underwear, they see your cock, which could only be described as "slightly bigger than average"; there's simply nothing terribly eye-catching. The otter still seems to like what he seems, however, and steps closer.

"Okay, so now we go into the suit fitting room. Ooh, I can't wait to have another otter buddy," he giggles, and he's about to hug you before the lion harumpfs, interrupting him. "Oh, sorry, gotta be more professional. Okay so yes, the suit fitting room. If you'll just follow us!"

They lead you through twisting hallways and into something that looks like an assembly line. It reminds you of that time you worked with assembling cars, except instead of metal parts, all the parts are various mascot suit components. You see boxes full of otter heads and tails, as well as those of other suits going by the labels on the boxes. In the middle of the huge room is the assembly line, surrounded by robotic arms.

"Alright, so, the process is automated. You step on the line, and the machines will automatically tailor the suit to fit you," the lion grunts.

"Wait wait wait, he's gotta choose a color," the otter interrupts him. "Brown, like me? Or maybe you want to be a cute little pink otter? Blue, maybe?" he asks, seeming very in-character with how bubbly and, honestly, infectiously excited he was about everything. You wonder if you could ever match that kind of performance.

But you shrug your shoulders. "Well, I saw a poster of a brown otter with these, like, tribal paints all over him, that one looked neat," you reply.

"Ooh, that one's nice. Alright, just step onto the assembly line when you're ready. Just inside the big circular thing, it'll scan your proportions and provide support. Don't worry, we've had this done to thousands of people, it's completely safe," the otter says, encouragingly. Well, no reason to put this off any longer.

You step up the stairs and into the middle of a ring-shaped metallic construction. Since it has handles, you grab them, leaving you standing in a position almost like the Vitruvian Man. Probably ideal for measurements, you ponder. There is a click and a whirr as two arms extend from the middle of the circle, clasping around your waist. The metal is warm to the touch, so it's not much discomfort, and while it prevents you from moving, that's probably for the best so you don't twitch and screw up everything.

Then, the assembly line starts rolling. You find yourself moving forward, the ring moving with you. The part you're standing on turns out to be a mobile platform of sorts. Handy, but nothing you've not seen before. It moves only a meter or so before coming to a stop, next to the boxes that contain legs. As expected, the robots to the side reach into the boxes as a laser sweeps across your legs and feet, and communicating that to the robots, they pull out a pair of fuzzy "pants" with a heavy-looking tail attached to them. The ring around your waist turns out quite sturdy as it lifts you a few inches off the ground unexpectedly, but understandably. The robots coordinate for a second and then slide the pants onto you. You notice the pants feel warm too, in addition to being quite comfortable. It also covers up your nudity, although you can't help but notice that the suit has an animalistic sheath right at your crotch, complete with a small opening. I suppose they only make the adult versions of these, you figure, but it's no big deal, just means you'll have to wear clothes while in public.

Next, the robots pull out a pair of shoe-like paws that are then moved toward you. From the quick look you get, they're some kind of shoes with individual toes, with webbing between each toe, which seems like unnecessarily much detail for just a mascot suit, but then again, you're not surprised considering how good the other ones you've seen look. The robots on each side gently slide the paw-shoes onto your feet. You notice that your midsection feels a little tingly. Probably just the weird fabric. You hope it's not an allergic reaction, as the robots adjust the shoes perfectly so that each of your toes slides into the corresponding one on the shoe.

You swish your tail with a little bit of nervousness about the tingling. The mascots, who are following you, notice this and comment.

"Oh, if it feels weird it's because the suit is adjusting further to your body. We told you it's advanced technology, didn't we? It should stop when the suit's fully integrated." the otter giggles, which assuages your anxiety. Fair's fair.

You look down as the machinery whirrs to life again and begins moving forward. You wiggle your toes, the tingling feeling having spread there as well. It does look amazingly lifelike, the suit's toes even have joints, and they match the movements of your own. You also notice that your now fuzzy legs have those tribal paints incorporated into them, as a permanent part of the character you're about to become. White swirls and angular shapes, some blotches of ink. It looks rather striking against your own brown fur.

The next stop seems to be for the upper part of the suit, minus head. The "shirt" part of the suit is strange, as the front and back are separate - perhaps the machines are unable to fit a normal suit on a body - but after you've been scanned, the front, with lighter-coloured chestfluff is pressed to your front, and the back part to your, well, back. Something passes along the seams, making the occasional beep, and seemingly fuses the edge of the suit together without damaging the fur at all. You admire the handiwork; the fur on your chest seems very soft and you find yourself wanting to touch it, to see just how lifelike it feels.

Next, the machine picks out a pair of gloves. The mascots give you some advice. "Let go of the handles and just relax your hands and arms, the robots will do the rest," the lion grunts, and you do so.

The gloves are similar to the shoes, with webbing between every digit. Unlike the chestpiece, there's no paint on them, but each digit ends in a blunted little claw. The robots gingerly hold onto your hands as they gradually ease the gloves onto them, effectively one digit at a time. The webbing feels strange at first, restricting the mobility of your fingers, but you soon find yourself wondering how well it'd work for swimming. In fact, you feel quite an urge to swim. I hope the suits are safe to use for that.

The machines pass over seams at your waist and wrists, fusing them together again. At this point, you realize that this suit seems to be impossible to get off without either having these robots help or destroying it entirely, which seems somewhat cumbersome. You also realize that the tingling feeling you felt earlier is now engulfing your entire body, and the sensation is starting to arouse you. At first, it's embarrassing, but when you look down and see your red cock starting to poke out of the sheath, you figure it's only natural for you to...

Your tail swishes excitedly behind you.

Something clicks. Your tail? Your red, animalistic cock? Your toes and fingers? You look down towards the mascots with some alarm as the machines move you further along, opening your mouth to say something, but the mascots speak first.

"Oh, don't worry, the suit bonds to your nerves. That's why it all looks so natural, because it stops being a suit anymore and becomes part of you, silly," the otter squeaks. "You did read the contract, right?"

Wait, this isn't what you signed up for. The suit becomes part of you? You have to stop this. Struggling against the waist-claps holding you in place, you realize that there's no chance of that happening.

"Oh," the otter sighs, looking almost sorry for you. "Well, you'll feel great in a moment, promise," he smiles. "Don't worry, you'll love it as one of us".

You can feel adrenaline-fueled panic coursing through your body even as the machine scans your head and picks up a corresponding headpiece for the suit. If the suit bonds with my body, what's the head going to do?

You dodge it at first when the machine tries to slide it onto your head, but with its robotic precision and speed beyond your capabilities, you soon find it slipping over your face, finishing the suit. At first, everything's muffled. You hear the mascots speaking, but can't make out quite what it is. At least you can see out through the eyes, although your vision is distorted.

The tingling sensation spreads to your face soon enough. Your vision clears as the suit's eyes effectively become your own, looking out over your muzzle and big otternose. Seconds after, your hearing becomes normal as well, and you feel your ears perking up.

"...toony proportions, and still the mental changes to go," you hear. The circular device you're attached to suddenly tilts backwards, leaving you laying on your back on the platform, your tail squished uncomfortably underneath you. The mascots disappear from view, with the otter waving as you're transported into some sort of tunnel. It's very warm in there, but instead of panic, you're actually feeling your anxieties start to melt away as your mind grows rather fuzzy. You stretch as best you can, enjoying the feeling of your body, and a pleasurable feeling sweeps across your body, with the tingling gradually fading. Although the tunnel is dark and you can't see much, you're fairly sure you're fully erect at this point, cock poking out at full mast. You wonder if you could get that sexy lion under your tail later, and then promptly wonder where that thought came from... but then again, it's not like you're...

Your thoughts slow to a fuzzy crawl as memories are replaced and rewritten. It'd be alarming if it didn't feel so wonderful. Wasn't there something I was worried about though? Like...

Well, you know you signed up here because there's a big audience for otters like you, and you're just slutty enough that the idea of earning while letting others use you sounded like a good idea. I mean, what's the point of having this wonderful body if nobody else gets to enjoy it along with you? So you'd left your home village and... the memories blur again. You definitely remember that you love getting fucked, at least, always having been the runt of the litter and eager to please the stronger males of your tribe. You never minded that, but you did want to travel...

Your reminiscing is interrupted by a strange stretching sensation. You feel almost like rubber, your midsection seemingly lengthening, as if softened by the head in the chamber. Similarly, your limbs shorten, if just a little bit. Most of your attention, however, is suddenly focused on your wonderful cock, which you feel growing well over its original average length. You imagine your curved otterhood and find yourself wishing you could bend down and suck on it again, like you usually do.

The machine moulds your body like clay into more toony proportions, along with sexier touches. Your ass is made just a little rounder, and your paws bigger. It feels nice and comfortable, and at this point, every part of what used to be a suit feels like part of your own body. Wait, what suit? You realize you must've been falling asleep, for a moment you felt like you were somebody else. You're just in this machine to make you a little bit more appealing for the clientele. Just some minor body sculpting. Huh, you dreamt you were a human...

A soft ding signals that the machine is done with whatever it was doing, but at this point you're aroused enough that you barely notice, instead focusing on the sensation of precum dripping from the tip of your maleness into your bellyfur. You hope that you'll at least get a good humping when it's done.

Slowly, the platform reaches its terminus at the other end of the facility. You blink as your eyes adjust to the bright lights after what felt like hours of darkness. You notice the machine's not holding you in place anymore, and the two other furries help you sit up.

"Oh wow, you're even h_otter_ than when you went in," Bubbles giggled. "Can't wait to have some fun with you," he smiles, and you smile in return, eyeing his sheath. You think they had clothes on when you went in, but they were both definitely naked now. Still, you feel a little dizzy, and they lead you to what they call a "recovery room", right through a door at the end of the facility. In it, there a bed, and the lion leaves you, shrugging his shoulders and saying something you don't quite make out about otters.

"So, how do you feel?" Bubbles asks, obviously curious.

"Horny as hell," you admit. That's no surprise, you've always had a high sex drive, but machine stretching you into toonier proportions and giving your maleness a quite sexy boost in size hadn't helped any. Not that you needed to say it, given how your shaft was fully out of its sheath and bobbing in the air. Rhetorical question, I guess.

"Maybe I can help with that," the other otter giggles, inching closer, and you feel his soft, warm hands envelop your shaft. With his palm quickly becoming slippery with your precum as he strokes you, he quickly has you panting with need, and you find yourself slipping your own paw under your thick ruddertail to play with your tailhole. You try to push a finger inside, but them remember that your hands are webbed - how could you forget that? - and as such, hard to pleasure yourself with.

"Hmm, looks like someone's eager to get mounted," Bubbles smiles as he continues sliding that big paw over your length, fast enough to keep you right on the edge of orgasm, but never fast enough to actually bring you over it. He seems to enjoy teasing you. "I don't normally top much, but I could do it for a sexy rudderbutt like yourself if you want me to," he murmurs. "As a welcome gift. How about it, want to get fucked and bred by this girly little otter?"

You don't need to think about it for long, if at all. Ever since you stepped out that machine you've had this feeling of heat inside you, a deep and primal need to get fucked, and your fingers aren't satisfying it. Not like a big, firm cock would. Must be something they did to make me more eager. Some kind of heat, like females go in to. Eh, wasted effort on their part, you think. You've always been a bit of a slut, artificial heat or not. But it does make it harder to resist.

You climb onto the bed and get on all fours, raising your tail and presenting yourself to the other otter with a little wiggle of your ass. He obviously doesn't need much encouragement, already visibly aroused from moments before, and as he joins you on the bed he positions himself behind you, leaning over your body. You feel his cock - very similar to your own animalistic shaft - press against your buttcheeks, and give out an encouraging moan of delight. Despite being smaller than you, he's quite well-endowed, and you can't wait for him to hilt that firmness under your tail.

"Mm, who's a sexy little otter?" he whispers, adjusting his hips so that his cock pokes against your tight opening. "You know - nnh- not everyone takes to the treatment as well as you did," he says, grinding the tip of his shaft against your bared tailhole, getting it slippery with his own juices. "Basically, that wonderful machine turns you into a perfect stretchy little fucktoy for our clients, regardless of size..." he pauses, grunts and then spreads you open. It doesn't hurt at all despite his sizeable girth, and you moan out into the pillow you're clutching. "A stretchy, toony little fucktoy for any male to mount and fill with their hot, thick cum... doesn't the thought just drive you wild?"

He starts thrusting, and it does feel wonderful, like your ass was made for his cock. Or any cock, really. "So your body adjusts to their size and mmh, well, you're in for a world of fun. I'm so glad you decided to join us," he groans, picking up pace as he humps you. You always did like getting fucked, but the pleasure now is much more intense, and you squirm underneath him as he drives into you again, again and again, the mounting pleasure erasing any lingering doubts - and memories - that might've remained. It feels like every nerve inside you is on fire, and you feel your muscles milking his cock for the seed it needs to satisfy you.

"Mmh, here It comes... the first load of many," he grunts, too soon really, but then again you're teetering right on the edge of climax yourself, your body redesigned to climax only after your partner does, and you whimper with pleasure as you finally feel his rapid thrusting slowing down before he pushes himself as deep into you as he can, balls rubbing against yours, and you not only feel him throb, but feel each drop of his thick ottercum spurting out inside you. The sheer intensity sets you off, and you blow your own load onto the bedsheets, moaning out loud like the slut you are, squeezing down around his maleness to get every last drop of that hot cum into you.

Finally, you both collapse onto the bed, and you feel your own cum soaking into your bellyfur. You find yourself fantasizing about all the fun you'll have working here, taking cock after cock. It's no wonder all the employees are so happy about this place, not if they all feel like this. Becoming a mascot is definitely the best choice you've ever made.