FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

At 3am, every truck-stop bathroom in existence looked exactly the same. Dingy tile stained with piss and boot-prints. Stall doors that hung off their hinges like crippled limbs. Those same stalls graffitied to hell with sharpies and knife points by bored occupants stuck on the can after a dumb choice of burrito lunch on a long drive. Broken sinks, fly spotted mirrors, flickering florescent lights. And glory holes.

Hank stepped into this squalid, copy-pasted wasteland with a grunt and headed for the urinals. The elephant's bladder was bursting with almost a full thermos's worth of day-old coffee, and a gas-station 64oz soda. Only two of them worked, the other two blocked off by a rusty chain and a peeling 'out of order' sign. Hank thumbed his button-flies open, revealing the stretched, sweat-stained mesh pouch of the jockstrap he wore beneath. His hairy-knuckled thumbs dug into the waistband, hauling it down under his tackle. The elephant's weighty second trunk flopped out, bouncing against the knuckles of his other hand as he nudged it into pissing position. The automatic movements of his hands were unnoticed, the tugging back of his foreskin a little, the gentle tugs at his shaft to get the flow going. Hank's mind was elsewhere as the torrent of musky yellow piss poured into the basin of the urinal. He still hand hours of driving ahead of him.

It was halfway through his piss when he heard the door open behind him. Hank's thoughts broke as he turned his head slightly to see who had entered the bathroom. When he had parked his rig out front, the parking lot had been deserted. The other two urinals were broken, so the newcomer stepped up to the one right beside Hank. The elephant caught the scent of gasoline and exhaust, old sweat, and a strange odor like rubber or motor oil that he couldn't quite place. Hank was still pissing, and even over his own reek he could smell the other guy. In his peripheral view, he could make out that he was a biker. He wore a leather vest, sleeveless, displaying hairy, tattooed arms. Hank risked a little more turn in his head to see more. The biker was a hog. A stubbly jawline led to a neck covered with more tattoos. His flat, wide nose was pierced with a ring, and two off-white tusks poked out of his lip. As Hank sneaked his peek, the biker hog noticed him, indicating it with a subtle bump of his chin at the air. Hank reeled his eyes back to his own dick, attempting to mind his own business. The stranger spoke.

"Daaaym, you a big'un," the hog drawled. Hank could see his head fully turned toward him, looking the graying elephant up and down. Hank snorted. "Yeah, I am, and I don't think ya could take me, piggy," he shot back.

"Pro'lly not, Grandad, but I ain't the one that does the takin' ya git it?" the biker retorted in amusement. He grinned lecherously, a sleazy stretch of those lips around his tusks. He turned toward Hank, his cock in his hand still hosing. Piss spattered Hank's boots in heavy drops. Hank jerked his boot away. "The fuck, man!" he yelled.

"Oooh, Grandad's feisty," the pig laughed, wagging his dribbling dick. More yellow drops pattered down onto the already-filthy floor. He wore scuffed leather chaps over his jeans, the tails of his ripped-sleeveless blue button-down work-shirt framing the root of his fat, porcine tool. Wiry black hair poked between his knuckles where he gripped his meat. "Whassamatter, you scared it'll break ya?"

The dick in the hog's grip wasn't small or skinny, Hank noticed. Still, the elephant grimaced and angrily zipped up. He shoved past the hog. "Go to hell, asshole, I ain't some truck-stop whore for you to fuck." Before Hank had made it three steps, the biker had grabbed the back of his shirt and jerked him back so hard he stumbled his back into the side of the stall alongside the urinals. Hank blinked in surprise. Not many men were strong enough to throw him around so easily. "What the fuck is--MMMFP!"

Before the elephant could finish his protest, the biker's mouth had slammed into his. As the hog's tongue pried at his lips, Hank realized how big he was. Almost as tall as the elephant, the hog was huge for his species. He grabbed Hank by the junk through his jeans, and Hank's eyes bugged at that strength as it compressed his bulge. His jaw popped open in reflexive shock, and then the hog's tongue was in his mouth. Hank was dumbfounded for a good ten seconds, before he smacked both palms into the hog's chest, trying to dislodge him. He barely budged, but Hank got his mouth free.

"Get the fucking HELL off of me, motherfucker!" Hank roared, slugging the hog across the jaw. The biker's head turned, but he didn't stagger. He grinned. Hank swore. His knuckles bled on the tiles from a nasty fight-bite the biker's tusk had ripped into him.

"Hehehe you know you want dis dick, Grandad," the biker chuckled. He was bouncing his hairy schlong in one palm, the other one knotted into Hank's shirt so tight it was pulling the elephant's chest hair. "C'mon, it'll be fun. I'll be reeeaaal gentle, I promise. I'll make ya cum yer fuckin' brains out."

"Get your FUCKING hands off me, bitch, or I'll fucking kill you--" WHAM. The hog's free fist crashed across Hank's jaw like a sledgehammer. Hank was a big man, no stranger to a scrap, but this hog's punch was unlike anything he'd ever had the misfortune of experiencing. His brain ricocheted off his skull like a super ball, lights exploding in the elephant's vision. Stunned, his body sagged, and the hog's grip shifted from his shirt to his throat. He held Hank up, all three-hundred plus pounds of pachyderm like a rag-doll.

When Hank's system rebooted, he woke to his jeans around his knees. He blinked, trying to reduce the triple-vision hogs back into a single one, only to feel wet heat between his legs. He looked down. The hairy porcine club was hosing down Hank's own furry crotch with more piss. The hot, rank smell of it hit Hank's trunk almost as hard as the pig's fist had. The biker was pissing all over his junk, dousing his dangling gray dick and hairy stones with stinking pig runoff. The gutter stench of it made Hank gag, but somewhere in the back of his head a tingle of lust bloomed. "What...what the fuck are you doin'?" Hank slurred. The biker grinned, his eyes hidden under the leather cap he wore as he leered at the elephant. "What the fuck ever I want."

Hank tried to bow up, but the pig squeezed his adam's apple like a stress toy. He gagged impotently as the breath slammed into the pig's fingers like a train-wreck and stopped there. With his crotch dripping with pig piss, Hank tried to pry the biker's fingers off his throat but it was like trying to open a tin can with his bare fingers. Fucking pointless. Before he could make any headway with that, the pig's mouth slammed into Hank's again. The elephant felt his split lip protest in agony and he tasted blood. The biker's mouth tasted strange. Like sucking a hot fork and chewing a circuit board. Despite it, Hank felt blood rush into his dick. He tried to will it down, but his tool was stubbornly swelling, pulsing its way to hardness between his bristly thighs. He jerked when the hog grabbed it, squeezing his piss-slick meat hard. The rough, calloused hand jerked at him, rolling his foreskin back and forth over the wide pink head of his pecker. Hank tried to close his legs, and the biker kicked his shin with a steel-toed boot. Pain, that fucking horrible bone-ache, shot up his spine. The biker broke his kiss, as Hank's lungs screamed for oxygen in his ribs.

"Yer gonna play fuckin' nice, Grandad, or it's gonna git worse fo' ya," the hog threatened. He stretched Hank's foreskin up past the end of his dick and twisted it like a bread-tie. Hank was momentarily glad he couldn't squeal. The hog threw him to the floor. Hank skinned his elbows on the tile, sucking in stinking, cold bathroom air. The pig's boot smashed into his flank, slamming that air back out of Hank's lungs in a ragged gurgle. He rolled onto his back, and his cock popped up like a jack-in-the-box. The biker snickered.

"I knew ya just wanted me to rough ya up," he taunted. His boot came down on Hank's stomach, further driving the wind out of him as he knelt on the elephant. He started ripping Hank's shirt off of him. Literally. The pig was strong enough that he tore Hank's shirt and pants, denim jeans, off of him like a toilet paper mummy costume. Hank lay there, gasping for breath, his chest on fire as the biker ogled his naked body. Hank was big, broad-shouldered and hairy. A taut, yet rotund gut, thick thighs, and a wrestler's arms accented the foot of rock hard pachyderm dick between his legs. He still wore his yellow work-boots and his jockstrap was tangled down around them. The biker grinned his grimy grin. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about, Grandad," he mocked, slapping Hank's hairy pec with a meaty thud. "Big beefy bitch. Fuck yeah, I'm gonna enjoy this."

The biker stood up, kicking his jeans and chaps off. He wore no underwear. While Hank lay at his feet, gasping, the pig stroked his cock, toying with two massive hog-nuts under it. He was fatter than Hank, but no less beefy or hairy. "Here's the deal, Grandad," he growled, snorting with lust, "this cock is goin' down yer throat. Don't try'n tell me ya ain't want it. I see yer fuckin' bone stickin' up like a white-flag so don't. Just fuckin' don't. Ya try an' take a swing at me, try n' bite my dick, and I'll snap yer fuckin' tusks off and shove 'em so far up yer ass the tooth fairy'll hafta go spelunkin' to find 'em. Got it?"

Hank glared up at the hog looming over him. His eyes burned with defiance, but that didn't stop him from looking at the biker with lust. He hated it, but the hog was right on some level. He _did_want to be roughed up. "Got it." he admitted, grudgingly.

"Good fuckin' boy," the hog praised, still beaming. "Play nice and it'll be so much easier for ya."

The biker kicked unbuttoned his shirt, baring a hairy belly and chest. He kept it and his vest on, as well as his black boots, and straddled Hank. His two cantaloupes bounced off Hank's chin as the hog grabbed his trunk and jerked it aside. Hank trumpeted in pain briefly, only for the hog's fat, uncut, and precum smeared cockhead to slap down on his lips. Hank could smell the sweat on that pork sausage, the piss and the precum clinging to it. Resenting the throb in his erection, the elephant started to suck.The salt of precum and the bitter tang of piss coated his tongue as he worked it over the pig's cockhead.

"Ooooh yeah, that's it, Grandad, that's what I fuckin' want," the biker growled. He shifted his hand to grab Hank's head, twisting his fingers into the elephant's short-cropped hair. "Name's Greaser, now say it!" he demanded, before he shoved Hank's mouth down his ten-inch sausage all the way to the balls. Hank's eyes bugged and he gagged sharply as that fat pig cock buried itself in his throat. "GLRK!" The pig slapped him open palmed. "I said, 'say my name', bitch. Greaser!"

Hank was trying not to retch.His face screwed up as his throat struggled to accommodate the huge hog-hose that was stretching it. It was like deep-throating a tall-boy. "Glk...Gl...Gleeasheerrrr..." he managed to choke out around the biker's tool. He felt it buck in his mouth, precum spraying. Greaser started to thrust. "That's it! Say my fuckin' name!"

"Gl-gl-gl-Gleeashhheeerrrrr--GLK!" Hank gurgled, tears streaming from his eyes as the hog pounded his throat. His massive kegs slapped against Hank's jaw and chin as he face-fucked him. Even as he choked on Greaser's salty schlong, Hank couldn't stop himself from reaching for his own dick. Greaser noticed. "Hah! That's right, whore, beat yer fuckin' dick while I skull-fuck ya. I knew ya were desperate fo' some pipe!"

Hank pumped his cock, his arm flexing as he stroked his twelve incher. He hated the pig's taunting, but that only made it that much more arousing. He gurgled and coughed, the elephant's already-sore lungs burning as the biker used his throat like a Fleshlight. He could feel the pig's thighs flexing, his ass pumping as he rode Hank's face. Greaser was thrusting so hard his hairy, sweaty crotch was slapping loudly, wetly, off of the elephant's face and trunk. Then, as brutally and swiftly as it had began, the pig pulled out. Hank gasped, sucking in a gurgling, coughing breath as foamy slobber belched up into his beard. The pig's slick, shiny cock bobbed a few inches away, drooling precum like a leaky faucet.

"Goddamn, almost had me drownin' ya, Grandad. Good mouth, great fuckin' throat," he praised, punching the elephant's chest again as he stood up. "But this fuckin' load is goin' up yer ass where it belongs. Git on yer knees."

That sent a shock of apprehension down Hank's spine. "I ain't...ain't never really bottomed..." he protested. Greaser wouldn't hear it. "Well ain't that nice. Time to take one fer the team, Grandad."

The elephant grumbled but he rolled onto his belly. He lifted himself with his hands to keep his belly and junk off of the filthy floor. Greaser kicked his knees into a classic doggy-style position and knelt behind him. Hank jerked, gasping, as Greaser's stubby snout dove between his cheeks and started to lick. "Nnngh...e-easy!" he gasped. Greaser's mitts clenched on his hairy cheeks, holding them spread. His tongue wriggled and dodged against the elephant's hairy pucker, licking the sweat from the trucker's ass. He hocked a wad of spit against Hank's hole and watched him clench reflexively. Then he straightened and pressed the fat, slobber-slick head of his cock against that ring. He didn't wait. Hank gasped, arching, swearing a blue streak as the hog shoved his cock up his ass with no more ceremony than he had his throat. Hank felt his guts stretch around its girth, his hole burning as all ten inches pried it wide open. He felt the hog's massive kegs smack into his own dangling sack like a punch. Greaser bottomed out and he groundhis crotch against Hank's cheeks. "OOOOoooh-wheeee boy, fuck yeah! Squeeze it, squeeze my fuckin' dick with yer guts, bitch!"

Hank squeezed down on Greaser's cock, his backside aching and burning. His cock drooled between his thighs. The hairy gray dong slapped Hank's gut every time Greaser's cock mashed his prostate. It didn't take the elephant long to start jerking himself off again. "That's it, trucker slut! Beat that meat, squeeze my cock! WHOOO-EEEEE!" Greaser crowed and began pummeling Hank's ass with savage thrusts. The rhythmic clap of crotch on ass was loud enough to echo off the walls. Greaser snorted as he fucked, his gut shaking with every pump. Hank had to bite his forearm to keep from howling out. His other arm pumped away at his cock like a wild man, sweat blossoming all over his body. Greaser too was sweating. Hank could smell him, the rankstench of fuck-sweat and that strange 'motor oil' stink he had smelled when the pig walked in. It only added to the perverse pleasure that was making Hank's cock stiff as a crowbar. His hairy thighs were shaking, barely holding him up. Greaser's nuts were beating his like a school-yard bully, twisting his guts in even more ache. Hank jerked his cock faster, feeling his own precum slide between his fingers. His foreskin made wet noises against his shaft.

Greaser spent almost half an hour pummeling Hank's ass. The elephant was drooling by the time Greaser's fat balls were drawing up tight against his cock. He was slumped over, ass up, head on his arm and staring into the middle distance. He was still pulling his prick, though he had already blown his load at least twice by then. The elephant's trunk was slack on the floor like a discarded belt, and trumpeted only weakly as he squirted his third load. Thick sticky blobs of cum gushed out of him, pumped like a geyser as the pig mashed his prostate into oblivion. It pooled on the sticky floor, joining the other two cooling loads he had already blasted there. It was no less voluminous than the others.

"How's them brains, Grandad?" Greaser panted, sweat dripping from his chest hair as he barreled his cock into Hank with full-length thrusts. All he got in response was a wordless, garbled groan. "Heheh, that's what I thought. Git ready, 'cause I'm abouta knock yer ass up."

Greaser's pounding got even rougher. He jackhammered away at Hank's ass, balls smashing against the elephant's taint and leaving spatters of hog sweat there. Hank mumble-moaned something else but Greaser didn't hear him. He was too busy working himself up to orgasm. "Oooh yeah, oh fuck, gettin' there, bitch, gettin' there!" he warned, snorting loudly. "Oooh YEAH, here it fuckin' comes...I'm gonna cum...I'm fuckin' CUMMIN'!" he shouted and slammed home. He ground against Hank, ass clenching, and his entire body gave a solid jerk as the first huge spurt gushed out of his buried cock. Over and over again he spurted, squirting shot after shot of potent, glue-thick hog cum up the elephant's trembling backside. Hank moaned, feeling that hot flood stretch his guts, pumping him up like a balloon on a garden hose. The hog's load was huge; already he could feel it dripping down his balls and inner thighs. Greaser was lost in it, snorting, humping away slowly, laid across Hank's back as he white-washed the trucker's guts.

Hank had no idea how long the pig was on his back, cumming. By the time Greaser pulled his pizzle out of the elephant's ass, there was already a puddle around Hank's knees. Hank was sure he could taste the hog's load in the back of his throat. He was exhausted, too tired to even lower his ass as Greaser got up. Hank was vaguely aware of the hog washing his cum-soaked crotch and legs off at the sink. He was so fuck-dumb that by the time he was really aware of the hog again, Greaser had put his pants and chaps back on. "Time to get up, Grandad," Greaser said, but his voice sounded...muffled somehow. Hank didn't have time to ponder, before the pig was hauling him, bodily, up off the floor. He soused Hank against the wall, and the fuck-stupid elephant's eyes focused on the pig's face.

Greaser was no longer wearing his hat. Instead, his face was hidden under what looked like a gas-mask. It was black rubber with steel fittings and leather straps. It form-fit his face, so Hank could still make out some of the hog's features, his nose, the edge of his jaw. The mask had a visor of scarlet glass edged with chrome that hid the pig's eyes and brow. Only his flopped, pierced ears were visible at the top. "Wh-what is that?" Hank asked weakly, his legs hardly working after the vigorous porking the hog had given him. Cum was still leaking out of his asshole.

"Yer future, Grandad," Greaser answered. Before Hank could question him further, symbols and data figures begin to flicker across the front of the red-glass of the visor. They were orange, and they glowed as though the visor was the LED screen of a computer. The symbols formed together into words,'beginning cloud download sequence, please inscribe barcode...'. From a spot under Greaser's jaw, the mask extruded a slender device. Greaser pulled it out, and it was connected to him by a thin braided cord. The device was needle-like, silver, and had glowing reddish circuitry inscribed along its length. It was about three inches long. "No...No, get...get away from me!" Hank gasped. The door to the bathroom opened.

Two figures entered the bathroom. Hank glanced at them, mouth opening to beg for help, but the words failed on his tongue. The figures resembled bikers, the leather jackets and chaps, but underneath their leathers their bodies were shiny and black, like vinyl. One appeared to be a bear, the other, a lion. Both wore masks like Greaser's. Under the chaps, their bulges were smooth and featureless. Hank could see no zippers. The two figures grabbed his arms with leather-gloved hands. The silent figures held him tightly, grabbing his arms. They were as strong as Greaser, and Hank couldn't move a muscle. He opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn't.

The device in Greaser's gloved hand wasn't a needle. It emitted a thin red laser, and Greaser had begun inscribing numbers and a barcode onto the side of Hank's neck. His hand and arm moved with robotic precision that no living man's arm should have been able to do. The second the laser had touched him, Hank couldn't struggle. Tiny fingers of circuitry were crawling over his skin, glowing like embers. Images flashed in his mind. Words. Perverse sexual scenes. Praise. Greaser's visor had began showing a display of lines of data crawling, circular, around and around in a spiral that seemed to lead into the red-tinged depths of his visor. Hank couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

"Obey."

"You want to obey."

"You need to be obedient."

"You want to be praised."

"You need to be trained."

"You are obedient."

"You will obey."

"Serve the Master."

"Service is your only Purpose."

"Providing for Master is your only Purpose."

"Pleasing Master is your greatest desire."

The words swirled in Hank's mind, accompanied by images of him on his knees, a drone like the other two, locked and bound in leather and rubber and vinyl, anonymized and nullified. His mouth on Master's cock. His ass for Master's pleasure. His body for Master's needs. All of them.

"Master needs you."

"Master wants your obedience."

"Obey him."

"Please him."

"His happiness is your only Desire, only Purpose."

"Master's happiness is your Food."

"Master's Pleasure is your Drink."

"Obey him."

"Want him."

"Please him."

Hank's eyes filled with circuitry, working itself between the lines of his pupils until his eyes glowed softly red. Between his legs, his formerly spent cock was hard as iron. Cum spilled from him as his balls purged themselves into his hairy treasure trail. Greaser held his arm out, and one of the other drones placed a mask in his hand. "Installing psych-adaptor," Greaser said, his voice still a muffled drawl, but somewhat modulated. He strapped the mask onto Hank's head, the rubber moving, shifting around the elephant's face as though it was alive. Nanotechnology. It had no straps, the rubber began engulfing Hank's twitching body, his trunk, every inch of him, slowly. It dripped down his neck, down his chest. It oozed along his arms, swallowing him. His rigid cock it swallowed, still erect, but encasing his cock and balls in a chastising lump of nullified bulge like the other drones. Inside his mask, the hypnotic, mind-altering tech continued to play. On the outside of the visor, words began scrolling.

_"Partitioning memories...Complete.

Installing Obedience programming...Complete.

Downloading Hivecloud uplink software...Complete.

Installing Hivemind.exe...Complete._

Personality modification software installed_: Drone.

Boot Drone? Y/N."_ Greaser smiled under his mask. "Boot Drone ID Code: 2765903. Alias...Grandad."

"Booting Drone Alias: 'Grandad'. Boot complete. Drone 'Grandad' is ready for service."

Greaser straightened up. Grandad sat for a moment longer and then slowly stood up. The elephant's body was completely encased in the same rubber substance that the other drones were now. His muscles were highlighted, standing out under the shiny surface. Between his legs, he had no more hanging manhood than a Ken doll, only a large, smooth bulge. Greaser interfaced his visor with Grandad's and bypassed some of his memory and personality subversion to leave a message there. "Don't worry, Grandad. Whoever buys ya might give ya some of yer reins back for doin' a good job. I know yer in there. Just try'n enjoy not givin' a fuck about bein' some dommy top for awhile. I know it weren't really yer thing. Master'll take good care o' ya in the meantime."

With that message in place, Greaser replaced the subversions and subliminal messaging loops. Hank was a good sub now, no more hiding behind his pride and locking his desires away behind aggression and dominance. Grandad was a good boy who liked to serve and that's just what Hank had always wanted.

Greaser slapped him on the ass and Grandad started to walk. Outside the truck stop bathroom, a swarm of bikes had been parked. Each of them was mounted by a drone just like the ones who had come into restrain Hank. A black van was waiting for Grandad. Greaser got onto his own bike, connecting to the commlink to the hivecloud. "New drone for ya, sir. Yeah, we got 'im without incident. It was easy enough to track 'im down once we got into his phone and social media profiles." He sent GPS data for the 'clean up' crew to follow as the van drove away with Grandad in the back. He severed the commlink as he pulled out onto the dark highway, his drone gang in tow.

Greaser chuckled. Master always knew how to pair his drones to his buyers. He had no doubt Hank, now Grandad, would end up with the perfect Daddyto serve.