FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Darryl the rottweiler woke up just like any other day in the week.

He opened his eyes, sat up in slow motion and scratched the back of his head groggily. He rubbed his eyes, turned to his nightstand and picked up his phone to check the time and any messages he might have. He had absolutely no recollection of when he'd decided to go to bed or how he'd ended up there. The last few hours of the past night were sort of blurry in his mind and he didn't seem to recall what had happened in them at all.

Of course, Darryl the rottweiler was 24 years old. He was young and friendly, reckless and party-going. He may have had a few shots or cocktails or bottles or pints last night. Darryl the rottweiler was strong. His body could take it.

But his brain... His brain was definitely not that strong. Its content would get all blurry and disorienting if he were to focus on it, which he had no need to do. After all he knew perfectly well, one hundred percent sure, no doubt whatsoever that the cause of his night-time amnesia was nothing but irresponsible, perhaps even irrational alcohol consumption that he simply couldn't remember. There was no other plausible explanation.

Darryl the rottweiler got out of bed and walked towards the bathroom, grumbling incomprehensibly and scratching his side like a big, sleepy dork. He stood in front of the mirror, raised his phone and made sure he got a few pictures of his adorable drowsy expression. He was wearing no clothes except for his boxers, but he didn't seem to care. He could always edit some extra clothing in and, after all, his fans always seemed to like a bit of exposed fur and muscle. Sure, carrying his phone around everywhere was a bit of a hassle, but he'd give his fans anything they wanted.

He had breakfast in silence, staring into the distance although his eyes were glued to the wall in front of his small table. Then, when he finished, he stood up and walked to his bedroom again, sat on his chair and began jerking off idly. He thought of all sorts of things that might have happened or not, things that would get slightly less blurry as the day progressed - things that he kind of remembered from the day before, although he didn't - and just when he was feeling himself reaching the glorious, much needed release, he stopped.

Still displaying a massive boner between his legs, Darryl the rottweiler put on some clothes, grabbed a few things and left his apartment. He took his car and drove to work.

And then, he worked.

Something peculiar happened whenever Darryl was working. The haze circling around his mind would dissipate - he'd thank coffee for this, make an occasional remark or joke about it whenever his coworkers asked - and he would simply perform the way he was expected to perform. In Darryl's case, that meant sitting in front of the computer as he carried some financial operations to completion and made sure numbers were right.

It was nothing that he couldn't do without thinking about it, really. But he did. It was the only time of the day that Darryl was allowed to think, even if he was too busy doing other stuff to think properly, enjoy it or even realize what he was doing. Only at some point was this condition removed - during his lunch break, he'd eat and then go to the bathroom, where he'd just begin stroking his eager member again up and down, up and down.

The memories from that morning and a generally acceptable amount of pure, hidden pleasure - that responded to no reason that he was aware of - would fill his mind and carry with them more memories about past days that he no longer had access to. Lost in thought and horny enjoyment, Darryl the rottweiler would question just for a second what was going on. But then, as usual, he'd find himself getting dangerously close to the climax, so he'd stop and go back to his workplace, easily forgetting about all those silly, translucent thoughts that he'd managed to glimpse for a second.

He'd keep working and that was all. Chat with coworkers. Maybe fill some forms, the usual kind of stuff that he did. Then, as soon as his job work hours were and he left the office, his mind went back into the same, comforting place where he was himself, but also wasn't himself at all.

The powers bestowed upon him by coffee had left him. Or at least, that's what he'd say in the office, next day.

He took a visit to the gym and began exercising. While lifting weights, every repetition would feel to him as if there was a gentle pull at the back of his mind. As pheromones became fidgety because of the exercise and its natural reaction on Darryl the rottweiler's body, instead of feeling more and more like a wild, strong animal he would start feeling submissive. More and more submissive.

It was a weird thing, actually. The more powerful he felt, the more controlled he thought he was. The more weight he lifted, the weaker he felt. There were times when he felt like whimpering and only managed to stop himself because of that hint of social consciousness that was still embedded somewhere deep in his mind - and because someone was merciful enough to save him the embarrassment.

As soon as he finished exercising, Darryl would go to the lockers and take a few pictures of himself. Something weird would happen then, as his emotions seemed to break and his disposition seemed to bounce between two completely opposite points. One picture, he'd be smiling confidently into the camera, showing some muscle and making sure he'd look just as big and strong as he was on his phone. Then, next picture - submissive, small, weak, almost whimpering again. Next picture - arms behind his head, flashing a cocky grin and making sure one of his pointy fangs were licked suggestively by his big, naughty tongue. Then, infinitely controlled again by an invisible, inconspicuous master - puppy eyes begging to be treated kindly.

Pictures and more pictures, one dominant, one submissive. He'd send them all to the fans. Then he'd go into one of the toilets and jerk off again, keeping himself right at the gates of climax for the third time in the day, thinking about all those pictures and how much he was turned on by all of them.

After that, it was time to get home. He'd be exhausted by then.

He'd just collapse on the chair by his desk and wait there, slightly confused, wondering what to do. By then, the desire to stroke was so strong that he could barely keep himself from touching. Fortunately for him, an unknown force kept him from doing so. So he stared into the walls, bored, aching to release, not being sure what to do, until he received a call on his computer.

Every day, Darryl the rottweiler would wonder who that was. He had no recollection of that tiger. Weird coloration, he'd think. He had no idea tigers like that were still made. Or maybe he's just died his fur, he would think. Yeah, people die their fur in lots of weird colors lately. Even blue.

He'd answer the stranger's call, just out of curiosity. He'd prepare a snarky remark - it'd crawl up to his lips, as unavoidable as thunder, and he'd begin pronouncing it.

But the sentence would never be finished. It'd be left hanging from his open mouth instead.

Just as he was in the middle of it, his ears would flop down and a whimper would come out his throat. The same feeling from the gym, the same wave of complete submission, would wash all over him and leave the big dog helpless and receptive. He'd slump on his chair, shoulders sinking, jaw unclenching, as the voice from the call talked to him.

"Do you remember what happened now, buddy?"

And Darryl the rottweiler remembered.

He'd been to a friend's party and he'd met this weird little guy. He kept joking with a friend about inductions and suggestions, fractionation and double binds - all stuff that Darryl had never heard about. When he'd asked what they were rambling on about and the blue tiger had mentioned they were talking about hypnosis, Darryl the rottweiler had snorted. Hypnosis was bullshit, he'd said, the kind of stuff poor magicians would perform on a show in order to keep attention from their audience when it began to falter.

"You got it right with poor," the blue tiger had joked, showing the inside of his empty pockets. The friend had laughed again. "But I'm no magician. Would you like to try?"

At first, Darryl the rottweiler had said he had no time to waste in that nonsense.

"Why, are you scared that it might actually do something to you?"

That was a very obvious provocation and Darryl the rottweiler knew it. But he was as proud as he was stubborn, and he had a pathological need to prove he was stronger than anyone else - or he'd had it, at least before that night.

"So what should I do with you if I succeed?"

"You can do whatever you want, mate," Darryl had answered, a big wide smirk on his face. "Make me your slave for all I care."

Darryl the rottweiler should have known I always do what I'm asked. It's in my compliant nature to do so, you see.

A few suggestibility tests were performed on him - his paws were clasped together so hard that they were stuck - and then the tiger raised the dog's left paw to eye level and made him stare at it as it got closer and closer to his face, like it was pulled by an invisible magnet, and the moment the paw touched his face he'd plunge deep into a relaxing state of mind, focusing even deeper into that sultry voice and before he knew it...

He was out like a candle.

Darryl the rottweiler remembered now. That was what had happened.

A new whimper escaped his throat as he recalled just how helpless and submissive he'd suddenly been made to feel when he'd gone under. His paw tentatively moved to his groin as he began to stroke. His eager member required his attention, but not even that was as demanding as the sound of my voice, seeping into his vulnerable mind.

"Let's see," it'd say, making the cracks in his zonked brain bigger with each syllable. "Could I please see those lovely pictures of you again? And then maybe I'll let you cum for a change."

Darryl the rottweiler moaned, lost in pleasure, as drool trickled down his chin and to his heavy chest. A distant, tiny little voice in his mind asked to no one in particular just for how long he'd been in that state and how many days more would it take for him to snap out of it.

Er, guy needed a lesson, sure, but just a month or so.

I'm not one for long-term stuff after all.