FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Logan Schwanz had experienced claustrophobia in the past, but nothing quite like this. Arms laid out in front of his head to form a triangle, chest flat to the stainless steel floor, sides squeezed by the wall, he was shrunk into the absolute smallest shape he could make himself. The tunnel was black, devoid of all worldly light. All he saw before him was a wall of pitch colored by the swirling hues of his eyes. Stale air blew into his sweat-drenched face while everything beneath his shoulders was dreadfully hot. He would press his palms flat and bend the toes of his boots into the cold steel floor, adding traction to each forward pull. His pattern was simple. Exhale, pull on his hands, push with his feet, then inhale. Repeat. It was dreadfully slow progress, but he was in fact moving. Inch by steely inch, he made his way through the Pizzaplex's vents. All he had to do was not panic, lest he get himself stuck and leave a corpse behind for the staff to discover in the morning.

He didn't let that bother him. Logan was on a mission, and no matter what obstacle was presented in front of him, he wasn't going to stop until he had completed it. Logan was a lifelong fan of the Fazbear franchise. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of every performer and the lore behind them. His attendance at the pizzaplex was regular to the point of being ritualistic. It didn't bother him at all that he was a grown man. His deep love and obsession with the franchise drove him to a level of fandom not even the most ideological of Fazbear-stans met. Like most men, his heart lay in the beautifully manicured paws of Roxanne Wolf, or, more popularly, Roxy. She was the light of Logan's life ever since she had been unveiled to the public. Her onstage glamor outshone everything around her, or so Logan and many other adorers thought. To them she was a master on the keyboard and far more deserving of being the franchise's frontrunner than that washed up Freddy.

His aspirations of meeting her were hindered by exorbitantly expensive VIP tickets, ones gobbled up not by real fans, but by parents with money. Logan was forced to watch children- ones who didn't appreciate Roxy for what she truly was -snatch up all of the signed memorabilia. He owned a few of her autographs, but that was off eBay. Half of them were made out to someone else. His bitter envy drove him to find ways of meeting his hero, no matter the means. He scouted the Pizzaplex where Roxy lived and performed. He no longer attended to have fun, but to gather intel. He stole blueprints, studied guard movements, kept track of shifts, and memorized floor plans. By the end of a month, he knew the entire building and its intricacies like the back of his hand. He quickly hatched a plan: climb the building, sneak through the vents, find Roxy, then get her autograph.

That second step was proving as arduous as he thought it would be. He couldn't keep track of time, but an entire half hour had passed since he opened one of the roof's vents and crammed himself inside. He was lucky that he was a scrawny guy, hardly built with any more definition than a stalk of corn. That didn't mean squeezing his way through the winding steel tunnel was easy. Breathing was admitted only when he was motionless, and even then it was labored and shallow. It didn't bother him. With his mind latched onto what he wanted and enough determination to make a mountain keel over, he pressed on, ready to meet the woman of his dreams.

His persistence was rewarded with the sighting of a distant light. It was dim, but easily noticeable through the blanket of absolute black. Hope fluttered through his chest. His heart banged on the steel floor. What he was seeing was one of the vent grates, the third he had come across since breaking in. It was the one he was after, as it dropped into the backstage. From there he had direct access to the rooms where the performers slept. He inched his way forward, driven by an elevating excitement. The light grew brighter with each approaching scoot. His fingers felt ready to bleed. His chest and stomach were rubbed raw. He hardly gave himself long enough pauses to breathe. [i]Just a little further! I'm almost there![/i]

At last he was over the grate. His pessimistic half expected him to see not the backstage but some other room he had come by due to a wrong turn or error in judgment. So it was a great relief when he saw the recognizable wood-plank floor of the stage, dimly lit by a few emergency lights and an ominously red EXIT sign. He laughed. “[i]Finally![/i]" That was the first word he'd spoken in over an hour. He wriggled his left hand into the sleeve of his right. There he kept a screwdriver taped to his wrist for this exact moment. He peeled the tape off to the expense of a few arm hairs and grabbed the screwdriver. He snaked his hands down into the square depression where the grate was. His hand slid around the cold steel, looking for the screws. He groped around blindly until the grate suddenly pushed out of the slot and plummeted to the stage below.

[i]CLANG![/i]

He cringed hard as the sound exploded across the stage. The grate bounced hard and then spent a full second clattering before it finally came to a rest. He kept his hands over his mouth, eyes gaping. [i]Turn around! Get the fuck out of there, now![/i] But he couldn't move. He was frozen right where he was, too scared to make so much as a whisper of sound. At any moment a security guard would come running over with their flashlight, find the grate on the ground, shine their light to the ceiling, and see Logan's stupid face gawking back down at them. Nobody came. He counted to 100. The stage remained vacant. Common sense screamed at him to move along and forget about this foolish endeavor, but he was in too deep. He wasn't about to come this far and turn back now.

He grabbed the rim of the depression and pulled himself forward. He slid his body over it until his feet hung above the opening. Then he pushed himself backwards while fitting his legs into the gap. First came his shoes, then his dangly legs. He pressed his arms into the walls of the vent for dear life, praying that he wouldn't slip and fall. His beltline came below the opening, revealing his pale, thin torso and bare navel. Only when he had a firm grip on the rim of the depression did his shirt fall down, covering his shame. Next came the next difficult step: letting go. He was pretty high in the air, at least 15 feet. If he landed the wrong way, he would surely break something. He would hit the floor then tuck and roll. Next to vent crawling, this was something he had practiced the most. If he messed that up he would spend the night in the hospital, after that, jail.

He hyped himself up with some deep breaths. “[i]Whooo… Whooo… Whooo…[/i]" He swung his legs to gather momentum. He counted to three. “One… Two… Three!" He let go on the last swing. He fell from the slot, down towards the stage. Everything turned weightless. The floor flew up to meet him. His sneakers hit the hardwood. [i]Whumph![/i] The impact jolted up his legs, rattling his spine. He crumpled at the knees. Pivoting to his right, he fell into a ball and collided with the stage. He swaddled into a ball and rolled twice before coming to a stop. He opened his eyes. In front of him were his knees, just beyond, the stage curtains. He straightened his legs out and began frantically patting them. They rang with the force of the impact, but they were OK. He rolled his ankles around without a retort of pain. His hip felt bruised, but he could live with that. Logan was alright. He was in.

The urge to celebrate was strong, but there wasn't any time for it. He slowly got to his feet and gathered his surroundings. He was behind the red stage curtains. They were closed off from the venue, standing motionless like a giant scarlet barrier. He dared to tiptoe forward and peek his head through the crack. Sprawling before him was the Pizzaplex, empty and dark. There were only the emergency lights to illuminate it, those on the walls and in the floor. He recognized signs, plants, guardrails, and other various decorations. Lining the edge of the stage were miniature light bulbs that would flash in patterns during shows. It was surreal seeing it all from this end, especially at a time this late. This was a place of joy and celebration. Here it was blackened and gloomy, its only sign of life being the vaguely threatening EXIT signs near the doors. It reminded Logan of being in school after hours when the hallways were unlit and quiet. Children were not supposed to be here. They no longer belonged.

Thoroughly chilled, he pulled back from the curtains and resumed his journey. If he had memorized the floorplans correctly, he was only a few doors down from the bedrooms. There he could find Roxy and the rest of the band. He snuck off of the stage to the right. It led into a tight corridor where he could see two doors beneath another EXIT sign. He tiptoed his way towards them, deeply conscious of his footfalls and breathing. He kept his eyes and ears open for any guard activity. Having studied the shifts so thoroughly, he knew that this was the tail end of the graveyard shift, when whoever was making rounds would be at their most tired. That didn't mean he could take it easy. One slip up and he was done for. He had already made a big clamor with the grate. He couldn't afford to fuck up again.

At the end of that hall he found to white doors, one in front beneath the EXIT sign, and one on his right. The right one was the first door leading to the dressing rooms. He jiggled the knob. Locked. Undeterred, he produced a lockpicking kit, another skill he had obtained while planning his pursuit of Roxy. He clasped the wrench between his fingers and slid it into the lock. With it in place, he snuck the pick in with it. Oh so gently he began fixing the rotors one by one.

The lock came undone with a [i]click[/i], and the knob turned. He granted himself a quiet “[i]Yes![/i]" and silently pushed the door open. In front of him was a spacious anteroom. Multiple doors lined the wall on his right, each one of them labeled appropriately. His eyes were locked on the door farthest away from him. A rectangular bronze label was bolted to it. He couldn't read it from that distance, but he knew exactly what it said. BEDROOMS. He propelled himself forward as quickly and as quietly as he could, back and neck hunched. When he got to it, he grasped the knob and tested it. This one was locked too. He didn't hesitate. A few jiggles of the wrench later and the door was open. The squeal on its hinges was deafening now that he was so close. If he was caught now, he would never forgive himself.

He stepped into another anteroom. This one was long like a hallway, featuring four doors illuminated underneath decorative lamps. He didn't have to know which one was Roxy's. Each performer's name was emblazoned above their door in a font that matched their style. Freddy's was a bubbly brown featuring a top hat and bowtie on the F. Monty's was green with a scaly texture. Chica's was flamboyant and white with a pink ribbon tied on top of the C. Lastly was Roxy's. The letters were jagged and sharp like the keytar she played. Her signature hairstyle hung from the head of the R. Logan's heart pounded at the sight of it. There, behind that door, was the woman he had loved so deeply for so long. He could already see her up close, flattered by his surprise appearance, ready to show her appreciation with an autograph and maybe- Oh God -a kiss on the cheek.

Logan grinned like an idiot while prancing his way up to the door. He stood in front of it, dwarfed by its monolithic frame. It was painted black with a round golden knob. The light of the lamp above it shined down on it like some revered historical artifact. It certainly deserved that kind of worship. It was the gateway to meeting his hero, his idol, the woman of his fantasies. All he had to do was pick the lock, open the door, and say 'hi'. His inner self knew it to be a delusion, but that was not enough to convince him to turn around. He wanted to see her, ergo he would open the door. His hand clutched the knob. He turned it. It wasn't locked. The tumbler clanked open. The bolt fell free of the latch. He pushed it open, squeaking it on its hinges. With no more need for subtlety or stealth, he flew the door open in a single burst. He launched himself inside, hand still gripping the knob, and found himself in the home of his muse.

Roxy's room was like he'd expect a rockstar's to be. The only light was a bright neon sign of her name. On the far wall was her makeup studio, an enormous round mirror framed with small light bulbs. Extravagant makeup kits were sprawled across it. A massive poster featuring herself was pasted to the wall behind it. There was a towering wardrobe dotted with Fazbear stickers. Looking at the stickers more closely, Logan saw that, surprise, they all featured Roxy. Against the wall on his left were her guitars. They were on a wall rack, lined up in neat rows like hunting rifles. A giant amplifier sat beneath them, currently quiet. On the right wall, however, was what Logan was looking for. In the corner, away from the neon light, was Roxy's bed.

His heart skipped a beat. He could see her form underneath the sheets. H thought he could make out the rise of her chest with her breathing. Butterflies tumbled through his belly. His knees grew weak and his head felt light. This was it. There she was, Roxy, his beloved. He stepped further into her room, coming right for her bed. His gaze was locked on the swell of sheets he was sure was her butt. Maybe if he asked nicely enough, she-

[i]Flick![/i]

Logan was blinded by light. He ducked his head and threw his arms over his eyes. He thought it was the burst of a flashlight, but as his eyes slowly adjusted, he saw that it was the ceiling lights. Despair fell on him like the rake of claws. He was caught. The jig was up. He was already formulating an excuse as he spun around to face the security guard at the door. [i]I was lost! I got trapped in here when the place closed! I-[/i]

Whatever excuses that were coming to him hit a brick wall. Standing there in the doorway, paw on her hip, finger on the lightswitch, an unamused look on her face, was Roxanne Wolf. Logan had seen her countless times before, both on stage and in images, but never in such a personal setting like this. She was in her pajamas: a dark gray pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with the words ROCK ON! printed on it. Her hair, while still sporting that signature lock of dyed green, was in absolute disarray. The holes in her spade wolf-ears lacked any piercings. She was devoid of any makeup, leaving her lips and eyelids the same gray and white color as her surrounding face. Outside of the stage outfit Logan was used to seeing her in, she looked far more ample and loose. She was braless, leaving that expansive bosom of hers to bow out and stretch the shirt in front of it. Her beady nipples bled through the fabric, staring back at him with an expression as accusing as hers.

Logan was frozen, unable to think or act properly within the immediate presence of his sweetheart. Looking back into her glowing amber eyes, he could tell that the feeling was not at all mutual. It was suddenly easy to appreciate how big of a woman she was, carrying a pair of hips that absorbed most of the doorway she stood in. With her paw clasped on the flank of her upper thigh, he could see just how long her claws were. Watching them work the keys on her keytar made them look nimble and majestic. Now they were just intimidating. He closed his gaping mouth and gulped. He tried to utter a word, any word, to help break the awful silence that hung between them. All that came out was a pathetic choking sound.

“Hey," she said finally. Her voice was calm, but laden with impatience. “Mind telling me what you're doing in my room?"

He looked around, as if suddenly realizing where he was for the first time. “Uh… Oh… I…" He stood up straight, darting his eyes around before landing them back on her. “I was… looking for something. I… I got locked in here."

She tilted her head. “Looking for what? Something I had? Or were you looking for me?" Her words were like karate chops to the throat.

“I…" [i]Fuck. No point in lying now.[/i] “Yeah… I was."

“Well, you found me." She walked into the room with him. To his horror, she shut the door behind her. She crossed her arms in front of her bosom, lifting it up into her chest. “What's your name?"

Common sense told him to lie. That wasn't going to happen, not when it was Roxy herself asking him. “Logan."

“Logan. OK. You know you're not allowed to be in this building after hours, right?"

He nodded. “Yes ma'am."

She sneered. “Don't call me ma'am. I'm not your fucking mom."

He cringed. “Sorry."

“Yeah, you can get in a lot of trouble for sneaking in here. Don't give me that 'I got locked in here' bullshit. I heard you rumbling through the vents. I think you woke half the fucking city with whatever that was you knocked over." He knew he should've backed out after dropping that grate. “I'm gonna have to tell security to tighten the fuck up. Can't have guys like you waltzing on in here like you own the place."

“I know. I'm sorry."

“Yeah, I bet you are." She leaned her head back and sighed. “So, tell me what you want, Logan."

He stayed silent for a moment. Was that a genuine question? “I don't… I don't know…"

“You don't know? Then why the hell did you come in here? What did you expect me to do? I saw you going after my bed. You know how bad that looks?"

He looked over his shoulder at the bed. It was easy to tell that what he thought had been her sleeping body was in fact a bunch of pillows. “I know… I just wanted to say 'hi'."

“You know, somehow I doubt that. Guy like you doesn't risk going to jail by breaking into someone's room just so say 'hi'. You weren't gonna try and hurt me, were you?"

“[i]No![/i]" he pleaded with a rapid shake of the head.

“Good, cause I'd kick your ass if you were." Her eyes fell down to his feet, then back up. He felt her scanning him like a book. What she was thinking exactly was a dreadful mystery. “Just tell me what you want, Logan."

His fingers fidgeted in front of his chest. He honestly didn't expect her to indulge him on a single request, but it was worth a shot. “I guess… I kinda want… You know… An autograph?" He huddled his shoulders into his head, bracing for the inevitable rejection.

“An autograph? That's it?"

“Y-yeah."

“Huh… You know there are plenty of those online, right?"

“Well, yeah. I have a ton, but none of them are for me."

She rolled her eyes with a level of derision so palpable that it made Logan's heart sag with guilt. “Oh for fuck's sake. You could've just bought a VIP pass."

He bowed his head, fingers still twitching together. “I could never afford one."

“No, I bet you couldn't." She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You got a pen?"

He looked back up at her, confusion and hope wreaking havoc on his emotions. “A pen?"

“Yeah, a pen. You know, like you write shit with?" She pinched her fingers together and mimed a writing motion.

“Oh yeah! I mean," He patted his pockets. He had a screwdriver- something that made his case for not wanting to hurt her look pretty weak -but no pen. “No, I don't."

“Of course you don't." She dropped her paw to her thigh, slapping her sweatpants. “Well, I don't know what to tell you, ."

He bowed his head again. “I know. I'm sorry."

She rolled her eyes again and groaned. Another period of gut-wrenching silence passed. Her eyes continued looking him up and down. He didn't see it, but a flicker of an idea came across her mien. “What else did you want from me? Anything else?" He shook his head, far too embarrassed to admit what he had hoped for. “Oh, come on. I think you were trying to get a lot more from me. Maybe a hug? A kiss? Maybe you thought we'd take some pictures together?" He didn't say anything, but the adorable way he looked up at her was 'yes' enough. “Ahh, I bet you did." She stepped forward, swishing the bells of her sweatpants around her ankles. Her pawpads whispered against the carpet floor beneath her feet. Logan's face grew hot, his throat tightened. When he looked up, he saw not a disgusted glare, but a coy smile. Oddly, that was even more intimidating. “Come on. You wanted to have some fun with me, didn't you?"

His heart, already pounding away, went into overdrive. “I…" He tried gulping, but the muscles were too taut. “I don't know."

“No, I think you do." Her eyes fell to his beltline. They lingered there far longer than he was comfortable with. Her gaze sent blazes of excitement across his loins, hardening his penis in his underwear. “You know, I get a lot of fan mail from boys like you. They tell me how pretty I am, how much they love me, how they have all my posters in their room." Her eyes slid up to him, half-concealed beneath her eyelashes. “You're one of those boys, aren't you?"

That went without saying. He nodded. “Yes ma'am." He winced as soon as he said it.

She didn't correct him. “I know you are. I see a lot of art people make of me online too. Lots of… dirty pictures. Boys say they like my tits." Her chest thrusted out at him, wobbling those jovian mammaries like warm gelatin. “They say they wanna touch them while they make love to me. Are you one of those boys, Logan?"

His face was on fire. From his hairline to his mouth he was as red as Roxy's stage outfit. His cock was hard like diamond, already pulsing with arousal. His eyes were locked on her tits with the subtlety of a train crash. “Y-y-yes ma'am."

She purred. “Yeah, I know you are." Her paws came to the bottom of her shirt. In one fluid movement, she pulled it off of her torso and over her head, unveiling the unrivaled glory that was her bosom. They swung upwards with the lift of her shirt, then came crashing down with a calamitous jiggle. They were heavy, very heavy, looking like a pair of angelically soft half-globes. The nipples were like puffy pink coins of an immeasurable value, begging for Logan's inspection. The white underbelly fur covering them was like a basin of crystalline springwater for him to cool his blazing face in. Roxy pressed her upper arms into her chest, bloating her breasts out and pointing those rosaline nipples at him. “Do you like them?"

For as long as Logan knew of Roxy's existence he had been worshiping her breasts like millions of other men did. Here he was in the presence of them, up close and personal, exposed to the fullest of their beauty. It fried his brain to its very core, robbing him of all cognizance or composure. He shivered in his boots. His breath stuttered. The erection in his pants was at its absolute, ready to blow a load right down the leg of his jeans. Roxy's voice and expression was the epitome of seductive, yet they went completely ignored. Nothing in the world besides those buxom breasts existed.

His dumbfounded stupor was all Roxy needed. It added fuel to her burning ego. “I thought so." She released her arms from her chest and held her paws behind her back. “Tell you what, Logan. Let's strike a deal." He wasn't listening. His eyes were firmly locked onto her tits. She had to snap her fingers to get his attention. “Eyes up here, boy." He blinked and snapped back up to her. “There we go. Like I was saying, I have a deal for you, one I know you're gonna like." She turned and made her way over to her makeup studio. His gaze fell down to her robust backside where her wolf-tail and ass swayed confidently. She opened a drawer and picked something out of it. She held it behind her as she waltzed back over to him. The most conniving looking smile rode her lips. “Here's the deal. You love me so much? Why don't you prove it?" She nodded at the bed. “You and I fuck, and if you can make me cum before you do, I'll let you go, no questions asked."

The word “fuck" alone hit him like a freight train. Everything that came with it was like a wood club that clobbered him senseless, syllable by syllable. Nearly fainting where he stood, he chopped his lips, now dry like the Sahara. His knees knocked. Precum dribbled into his underwear, staining the crotch of his jeans with a tiny dot. Through it all, he managed to speak. “[i]Yes ma'am~![/i]"

She severed his excitement with a curt “[i]But![/i] If you cum before I do, you have to put on [i]this.[/i]" She swung her arm out from behind her, presenting what she had grabbed from the makeup drawer. It was a cuff of stainless steel hanging around a snub metal tube. Logan squinted, not recognizing what it was. She dangled it from between her thumb and index finger like a packaged condom. But it was not a condom. Not even close. Amongst a haze of desperate arousal that had rendered him dumb, his mind deciphered what it was she was holding. It was a chastity cage.

His heart plummeted. His raging penis crinkled into itself like a wounded snail, severing the flow of precum. Anus puckered, fists shaking, he leaned away from it like it was some radioactive demon core ready to explode. Roxy smirked and swung the cage from her fingers. “Of course, if you make me cum, you don't have to worry about anything. You can leave too, but then I'll call the police and have them haul you away for good. Your choice, sweetheart."

The choice seemed obvious, but what would that bring? He knew damn well he wasn't going to make her cum, not by a longshot. He was a virgin, totally unwed to the feel of a woman's embrace. Even if he had been, this was with the sexiest woman in the world. He was dripping at the mere idea of fucking her. How on earth could he even dream of lasting longer? She knew that too, of course, or else she wouldn't have proposed it. His only real hope now was that she would put the cage on and not call the cops while she was at it. “You won't get me in trouble if you put that on me, will you?" he asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. All you gotta do is wear it for as long as I want you to. I can't tell you how long that'll be. Maybe a few days, maybe a month. Who knows? I have the key, don't worry. You'll just have to come in every night for as long as I need you to. When I'm bored with you, I'll let you out. But hey, you won't have to worry about any of that if you can make me cum. Just be a man and try it. Odds are I'll make you wear it a lot shorter than however long they'll lock you up for breaking in here and stalking me. What do you say?"

There wasn't any debate about it. Sex with Roxy, no matter how successful it was, was a far better alternative to jail. He bowed his head. “OK…"

A toothy grin split her face. “Awesome~" She tossed the cage up in the air and snatched it. She chucked it onto the mattress where it bounced and rolled to a stop. It would wait patiently for its inevitable employment on Logan's cock. He turned back to her and saw her strutting forward. Anxiety wrenched his heart and throat. His erection returned with an added vigor, letting loose yet another glob of watery precum. She stopped just short of touching her nipples to his chest. The top of her head came over his by a few inches. He could truly grasp how much bigger she was in girth and strength. He'd never felt smaller in his entire life. Through his dread he could smell her aura, something floral and wild. It fluttered in his lungs like a swarm of butterflies, rendering him lightheaded. He didn't dare look her in the eyes, instead keeping his gaze respectfully on her tummy. He was forced to look up when she pushed his chin up with just her index claw. She gave him a wry smile. “Relax, buddy. I'm not gonna eat you. If you wanna make me cum, you're gonna wanna take it easy."

[i]Easier said than done[/i]. “Yes ma'am."

“Good boy. Now let's see what we're working with." She fell to her knees and sat on her ankles. Their first touch was her fingers opening his button, then undoing his fly. Logan gasped. She winced at the smell of his fluids. “Goddamn, you didn't cum already, did you?" He shook his head. “God, it ain't looking too good for you, pal." And she hadn't even seen his dick yet. She yanked his jeans down to his ankles, revealing a very pale and scrawny pair of legs. All that was left were his tighty whities and the fat wet stain that was blotched across the cup. She grabbed the waist band. Logan gulped. [i]This is it.[/i] She pulled them down.

The waistband collided with his pecker, flicking it like an upright thumb. At once, the combined emotional and physical reaction of having his cock revealed landed on him like a storm of anvils. He saw her amber eyes lock on it, then go wide. The space between his penis and her giant jugs was on its own a terrible burden to his psyche. But worst of all was the utter humiliation of revealing his shame- a tiny cock barely worthy of being called his manhood -to the woman he worshiped most.

He came hard. “[i]Uhhh~![/i]" He bowed at the waist and crumpled his knees together. The muscles across his buttocks and thighs shook while ecstasy stabbed across his loins. The pleasure was terrific, but ill-represented by the load he produced. Droplets of ivory barely any more thick than the precum he had been producing dribbled from his penis and plipped onto the carpet below. The muscle running vertical with his shaft throbbed twice, then tired. His wrinkly foreskin caught a great amount of his cum, itself nearly closed around his bleeding cocktip.

Roxy recoiled away, her face riddled with shock and disgust. “Oh fuck!" She nearly shoved him away but didn't want her paws anywhere near that shriveled nub of a dick. Her eyes fell down to the floor with the last drop of cum. She looked back at his peepee with concern. She almost asked him if he was OK, but of course he was. The poor guy had just came his little brains out. She had to get a closer look. Her eyes crossed as she inched her face closer to it. She figured that maybe it wasn't erect. She lifted a tentative paw and clasped it between her thumb and index finger. He was as hard as a rock. “Oh my God…" she muttered. Her face broke into a smile. Laughter snorted out of her nose. “Oh my fucking God!" Guffaws made her whole body bounce. She rocked back on her knees, covering her giggling mouth with her wrist. “You're not fucking serious!"

Logan's soul withered inside of him. Grief crumpled his face and quivered his lips. Pleasure blossomed where her fingers gripped his bitty pecker while humiliation speared his heart. “[i]I'm sorry…[/i]" he whimpered.

Roxy just laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world. It kind of was. “[i]Oh shit… Oh God… You've gotta be kidding me![/i]" She wiped a tear from her eye. Her belly was hurting. “Oh Logan, sweety, no sir. There's no excuse. Holy shit." She looked at his willy and broke into another series of laughter. “There's no damn way! And I thought you'd actually fuck me! God, I feel so stupid." She looked up at him. “I bet you do too.

She had no idea. “Yeah… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

“You better be. I've never seen something so pathetic in my life. I mean, did you really expect me to have sex with [i]this[/i]?" She scoffed and shook her head. “You should've let me call the cops on you. That's a better deal than looking at [i]this[/i] tiny thing."

He let loose a tiny whimper. The delight and misery were both crippling. Her grip on his nub was a continuously burning fire of joy. The never ending giggles were like an ax to his chest. He saw how close her tits were and came again. “[i]Nyuuhhhhh~![/i]" More shakes, more whimpers, more cum. Roxy didn't fall back this time, instead stroking him to bring out as much of that watery product as he could produce. It wasn't a lot, and after just a few throbs he was done.

“Wow. Just… wow." She let go of his weiner and smeared the precum off of her fingers onto his lower tummy. “You know what time it is. Get the cage. We're putting you in it right now." He didn't argue. He turned around and waddled over to the bed with his jeans still tied around his boots. “And take your clothes off, dummy!" He came to a stop and started to strip while fighting back sobs. He got naked, showing off every bit of his pale and scrawny body for her amusement. She watched his flat buttcheeks grind as he sulked the rest of the way to the bed. He picked up the cage and brought it back to her. “Good boy. You've never had one of these on, have you?" He sniffled and shook his head. “Heh, that's a surprise. Little dicklets like yours should be caged always. Let me teach you a thing or two." She unlatched the ball cuff and grabbed his dick. “Don't cum or else I'll bite your dick off." He gasped and held his breath while she went to work. She slid the cage down his pipe. Cold steel pushed his pecker down into a flat button. She closed the cuff around the base of his scrotum, pushing his beady nuts out into the skin. Finally she closed the brass lock, imprisoning his tiny dick like the criminal it should've been treated as. “There!" she said proudly. “As it should be."

Logan looked down at his pecker. It was already pathetic looking, but within the confines of cold, stainless steel it was downright loathsome. He cupped it with his hand. With the addition of metal it felt heavier than it ever had. Roxy was right. It belonged in a cage. Dicklets like him didn't deserve to show their cocks to beautiful women like Roxy. “How long am I gonna wear this?" he asked.

Roxy sighed and shook her head. “Sweety, I don't think I'm ever gonna let you out of that thing. Did you see how easy I made you cum? You've got a hair trigger like I've never seen. It wouldn't sit right with me knowing a girl might see a prick as tiny as yours. Get me?"

He nodded sadly. “Yes ma'am."

“Good." She looked at his crotch. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “But I might know somebody who would." She stood up and hooked her paw around his elbow. “Come on. There's someone you might like to meet~" He dreaded who that might be. She tugged him along to the door and brought them into the anteroom. She swung him over to Chica's door. He remembered when a chance like this to meet one of Roxy's bandmates would've made him ecstatic. All he felt now was doomed resignation to the humiliation that would follow. Roxy knocked on the door.