FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Day 24: Old vs Young

"A quick gig"

By Patrick D. Lambert

Commissioned by Justacritic

"You need the money. Do it for the money."

Ratchet repeated that mantra during the entire trip to Vox Studios, begging that, at some point, it would convince him to stop worrying. It didn't. When the glass doors opened to his presence, the snarky feline discovered for the first time what fear felt like. The young and inexperienced hero was facing a threat completely different from what he expected, and one that could be too much for him to handle.

Gathering all of his courage, and taking a deep breath to add some confidence, the feline-looking creature stepped into the reception. The cold air and the fragrance in the air greeted him before the feline at the desk, more occupied in her claws than her job. The tangerine short-sleeved shirt worn by the lombax didn't impress her nor did his 5'5" height which wasn't remotely close to what she was used to seeing around the studio.

"Over there," she said in an obnoxious nasal voice before even Ratchet had a chance to talk.

Her finger pointed at the metallic door to her left. Ratchet did an attempt to talk, trying to keep what was left of his dignity from being squashed by her indifference, but the babble that came from his mouth just made it worse and the lombax retreated from the desk with the stripped tail between his legs. He was already bad at talking with females, and the situation he was facing had made it even worse. With good reason: he agreed to be a nude model for Gleeman Vox.

"You're doing it for the money," Ratchet repeated again.

His yellow fur bristled at the shiver that ran across his spine. He was terrified over the idea of being naked in front of a stranger. But times were hard and he wasn't stubborn enough to pass on an opportunity for some quick money. The shark only wanted some pictures, nothing else. But the idea was still hard to swallow for the lombax, who couldn't stop himself from overthinking. Would they laugh? Would he look good on camera? What if the campaign fails because of him? There were clearly better models than him. His thoughts became too loud that they drowned the sound coming from the offices around him, until even the hallway faded to black, leaving him alone with his fear of not being good enough for something as simple as modeling.

He jumped and hissed involuntarily when he felt a hand resting over his shoulder.

"Wow, buddy, my bad," someone said from behind.

Gleeman Vox looked at him with a sincere apologetic expression on that rough face of his. His iconic red suit with orange lapels and golden highlights didn't minimize the body structure of a hunk brave enough to bring only his fists to a gunfight and then had the decency to invite his opponent to a coffee. His black eyes inspected the terrified lombax for a moment before throwing a loud laugh.

"You look nervous, what's the matter? Don't tell me you're afraid of some cameras?"

Ratchet's pointy ears twitched, and his green eyes evaded the shark's look.

"Y-you took me by surprise, that's all."

"Yeah, I can be pretty sneaky sometimes. Come, it's over here."

Gleeman lead him through the long hallway by resting his prosthetic golden left hand against Ratchet's back. 3 feet taller than him, the lombax felt slightly threatened by his presence and only moved by sheer inertia. Despite his age, Gleeman kept that charming attitude that characterized. Ratchet remembered seeing him as a kid on many holovision programs. His disarming smile hasn't changed. And while the age had started to leave its mark on his body, it was considerably less noticeable than other males of his age.

"This campaign is looking very promising. We've been receiving some great comments from the previous pictures we posted, but we can't quite get inside the Lombax demographic. But I hope you're gonna help us change that," Gleeman explained.

Ratchet was aware of the mistrust a lot of Lombax still felt towards the face and owner of Vox Industries, despite his many attempts to prove them wrong and all the help provided. Ratchet was one of them. It was something in his presence--maybe the huge fangs or that mustache that wasn't helping him. If he agreed to that photo session was out of desperation rather than trust in the shark.

"We don't trust outsiders that easily," it was all Ratchet could reply.

"Oh, yes, yes, I know how hard things have been for your kind. But things are getting better every day. And now it's your chance to shine, my little lombax. Good things are coming for you, Ratchet. And I'll make sure of that. Money. Fame," he messed with the fur on top of Ratchet's head. "Love. A lot of females are gonna be interested after seeing your 'blaster', am I right?"

The innuendo provoked another loud laugh from the shark, while the lombax replied with a more nervous one as he flustered over that idea. "A lot of females", he thought, feeling the blood from his cheeks boiling. Even his member reacted to that fantasy, poking at his underwear.

"Yeah, I knew that would convince you," Gleeman continued as soon as he noticed Ratchet's reaction. He was guiding the lombax through a labyrinth of doors and hallways. "Girls is all you can think of when you're young. I miss that. But you have a big chance here. All you gotta do is stop worrying about what people might think. Let them talk all they want. You are the one having this opportunity. You are the one having a chance for a better life. You are the one who's gonna be under the... spotlight."

That last word was said in a very specific tone that immediately reached Ratchet's head. He didn't know why it sounded so familiar. He didn't know who said it before. But he knew it was a word he liked to hear, one that made him feel happy and relaxed, but most important, excited. Ratchet associated the word with a happy memory that he couldn't remember but that pushed away any doubt and fear he had for what was coming. Little by little, the details of the outside world disappeared as he sunk a fantasy where bright lights flashed above him, confusing him. Gleeman's comforting grip over his shoulder was the only thing real, and he held to it as they continued walking across the bright labyrinth.

The expression on the lombax's face softened and his body relaxed, much to the shark's delight, who looked down at him with a grin on his long face. It was a surprise the trigger worked so well, and all that was left was to test it--in private, of course. They entered an empty changing room with a lot of cosmetic stuff the lombax wouldn't need.

"Now, let me help you with your clothes. You brought what I told you before, right?" Gleeman asked while standing in front of Ratchet.

LET GLEEMAN USE YOU.

The feline only nodded. His zonked expression revealed he wasn't aware of where he was or what was he doing. The only thought in his head was to follow Gleeman's orders without doubting, and he was willing to do that. His charismatic voice and his presence there prolonged the happiness Ratchet was experiencing.

"Good boy. I'm very proud of you. Let me take a look in that case."

Gleeman began to undress the little fur ball, already noticing the harness under the shirt. That and being alone with him were enough for a bulge to appear on his expensive trousers. His huge and strong hands pull the shirt up in a slow, almost tortuous manner. He delighted himself as the lombax's chest got revealed: a slender abdomen covered by a thin layer of golden fur with brown stripes on the side.

"Raise your arms, little buddy," Gleeman whispered, and Ratchet obeyed.

Moments later, the black leather harness on his chest became visible: a simple design that still looked very sexy on the lombax. When Gleeman got rid of the shirt, he waited a moment before putting his hands back on him. Ratchet didn't react as the thick fingers moved across the soft skin. His grip was careful at first, a test of the fragility of his body and the deepness of the trance. But the shark slowly gained confidence in what he was doing after seeing no negative changes in the lombax's expression, who was instead enjoying his touch. And when he felt ready, his grip got firmer, stronger, starting on his hips and moving up.

LET GLEEMAN USE YOU.

Ratchet knew something was happening. Despite his dizziness, he felt the hands over his body and how their touch became more and more aggressive and possessive. He couldn't find anything wrong with that. He loved those fat fingers on him. He didn't know why Gleeman's touch and presence gave him a strong feeling of happiness and excitement. An act that he should have stopped from the very beginning was instead making him whimper in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain.

Gleeman continued exploring Ratchet's body at his own pace, giving some special attention to his pecs. Despite his slender appearance, the shark held and squeezed two juicy and sensitive pecs, from which he got the first moan from the lombax. There was something adorable and exciting in that dumb, naïve expression Gleeman was seeing on him, something that encouraged him to continue. His body was so malleable and he got more and more addicted to that visual fragility of him.

Unable to resist, he shoved that huge and threatening maw on Ratchet's, taking a deep breath from his musk. A perfect combination of perfume and sweat mixed with his increasing excitation, a scent that filled Gleeman's lungs and made him shiver. He was getting more and more aroused by the control he had over the helpless feline. It was such that he pulled Ratchet's pants abruptly. With loud huffs, he stared at the white speedos covering his manhood, tight enough that it left nothing to the imagination, with a bulge considerably big for someone of his height. Gleeman controlled himself as he retired the trousers, leaving him with nothing but the speedos, his boots, and the harness--there was something strangely alluring on half-naked males wearing only his paw wear.

"Oh dear..." the shark sniffed Ratchet's neck again and closed his hands over the feline's butt. It was so big and soft, so much that he fought the urge of eating it right there as he squeezed it--the sounds Ratchet did weren't helping. It was a dream come true having someone so young in his hands, someone full of life and energy, with a body he could enjoy as much as he wanted.

Second by second, his touch became more aggressive. And despite that, it didn't get Ratchet out of his trance. No, the small feline was enjoying that touch. It was pushing it deeper. The way he touched him made him feel more like an object, a tool for Gleeman's pleasure. And he felt that was ok. Why? He couldn't tell. The little lombax only knew it. It was a huge thought occupying most of his mind.

LET GLEEMAN USE YOU.

It echoed and got stronger as the shark continued his thorough exploration of the Lombax anatomy. It became the only thing Ratchet could think of. And it made him feel good. It made him feel special. It made him feel aroused. And that was visible in his bulge slowly getting bigger, a reaffirmation of how much he enjoyed the ownership Gleeman had over him.

LET GLEEMAN USE YOU.

It was his personal toy. It was a mere tool for his enjoyment. And he loved that. The shark was no longer showing care in the way he touched him, only lust. Desire. Selfishness. Ratchet tasted the liquor from his breath and stared at the sharp fangs in front of his face. He was in the hands of a special type of predator, one that would devour him but rather use him for his enjoyment. And the lombax adored that.

He didn't know when it ended. Probably after he fulfilled his task Gleeman decided to take him to the next room. Probably it was then when he had to pose with the blasters given to him. Probably he had to express his sensuality by pointing the blasters at the camera with a cheeky expression and his erection visible under the speedos. Probably...

But in reality, Ratchet didn't know where he was. There were bright lights above him and a light flashed in his eyes now and then. It made him feel dizzy and confused. So he followed the orders given by a mysterious voice hidden in the light.

"Yeah. Now turn around and cover your ass with the blasters."

And he did.

"Good, good. Now lick one of them. Think it's a big, fat cock, and give it a good lick."

And he did.

"Fucking hot. Start taking your speedos. Let me see that cock, baby! Yeah!"

And he did. Because Gleeman

LET GLEEMAN USE YOU.

told him he wanted him to be a model for the new blasters inspired by the Lombax technology and culture. And Ratchet wanted to do what he said. Why? It didn't matter. He only wanted to. So he did what the voice told him, adopting poses that got increasingly erotic until it was hard to tell the difference between artistic nudity and pornographic material. But it didn't matter. Because the constant flash of the camera kept him dizzy and confused, unable to see anything wrong with what he was doing.

Behind the lights, Gleeman admired the excellent work done by his personal rent boy. He didn't try to hide how shamelessly he was rubbing his dick--he wasn't the only one. Ratchet obeyed each command without thinking, and he looked beautiful under the spotlights. Poor little thing, he can't remember that wasn't his first time there.

A call stopped Gleeman before he could pull his zipper down. Keeping the business as his top priority, he answered without thinking, happy by the voice he heard on the other line.

"Gleeman Vox. I never thought this day would come," a mysterious voice said.

"You're not easy to find. I had to invest a lot of bolts just to send you a message. But I'm glad you answered... Ace Hardlight," Gleeman replied with a smile. He then continued with what he was doing, attracting some sights to his massive cock.

"What can I say? You got my attention. Don't waste it."

"I'll be quick. What if these interplanetary heroes that I heard so much about could be coerced into risking their asses, not for such tawdry concepts as freedom, justice, or universal survival, but for cold harsh bolts and the entertainment of billions who want to see them get fuck on live TV?"

Silence, only broke by Ace's heavy breathing. Then, Gleeman heard him clear his throat.

"I'm listening."

When Gleeman looked back, a naked Ratchet was already preparing for the next shot. He was knelt on a throne, with his left hand over the armrest and the right one holding one of the blasters, which was conveniently covering his cock. The lombax had a seductive look coming from his big, green eyes. He was long gone, trapped in his fantasy and waiting for the shark to put his hands on him again.

"Good, because I have a perfect candidate right here. Just let me try him first. He could use some experience with this big, old shark."