FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

By Draconicon

In the month since he had completely broken his dad in, Paul had been living high on the hog. Sure, there were a few cleanliness issues around the house. Without the usual focus on hygiene and the constant pressure from above to keep the house neat and orderly, there was a mess in every room, and there were puddles and marks in the carpet all over the house. The whole place smelt of sex and sweat and musk, and there was no getting away from the raw raunchiness of the whole place.

And that was fine.

They were all broken in to love it.

"Foot line, bitches."

Paul's call brought his brothers and his father from whatever they were doing in the other rooms to his bedroom. The naked Doberman grinned as his various bitches - as naked as he was - laid down on the floor, lifting their feet up and putting them on the edge of the bed for inspection.

"Mmm...such good little bitch-sluts."

He licked his lips as he looked down the line of soles. They were all well-tended, well-corrupted. The constant licks that they'd gotten since falling in line with him had left their feet soft, plush, somewhere between a warm pink and a deep red in color. He ragged a finger along the center of his father's foot, and the older man gasped, the soft squelch of pre-cum shooting from his cock and landing on his stomach confirming that they were still so sensitive.

As they should be. Hot, wet, sweaty feet should always be part of the experience. Having them turned into foot-sluts as well as every other kind had been a highlight of their corruption during the last month.

"Hehehe, getting off on it already, old man?" he laughed, pushing his thumb against his father's arch. Another little squelch, another moan. "Yeah, that's what I thought. All of you, thinking with nothing but your cocks. Nothing but your bodies. All of you, completely owned...completely broken in..."

His cock throbbed and he reached down to grope it, squeezing it from head to base, and then back again. The swelling knot was already demanding some attention, but contrary to what they might have thought, he had some self-control.

Not much, but some. Enough to get what he wanted.

"John."

His middle brother all but leaped off the ground. The other two remained on their backs, their feet raised and on display, but it was the middle brother that had his attention for now. Slender, a stoner in the past, John had become the biggest of the foot-bitches, the one most eager to enjoy the feeling of something against his soles.

Of course, Paul had fed into that, teasing them, licking them, humping them. Every time that he left his spit to sit on those soles, every time that he humped the space between them and left his musky seed to soak into them, they got more sensitive, and more puffy and soft-looking. He smiled as he dragged his finger along the underside, tracing lines from the heel along the arch, then slid his finger between each toe.

"Ah...mmph...nngh..."

And just like usual, John panted and moaned like the little bitch that he'd become. He couldn't get over it; he never would.

Just like you'll never get over being the pierced bitch-slut of the group...

While Daniel - their big brother - was the one that was the official bottom of the group, John was the one that had piercings all over. Including down at his taint, a little ring that bounced every time that he tensed up from his feet being played with. It was quite the show to watch his brother shiver and shake from the head of the bed, and Paul smirked as he saw that wet pucker start clenching, squeezing, pulling in every time that he thrust a finger between those sensitive little digits.

"Yeah, you want your feet to get some attention, don't you?"

"Nnngh...please, please, Alpha, please, play with my feet."

"They're so needy."

"Mmmph, yes, Alpha, so needy."

"And so sensitive."

"So sensitive - mnnnph!"

John moaned out loud, alright, moaned hard as he shivered and his cock jumped. The first little lick always did that, and Paul chuckled even as he dragged his tongue further up that soft, plump flesh, making his way along the curve of the arch to his middle brother's big toe.

He nibbled along the side of it, giving it a little tease, and then put the heels down. They rested on his chest, waiting for him to take it further, and John, the obedient little bitch that he was, kept his hands at his side. He didn't so much as reach for his cock; he'd learned not to touch it, to never give himself that attention without permission.

"Good boy...good bitch."

"Mmmph..."

"Curl your toes."

John nodded, panting, huffing as he curled his toes, pulling them tight, then fanning them out. Tight curls, outward fanning, then tight curls again, each movement carefully done to ensure maximum teasing. He grinned as he watched the show, his own cock throbbing and oozing into his belly-button as the show continued.

God, they're good...

Paul could still remember when they'd all been so prim and proper. His father pushing them to be a proper pack, to have discipline, to be clean and tidy and to look down on the sort of gay shit that Paul had been part of from the start. Perversion was only tolerated from the top, from those that ruled the pack. Anyone below...

Well, they could just be locked up, if needed.

That was gone, now. His corrupted spit had changed Daniel, then John, and finally, their father. The oldest of them was almost the most perverted, his cock constantly hard, the old man throbbing, begging to cum, but never quite able to get off from anything. There was too much to keep him hard, too much sensitivity taken from him. He was nothing but a walking dildo, these days, one that was occasionally granted a little more purpose, but rarely.

"Mmm, you want your feet licked, John?" Paul asked.

"Nnngh, please, Alpha, I've been a good boy. Let me have it...please..."

"Say it, then."

"Mmmph...I'm your foot slut, Alpha. I'm your foot slut. My feet - my feet need it. Please, please, Alpha, play with my - mmph!"

That was all that Paul needed. Cupping his knot, he brought those soles to his face, licking from heel to arch to toes, and then sliding his tongue between them. There was a nice, rich layer of sweat and musk along the flesh, and he dragged his tongue firmly against those soles, taking his time to really 'clean' them with his tongue.

And the taste? Sublime.

The reaction? Perfect.

John squirmed more than a virgin would have with his dick down a whore's throat, and the Doberman was clearly in the grips of his need more than he ever would have been for some bitch female. Paul dragged his tongue between the toes, taking his time to fuck the spaces between the digits with his slimy tongue. Each little thrust brought his older brother more pleasure, more need, and it didn't take long for the other Doberman to be humping air, panting and begging as he always did.

He ignored it, focusing on those feet. Nice, big feet, soft and plush, warm against his face as he ground his face against them. The soles were putting off heat, giving him more and more reminders of how sensitive they'd become.

Lick.

Paul knew that John could barely walk these days. Shoes were like bondage, like torture equipment, and they were never worn. He walked barefoot everywhere, or he didn't leave the house at all. More the latter, these days.

Lick.

"Mmmph...mmmph..."

And each lick was pushing his middle brother closer and closer to orgasm. There was never a moment of reaching for that dick. Never a thought of touching it. Those hands, if anything, went right to John's ass, pulling the cheeks apart, showing that slick hole as it clenched and released around a jeweled butt-plug.

"Going to...going to..."

"Heh, going to cum, foot-slut?" Paul asked between licks.

"Mmph...mm-hmm..."

"Heh..."

Lick.

Lick.

Lick.

He took his time, slowing down, making sure that each one did the maximum tease without quite pushing his brother over the edge. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the slow squeeze-curl-fan of the other members of his family, his father and oldest brother curling their toes in anticipation of what he'd do to them. They were going to get it, alright; they always did.

Lick. Lap. Then the toes.

He pulled the big toes of both feet into his mouth at the same time. The sudden shift, going from lapping at his brother's long soles to giving his toes a sudden suck, was the difference between sucking on someone's balls and suddenly deep-throating their cock. It shoved John right over the edge, and the Doberman arched his back off the bed, his asshole clenching hard, and a few squirts of anal slime manage to ooze past the plug.

"Heh...stupid little bitch-slut."

"Mmph...alpha...alpha..."

"Off the bed, foot-slut."

As soon as John shifted position, Paul swung himself upright, bringing his feet over the side of the bed. He rested his soles on his father's shaft, feeling it jump to meet his feet, throbbing, spitting pre-cum, but that was all.

And it was all it ever would be. The moment that his father had face-fucked him a month ago, he had forfeited his ability to cum without permission from Paul ever again. That hard-on was going to stay up, throbbing, dripping, but it would never cum without the youngest hound's permission. He chuckled, dragging his feet up and down the stiff rod, and the former alpha of the family whimpered.

"That's right, boner-dog."

"Mmmph...I...nnngh...nnngh..."

"You wanna hump, don't you?"

"Mmm-hmm!"

"Not yet."

"Nnngh!"

"Not. Yet."

He knew it was torture for his father to stay down, to hold still while his cock was getting stroked, but that was completely the point. It was a punishment for all those years of lording that position over him, of staying on high and looking down at him like he was some sort of deviant. Well, he was, of course, but there was nothing wrong with that. If the rest of the family had just allowed him to have his fun, he'd never have had to do what he did.

And as it stood, it was less than they deserved. At least they were enjoying what he did to them. He could have been far crueler and made it so that they still obeyed, but didn't like what he was doing.

Spitting down on that fat cock between his feet, he rolled his toes down to the knot at the base. It was swollen - it was always swollen - and it was so firm under his soles. He pushed on it, all but stepping on it, and his father whimpered, gripping the carpet hard.

"Hehehe, feels good, doesn't it?"

"Nnngh...hump, hump, hump..."

"Not yet."

His father's brains had been utterly scrambled by the constant cock-brain that he'd been forced into. There was almost nothing in there anymore, nothing but what Paul put there. Other than that, all that he cared about was humping.

Humping.

Knotting.

Thrusting.

Rutting.

But never cumming.

"Heh, never thought you'd be your son's toy, did you?" he teased, sliding his other foot up, pressing his toes against the tapered head of his father's shaft. "Always thought that you'd be the one in control, always thought that you'd be calling the shots. Not anymore. Never again, you little bitch."

"NNNGH!"

As usual, his father lost control, humping away. His cock slid between Paul's toes, thrusting into that sweaty little channel. It was a fairly pathetic display, but it was all the more arousing for that.

He allowed it, of course. His father was hotter that way.

He stroked his cock as he watched his father try and fail to cum over and over again, each time ramming his cock up, his knot grinding against the bottom of his son's toes, only to fall back onto his ass again. Each thrust was swiftly followed by another, trying to cum, his body desperate to get what his brain knew that he could no longer achieve without permission.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

And to either side, his brothers just watched, their faces burning with old humiliation that had never entirely been wiped away with the corruption that they'd gone through. But that humiliation was spice to them, now, pleasure that they enjoyed from the constant barrage of shit that he put them through. They wouldn't fight against it. They didn't want to. They loved this more than they could ever admit.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

And then -

"NNNNNGH!"

He pulled his foot back, shaking his head with a small chuckle. His father moaned, big dick flopping against his belly, that thicker body, older, aged, with a slight gut compared to the others, shaking from head to toe.

"Need...need..."

"Heh, I'd tell you to beg, but you're too cock-brained for that."

"Nnngh...mmmph..."

"Wait."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to his oldest brother. Daniel panted, his legs spread wide, his nipples hard and erect from the nipple piercings that he'd been given over a month ago. His cock drooled, that former stud-shaft barely able to get entirely erect these days, but that was all to the better. The former star was nothing but a bottom, now; sure, he had his muscles, still, and he could play if he was allowed, but he was no longer that stud that went out and risked getting bitches pregnant. He was a bitch himself, his asshole pumped and thick and puffy, a bitch-cunt of a hole rather than a proper pucker.

And he had such fine soles, too, broader than John's, slightly less puffy, but no less sweaty. Paul turned his attention to them, bringing them to his lap. The soft flesh of those soles gave against his cock, forming a little divot, a little channel for him to grind against, and his oldest brother whimpered in need.

"Heh, you'd like me to fuck your ass, wouldn't you?" he teased, smirking at the older Doberman. "Yeah, that hole hasn't had much attention lately, has it?"

"Mmph...you haven't...haven't let me...leave the house..."

"Maybe I should next week. We could use some cash, and I know some guys that'd love to fuck your ass."

Mostly older guys, men that loved watching those sports games for very different reasons, or some of the other quarterbacks that had loved staring at that ass as it ran down the field. Other teams that would like some revenge fucks on his brother for ruining their games in the past. Oh, they'd pay money, alright. They'd pay a lot of money.

He stroked those feet along his shaft, coming up with other things that he might do -

Ring, ring.

Ring, ring.

"...Who the hell left the phone plugged in?" Paul asked.

"M-me," John said.

"Fucking - Dad, go answer it. And pretend to be normal."

The oldest dog got to his feet, huffing as soon as they touched the floor, and trundled on towards the hallway. The moment of pleasure was shattered, though, and Paul couldn't quite recapture the need to just grind and hump against his brother's feet.

Some chat was going on just out of earshot in the hallway, and he waited, his head cocked to the side, for his father to come back. It wasn't just some telemarketer, or it would have been done already.

Who'd call here?

And on a landline, more to the point. There weren't many that used that anymore. What the hell could that be about?

He was only halfway towards an orgasm when his father came back, the older man grunting as he returned. His hips were bucking without any sign of stopping, and Paul grumbled under his breath.

"Quick answer. Who was it?"

"Taylor," his dad said.

"Uncle Taylor? The pastor?"

"Mmmph."

"What'd he want?"

"Visit."

"...Huh."

Well, that put an entirely different spin on things. A very pleasurable, very enticing sort of spin on it, as a matter of fact. His lips turned up in a slow smile, and the Doberman slowly chuckled under his breath.

"I think we can turn this to our advantage. I'll call him back later, and tell him that he can come visit."

"Yes, alpha."

"Now, come here. You can cum all over Dan's feet, and he can finish up..."

#

The visit was arranged two days later, and it was the day of the pastor's arrival three days after that. The intense clean-up that had to be done in the intervening time had pushed the other three dogs to their limits, but there was enough knowledge of how to clean and organize stuff beneath the perverted conditioning that Paul had done that they managed to make the house look vaguely normal.

Of course, 'normal' wouldn't have involved the number of tricks that they had waiting.

Paul pulled at his jeans and shirt, shifting from foot to foot by the front door. While it would have been more 'normal' to have his father there waiting to welcome Taylor in - they were adopted brothers, rather than full brothers, but they were closer than one would have expected the slightly brutal patriarchal Doberman and the gentler sheepdog pastor to be - he didn't trust the older dog to not ruin things. The sheer need that his dad had for humping was hard to suppress at the best of times, and the fact that Taylor hadn't picked up on the difference during the phone call was a minor miracle.

No risking this. He wanted to bring his uncle in on the fun, and that meant doing this personally.

He heard the sound of a car driving in right on schedule, and he grinned as he rested his hand on the doorknob. Crunch, crunch went some fresh boots on the snow outside, and then, the knock of the visitor.

He pulled the door open, and there was Uncle Taylor. The sheepdog was just as genial as he always was, dressed in that high-necked shirt that he'd always worn while giving sermons, his fluffy face turned up with a smile as warm as ever.

Well, warm when he wasn't talking about the sins of the flesh, which he'd done quite a bit the last time that he visited. There were certain things that Paul and his uncle had never entirely agreed on, even when his uncle was better about it than his father.

"Hello, Paul. Long time no see."

"It's only been a few months."

"That's quite a long time for most people, son," Taylor said, shaking his head as he stomped his boots against the doormat. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

He stepped to the side, the thicker dog stepping inside. Despite knowing that the whole house had been cleaned, he waited for any sign that his uncle might smell musk that he didn't, or some other warning sign, but none occurred.

They were safe, so far.

"Where's your brothers?" Taylor asked. "I thought that they'd all be here to say hello."

"They're out shopping," he said, shutting the door. "Just you and me. Dad's gonna make dinner later, and they'll all say hi when it's ready."

"Well, that's a shame. I would have loved to see them all from the start."

"Don't worry. It'll happen soon enough."

And by that point, he'd have Taylor good and ready for the corruption that would happen then. He had a special plan for that, one that would drag his uncle into their games. He hadn't forgotten about all the speeches that the pastor had made, decrying his lifestyle, naming him a pervert, trying to get him to change.

If they'd all just left him alone, he'd have found other targets. Instead, they'd offered themselves up on a silver platter.

"Long drive?" he asked as he took the sheepdog's coat.

"A little," his uncle admitted. "Been a while since I drove out from the old town."

"I bet you're sore."

"Oh? Is that the spirit of charity that I hear in your voice?"

"What can I say? Dad's been beating it into me."

"Not literally, I hope."

"Eh."

There was no response, which might have tempered some of Paul's temptations. Instead, the silence bolstered them. He pushed ahead.

"While we wait, you want a foot massage or something?"

"I didn't know you gave those."

"Had to find something when Dad decided he wanted me out of the house."

"Well, I am quite pleased that you found something that would help others."

"Yeah, heh."

"I would appreciate that very much. Thank you."

As the sheepdog made his way to the living room, Paul nodded toward the bathroom, indicating that he'd be a minute. They split up, and he stepped into the other room.

The 'lotion' that he planned to use for the foot massage was waiting for him. The bottle, formerly used for some shampoo when it was still full, was appropriately unmarked. Inside?

He uncapped it, taking a deep sniff. It was a slimy mess of spit, cum, and sweat, all harvested over the last couple of days from him and spilled directly into it. It was a nasty, raunchy mess, one of those things that would have been pushed away by most kinksters that weren't deep into the lifestyle.

For this, however, it'd be perfect. As long as the smell didn't tip his uncle off - and his uncle had been in church for so long that the incense had probably done a number on his nostrils, anyway - the corruption in the goo would go a long way towards sensitizing him, keeping him good and ready for the fun stuff later. Anything that was left could be used as lube, or anything else, really, to get him ready for the real stuff.

"Paul?"

"Coming," he said, capping it after giving it a stir. "Just had to get the lotion."

"Lotion? You are pampering me."

"That's the point."

He returned to the living room, looking down at his uncle's large feet. Large, a little more aged than his father's, and quite a bit muskier, considering they'd been in those large boots all day rather than being allowed to be out and free. The scent of sweat and more was strong, and he had to restrain himself from huffing the air around the other man.

"I do appreciate this, Paul," Taylor said, snapping the Doberman from his increasingly lustful thoughts as he put his feet up on the edge of the couch. "I do hope that you understand how proud I am of you. The service of man is a great part of being true to the faith."

"I've heard, yeah."

"Do you think that you've turned a corner?"

"That's one way to put it."

He walked around the couch, kneeling down. He was behind those soles now, no longer so visible, and he was careful as he leaned in. A couple of breaths wafted those scents to his nose, and his cock immediately jumped in his pants.

Steady, steady, he told himself. Soon enough, they'll be all yours to play with, but wait a little longer.

And until then, he could take his time to truly break his uncle in.

He took one more breath of the soft, musky scent that the sheepdog's soles kept to themselves, amplified by the thicker fuzz around the sides, and then pulled his head back before his uncle could notice what he was doing. He pumped the 'lotion' out of the bottle, smearing the oily stuff around his fingers, before applying it to the older dog's soles.

"Mmph."

"Something wrong?" Paul asked, already digging his thumbs into the older dog's arches.

"Just...something new. It felt...different."

"It's a strong lotion. Makes everything soft and smooth."

"Well, take your time. I think your dad's going to be a while..."

If he knows what's good for him, at least an hour.

That would give the lotion plenty of time to settle in, and more to the point, give his uncle quite a few conflicting thoughts. After all, a priest was supposed to be holy, gentle, focused on the spiritual world rather than his own body. And for all that Taylor was a pastor and pushed other ideals, he had always held to the rules as far as Paul knew. Having the old man break the rules now, pushing them to the side as the corruption settled in, was going to be sweet, sweet revenge.

#

By the time that Paul was done, Taylor was half-catatonic, and he was all but sure that the older man had completely forgotten about the world around him. He never reached the point where he dared lean in to lick those soles - well, 'dared' to do it and end the plans that he'd set up, at least - but he had rendered the priest all kinds of sensitive, and more than that, had left those feet almost completely sweat-soaked.

The change from the massage was quite noticeable, as the soles had gone from a soft black to a deep, shimmering dark sole. They were wet with their own oils, becoming more and more like natural sex toys, and he imagined that his cock would feel absolutely amazing between those soles.

"Mmm..."

His uncle was dozing. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake, either. He seriously doubted that the sheepdog could hear him, and the temptation to take it further was right there. Right. Fucking. There.

He groped himself through his pants, feeling just how hard he was. How hard he'd been through the massage, for that matter. If he had been alone, if he hadn't wanted to make this a grand spectacle, he would have already licked those feet and started his uncle's corruption post-haste, but there was so much more to come. He didn't want to waste the work he'd put his bitches to doing, nor did he want to cheat himself.

Changing Daniel had been one thing. Turning the jock to a bottom-bitch had been a long time coming, but he'd done it piece by piece, forcing his brother to embrace it little by little.

John had come after. That'd been quick, forced with Daniel's help. Then, with both bitches completely under his heel, he'd used them to make sure that his dad did what he was told.

Rather than slowing down, he'd been speeding up, but now...now he'd take it slow. One long, luxurious night to turn the pastor into his good little fuck-toy. His uncle would stop preaching about all the virtuous things in the world and start focusing on the fuckery that everyone should be enjoying.

And from the sound of things...dinner was ready.

He stood up, adjusting his bulge, and walked around the couch. Waking Taylor with a little shoulder-shake, he helped the priest to his feet, guiding him upright.

"You dozed off there," he said.

"Goodness, I suppose I did. I didn't think I was that tired."

"Or maybe I was just that good."

"Heh, don't flatter yourself. But it was a good massage. Thank you."

The sheepdog blinked as he was lifted to his feet, but said nothing. He probably thought he was just tingly, waking up the rest of the way. And besides, Paul didn't give him the chance to actually think about what was happening. He just pulled him along. Further, further, further to the kitchen.

He all but pushed the older dog forward, revealing what had been prepared. Daniel and John were both under the table, their feet pushed through holes that had been cut in the surface, and their soles were used as platters for the food prepared. Spaghetti and meatballs were laid out on their feet, sauce poured between their toes, the meatballs spitted on the digits. The slimy spaghetti noodles clearly tickled their feet, but they didn't make a sound.

"What...what the..." Taylor started to mutter.

Paul pushed him, shoving his uncle into one of the chairs around the table. Their father was nowhere to be seen, but that was for later. For the real humiliation.

"Sit. I think it's time for you to see how life's changed around here," Paul said, chuckling as he kept one hand on the sheepdog's shoulder, the other on his own bulge. "But first, how about you enjoy your meal..."