No CGI: Office of Permissions 2
Story by Tagenar on SoFurry
Nobody likes the police, especially dinosaurs.
No CGI: Office of Permissions 2
by tagenar (https://www.furaffinity.net/user/tagenar | https://tagenar.sofurry.com/)
{Nobody likes the police, especially dinosaurs.}
OFFICE OF PERMISSIONS
You and all the raptors in your hotel room were waiting outside the door at 8:30 in the morning. As soon as the doors open at 9, X leads you inside, and the others follow.
It’s a large building, deeper than it is tall, and you feel as if you’ve stepped into something out of a Kafka story. Long corridors full of bureaucracy, a living entity that will swallow you whole, never to be heard from again.
There are a large number of people working here. More than you would expect for what must be a mundane task serving a relatively tiny number of citizens.
Form 89-c-1 is to register association with an individual dinosaur.
Form 89-c-9 registers association with up to 10 dinosaurs at once.
All of the dinosaurs add their full names and numbers to the form. In less than an hour, you have registered.
Form 44-e is an application for human permission to enter the dinosaur district. It is only between the hours of 6AM to 6PM. Any human caught in the dinosaur district during the other twelve hours is subject to arrest unless that human also fills out form 44-i and pays the associated fee, which gives a human permission to remain in the dinosaur district for the other 12 hours but for no more than seven consecutive days. Luckily, you brought your checkbook.
In less than an hour, your application is approved, and you now have an ID card giving you clearance to be in the dinosaur district.
You are also registered as “personally associated” with R, X, E, T, and J.
Ryan-32661
Xavier-32648
Edmund-32659
Tamika-32598
Jonas-32521
R took the liberty of adding several other dinosaurs to the list so they wouldn’t need another form. You guess Kevin-29964 is K-T.
R tells you the numbers are arbitrary, but they tend to go in order, so you can judge someone’s age by it. You wonder if this makes K-T old enough to be your father.
You receive another card with ten barcodes on it. You guess this means if your lifeless body is found in the woods, cops will have ten suspects right away. You feel nervous and wish to leave this Building as soon as possible before the halls rearrange themselves and you never find a way out until you eventually come across your own memoirs in a bathtub.
It’s only ninety minutes since you walked in, and now you are a card-carrying visitor to the dinosaur district of Los Angeles.
T lingers inside for a while longer. You pass the time feeling and admiring R’s muscles in broad daylight. E is looking over X, helping the white raptor appreciate his new muscles. Hardly as obscene as R’s, but E can’t get enough of them.
When T emerges from the Building, you think to ask an obvious question.
“Where do you guys keep _your_ cards?”
In unison, they point to the backs of their necks.
“We’re chi[pp]ed,” T says. “Like dogs.”
“[P]IT tag also has [b]ank account info,” E says. “That’s how we [p]ay for things.”
R: “And get [p]aid. First things first, Co[mm]a.”
He leads you up the street into the dinosaur district.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
You are flanked by five raptors. The smell of the ocean reaches you, so you must be close to the coast. No grass anywhere. Lots of ice-plants. Lots of sand. Most of the buildings are no more than two stories. Earthquake-safe architecture.
When you cross the line, other dinosaurs on the street turn to look at you. Yeah, you must stand out, walking with such a large group of raptors.
You can tell you stand out because two police officers pull up beside you and ask for your papers.
You are happy to produce your newly-minted card. He then scans the chips on the dinosaurs around you. After looking at each of you skeptically behind his sunglasses, he drives on.
The second cop stops you and your group of raptors just ten blocks later, and you repeat the process.
After he drives off, you look from E to T to R.
“K-T wasn’t kidding. Shit is real out here.”
X huffs. “Ohio is easy co[mp]ared to California. That’s why we live there.”
R leads the way a few blocks north and then west. Two cop cars drive by very slowly but do not stop. You thought you’d be nervous with all these dinosaurs staring at you, but you are more nervous about the scrutiny from law enforcement.
The building R leads you to is old and unmarked.
Inside are racks and racks of VHS tapes, some of them with black covers and math symbols on the spines.
“[b]iggest dinosaur video store in the state,” X says.
Your raptor pack fans out. You follow X and R straight to the back. They scan the shelves. Then X pulls one down and hands it to you.
“Here is it, Co[mm]a. Your [m]aster[p]iece.”
“Already? Didn’t you just release it?”
R nuzzles you. “[P]orn travels fast.”
“Faster than [m]igrating ra[p]tors,” T says. She has pulled down another tape and shows it to you.
“Oh wow,” you say, cradling both. “This is the sparring video.”
The other dinosaurs in the store perk up when you utter that word. They begin moving toward the back of the store. You see them form the corner of your eye. Your heart races; you feel like you’re being hunted.
R nudges you to raise your arm. You do so as X speaks.
“That’s right. All the new releases are here. Rentals for now, but soon we’ll have enough co[p]ies for [p]urchase. They’re on their way overseas. It’s the overseas [m]arkets I’m really interested in. Euro[p]e in [p]articular see[m]s to like the surreal stuff. Your little [m]ovie [m]ight do well over there.”
Two by two, dinosaur muzzles find your armpits and take in your scent. They then nudge R and E and they bump X. You figure they can smell the four of you are fucking.
News of a new sparring video has caught everyone’s attention. You overhear the raptor at the front desk say they got six copies of the tape in, and they only have two copies left to rent. He pulls out a reservation list. You wonder how long it is.
You notice a T-rex from the corner of your eye. He sniffs under your arm, and then does not walk away. You turn to look at him and do a double-take.
His arms are as thick as your legs, and his legs are thicker than your body. He is as bulky as R. The T-rex bumps noses with R, and then with you, giving his pectorals a few bounces. T-rexes stand more upright than raptors, so his chest and abs are easier to see.
Grinning, R pulls your shorts down and waves your hard dick around, licking your neck.
“Co[mm]a,” R begins. “This is [b]-I. I’[m] trying to get hi[m] a [p]art in Jurassic [P]ark 2.”
E slides up beside the T-rex and gropes his chest. The T-rex bumps hips with him and licks him on the snout.
“Nice to [m]eet you,” says the buff T-rex. He moves in closer, shoving his pecs in your face.
You follow E’s lead and give them a few pats.
X is telling the shoppers who gathered about the new releases, and that this human here made his debut as actor, writer, and camera operator in a few of them, so look for him in the credits as Professional Comma.
After shaking hands with a number of raptors and T-rexes and a few other species you don’t recognize, you depart the video store, and R leads you further west.
You are now in the middle of a pack of five dinosaurs. B-I is flanking you. You steal glances at his legs in motion, and his pecs are so solid they don’t bounce as he walks. He notices you staring and grins at you.
“Where are we going now?”
R bumps hips with you. It makes you appreciate how much deeper the cuts between his muscles have become since his cross-country run.
“It’s ti[m]e to check in with our Hollywood liaison.”
E: “She’s our agent. Sort of.”
A few cars go by, all are humans passing through. They don’t notice the dinosaurs walking the streets. You draw quite a few stares from dinosaurs in windows. The cops don’t stop you this time, but several cars go by. It’s a small miracle you weren’t detained the other day, when you bought the smoothie. What would you have done if caught without papers?
A few blocks later, you hear unfamiliar claws behind you. And then a muzzle scenting the back of your neck. You turn and look over your shoulder. Your eyes widen.
A Dilophosaurus with arms as thick as the T-rex’s. Bulging thighs, huge traps framing his neck, pushing his folded frill outward.
He is scenting the air behind you, licking his nose.
You are now in the middle of a pack of six dinosaurs.
A police car drives by every five minutes.
R takes the lead, leaving this new Dilophosaurus room to flank you. He sniffs you, licks your nose. He then bumps flanks with E and X.
You are about to ask his name, but R enters a house. The sign out front hints this is some sort of casting agency. The pack files inside. Tight quarters in the front room, and you are squeezed between the flanks of the T-rex and the Dilophosaurus. Bulging pecs no matter where you look. R reaches back and pulls your shorts down. You can’t move your arms to pull them back up. You feel noses scenting your boner, and you wonder how much paperwork will be involved associating with all these muscle-dinos.
Other dinosaurs are here. They are talking to various humans seated around the room. R is at a desk. E and X follow. You feel something sniffing your ass, and then a muzzle slides beside your head. You don’t recognize the scale pattern against your skin.
The T-rex backs away, giving this newcomer an opening to come around.
Another raptor, also ripped, not as big as R, but his pecs and traps make his neck look shorter than it really is.
He licks your nose. You grope his chest, taking the chance to pull your shorts back up.
R calls you over, and your muscled escorts flank you on the way to the desk. The black woman behind it collects your info and prints you a paper giving you permission to enter the studio lot. Your job title is “Assistant.”
R gives your cock a squeeze. “Your real title is Slit Juice Wrangler.”
You kiss his cheek. “It belongs on my résumé.”
You turn around and meet the sniffing muzzles of two more bulging dinosaurs, another T-rex, and a species you don’t recognize. You shoot R an accusatory look. R shrugs and huffs, as if to say he had nothing to do with it.
The muscle-dinos are also doting on E. The newly-lean green raptor is feeling up the Dilophosaurus right now as the frilled dinosaur flexes for him, also appreciating the special muscles that control the frills: jaw muscles on the back of the head which even you can tell are out of proportion. Somehow he has bulked those up, and E can’t get enough of how they feel when they move. Muscles that don’t exist on a raptor’s body. You wonder how one bulks muscles like them up. You take the opportunity to feel them, too. It’s erotic and unnerving at the same time because you don’t understand the appeal, but they must appeal to members of his species.
“Why are there so many buff dinosaurs around here?” you whisper to R.
“It’s California. [M]uscle ca[p]ital of the country.”
“Where are they coming from? Does this always happen?”
“It’s in your scent. They know what you’re into and who you’re with. They can s[m]ell it a [m]ile away.”
R leads you out.
You are now in a pack of nine dinosaurs, the muscular ones moving between you and E, accepting gropes and nuzzles all over. You follow “Edmund’s” lead and let your hands wander freely. You have yet to hear anyone give their name. You hope the cops don’t stop you now, as you are not officially associated with any of these muscle-dinos.
X is talking to R and E about business. Seems their agent has confirmed permission to enter the casting call for Jurassic Park 2. They’re promising to let the dinosaurs speak this time. There’s talk of a subplot involving the raptors with a human love interest, and even a sex scene. Focus groups show great interest in seeing dinosaurs fucking.
They’re promising R a sex scene with Jeff Goldblum. R has his doubts, but it’s a tempting offer.
Six blocks later, you look around.
You are now in a pack of ten dinosaurs, K-T among them, nuzzling E right now. So much theropod muscle in motion you can’t see beyond it.
Cops drive by but do not stop any of you. They probably can’t see you inside the pack.
You wonder how long your shorts have been missing. They’ve been taking turns sniffing you. You’ve been feeling them up in reply.
The pack opens up and admits a new muscular raptor. E greets him by rubbing his thighs as he walks. He greets you by scenting your ass. You grope his pecs as you follow X and R and T as they talk business. Like R, his muscles do not give to the touch. R is still the most cut and bulging dinosaur in the group, even though the T-rexes are taller. You assume you are on the way to the studio, but you can’t see beyond all this dinosaur muscle.
Two raptors are walking beside you, hands on your rear. Like a good dinosaur slut, you never stop anyone from touching you, and they don’t hinder your efforts to feel them up for ten blocks.
{If you like what I do, consider buying one of my published books. Links below. Thanks!}
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4539730.James\_L\_Steele