FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Mr. Fennix first," Ricky told himself. It was his first day on the job. Full excitement that he can't help but tap his free foot on the floor of the automatic vehicle. His tail wriggled between his back and the seat of his chair, eager to wag it but couldn't.

Mr. Fennix was a frequent customer of theirs. Ordering undisclosed items and knick knacks from outside of Canada for over a decade. Ricky's co-workers gossiped about it, particularly a soldier who bought cameras, action figures, and motorbike components too. The most peculiar one would be a cosplay outfit from the Power Rangers franchise. Today was a fragile package of motorbike apparel. And his co-workers, prior to leaving the post office, brought up his old yet pristine motorcycle. Even heard it purr around the major roads during their drives.

This loyal customer of theirs, despite having a high rank of being a Colonel, lived in the simple Canadian suburbs out here in the midwest. Surrounded by pine forestsm ravines, and a few mountains. The sun here had peaked over the horizon, though the air was still cold as if it had never risen. Roads at this time were quiet, moreso on weekends, and Ricky enjoyed this kind of life. No cars, no worries, but of course he would never speed despite this. Not with the van at least.

Ricky turned into the suburban entrance and followed his GPS onto Mr. Fennix's household. The houses in these neighborhoods looked varied but their structures had a uniform feel to it. Most of them showed history with garden decors losing color, or untamed vines growing on one side of the house. Some of them bricked, other decaying plywood, and the only odd one out was a new cement-like painted home that was recently sold. The sign was still there too

Most of these folks have cars parked on the house's driveway or in personal garages, giving him more leeway on the roads. He passed by a few feline joggers on their morning run, an old iguana lady walking her feral iguana pet, and two fox cyclists on the opposite side of the road trying to outpace the other. Simple weekend life that he got to experience on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

Another three minutes of casual drive and he would see the aforementioned chrome-like motorcycle standing beside a tarped car on the driveway. The household was quaint even for a Colonel who decided to live out here. A small two-story home where the second story almost resembled an attic; small porch but a fenced-up backyard with a stunning view because it was a forest that led down to a creek below.

Normally, army men such as Mr. Fennix would've been in mansions or even in bases themselves, according to his coworkers. This would be his first time, and he was fortunate to have it out here, with less hassle for needing IDs of this gateless community. He parked in front of this simple home and checked the back of the van for his package. There were seventy packages stacked on top of each other that he had to deliver by noon and most of these were in the next suburbs. The one for Mr. Fennix was a large box sitting next to a stack of three smaller ones. His name taped to it. Relatively fragile given the package listed was a helmet, and its matching latex suit.

Ricky stepped out into the gentle breeze. His exposed legs were furred enough to keep his pace as he walked down the walkway. Ears flickered to the sound of distant birds chirping, a speeding car zipping through the highway he just drove on, and his feet walking on the wooden patio and towards the door. The flowers were fragrant, and when he glanced at them, colorful and vibrant. White petunias grew with red cardinals, making his curving fox-tail wag. It occurred to him half a minute later that he forgot to ring the doorbell. Way to go Ricky, he thought upon pressing the button. A melodic bell tone played, its tune recognizable but he couldn't put the name on it.

The ringing died down and he could hear and feel the thump behind the door with its frosted glass decoration. Ricky gulped seeing an obscured large black-and-white-furred figure behind it. Muscle mass twice his size, and taller too. And when the door swung open, he gulped seeing Mr. Fennix in nearly all his glory.

Ricky's foxy whiskers perked up, as did his ears, and his dick slowly tenting upwards against his tightening shorts. It got warm all of a sudden for him, his eyes trying not to glance down at the only garment that made their customer decent. He looked up into his eyes, stark red opposed to his darker red irises, and he gulped again extending his package forward in both ways. "Good morning Mister F-Fen-n-nix, here's your p-p-p-package," Ricky whimpers as he can't cover himself up like this.

"Please, call me Dexter," Dexter grinned, speaking in a deep and subtly sensual tone. He enjoyed seeing the flustered delivery fox-dog and intended to tease him. They get cuter each time too. He eyed him, his somewhat chubby figure sporting a chub down there, almost tempted to touch it. His tail wagged side to side, the enjoyment flustering the hybrid much more. A hybrid? Must be new. A shame it wasn't the griffin that normally did these runs. "What happened to Ethan?" Dexter leaned against the door, causing his growing length to sway in his speedo.

Ricky caught a glimpse of his cock's base, barely from the angle of the package. He stammered and shuffled side to side trying to compose himself and while that was true, it was also an excuse to see more of what Dexter was packing, and man was it a lot. The wolf's length was more than his own, girthier, and quite the musk that mixed with the flowers and pines. Truly au naturel of an experience, but he let the second of gawking linger too long that he shifted his eyes side to side to try, and fail, to act nonchalant about this encounter. And Dexter knew because he saw it throb, and his loins twitched in response. Time was passing and the prospect of delivering packages didn't matter for a moment. Only after a few idle seconds his mind finally processed his question, "He retired, s-sir."

Dexter was saddened to hear that, curling the side of his lips with a slight frown. He missed the griffin who he had also flustered, and hung out with on occasion. But he found someone new to tease at least, who was quite forward with it. Very much so compared to Ethan too. He took the package with burly paws and pressed it to his side his side, the hybrid swung his tail in between his legs to barely cover the pre-soaked tip of his shorts. And he himself was a fan of attention, liking that he was staring at his larger package that at this point the swimsuit barely hid.

Ricky gazed on his length that throbbed more the longer he stared, and did so while fetching his pen and receipt pad on his shirt pocket. He thought that it would quickly sore his jaw should he try sucking on that monster, and flushed out by the potential lawsuits it would cause for indecency. "S-sorry," he tried to compose himself again, presenting a pen and a small notepad folded back to the receipt the recipient needed to sign. Those eyes glanced at his tools, then his tool, then his own eyes.

"Don't be," Dexter said coolly and relaxed, winking to assure him that no one would get into trouble. Though, unfortunate for him, if they were to indulge themselves for a moment longer, the new guy would be late for his deliveries, and he wouldn't want him to mess up his first week. He took his pen and pad and signed where he already knew to have signed. There weren't even check marks which most others would normally highlight. He asked, "Is this your first day on the job?"

Ricky nodded, embarrassed that his inexperience and indecency was there to show. Though he could not say which one was worse. "Yeah, it is," he looked down in shame, taking back his pen and pad when presented back to him.

"Don't worry about it," Dexter eyed around for his name but it would be better for him to introduce himself first. "Name's Dexter, and you are?"

"Ricky," he answered, still looking away but he noticed the wolf's package, the large one he always had, out of its camo-speedo. Black, girthy, and oozing with pre, musk kissed his nose that invited his eyes to keep staring at it. He watched it bounce, causing the clear fluid bubbling from its tip to string down onto the wooden floor.

"Well, Ricky," Dexter chuckled and yanked it down forward so he could show his bountiful sack to the eager hybrid. "We'll keep this as our secret, okay? Your co-workers know about my slip-ups but they aren't snitches. And you aren't too, right?"

"I-I won't," Ricky pressed his own bulge whilst trying to cover himself. The pained pleasure of wanting to compare as well as to touch it. Alas he had work to do.

Dexter noted that too, glancing back to see his clock and that their encounter had gone one for five minutes too long, "It'll last longer if you take a pic.."

Ricky, to his dismay, didn't have his phone. He left it on the van and sighed for this missed opportunity.

He scoffed, "Don't worry, Rick, we can hang out next time if you want." He swayed his cock to that notion and yanked his speedo back up to barely cover himself even. "Maybe you should come with your package last. I don't mind the wait."

Ricky was out of words and only nodded, whining to see Dexter's package back where it belonged, half-wondering why he wore a speedo to bed. But his heart skipped a beat at the invitation, already looking forward to the next job with the hope to hold his actual package.

"Have a safe drive now," Dexter winked at him and stepped back robotic-like upon closing the door.

Ricky rushed back to the van with paws covering his pre-tipped shorts, tail tucked against it too. Now he had to deal with the thrill of driving about with an erection.

Dexter peeked from the window as the delivery van bolted itself out, driving almost past the neighborhood's limit. He grew fond of that hybrid even for such a quick encounter. There was that slight inexperience that made him more adorable, tail wagging as he went to the kitchen with his new 'lingerie' in hand. He got a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer and opened the upside of the box. Inside it were foam peanuts that buried a new type of motorcycle helmet befitting of his facial features; the visor itself had become the shell to protect his handsome muzzle. Made of specialized glass, it offered an excellent field of view that deterred any harsh sunlight but adjusts to the absence of UV intensity allowing for good visual clarity even in near pitch-black dark without needing his innate lupine ability to do so. The red frame that held it up came with a flexible neck guard that was made of specialized mesh to help with blunt force while being airy and comfortable to its wearer. He glanced at its reflection first, his red eyes had this alluring glow to it. Unsure whether it was because of the material, or if his vanity was peaking.

Afterwards, the peanuts were drained from its insides so he could be very thorough with it. There were handling smudges on the glass both in and out, and on the frame, that nothing a dab of alcohol on kitchen cloth couldn't wipe off. He fetched them. After two quick wipes it shone from the soft kitchen light. Cool to the touch and deceptively thick. From a glance it looked like two inches of glass but from another angle it was thicker with four. Almost as sturdy as military-grade ballistic glass. The entire helmet itself was lightweight, the frames were advertised and shown as titanium alloy. Eager to try, he fitted his wolf-head into it. Easy to slip into, his morning breath bounced around inside- musky from last night's edging with a hint of apricot mouthwash so he wouldn't scare off his deliverymen. The neck guard went beyond with its advertisement; extremely comfy as if it was a second skin. His visor adjusted to the rays of light peeking through his kitchen window and he could still see with great clarity except for the slight tint that only went away in the dark. Afterwards he tried to listen around with the sound of the wild life and still hear the bits of birds chirping but not as far as he would without them. This helmet came with a manual that allowed for bluetooth functionality, his tail perking up because it gave him an idea for later. He pondered if it would work for an audio system he's yet to master.

And underneath the small paper booklet, obscured by a few more peanuts, was the piece-de-resistance. One of the things he wanted to have ever since Miles moved out to his boyfriend's apartment East of here. His perked up tail wagged like a metronome, already playing his beat in his head, the percussive one he always played back in Sexy Studs. Of course what was a motorcycle helmet without its suit to go along with? But like the top-of-the-line headpiece, this suit would be the...

Latest in Latex

He removed the neatly folded motorcycle suit from its thin plastic packaging with the small puncture of his pinky claw. The rubber smell escaped through the slit, and he could identify further smell of manufactured chemicals that was evident in latex, freshened up with a scent of artificially 'authentic' lilacs. These smells combined behaved like an aphrodisiac for the pent-up wolf that his cock slipped out and throbbed much more against the table's underside. He spread out the suit on the clear kitchen table and surmised that it would fit him, large muscle mass and erection included.

This latex motorcycle suit had a glossy black exterior, with its insides composed of nylon to provide comfort for the wearer, exactly like the neckguard. The front side was labeled with the 'Lupinese' brand of his suit; by wolves for wolves. The best in their class on motorcycle equipment for canines across the world. Its lettering was a blend of sleek and ornamental in its stark red color, his choice to match his eyes; written across the chest. On its left sleeve was the brand of his motorcycle, also his choice: 'Darley Havidson' stylized as a motorcycle engine block and its exhaust surrounded by a puff of vehicle smoke which was their mainstream logo at the time. The suit's zipper started from the right leg traveling upwards to his rear, and curving just under whe his nuts would be, and would then close in on his crotch, if it could fit. He imagined it would be like putting on a t-shirt. A very elongated one in fact.

Dexter glanced down at his length and chuckled because maybe he wanted his dick out and about. Then again, feeling it rub against the nylon would be nice. Then again, feeling it rub against his latex gloves might be much better. His dick bounced again at the thought- sensitive flesh massaged by hands covered in that black rubbery fabric. Or the sensation of having it hard pressed against nylon and fur combined. Climax surged from between his loins and he had to will himself not to. Not yet at least, and instead pre spurted out, staining the floor below. He gave himself a few strokes, tease-torturing himself. That build-up of heat that causes his own tailstar to twitch with want, but alas denied.

It was a part of a series of experiments he'd been doing upon himself. Harmless exploration of other kinks but the moment he saw himself in the mirror, these experiments never pulled through. Last night, however, he decided to edge himself because he enjoyed seeing himself squirm. Receiving this package was the first of many gratifying climaxes to come today. The way his delivery man gawked at his cock? Enticing. And the prospect of letting his dick hang out? He was tempted to have done that at base but the repercussions would have been severe for him, and far worse for his son. Still, all those eyes on him, on those cameras with his massive dong to surely catch their attention. That echoing fantasy in his mind then, chanting 'Sexy Dexy' throughout Sexy Studs! Oh how he wanted it badly, and his cock sputtered more of his clear fluid as his subconscious could barely contain the climax, a rub away from shooting against his new suit. And don't get him started on how he could wholly smell his own scent inside his helmet. Faint whiff of last night was intensified because of the morning unveiling, with a subtle hint of apricot mouthwash. It was like making love with himself.

Dexter took off his helmet and deep breaths to take in the homey, and somewhat musky kitchen air, half as intense when he had it on. And propped it on top of the suit's chest. Almost near naked like this, he stripped off his speedo and put it aside because he may as well be. Though as eager as he wanted to put it on, hunger stopped him where he stood. The grumbling in his stomach staved off his libido better than the mental olympiad-like gymnastics in his head. He checked the fridge for anything good in the morning.

Well stocked with Canada's freshest fruits, vegetables, meats, and some calorie-centric, fatty, instant meals that his son left behind. The latter of which neared its expiration and it would be better to eat them rather than tell his son he threw them away. A sentimental thing he couldn't shake off, especially having to tell him of it. Last time he did and Miles was less than stellar for a few hours last year. Plus, it was not like he didn't enjoy poutine, it's just a wonder how Miles could have it day after day and not get sick of it. He put the instant oven-safe bowl of poutine in the oven, and fancied himself some scrambled eggs too, with a side of pan-seared mushrooms.

After cooking and plating his meal, he brought it all to the living room so he could eat while watching the morning news. As far as he was concerned, they were not at war, nor was the world that would put him in a life threatening situation. Weather was bound to be cool and cloudy but not rainy. Nice to go out for a ride with his motorbike tomorrow. He ate his meal at an eager pace. It was good as far as his cooking went, but the eggs and mushroom definitely carried the artificial staleness of the insta-poutine. He's had Chase's cooking so he'll be fine. It satiated him, warmed him up, and gave him more energy for what's next in the agenda.

Stowing the plates, pans, and throwing away the discardable bowl, he needed something to wash down his breakfast. Dexter smirked to himself, going upstairs for his drink. He passed by Miles' open door that always made sure he was alone, but a part of him missed his grown-up son because he always told him how proud he was. The study, at the far side, was locked for a good reason. This was where he spent his very personal time. Sometimes reflections, other times day drinking, and a handful times where he jerked himself off after either activity.

The room was small for someone his size, side stepping to move around the laminated desk that rested in the middle. He would be wedged between the shelved-in walls that built up ust over the years of no use. Books from the 90s that he no longer read because he had found newer, thrilling hobbies. And he'd rather not ruin the mood by bumping into them, possibly causing it to collapse on him. It went without saying how difficult it was to squeeze around with his massive cock swinging about as well. But when he got behind the desk, there was a small compartment on the right side that revealed a rack of six bottles of sought after 60s scotch. Three of which were empty and he never bothered removing them, and one that he had been drinking out of occasionally, and now was such a time. All of these were older than his son, in fact were closer to his birth too. He prized one out, moving the inner curtain aside so he could gaze upon its amber ambrosia color.

"Now that's fine scotch," he said to himself. Glancing at the window to remind himself what was behind the curtains. It would be his backyard, and luckily no one had been wandering on the creek below, or running about in the neighboring backyards because his half-masted cock with his glistened dickhead throbbed to life against the peeking sun. He scooted right around again, his dick at full mast and hovering over his small desk this time, and stepped out of the study, locking the door behind him.

Dexter took a swig after having done so, the strong kick of the alcohol caught him by surprise after months of cheaper spirits. It almost choked him, and he wouldn't dare spill a drop of this fine drink that was older than him, gulping it down as he lifted his head. He shivered in delight as it traveled down his throat, warmth coursed through his body. By God he was no lightweight, walking down those stairs hastily with excitement, but holy heaven did he feel the alcohol do its work on him. There was a slight numbness to his tail, and a gentle lightheadedness because all that sensation traveled down to his cock, his glans extra sensitive to the warm morning air. His nipples perked up, and with every movement of his body he could feel them hard pressed by his dashing motions.

Dribbles of pre trailed behind him as he made his way into the kitchen. He told his tomorrow's self to take care of this mess. And the much larger one he would make soon enough. Another swig as a testament to that fact, and it kicked as hard again, almost stumbling and leaning over the table. The black wolf reached over and touched his prized latex suit, dragging his finger across its rubber like texture. In this drunken haze, it's almost as if it clung onto him, like a black puddle that calls at him to put it on. Wear it, roll around in it, until the latex finally covered his skin from head to toe, excluding the tail of course.

He toyed with the idea, this fantasy he had had for more than half his life. Ever since he was a younger lieutenant, always wanted to own a suit of this type. Paws brushed over it again, reminiscing of the times he spent gawking over motorcycle accessories but not having the dosh for it. Back when the simplest make was all he could ask for, and he welled up with confidence knowing now that he got top of the line suits out of his own choosing. Within the safety of his own home, and by himself even though that on its own was a double edged sword.

He heaved it over his shoulder where he imagined it as a sticky black goop latching onto him. This substance would've bided its time, waiting for it to take over him and manifest itself as a latex wolf of sorts. The helmet that came along was a nice add-on, and he preferred it over the popular latex-mask he saw on the internet. Plus it was really safe should any of his sessions get very rough. Another swig and he was ready for the climax he had been edging towards.

Dexter took the helmet in one hand, and the bottle of scotch on the other. He strutted around the kitchen with cock-swinging pride, venturing into the foyer, and the cleared-out gym underneath the stairwell. Fond memories of this place, he reminisced not too long for such thoughts would've juxtaposed this erotic mood he was in. The gym matting was still there, and so was the wall-length mirror. Everything else like the treadmill, dumbbells, punching bags, and other weight apparatus have been donated to the Langley Military base. There was a new addition though, opposite of him. A doorway that even its frame and the wall it was put upon did not have its coat of paint yet. Very ominous to put it simply, and hopefully it discourages any interlopers from getting into. A man of his own skill, his body type, to hone something possibly sinister behind, especially in a quiet place which was essentially the middle of nowhere.

He strutted once more, hard dick swinging side to side knowing what awaited just behind the red door. It would've proven difficult to get into regardless because not only did the door have a peeping eye should he have been inside, it also had a biometric lock with a failsafe key that he had hidden somewhere valuable. Dexter glanced at the mirror closest to him, winking and loving how the suit's color blended with his fur, as if he wore it already. He pressed his middle finger against the scanner, the metal within shifted and tumbled, releasing the locks. To deter anyone further, a test of strength was needed to push the door open, someone of his build could easily do it even while drunk.

Dexter opens it fully, leading to a short hallway under a faint red light. Motion sensored to anyone who opened and would eventually walk past. Across the short space was a darkness to be unveiled. He stepped out of the sunlight and into the subtle red, his bare feet squeezed into the velvet surface. The walk was quick, while his heartbeat thumped quicker. Past halfway the room it led to was put into a brighter light while the doorway behind closed. With each step a spotlight is turned on, some pink, others white, but in the middle of the room from an ornate wolf-shaped chandelier, with its bright red lightbulb eyes. Unlike a wolf, however, the room had a wild strawberry smell, sweet and dewy-mint like the untouched forests of Northerwestern Canada.

He called this 'Dexter's Room', a vain worship of who he was. The alpha wolf, the sexiest in all of the world. Where the only best and truest of fans was himself. Four special walls surrounded the interior, rotatable ones that changed between a mirror, or a dark red and black wallpaper depicting muscular wolves, accented in white to match his fur. There was a gap between the two closest to him that led to a bathroom. He peeked inside to see the same mirror walls, and the lining of the bathtub depicting murals of himself. And there was his bed, shaped in the outline of a wolf, with red pillow eyes, and a blanket of a wolf muzzle draped over and tucked around the sides. Opposite of it was a reflective stripper pole so he always saw himself dancing to the beat. Hidden speakers were installed in the corners of the room, and its panel can be accessed beside the doorway, which also came with mood lighting, a thermostat, and access to security cameras around his home. Not an easy feat to have installed, and certainly not cheap.

First things first, however, he laid out the suit and helmet over the bed, and placed his bottle of scotch on top of the bedside mini fridge. He went about adoring himself on one of the mirrors as he always would. But he took a swig first to further his sexual advances to himself. His body shuddered as liquid courage trailed down, letting off a seductive growl at the nearest mirror. He walked over and slammed himself against it, frotting with his own reflection, and touching tongues with closed imaginative eyes. Muzzles touched with locked tongues, and each other's warm and panting breath permeated in the space between their chests. He clung onto him tightly as the imaginary jazz beat played to the rhythm of his eager heart. And when he opened his eyes, he gazed on his own red eyes, narrowed with want.

"Sexy Dexy," his reflection said to him.

"That's me," Dexter flattered himself before strutting towards the control panel. He shook his ass, looking back now and then to see his reflection do the same thing. With this metaphorical beat playing in mind, it needn't be like that any longer. He recalled how this was the first system to be installed, under the premise that this room, glancing around to bask it in, was supposed to be a doomsday shelter. He didn't want the technicians to know what this would be for, and it didn't help that the driver who brought them in knew him for his valiant effort at the defense of Halifax. He tapped onto the screen, sliding his finger after to cycle through the cameras, automated turrets (which are unavailable), and finally the music.

He set the tune befitting of his personal day, the thoughts of doomsday and other unnecessary prospects would be stowed for another time. Jazz kicked in, the strawberry musk was a good pairing scent to the song as he felt himself getting harder. Hips swaying side to side and he glanced back at that mirror to see his toned ass shaking more with his tail swaying along. He danced for a moment there that brought out the muscles behind the man with a profound history of making them so. Strong biceps, thick toned calves, and his thumbs and indexes twiddling away at his pink nipples exposing themselves past the white fur.

"Shake it Dexy!" One of his reflections cheered him on. And several appeared past the mirror wolf-whistling at him. They all wore the latex suit he had just bought, while their helmets were held against their hips. And when Dexter's doppelgangers caught him staring in erotic awe, one of them shouted, "When are you going to join us?!" And all of them eyed the laid out suit on the bed, joined by cheers of encouragement.

The lights bounced to the percussion, and dimmed and brightened to the saxophone. Wolf eyes on the chandelier blinked to the brass tune coming to take center stage of this soundtrack. It was Dexter's cue to don his new suit, and spun around as he swung his hips on his way to the bed, with those wolf whistles growing louder to howls and barks.

"Sexy! Dexy!" They chanted, red eyes following either ass, dick, or both as the real alpha wolf grabbed the bottle of scotch with finesse. And only then did they chant "Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!" After, watching him down it to a quarter left.

Malt that teetered its way into sweetness, Dexter let out a ferocious morning howl that the soundproofed walls could deafen from unwarranted ears. And it would've done the same for his reflections too if they made such noise in the same room. The outline of his mirrors disappeared as the maroon walls stretched beyond, and his reflections approached him with bedroom eyes. By instinct, the real wolf stood at the foot of his bed facing them, arms spread out to welcome their touch. Strong and fluffy paws rubbed his fur all over, but not his length- only worthy hands could touch himself. And that would be his own.

In this mix between drunken fantasy and this hazy reality, he willed his selves to slowly push him onto the bed where his prize awaited. The suit that melted itself into a black shimmering puddle retaining its curvature onto the bed. Its helmet sunk into it too. Liquid latex, cold and rubber, had stuck onto his fur and dug itself between its strands. He could feel it embrace his skin from behind as it slowly enveloped him, and he sank past the sheets and the mattress where black goo then crawled over. His heart raced as his arms and legs embraced this pleasant darkness as red light's glint bounced off the rubbery texture. His thick black cock was raised by his own rubbery hand, pressed it against him as the suit embraced him fully, with the zipper emerging from its bubble-like residue. It encroached around his neck, gentle and soft, covering his face that smelled of his musk. Darkness yet he would never be alone, he felt his true fans gaze upon his transformation as their paws massaged over his new pelt, firming it up and making sure it had been skin tight. And as the process finished itself, he was pulled from the depths as sturdy fiberglass encased his head- almost all of him, cock and lips, were encased. Except for his tail that wagged against the muzzle-print of his wolfsheets. Yet it too was dark, and almost glossed enough as if it was a part of the suit too.

Dexter felt the daze still, but realized he had been 'made whole'. He looked down to inspect his new self, all his other selves sitting on the side of his bed with long and loving looks at him. The fur he had was now behind this rubber-like skin, and he looked at his hands and chest, the latter was decorated with his chosen brand. He envied his clones that did not have them, and he could perhaps get rid of this label in the future. Regardless, it was enough, and his cock throbbed with anticipation of being touched in this new form he had desired for so long.

The more he breathed in his new mask, the more he realized that this was a new form of himself. Muscular in latex with a fiberglass muzzle, he was not Dexter in this state- not Sexy Dexy by any means. His doppelgangers said nothing as he thought of a new name, and the kind of nature which he had gotten this suit in the first place.

The other wolves first put on their helmets and pulled him upwards of the bed, and they were all nearly identical. One of them scooted closer to his side, and he could somehow smell his strawberry and musk aroma, sweaty and horny, and he spoke what he thought, "Rubber Ranger." And Dexter liked hearing it from himself. The other Rubber Rangers dispersed and put themselves on display; two danced together on the stripper pole, their spins matching the saxophone, and touching each other's rubbery bodies when the trumpet chimed in; another pair were touching muzzles and themselves in a tight embrace, both set of paws grabbing each other's asses; one had fancied himself a hand mirror and made inviting faces at it, turning the mirror towards him with its reflection winking back too.

The one closest to Dexter laid on top, straddling his ass against the very real excitable bulge. Their fabrics touched, filling the room with squeaks and crackles, accompanied by his aroused whimpers and tempted moans.

Dexter's body shuddered as he felt those rubbery gloves push his chest, feeling the inner suit's foam caress him. He could feel his pre oozing around his abs, dribbling between his crotch as it mixed with the sweat pouring out from the heat going on down there. Rather it coursed through his entire body and he felt the equivalent of two rough exercises. A mix from the alcohol and his libido, and mostly from the room temperature. It reminded him of Sexy Studs and, admittedly, he wished to be able to do this there. Show himself off to other adoring fans, steal the spotlight. Be everybody's center, with all those real eyes looking at him, chanting 'Rubber Ranger' in voices not of his own.

His doppelganger touched his cock through the cold metal zipper that jerked the real wolf who let out an outburst howl.

Dexter almost came from that.

"Wouldn't want to make a sticky mess inside now, do we?" He said.

Dexter shook his head, the harsh panting fogged up his helmet, obscuring his reflection riding on him. He could not make out his form through the foggy glass anymore yet felt several hands squeeze his rump, and five additional paws rubbing all over his upper body. All their caresses brushed over his abs, those Olympiad pecs of his while pinching those sensitive nipples of his, and the thick curvature of those muscle-cladded arms. He squirmed side to side, trying to contain his submission to this physical pleasure. The latex made them feel more real than his fur did, and he loved the thought of that. He led his own paws to where his cock was, rubbing it side to side his lengthy and girthy bulge, and the ribbed zipper rubbing him off only added to the tantalizing sensation he felt, due to the nubs of the metal. It was no fleshlight but it was better than most.

Pre dampened the inner nylon of his suit, and his fans took notice of the damp spot forming around where the leather was. A daring hand tugged at the zipper and slowly pulled it down. He slipped his finger inside, brushing against his cock, but his fingertips touched the base of the metal as his white crotch fur and black length was unveiled. He didn't want his goods damaged after all, and he could feel the lukewarm air circle around his soldier proudly standing at attention. Dexter reached out with his latexed gloves, and the difference in material that coaxed him was stark yet pleasurable all the same. It was dry at first, sucking up to the latex but as pre drenched it, the easier he stroked himself while still retaining its warm texture. He only imagined how good it felt but now that he had, he sat up and saw his length shoot out strands of pre that made it glisten in the light.

Another hand had passed him the bottle and encouraged him to finish it off. Dexter didn't question who as he lifted the glass visor, chugging it down, his fellow Rubber Rangers chanted 'Rubber!' on the left, and 'Ranger!' on the right in quick succession. Once the bottle was empty, and he had set it aside, Dexter lowered his visor and stroked himself with both hands. The kick was delayed as more senses stimulated him, and the last swig had manifested a pleasing sight; he saw the black ooze consume his still-black shaft, their colors almost blended and he was one with it. Even the zipper had gone, as did the label, yet his muscles were aflame with passionate lust. He wanted more.

The same pair of hands manifested itself into a latex-goo version of himself, standing at the foot of his bed and dripping all over. He smiled a tar-like toothy grin, fangs sharper than his own, and a breath far more captivating. Strawberry, musk, and scotch seeped out between those fangs and invigorated the very real wolf. And those beautiful eyes of his, ruby-like, glowing, and serene as they exchanged stares.

Dexter could've sworn it was the scotch that made him feel this way, light headed upstairs yet very aroused down below. But the Rubber Ranger in front of him, whose eyes touched more than just his body, instilled in him submission. He felt as if it was just them on his bed as the noise of his other fans hushed, their muzzles moving closer. Little did he know that he had sat up, cock rubbing against his latexed thighs, and atop of it was a large leathered case locked shut by a four digit wheel lock.

The Rubber Ranger looked into his eyes, ordering him, "Open it, Rubber Ranger." His tone was gruffed and seductive.

Dexter's back shuddered with surprised delight- how could his voice do that alone? For his very large self, he felt small compared to this latex wolf, and compelled to obey his every whim. And without a thought, he had unlocked the case, sliding the hook out of its mechanism and revealing its contents.

"You may choose, Dexter," the goo said. Hinting that the ability to choose would be few and far between. Dexter didn't mind.

In front of him was his selection of toys, lined up in four rows by four columns, with the last row being bottles of scented lube. The firstmost was strawberry and banana, the most used of the four. There were several types of toys that Dexter accrued over the years, and at great lengths to keep them hidden from his best friend, and especially his son. One was modeled after a horsecock, and there's no other cock just like it because it's the only one that's shocked him the most; two were knotted canid dicks, its color and size matching his own yet still half the height of the former. One of them could vibrate while the other could expand but that one's not used as much. As enticing as these were, he went with a chrome buttplug that glinted off his eyes. This one could vibrate, and he had worn one throughout the day to experiment with it, and he came so many times that he was close to shooting blanks by nightfall. Dexter plucked it from the box and presented it to the Rubber Ranger.

"Good choice," he said, touching Dexter's hand. He grabbed it by his gooey deconstruct and had it move from his arm, all the way through his body, before settling on his crotch that morphed his own dick to its shape. He set the box aside and off the bed, and overpowered the wolf downwards. "My turn," he said insidiously.

Dexter's domineering was all but sapped, succumbing to his whims as his arms were left spread, constrained, their stares locked once again. His eyes focused on the rosy shade, releasing all that stress, all that shame of enjoying such a moment. He could see the goo's tendrils lift open his mask as he was pushed with a kiss, both their lips and their tongues touched, while his toy, all lubed by his own pre, entered him slowly to stretch him out longer. He moaned into his mouth, and the Rubber Ranger's entire form melted on top of him, their bodies becoming one. And yet he could feel him thrusting now, while his black residue vibrated around his cock, mimicking the ribbing sensation of the zipper. The sound of his moans bounced around in his then-enclosed helmet, its insides mimicking the face of his latex-lover. Still under his control, his pleasure, his will.

"I'm glad to have made this debut, to meet the beloved 'Sexy Dexy'," he said playfully. "Now I get another Rubber Ranger to play with."

"Yes, sir," Dexter said, accustomed to the military culture, and in a manner that he would never say to anyone else. Hypnotized in this so-called love, only aimed to please him. Only him.

"Good, cadet," the Rubber Ranger referred to him. "For your reward," he turned on the toy's vibrator.

And it did more than just stimulate his asshole, it made him shudder close to his climax that his balls ached, begged for release. Yet, despite this, he had to await the orders to do so. Even as the thrusting quickened, the smell of musk and strawberry pervading his mask more, and with his body touched from tip, to tail, to toe, with smooth caresses.

The mixture of latex all over him mimicked the sensation of a thousand hands rubbing him all over. While the toy massaged his prostate, each micro-bump of the vibration tingled him further, skillful touches pressed and rubbed against his latex suit. His muzzle clamped shut by invisible hands while Dexter breathed through his nose, and he could feel that same invisible hand rub over his snout that warmed his facial muscles past the alcohol's numbness. As did his chest, with outlines of fingers flicking the bulging nipples on his suit, puffed up above his muscles. He whimpered and struggled as he was toyed with but invisible forces kept him down, only adding to this erotic struggle that he found out he enjoyed.

"Good boy," his own voice echoed bounced around his head. Domineering and mesmerizing. He heard it in both ways, a part of his mind felt its driving force, while the subconscious found it playful and seductive. He was his own bitch, and the aforementioned force that commanded over his own whims. And he opened his own eyes, glowing red as he stared at the reflection of his inner mask. The toy in his ass was kept in, with his own thumbs twiddling at his nipples. His cock stands there drenched in pre, shining like his latex suit. And like his outfit, it may not be like that for long.

He wanted to order himself to cum but his mind wonders on and on if he truly deserved it. The last day of edging, exposing himself in front of that cute hybrid delivery fox-dog, strutting around in the buff for so long. The temptation over the last decades where he always wanted to buy his own suit- to its extreme because he dedicated a basement to it. Was it enough? The aching of his balls, his burning muscles that was thrice the exercise he regularly does, and how the numbness swirls around his body that the caress of this latex goo mitigates. He found the alter ego, he found a transcendental thrill than just his reflections alone, and he did it all by himself. Dexter Fennix finally became the Rubber Ranger.

This personal vanity, enhanced further by this realization; his chest pounded out his self worth. With one thrust to the warm open air he finally achieved climax. "Aaah!" He moaned out as the first powerful strand almost sprayed the muzzle of his chandelier, and landed on his mask. As did the succeeding thrusts, and the rest followed, hosing himself, his suit, and his bed in his own man milk. He pinched his own nipples, making his legs bounce from the overstimulation as his asymmetrical thrusting messed both sides of the bed, and the mirrors too. Halfway through, though, he recovered his finesse and thrusted upward, splattering himself again, and in the motion his helmet opened along with a sleight of hand so that his dark muzzle would be coated in white too.

"Oh man...," he mutters in ecstasy, the next words were incorrigible as his energy left him fully. One minute in and he was three-fourths done, his cock dribbled and occasionally spurted cum, except his body was laid on its back, Dexter's face stringed with his essence, panting, and licking around his lips to taste it. He tilted his snout downwards and could see his cock twitching to half mast as his semen coated over the brand of his suit, and his slightly shrunken nuts. Satisfied, he laid down head first onto the pillow, finally recognizing the fluffy object as rest. "Fuck yeah," he whispered satisfied. It was enough, for now.

Dexter's body was drained of his energy too, that even the buzzing toy in his ass only kept him at half-mast. Still girthy though, arched over his balls, dripping white fluids. The room smelled of himself. A lot of himself and with a dash of strawberry. Alas he was 'alone', save for the other Dexters who, too, were laying on the bed spread out, cock out in the open of his quarter 'white-washed' suit.

"That was fun," he said to them.

"Yeah it sure was," the one to his right replied.

"Glad to have you with us, Sexy Dexy," his left reflection answered.

"No," the gooey retextured wolf at the foot of his bed clarified, standing with a flaccid length, larger than his own erect. "He's a Rubber Ranger now." The black masses combined themselves, forming fur, and red irises with a white underbite on his chin. He morphed into the real self. "The sexiest in latex himself, welcome." He bowed like a showman, their act concluded.

Dexter could no longer keep himself conscious, the afterglow finally caught up with him. He closed his eyes and his world would be dark for another hour or two. Yet two glowing eyes greeted him, staring at him lovingly.

"Now how about an encore?" He invited, his tone was exhaustive but enthused. And the vibration in his ass felt excitement again.

Dexter for a moment considered this, almost apprehensive of it. A lot to clean when he awoke, and his body was still sore, and drunk. He was also spent.

But these eyes read his mind better, and better acquainted with his own body than himself. "Please?" He regaled his sense of accommodations not just for him, "For the fans?" At the uttering of that last word, several red eyes look at him from all over the impossible room with its distant walls and ceiling, narrowed with want and lust. And their chants followed, the left shouting 'Rubber!' the right shouting 'Ranger!'

Dexter smirked, lowering his mask and saw the reflection of those red glowing eyes. "Alright," he said to himself. "Round two." It wasn't enough, not yet.

****