FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

At first, Beau thought the stranger had forgotten him like everyone else. He'd been lounging around home, painting for hours in growing despair. But late in the evening, his door rattled, and something heavy thudded to the floor.

He could imagine his old friends laughing at his exuberance to grab the message. In body and in heart he was a retriever. His tail wagged at the task, and a bright smile overcame his face, as he dropped his paintbrush into a pot. Standing, he popped his back with a sensual stretch. With his legs apart, he palmed his ass, and admired the way his clothes hugged him in the windows reflection.

Working for himself meant he was a little plump, and it was exacerbated by the thick layers of his golden coat. Worse still, he was small for his age and breed. He could never shake off the compliments of 'cute,' though in recent years he'd been trying to add 'hot,' to it too. His tail was nice if nothing else.

Barking happily, he sauntered from the studio. His arousal had bugged him all day, and now flooded him again with a vengeance. He felt his cock twitch, and fall out from its sheath to stretch his underwear taut. He groped idly, stopping its stray sprays staining his slate-blue pyjamas.

Today was one of the few days he wore clothes at all. Unless he was going out, he frolicked through his home naked, letting his junk swing around as it pleased. But, today was Friday. It was the day he got his letter, and the excitement for it needed to be contained somehow. Otherwise, he'd spend all day mopping his pre-cum from the floors. That, or sensually rolling his back against the doormat, waiting for the letter to glide down onto his lap.

Now, though, he kicked all his garments away. He ruffled his golden fur, and let his sweaty package hang low and harden with each swing. His red shaft stuck four inches above the knot. As he tossed his shirt to one side, he dropped his hand and eased the ball of flesh out from his sheath. The sensitive skin gleamed in the warm orange of the sunset. He raised his tail high, as his own scent reached his snout.

From the paper alone, he knew the letter was from who he hoped. Grinning, he did a deep stretch downwards. He imagined a stray onlooker behind him, seeing his tail pulled high, revealing his thick ass and hole. Horny to no end, he even shook his hips side to side as he scooped up the mail. With nothing else to sort through, he straightened back up with a giddy flourish.

Yet, the letter didn't come on its own. Beneath was an attached present. It made him even more excited, thinking of all the slim, kinky items that could fit inside. As he was hoping, the letter was still printed with the same delicate gold lettering, and rich beige paper he was familiar with.

His smile was almost painful as he rushed back to his bed, and flopped onto his front. He kicked his legs up like an excited teenager, and enjoyed the sound of his claws slicing through the envelope. As the letter slid out, he was hit with the familiar scent he'd found within each message. The writer had taken to dabbing scented oils onto the pages. Usually of flowers, but sometimes of something more elusive.

A jagged hand dictated the letter. The pen strokes cut into the paper, and he could feel the haste at which they were written. All in the same golden print.

Dear Beau,

_ _

You sweeten my thoughts ever more often. Your curves, your fur, and the delicate flicks of your tongue against your fangs as you smiled. I wish to have it all: to carry it with me, always, in a private place between us.

_ _

I have taken great pleasure in our correspondence; your reactions are delightful. Drafting, writing, and the eager wait between, all remain tantalising. They are the highlight of my week, and I have to resist sending more. My coworkers send me enough odd looks as it is.

_ _

Still, I yearn, and now, it has driven me to this. I can no longer bear our distance. After countless nights of desperate delirium, and days of ceaseless golden dreams, our suit, our own space, our lifeline, is complete.

_ _

It's beautiful, Beau. I know you will love it, too. Though, not at first. It's not a delicate thing, but it's mine. And your endless smile will shine through, and brighten it still. And it will be mine.

_ _

This gap that haunts me, as much as I imagine it haunts you, will soon be overcome, and we can begin the first days of our new life, together at last.

_ _

Here, I brought some sweets. I'll be the first to admit, I'm still a beginner at the form. They're a mess, and maybe even more so now that it has fallen through your door, but I promise they're more delicious than they look. Indulge. I hope they tide you over until our next meeting, and sweeten your own thoughts of me.

_ _

Sweet dreams, too. Soon, I will give them even greater material than what you've bestowed upon my own. In person, there will be many more possibilities.

_ _

Until then,

_ _

An adoring stranger

Beau sighed, and let the letter fall to the bed. He was expecting something more tantalising himself, as had been the case with every previous letter. The stranger toed the line between sexy and crazy, and it was disappointing that now, of all times, he'd lost it.

Beau bumbled to his office, and the clipboard above. He'd kept all the previous letters. The pages were worn. A few were even grimy from the many times he'd jerked off to them, cradled in his other hand. With a sigh, he pinned the newest one off to the side. He could read an old one: one that has consistently managed to excite him, but his disappointment suppressed the urge. His room now felt very lonely. The evening light was dwindling, and the sun's rays were barely parting the tips of the pine trees. Shadows lengthened, and all at once, the home's automatic lights flickered on.

He'd picked the home thanks to the chaos of his university years. He wanted something different: a place he knew both him and his friends could quietly share together. It was a small haven of glass walls and steel beams, letting the surrounding forest become a daily part of his life. There were only a handful of rooms, and its arty design raised its cost into the millions, but it was his. His for life, to cherish and celebrate with those he loved. But since he'd left, his contact list had dwindled and died. Dust and rubbish now settled in every corner. The mahogany floors mocked his padding steps as he made it back to his bed.

The package was wrapped in a glossy white paper, and dressed in a fine golden thread, which Beau shamelessly bit through. The box itself looked like a jewellery set. But sure enough, when he opened it, he was presented with rows of lilac, cube-shaped sweets on a bed of pale tissue. He wasn't hungry for them. Usually, he had many hours of passion to tire him out beforehand, but he made the effort to try at least one. Taking a bite, the gooey consistency melted against his tongue, letting out a syrupy mix of roses and citrus.

It numbed his disappointment. He ate four more before his fatigue caught up with him. Too tired to move the box away, he let the lid slam closed. His head fell back against the pillow, and fully dressed, he watched the darkness outside morph into his reflection.

…

Beau felt wrong when he awoke. He was hugged on all sides by strong arms. His fur ran slimy with sweat, but it had nowhere to go beyond the stifling closeness. It was jarring after years alone.

He tried stretching and kicking away whoever was cocooning him, but all he felt was an elastic stretch around him. Again and again, waking up more each time as heat ran over his body. His muscles strained harder, but he found no give in any direction.

Beau was filled with a bleary confusion, and tried opening his eyes. This was how he found his second problem. He couldn't see a thing. He didn't even know if his eyes were open or closed. There was nothing but darkness, enveloping him on all sides in an omnipresent hold.

It felt like a nightmare. He tried calling out, as he continued to wiggle, but he couldn't get his jaw to move at all. His tongue rolled around a limp mass buried behind his front teeth, unable to properly taste it or force it out. There were no sounds besides his own muted grunt, that he struggled to hear with his own ears. Again, he called out louder, and the sound was less than a whisper. The only discernible noise was his own breathing. Air hissed from his snout, and he found he could twitch his nose, unbound from the hug.

Trying to gnaw through the thing between his teeth, he kept calling out and struggling. But every motion felt as though he were fighting against himself. As he tried to lever away his arms, his back grew tight. As he pulled down his tail, the gap between his thighs shrunk.

His breath grew shallow to his own ears, and he soon had to stop. It was only once he relaxed that he noticed another two presences. Together, they stopped him short with sudden realisation. His morning wood was stifled by the same unyielding grip, forcing it to remain trapped within its sheath. Lower, a pleasant ache was buried deep under his tail.

It became clear what setting he'd found himself in. He'd fantasised about it long enough. Now, it brought a near paralytic mix of arousal and fear. Someone had bound him up in a serious set of bondage gear, caged and plugged him, then whisked him from home as he slept.

The plug was huge, too. He would've mistaken it for a dildo if not for its girth just beyond his ring. Its weight mercilessly teased his prostate, and filled him with a near unbearable fullness. From his anxiety, his tail kept trying to hide between his legs, but it was bound, too. His back arched to compensate.

In darkness, it was unclear how long he squirmed for. He focused on the snug material wrapped around him, the ache in his sheath, and the stretch within. But, with an understanding of things he could be trapped within, his body was much easier to navigate. He found that his arms and legs were both folded. Each hand rested against its shoulder, while his legs curled up until his heels pressed against his ass.

Gravity was much harder to find. The wrappings were thick, and it took the retriever a long time to realise that both the ground and his body were softened. Neither were easy to feel, giving him the illusion of sitting on a cloud. But slowly, after much twisting and rolling, he found where he met the ground, and got to his elbows and knees.

Once balanced, he had to pause and let his heart settle. His mouth salivated, trying to cool off, and he was forced to swallow it all down as he waited. If nothing else, the bitchsuit was well-designed. He felt no strain at all resting on his knees and elbows, and he had the strange impression that he'd transformed into a table.

His head was the most uncomfortable part. His muzzle felt much heavier than usual, and his snout kept dipping despite his efforts.

When he lifted the trunk of his arms, he could take a step forward. The ground dipped far under his weight like a mattress. Unfortunately, there was no way to stop him walking his head into anything, or go careening off a hidden drop. Sniffing constantly, he tried to find anything familiar or endangering. But what he got was dismal. The surrounding space reeked of rubber and sweat. No breeze or draft tickled his nose, and he ended up testing the same air repeatedly. Worse still, it wasn't even his own sweat. Someone else was frequently hot here, and for long periods of time.

His thoughts spiralled. Visions of hidden weights crushing him; of an old and forgotten bear trap; a hidden figure that would wrap him in even more restraints, if he only took one more step. He couldn't stop shuddering. The rubber squeezed and stretched with each motion, and he timed his breaths to it, so that everything followed the same pattern. It was unclear how far he went; it could've been anywhere between a metre and a mile. Yet, the timelessness was worse. Every few moments, he paused to take a breath, and to his own shame, felt his cock pulse to the manly scents. Inappropriate, sure, but each scent was attached to at least a couple of his most treasured memories.

What he couldn't get over was the quiet. Even in the wilderness, he could hear the rustle of branches or the pattering of rain. Here, there was nothing. The space sounded as muffled as his own suit, and it added a dreamlike quality to the whole experience. He wondered if he was in shock.

It didn't slow his crawl. He kept his nose as sharp as he could, and hoped he was still going in a straight line from his waking point. All the while ignoring the happy warmth emanating from his crotch.

He stopped, as his neck tugged in place. He grunted and jerked back, and the pressure faded. Pushing ahead brought the resistance back. Turning, he found he could go both right and left, and that the boundary of his foray was circular. It was only then that he noticed the light clinking of metal. The kidnapped had given him a collar, and tied on a leash.

It didn't do his pulse any favours, but it gave him a direction. With a bit of experimental pulling, he made his way along the length of the leash. He felt the ground warble as he clambered over the slack chain.

The smell grew as he went. He squeezed around the toy, more and more, loving how full it left him, and its teasing nudges with each big step. After he escaped, he was going to give himself a stern lecture on the proper responses to abduction. But, until then—

With a jump, his nose brushed something. It was the first texture he'd felt since arriving, that wasn't stale musk or rubber. He'd expected a post of some kind, or a ring embedded into a brick wall. Instead, it smelt rich and lively. Pushing firm against it, he took many great sniffs. He was hit with a sour, musky smell: a pliant warmth, and a cloying, sweet and sharp mixture. As his nose pushed upwards, he felt a slight weight lift with it, and it pulsed against him. Trying a few times had the same result.

When it finally clicked, he froze. He was nosing a man's crotch.

As he jerked, the leash lost its slack. He couldn't back an inch from the smell. And as his panic and exhaustion grew, his breaths quickened, only sinking the senses all further into his head. The scent was euphoric, even now in such a depraved situation. It had been so long since his head had been planted there, nestled between another man's legs.

Still, he kept pulling back, until a strong tug drew him even closer. The tiny air holes stopped hissing, as the slither of his exposed nose pressed against fur. He clenched on the toy in panic. Without escape from the unyielding chain, he let out pleading, breathless moans, as even musky air was better than none.

A low chuckle stopped him. It sounded like a gunshot within the quiet of the suit. He felt a weight press against his ear– hardly felt through the thick material. A light, tickling scratch that squeaked like a balloon stretching. Terrifying, but overshadowed by the danger in the man's voice. To Beau, it sounded like he spoke from another room, despite his cock being inches from his face.

“Hello, my Beau, my pet, my toy, my– my everything. Isn't it wonderful? At first, I thought it'd be too much. I've always loved the orange of your fur…"

The stranger loosened the chain, and Beau heaved. His nose hissed once again, and his thoughts cleared, letting him hear the cadence of his kidnapper's voice.

“It's always made me think you look like a robin. You have this untouchable freedom around you. Everything around you pulled into your orbit, and at times I swore I was watching a princess from a fairytale."

The man spoke like an orator at a funeral. His pronunciation was flat, but slow and thoughtful. He seemed to test the weight of each word before he spoke. But not from confidence. Often torn and gravelly, his pitch cracked and rose as he went on. And all the while, Beau knew he was speaking through a grin. It made his species entirely indeterminable.

“But I'll remember how your coat appeared then. Every variation with every soap and conditioner… This is better. This way you're all mine."

For that, Beau got another scratch.

“This is the place I was talking about. I saw how you felt when reading the letter, and I could tell you didn't entirely approve. It'll make the start of our time together rockier than I hoped, but I just had to have you. You were miserable, where you were, and getting worse. It got so bad, I considered becoming your cleaner, and getting closer to you that way. But I couldn't bear to see you hide away from me. Not from me."

Beau whined and tried to curse the man through the plastic in his mouth. Writhing in the thick bondage, he felt his clumped and sweaty fur chafe. But he couldn't stop. He had to breathe freely, away from this man. He needed to get home: to call the police and install proper blinds, even if it deconstructs the architect's intent. It didn't matter. He couldn't be there another moment. But the more he pulled, the more the man crooned and cooed with cool sympathy.

A mass nudged against Beau's muzzle, then brushed against his ear-wrappings. The air became a buzz, and Beau realised he was listening through a headphone. The mask was padded enough to otherwise block outside noise.

“Easy, my pet… I haven't decided on a nickname. There are simply no words to describe you. But don't worry, you won't have such a problem, my dear. Your tongue will have a better way to show how much you love me."

The stranger chuckled again at his own quip. Beau raged, and despite his fear, pulled harder against the chain. The man ignored his efforts completely.

“You don't have to pretend here. I saw that dance you made for me earlier, my love. I've never seen something so beautiful.

“I took a picture, but I'll paint it until the day I die. I see it whenever I close my eyes: the little clench of your ass as you bent down for the letter– as you reached for my letter. The sway of your little, cute cock, already dripping clear drops. They were like gems in the sunlight. And your balls, matted with sweat and swaying in time with your tail. Then up again— that perfect, happy little smile."

Beau shuddered as his fears were realised. The kidnapper in front of him was the adoring stranger. A part of him had known from the moment he'd woken up. He'd been eating his sweets before he'd passed out, after all. But it was disheartening nonetheless, for his imaginary lover to not be the classic romantic with a dark side, but as a lunatic, through and through.

“If nothing else, you liked the sweets that came with it. I only expected you to have the one. So, I'm sorry if that made you dizzy, my love.

“To make up for it, I've prepared more messages for you. Ones like the old ones that I can put in the mask. I imagine that'll put you into an even greater heat…"

The man scratched lower. He traced behind the tight lump of his ear, then down over his Adam's apple. Beau cleared his throat at the slight prodding, and it broke the man's reverie. His voice took on a higher pitch and came even closer to his ear. Beau could finally hear someone's breathing other than his own. It was coarse and ragged, and reverent in desire.

“I'll never forget the fifth letter I sent. I spent three pages describing how much I wanted to lock your cock, away forever within the tightest belt I could find. And underneath, the smallest cage. One that would sink into your sheath and keep everything inside, so that you'd never cum again without my say so.

“You were already naked as you read, and I watched how, with every word, your little cock peaked out. Your knot was out within the minute. You had an adorable flush across your face by the time you put it down. Then you sat and stared at the tiny thing, leaking over the floors. You couldn't touch yourself for the next hour. You just kept staring.

“I've written poetry about it, you know: the way your cock wilted and curved against your thigh, and the trails it left there."

Something clamped over Beau's crotch. It made him jump, but was painless.

“You see? The fantasy is real, my love. It's everything you've ever wanted to be: tied up and owned and used. The letters are real. There's no need to be embarrassed. I know you, and I know this is what you want. It's what we both want."

The stranger drew back. Strong limbs wrapped over Beau's torso, then lifted. He felt himself tilting backwards in free fall, then stopped, now sat upright. Balancing now, on his ass and knees; the suit seemed designed for the position. It was no strain for Beau, despite the tautness of his back, and the wide spread of his legs. His arms hung limply out from his front.

“I would rather have you dancing on a podium for me, my pet: free from these binds. For me, and me alone. A museum to your beauty. A million pictures of your every motion, of every strand of hair on your body…"

Beau felt a hard hump against his head. Masses of muscle squashed him on either side, and he heard a low groan. The chain dropped to the ground dully. Something else held him by the back of his head, and crinkled the audio in his ears.

“No one but me would know about it… But in a way, you would, too. I want you to be enjoyed alone. You see? That's what the suit is needed for. The beauty and love for me, and me only. Not even you can keep that angelic perfection to yourself."

The stranger moaned again. The motions kept happening, and Beau realised the man was using his head like a pillow to hump against. Loose, sweaty fur slapped his nose with each push.

“I know it'll take time. But this way, you'll focus on me, and I'll focus on you. It's balanced, yeah? The way you emptied my life into nothing but frenzied lust, will happen to you, too. So, no touching, nor feeling nor seeing, nor thinking, without me. It's just me and you, here now, Beau. We're going to be so happy together. Just the two of us, and nothing else. Though for you, it'll just be me, and for me, it will always just be you."

The stranger's motions stopped with a grunt. Beau's head was pulled up, and he felt something give, in a heavier part of the mask. A clicking sound followed, then a sharp wheeze of air.

“Let me show you how good it feels to serve, slut."

A pressure began to build on Beau's tongue. The plastic warped, then ballooned. Slowly, he felt his jaw's part open, and he tasted a rush of air. He tried licking over his lips, but felt only a smooth material against his tongue. It felt like a small ribcage. As it grew, it became more distinct and rigid, eventually settling as a wide, tube of rings.

“Ah?"

A digit trailed over the sequential rings, then between them to dab at Beau's tongue, pinned underneath. Further and further still, the plastic grew, until it began to ache. He could feel himself drooling, and could hear the drops pattering against his knees. It would be embarrassing elsewhere if he had any way to stop it.

“There's that gorgeous mouth I fell in love with."

“Grr!"

The rush of air stopped, and the rings solidified in place. A sinking horror, mixed with arousal, filled Beau's chest. He tried worming off his seated pedestal, but couldn't move an inch in any direction. Only his arms wagged uselessly.

“Now, I know this is our first time together, so I'll make it a bit easier for you."

Another 'click,' and the rings fattened before squelching out a thick fluid. Unable to wrench his head down, Beau choked as the flood rolled into his throat. His tongue flicked over it between coughs, and found the stuff tasted of chemical strawberries. It was though wads of chewing gum had melted over him. The stranger then pulled his head back, letting some of it dribble over his body. A tang of pre-cum smeared against Beau's nose as he moaned above.

“Such a good slut… I will remember this time together, Beau. This will be the most untrained you will ever be. From now onwards, you will take this more desperately every time. I imagine sliding in will be easy, like two pieces made for each other, finally clicking together in the universe. You will love this, and will become the greedy cock sleeve we've always wanted you to be. So, relax and let it happen."

Firm hands grabbed his head. The cock disappeared as it dipped, before he felt it bump his palette. The man's pre-cum had a stark taste, even against the other fluid. More viscous than the canine kind Beau knew, coming from a blunt head that was thicker and tighter in his muzzle. As the length pushed, it didn't gradually widen like his own slim length. He had no time to acclimate as the stranger shoved. It made a sloppy, frothing cry of a noise as it punctured its way deeper inside.

“That's it. Such a good hole for me, my love. Nothing but a greedy little bitch for my cock. If you could, I'd bet. You. Would. Beg. For. It."

Each word was punctuated with a solid thrust, and a desperate gag from the retriever. Behind the mask, he felt tears prickling his eyes. The fluids squelched and sprayed out, both to his stomach, and out from his gums with a lewd pop.

“It's all yours, slut. Doesn't it feel amazing?"

Further down the stranger's cock, past the head, it slimmed and became more bearable. Beau knew that in another situation, he would have enjoyed the 'O' of his lips expanding and shrinking as the man humped. He wondered if they were a horse, but he had no way of knowing beyond the length of their dick. For now, he tried not to drown. The pre-cum didn't end, even as he inhaled as much as he swallowed. His head became dazed as the motions hastened.

“Come on; take it. Throat my cock, slut. Fucking take it."

Beau gurgled in response. Slowly, he could feel himself relax, and the dick slid deeper into his gullet with each shove. It was so long, it felt like a snake was plunging into him. He struggled to imagine how much he'd taken or how much he had left to go. All he could do was relax, and let it violate him with as little resistance as possible.

But it wasn't good enough for the stranger. With a growl, the choking was over. Beau grabbed a wet breath while he could, and let his head fall forwards with the weight, lolling against the stranger's body. He felt a muscle tense against him, and smelt his saliva as it leaked out. The synthetic concoction singed his nostrils.

“Eventually, I will take you this way…"

The stranger was as breathless as Beau. He petted over the mask, before he fingered the gooey mess of his mouth. There were some new tastes there. Something sweet and citric; there for a blink, then gone again.

“I never did see you take a toy as large as this. It'll be fun to see how much of a cock slut you really are. I wonder how much you'll swallow before you begin to break."

“Ah!"

“Aw; don't worry. I'll be here to put you back together again."

The fingers suddenly grabbed his jaw and shoved. Beau was weightless, before his back thudded against the ground. His arms and legs flailed as he tried to catch his bearings. All the rolling made him feel like a tire-flipping exercise. He could no longer drool at all, and the salty mix all rolled down into him, forcing him to swallow. His tail was pinned uncomfortably beneath him.

“Cute…"

He listened as the stranger circled him until he was by his head. Twisting, the canine tried to crawl out of his reach, but a cock stopped him short. It slapped his nose, before his head was pulled flat against the floor, exposing his neck to the ceiling. The stranger's length rested on top, and ended in the middle of his chest.

“Good toy. You're adorable laid out like this. Your mouth is so much prettier as my fleshlight."

Beau whimpered as the cock plunged back into him. This time, there was no curve to enter his gullet. His head was in line with his neck, and there was nothing to stop the penetration going further. Even as the fat head cut off the retriever's air and made him writhe, the man kept going and going.

“Felt it, yet. Perhaps a little deeper…"

The man shoved another inch. All at once, vibrations shook Beau's crotch. He arched and groaned into the sensation, his moans likely pleasing the invading prick. But he couldn't bring himself to care. His throat-fucking suddenly had a silver lining, even as he struggled to stay awake and gagged once again. Both the cage and the plug vibrated at an intense speed, without bumps or rhythm; just a constant hum that swamped his senses. The toys were well-made, and in moments, he felt desperate for an orgasm.

“God, you're so tight. You were made for this cock, bitch. Can you feel it, too? Your neck is perfect for me. We must've been made for these moments together."

The stranger slid back, and all the vibrations stopped. Beau let out a raw whine before he swallowed it down. He imagined the shudder of his voice also felt good for the man.

“Liked that? I thought it would be a helpful motivator. Don't get used to it, though. Someday it'll end, and you'll be glad for it. Happy, that you're nothing but my sleeve that pleasure of sucking me clean. You won't need anything else to get you off."

Beau felt another push to his crotch. It didn't give him any pleasure at all compared to what he'd just felt. The fog hadn't even faded from his head when the stranger slid back inside.

“You feel better— even better than I'd hoped… You have no idea how much I've wished for this."

Beau's lungs burned. Mixed with the vibrations, he could feel an oncoming headache. To make it worse, the man wasn't pulling back at all. Beau still hadn't reached the end of his endowment, and it hadn't become any harder for the man to ease inside. He kept going at the same torturous pace.

“That's it. We're nearly there, babe. It's a lot, but you'll have lessons to appreciate every inch of it. Nothing else will stay in that head of yours."

The pain in his chest took his attention when the stranger lay over him. The weight was sudden, and crushed the air from his lungs. It was clear that the man was much larger than he was, and probably not another dog. Beau had been laid upon before, and it was nothing like the mountain he now felt smothering him. He kicked his legs in pleasure as much as desperation– something between writhing and humping– until he was pinned completely. All the while, the cock kept going inwards. A series of pops signified a wider portion rolling over the rings, and into him, with all the rest. He felt thighs surrounding and muffling him on either side, and it became as quiet as when he first woke, except then he could still hear his own breath.

The motions grew slower until finally, wet fur met his nose. The stranger's balls had reached his muzzle. His musk was older, and more potent here, made in many layers over hours. It was Beau's last thought before he passed out.

A pop, and quick humps going back and forth brought him to wakefulness. Words fluttered distantly, but it was broken by Beau's breathlessness, and the bruising of his throat. Moisture flooded his cock. He had no idea if it was piss, pre-cum, or the end of his own orgasm. The bouts of pleasure and unconsciousness kept him distracted from everything.

The stranger was fucking him harder now. He was like the hug Beau first imagined, like an ocean holding him down above him.

The weight pulled back, and Beau could hear his captor all over again. His cock lay limp over his tongue. The retriever got three breaths until it was pounding back into him. This time, the man was going for deep thrusts: hardly pulling back enough for Beau to breathe. Hands clamped over his neck to tug him back into each push. The stranger's moans rose with each.

“Fuck! Come on; milk my cock, bitch. Suck it. Show me how much… Show– Fuck! Take it…"

Beau felt numb to the pain in his throat. As he prepared to pass out once again, he enjoyed the distant vibrations that teased him.

“Gah! There! Lick it up, my love. My toy. There you go."

“Glrk!"

The cock throbbed and grew larger, as the man screamed in ecstasy. It sounded agonising, if not for the twitching of his flared cock, stuffing Beau with his hot seed. It showered into him, thicker than before, and covering up all else. Rich in virile taste, and almost scathingly hot, it pooled over his gums, then down into his snout. He swallowed wads of it between frantic plunges, and felt the rest slorp to ground around him.

“Swallow it, bitch. Every drop should stay in that hole. That's all you toys are for. God…"

The stranger pulled out as it dwindled. Beau heard distant rain drops before it pushed up against his nose. He took the scent of his pleasure from the source, making him sneeze painfully. It didn't stop the faint relief and satisfaction he felt. He was like the toy the stranger promised him to be. His muscles were worn from their struggles. His bones were stiff, and ready for a good stretch. Yet, his whole attention was drawn to the flavours in his mouth, and the sweet rawness of his gullet.

It felt like he'd finished climbing a mountain. Yeah, it felt like shit, but it still left him with an unshakeable satisfaction that he'd managed to make it at all: willing or not. It made him feel like preening beneath the rubber and sweat. His wheezy gasps calmed, and the man's presence seemed to disappear entirely in the quiet.

He tried to imagine what he looked like. His head prone, covered in seamless black rubber. The flash of pink tongue peaking from the dark circle of his mouth. All soon smothered under streaming cum and lube as it pooled to the floor. Bubbling, with each scratchy wheeze. Tail twitching in its bindings above.

It was unsatisfying. Try as he might, he thought about the stranger's dick, and the way it felt poking into him. He tried to imagine its colour, and the size and feel of its balls that contained such a quantity of spunk for him to digest.

It tided him over for a time. Again, he wasn't sure how long. He wondered if the whole experience was a reality on loop, and in a moment, if he'd have to get up and start exploring again. His snout's hissing was beginning to grate, and his mouth was drying, despite all that filled it. He made a weary gurgle, but it didn't garner a response. He wasn't sure if he was expected to clamber back up. It was unlikely the muzzle was the only modified part of the suit.

The silence and nothingness became as painful as his neck. He sometimes nudged his arms, just to listen to the sounds of the material, and to feel his own muscle. Even his most masochistic fantasies seemed preferable to the continued void he was facing. He wanted to do more. What kept him in place was the knowledge of the stranger. As far as he was aware, the man hadn't moved away from his head. And, he probably didn't want Beau trying to escape again. If that was at all possible, considering what lengths he went through to control him in the first place.

Eventually, his patience paid off.

“You're going to love it here, Beau; I just know it. I will make those letters real, and we'll never be lonely again."

If he could have, Beau would have disappeared into the floor. Unlike before, the man's voice was subdued, and filled with a deep grief, which Beau didn't expect after their rapturous moment together. The voice was muted: almost alien now. With the manic highs gone, only a worn hollow remained. It made the canine consider how old his captor was. Despite all the man's monologues and letters, Beau knew nothing about him.

Feeling brave, he cleared his throat the way he did before. Fingers smeared over his tongue, but the man didn't reply.

Beau waited, and replayed the last few conscious moments, doing his best not to trail his tongue over the invading presence. It was hard, when it was the only thing happening in his world. He traced his blunt nails and the pads of his fingers, picking up the same rubbery stench that covered his body. Likely from all the fondling.

“I'll be back in a bit, Beau. I've got work to do, I'm afraid. I never told you, but I… never mind. Be a good boy, and…"

The delivery of each sentence was stunted and clunky, and sounded wrong even to Beau's ears. Which was frustrating, as his non-fearful mind had many questions. For example, 'What was he going to be each time the stranger finished dumping his load and went elsewhere? What was going to happen now?' The man seemed to have consistently bad timing.

“I…"

There was a distant sigh, then his head was guided upwards. It was pulled away from its nest of warmth, until his nose was pointed upwards. He felt a waft of hot air, then a different nose was brushing his own. The next breath was taken straight from the stranger's lungs, as the man tried to kiss him.

They moaned together. The bare touches of rough skin brought Beau shivers of delight, along with the thought of the man tasting himself. He felt a tongue pad against his own, then lapped up against his fangs. It was a lazy, open kiss, as Beau couldn't reciprocate at all, beyond the sounds of his own enjoyment. But he savoured the thick expanse of the man's tongue with a careless glee. It was much longer than his own, and it playfully prodded at his throat between gulps. Hands petted his shoulders and collarbone.

“Beau," the man whispered, before pulling back.

With some disappointment, Beau prepared himself for another bout of silence, until the stranger hawked and spat. A blob of saliva stung his throat. He coughed in surprise, before automatically swallowing it down with all the rest.

“No; hold it."

The man knocked his head to the side, and spat again. It was more adhesive, and stuck in place until Beau rolled it over with his tongue. The degradation had him squirming even more than the rest of his treatment combined: knowing the man was watching his mouth. Unless he was wrapped in bubble wrap, it was his only visible part. Perhaps the only important part, to the man. And now, Beau would keep a final, slimy part of him there, long after he left.

The hand moved, and the weight was prodded again. He became aware of the ache in his jaws, as the rings deflated as fast as they'd appeared. Another hiss roared past his ears, and he heard nothing until his teeth were clamped back together. It was hard not to swallow again. The foreign matter had him salivating with no outlet.

“Goodbye, my love."

He got a quick peck on the tip of his nose. The man's voice returned to its prior enthusiasm.

“I promise you won't get bored while I'm gone. There are already hundreds of hours made, and I'll be making more as often as I can. You'll know if you're hearing the same one over and over again, I'm sure. Though maybe that'll be fun, too. We'll see."

The retriever felt the ground rise beside him, then distant steps. A metallic door groaned, so he was in a room somewhere. A cool breeze whistled through.

“Enjoy paradise, pet."

The door slammed behind him. Silence, and nothing once again.

…

Beau did have to swallow in the end. Soon after, he stretched his muscles as much as he could, but he had a feeling he should get used to the discomfort. It couldn't be easy getting the suit on and off.

He lay for a long time. With the chain dropped, and the man certainly missing, he could try to explore. Instead, he lapped over the tastes, smells, and sensations of what was presumably his new future, if boredom didn't kill him soon. He kicked with the stumps of his limbs and rolled now and then. It left him feeling like a piece of clothing, tossed aside, and forgotten.

But strangely, he quite enjoyed waiting on the whims of the lunatic. It really was what his fantasies were, and what he'd touched himself to in each of the letters. If given the choice, he would have protested, and bitten the stranger's dick off. But now he felt almost giddy. His tongue ran over the plastic, wondering what else they'd try together. He couldn't stop himself clenching around the toy that fit snugly within him.

Beau jumped as audio started in his ears. The sound of his hissing breaths, and the slow creaks of his suit, were replaced by the stranger once again. His voice was smoother than before. He was panting, and clearly using a cheaper microphone than the one built into Beau's mask. Whenever there were gaps in his speech, a wet slapping filled the room.

“Hello, my love. This is tape— this is tape number one. Fuck! You won't believe how long this has been taking me to put together.

“Now all you've got to do is listen, and to do… and to do as I say. I'm– fuck— listen to this."

The microphone moved, and for a moment, Beau heard birdsong. It was the first natural sound since leaving home, and he was lanced with sudden pain. It was an unbearable longing, so potent, he knew he would've doubled over into tears if he was at home. He wasn't sure if it made him shed a tear in the present, as the microphone reached its destination. The slapping filled his ears. He heard wet fur tugging back and forth, and a sloppy, gooey sound at the motion's zenith.

“All I want you to do, is to listen to my voice, and my cock, toy. That's the only thing you will ever have to worry about again. I want your thoughts to drain away. Just listen and enjoy."

The motions sped up, and his moans doubled in volume. Anywhere else, and Beau would have called them fake.

“I've… I've coated myself in a cream. It's mostly a smooth white, but has become bubbly in my hand. Imagine the cream, my love. Imagine its taste, its texture, its smell, and the way it looks in the palm of my hand…"

The audio went on and on. The stranger described the cream wrapped around his dick, the way it was shaped, and the feeling of pleasure as he stroked it, and how much better it would be buried in Beau's throat. For a second, the retriever really did feel that a cock had lodged itself into him. He wouldn't know when it would happen in the real world. He also had no idea if it would be real or not. There was nothing but the audio, and the erotic sounds of the man's moans.

A part of him wanted to return and treasure what he'd lost from the deep part of himself that would never forget. But it hurt. And as the man told him to relax his throat, and to imagine the cream filling him, and the incessant throbbing making him gurgle and choke, Beau let himself forget.

Time went on, and different sounds played one after another. His mind shrunk into a tiny, singular point: the pleasure of his adoring stranger.