FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Deep in the heart of the city, alone on a dark avenue, a silver Lexus rolled at a breakneck pace. A stocky man with short black hair gripped the wheel white-knuckled in one hand, and was using the other to loosen his smart, red tie. He was drenched in sweat, not from any physical exercise, but from the taxing mental exercise of managing an investment firm in such a competitive and volatile climate.

"Those sons of bitches," Stewart growled, slapping his tie down into the passenger seat. "Worthless, spineless bastards."

Turning his eyes back to the empty road, he saw on the left side, amidst the unlit apartment blocks, a dot of light. A small, single-story rectangle stood there, with a few small rectangular windows that blazed yellow light onto the street. Barely visible by the light through the dirty windows, a simple, untreated wooden sign read 'Bar', in what looked to be white paint. So aggravated by the day's events, and unready to return home to brood about it, Stewart pulled a sharp left turn into the empty three-car parking lot. He stepped out of the car, nudging his already undone seat-belt, and hastily threw his black jacket onto the passenger seat with his tie. Now in a white and blue striped shirt with his suspenders showing across his shoulders, he locked the door, slammed it shut, and marched through the door.

The door gave a dull chime from a rusted bell as he stepped onto the yellowed tile floor, washed in yellow fluorescent light. It was certainly the dingiest bar he'd ever been in. The cream-painted walls were faded and stained with various drinks. The two wooden booths that sat against the left wall had their red upholstery all torn up. There were only four tables, apart from the bar, that looked like their legs could collapse at any minute. All of their tops were stained, as if they hadn't been wiped down in years. A single door to a bathroom sat in the center of the far wall, and he didn't dare imagine what it was like in there. The stools at the tables and bar were wooden and flat, looking like they were barely serviceable, let alone comfortable. The bar itself was a simple wooden box, finished with sandpaper and not much else. Two stained brass taps, unlabeled, sat at the counter, and a short, wider man with a stained bar rag was busy rubbing down some bar glasses. There was a wall of empty shelving behind him, and a door off to the side that led into some back room.

"Good evening, s...sir," the barkeep greeted, stuttering over his 's'. "I am Cyrus...s, and this is my bar."

"Get me something fast," Stewart growled, taking a seat at the end of the bar. It was completely empty in there, besides him and the barkeep, but he took little notice of it.

The man reached down and took what Stewart would have to consider a fresh glass from under the counter. It didn't have any stains on it, at least. The man stuck it up under the tap and pulled the handle, a dark liquid pouring out and foaming lightly at the top. It was filled to the brim and brought to him, not a drop dripping down the side.

"What is this stuff?" Stewart asked, gazing through the glass at the drink. It was nearly black, but he could still see hints of golden brown when the light shone through it.

"The house s...stout, s...sir," the man stuttered, suddenly tweaking a glass with his rag again. "I brew it here."

"You brew it?" he asked.

The man just nodded quickly, his eyes wide, as if afraid.

Stewart took another skeptic glance at the drink, at the man, and then rolled his eyes. Wrapping his fingers around the slightly warm glass, he put the rim to his lips and took a sip. Immediately, a rich, warm buzz rolled over his tongue, heavy like a dark-roast coffee and smooth like golden pale ale. His eyes went wide as he was stricken by the flavor, and his lips spread to allow more of the drink to pass through. It slid down his throat in a clump, like the beer was more gel than liquid, but it only served to empty his glass faster. With a sharp intake of breath, he put the glass down on the table and looked over at the man, who was watching him expectantly.

"I've never tasted beer this good," he said. "What's your secret?"

"My s...secret is a secret," the barkeep replied, a sly grin cracking his very round face.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Stewart said, sliding his glass back and glancing about at that empty room. "Is it normally this empty in here?"

"I am s...still new," the barkeep said, pouring him another drink. "Only two or three months now."

"And no customers yet?" he asked.

"Two other men, and you," the man said. "The other two have not come back."

"Have you done any advertising?" he asked.

"Advertis...sing?"

"You really are new here," Stewart remarked, downing the second mug. He dropped it back onto the countertop and stood up, taking a step back from the bar towards the door. "How much money do you have to spend?"

"I have one thous...sand dollars left," the man replied.

"By an ad in one of the newspapers, clean the place up, and get a real sign over the door. That will get some customers in here," Stewart began. "Don't buy anything else. Just stick with what you're making. That will keep them coming."

"Oh, thank you. Mis...ster?"

"Just call me Stewart," he replied, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the table before heading for the door. "I'll stop in next time I'm looking for a drink."

"Be careful driving home," the barkeep called after him, until his voice was muffled by the thick wooden door.

"What a weird accent," Stewart muttered, rushing through the cold air to where his Lexus sat.

****

When Stewart stopped in front of the bar one week later, he was surprised to see that the small parking lot was packed, along with the curb in front of the building. Everything from rusty pickups to minivans and stylish sedans were parked around the bar, and the sounds of drinking and laughter filtered out through the thick walls and into the streets. Stewart pulled up on the opposite side of the road and crossed the desolate asphalt, watching the light in the windows flicker as boisterous men went past them. Above the door was a clean white sign that read "Bar" is crisp red lettering.

"Hey barkeep! Another round for everyone!" a man shouted as Stewart crossed the threshold. The crowd went up in cheers. He couldn't help smiling as the thirty or so men packed the bar seats, drinking and having a merry time.

"Stewart! Oh mister Stewart!" Cyrus began shouting above the crowd. He was so excited that he didn't even stutter. He was flagged into the only open stool in the bar, far from the tap and the hawks that circled it. He went to the back of the bar and sat down, glancing around at everyone. Their clothing was just as diverse as their vehicles outside. He knew that they couldn't have come together, and yet they were all talking and laughing like the oldest of friends would.

"Whatever you're doing, you're doing it right Cyrus," Stewart said, looking across the bar at the beaming bartender. "I don't think I've ever seen people get this close, even with beer to help them."

"My beer is made with love, Mister Stewart," Cyrus replied. "That makes the people who drink it love, too."

"Yeah, well, we can work on a better tag line later," he chuckled.

"Oh. Let me get you a drink," Cyrus said, and shuffled away hurriedly towards the tap. As soon as he pulled up a glass and began to pour, the crowd of people hovering over the tap began hollering, reaching over and wrapping Cyrus in group hug. They shouted their praise for all to hear while Cyrus blindly filled the glass, pulled too far forward by the crowd to see what he was doing. He stopped filling with about half-an-inch left before the rim, and with hasty nods wriggled himself out of the crowd's grip. He scurried the beer back over to Stewart, and left it on the counter for him.

"You seem to be doing well for yourself tonight," Stewart commented, motioning to the group by the tap as they refilled their own glasses and threw twenty dollar bills back behind the counter. "How are your sales this week?"

"I've sold more tonight than I have since opening," he replied with a grin.

"How many kegs have you gone through tonight?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve?" Stewart gawked, and looked down at his watch. "It's only eleven-thirty. When did this party start?"

"A few hours ago, everyone seemed to come at once," the barkeep replied. "I just replaced the keg before you arrived, and I'm sure it will be empty soon, as well."

Stewart chuckled and took another sip of his beer, watching the boisterous group of men crowded around the tap. While the rest were enjoying their latest full glass, two of the men suddenly broke from the group and rushed away to the washroom. The door pushed open and shut as they charged through and disappeared. He glanced over at Cyrus, and saw him watching the two men as well. The smaller man smiled, and then tightened his jaw, changing from a smile of happiness to...something else. Regardless, the scene reminded Stewart of the tension of his own bladder, and drank down the rest of his beer before standing from the bar.

"Don't let anyone take my seat," he called to Cyrus, who was back at the tap filling a mountain of glasses.

"Of course," Cyrus replied with a grin, and watched as Stewart walked through the bar towards the bathroom door. "Oh, S...Stewart! Wait!"

Stewart had never been in this bathroom before. It seemed clean enough, despite the cleanliness of the bar outside. It was a pretty large bathroom, too, which surprised him. The line of urinals was on the far side of the room, with sinks on the left and stalls on the right. There was also a large drain in the center of the floor, which looked like it would drain anything out of the sinks or stalls if they overflowed. The stalls themselves were unlike any he'd seen before. They were massive, going all the way to the ceiling, and seemingly build right into the walls. The doors were sturdy, and a large grate ran along the bottom of it. The two men that had come in before him were nowhere to be found. Crossing the floor to one of the urinals, he unzipped his pants and began to relieve himself. When the last drops had dripped free, he stowed himself and turned for the sink. He stopped dead in his tracks as a river of golden liquid poured from the first stall and into the drain. It trickled like water as it flowed, and the room filled with a heady scent. A few moments later, the river ceased, and one of the two men stumbled out of the stall. He leaned on a sink momentarily, rubbing his forehead, before straightening up and rushing out. Stewart stared for a moment, then moved to the nearest sink and began to wash his hands. He heard a groan from his left, and did a double take when he saw the second man stumbling out of the same stall. He, too, leaned on the sink for a moment, before hurrying out after his friend. Stewart shut off the water shakily, and shuffled across the floor to peer into the now open stall. It was completely clean. The toilet was closed, and nothing clung to the walls or floor. Even the river of liquid he'd seen earlier had left no trace. He stopped at the next sink to splash some water on his face before heading towards the door.

Back in the bar, Stewart could see the two men back amongst the throng by the tap, once again drinking and laughing as if nothing had ever happened. He took his seat at the bar stool again, and stared down at his glass, darker and fuller than when he had left it.

"Maybe I shouldn't have another one, Cyrus," Stewart said. "I think these things are really hitting me tonight."

"Having trouble at work again?" the bartender asked.

"Oh, I just can't take it there anymore," he replied, shaking his head with a scowl. Despite his early protest, he picked up the glass and took a long draw from it. "It's my job to plan future investments, for god sakes. It doesn't work when I tell them to go one way, and they throw all the money the other way. I should just take what money I have left and run."

"But what would you do?"

"I'd put it into something I thought I could make money on," he replied, polishing off the glass. "Somewhere that the money would really make a difference. Like here."

"What?" Cyrus asked.

"Hit me again," Stewart said, pushing the glass back towards the man to be refilled. "No, I think that's a good idea. I'd like to come in as a co-owner of this bar."

"Mr. S...Stewart, I don't know what to s...say," the man replied quietly, putting the full glass back down on the counter.

"No, I've made up my mind," Stewart said, shaking his head. A sweat was starting to build on his brow and arms, the warmth in his stomach turning into a slow burn. He downed half the glass, before unceremoniously dropping it on the table, a few drops bouncing out onto the countertop. "We're going to build a brand, bottle, and distribute this great beer all over the United States."

"Bottle," Cyrus repeated, dumbstruck. "You mean people wouldn't even have to come into my bar to drink my beer?"

"Your bar will be in every backyard across this country by year's end," Stewart replied, finishing his glass with a satisfied sigh. "I have an old buddy, a friend from high school. He works at distribution for Anheuser-Busch. I'll give him a call in the morning to talk shop. He's got connections all over the north east."

"Mister Stewart, I could not be more excited." Cyrus cried, leaping over the counter to embrace the man. His short legs flailed back and forth as he and Stewart laughed, and a cheer rose from the crowd around the tap. "A drink for everyone! On the house!"

Another cheer shook the windows, as men scrambled over each other to fill their glasses by themselves. Cyrus, despite his stature, batted all the arms away, and filled Stewart's glass for him before letting the others have their fill.

"A toast to Mister Stewart," Cyrus said, raising the full glass above his head before handing it to his patron. "Who will bring us into a new age of prosperity."

"Prosperity, huh?" he asked, holding the glass in front of his face as a grin broke his lips. "Screw prosperity. We're going to be filthy rich!"

Another cheer rose from the crowd as he downed the entire glass in four large gulps, and slammed the glass down with one hand while wiping the suds from his lip with the other. With four hardy beers in his gut, he was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot, and he could hear the liquid sloshing around inside his gut every time he shifted on his stool.

"What name should we market under?" he asked.

"Black snake," Cyrus replied, without a second of hesitation.

"Black snake," Stewart repeated to himself. "I like it. It's dark, smooth, and has a hidden bite to it. You should have gone into marketing, Cyrus."

"Beer is the only life for me," the bartender replied with a smile. He picked up Stewart's empty glass and placed it under the tap for a fifth time that night. As the handle came forward, the tap opened with a sputter, and no beer came out. A collective groan rose from the crowd, but Cyrus' smile only widened. He opened up a door under the counter and unscrewed the metal keg from the tap, placing it on the floor behind him with a hollow thud. A new keg came out from a small fridge placed next to the tap, and a quiet hiss rang out as the new keg was hooked up, the room silent with apprehension. The glass went under the tap again, and this time, black gold flowed freely. The excited crowd whooped with glee, and Cyrus handed the glass to a man nearest the tap. "Stewart, would you help me bring a new keg up?"

"Ah, sure," Stewart replied, his eyes locked on the man now drinking from his glass. The flip-up door to the back of the bar was just to his left, and he flipped it open to step behind the counter. Cyrus motioned to the empty container on the floor, which Stewart hoisted up with ease as the stocky man led the way through the back door.

A dimly let stairway met them on the other side, made of dingy brick walls and wooden floors. It was a steep decline, turning twice so when they stepped onto the basement floor, the noisy bar was directly above them. Dozens, if not hundreds, of kegs lined the walls, with a neat stack of empty kegs sitting off to the right. A huge wooden barrel sat in the middle of the room, raised on legs until it stood about a foot off the ground. Stewart could only guess that it held two thousand gallons.

"Is this how you make it?" Stewart asked, gawking up at the thing. "All in one big batch?"

"It does not take much to make beer heavy and flavorful," Cyrus replied. "Come. Place that keg with the others and follow me."

Stewart did as he was told, placing the empty keg on the top of the pile before following Cyrus towards the imposing structure. A wooden scaffold led to a wide platform that wrapped around the back of the barrel, level with its rim. It squeaked and shuddered as the two men climbed, the hand-rail wobbling loosely under Stewart's grip. Stepping as gently as possible behind Cyrus' confident footfalls, they reached the top of the platform. They came to a stop against the back railing of the platform, about six feet from the barrel's edge. From there, wrapped around the railing for support, Stewart could see a pale, golden liquid sitting within the container.

"What is this stuff?" he asked. "Is this really how you brew it?"

"I can assure you that this is correct," Cyrus said. There was something different about his air now. He stood very straight, with his hands crossed behind his back and a barely-contained smirk on his face.

"But this looks more like a pale ale than a stout?" Stewart asked. "How do you get it so dark?"

"Do you want me to show you?" Cyrus asked, the smile escaping from its poor restraints.

"I..." Stewart hesitated, staring warily at the shorter man. "Yes..."

The smile stretched ear to ear, and took on a sinister tone. "Exssscellent..."

Stewart's eyes widened and his jaw fell agape as Cyrus' pudgy body began to ripple and wave like jelly. The short man took one step towards him, his left foot melting into a puddle as he put weight down upon it. The rest of his body followed, falling into a sickly colored pool that was rapidly shifting to an endless shade of black. The pool flattened and spread, extending across four square feet of the platform before rippling violently and coming back together. It began to bud at the top, forming a cylinder about two feet in diameter. The tube rounded out and split at the end, forming a snout that smiled eerily at him. Pockets in the ooze opened behind the newly-forming nostrils, filling from within with white goo that resolved into eyeballs. Meanwhile, the tube of a neck continued to extend upwards, now standing six feet and showing no sign of slowing. A few feet down from the head, two slender tubes extended and began to fold, first once, then twice, then a third time, as the new arms segmented into its three parts. From the nub at the end of the forearm, five fingers grew in much the same fashion. As the neck tube rippled out and extended into shoulders, more black ooze rolled off towards the floor, linking back to the main body with thick strands and slowly filling into a wide torso. Lines of definition folded into the featureless body, molding into thick pecs and abs. As the creature continued to form, a long slit parted just beneath where its stomach would sit. From it sprouted two eighteen-inch shafts of goop, which molded two ridges and a long, tapered head. Whatever was left on the floor rolled over itself to narrow into a tail, and the monster seemed to be complete. Standing seven feet vertically, with two feet of length remaining on the platform, the snake-like monster grinned down at him with a sinister glimmer in his eye. Stewart fell back in alarm, his arms raising to cover his face as the creature bore down on him with thick-set fangs that shone in the dull yellow light. Throwing his arms apart and chest forward, the massive snake-monster threw his head back and unleashed a hissing roar, it's long, forked tongue flapping beyond its jaws. At the same time, a massive crest exploded from the creature's back, emblazoned with a swirling pattern of purple ooze that flowed in random curves that left him dazed.

"C...Cyrus?" Stewart asked, lowering his arms as the creature once again lowered its head.

"Cyrussss," the snake replied, its tongue flapping through the air once more. "You are not pronouncing the ssss correctly. But we will fix that soon enough."

"What...are you?"

"I am not the awkward, stiff flesh that you met me assss," the snake replied. "I am Cyrussss, of liquid. As I am and as I should be."

"I...I..."

"Do not be so afraid, Sssstewart," Cyrus replied, reaching forward with its slender right hand to cradle the man's stiff-set jaw. The fingers felt like cool latex gloves, and made his skin prickle as the smooth skin rolled around the side of his face and held him still. The grinning muzzle moved within a foot of his face, and he could see his terrified reflection in the rounded snout. "I do not intend to hurt you."

"What do...you want?" Stewart gulped.

"I want your money. I want your intelligenssss. I want your influenssss. I want everything you promised me and more," Cyrus said, and his tongue slipped out to brush along the left side of Stewart's face. A warm, sticky substance was left behind, slowly trailing down his cheek. "I want you."

John flinched back and shut his eyes tight as the tongue flourished off of his chin. When he opened them a moment later, Cyrus was at the side of the barrel, smirking at him. "You wanted to see how it is darkened?"

"B...Black snake," Stewart whispered.

"Dark, smooth, and with a hidden bite," Cyrus replied. "You said it yourself. Now how about one more drink, to toasssst the night?"

The snake moved towards Stewart once again, this time with a slow, deliberate slither. There was something predatory in his stare, and Stewart glanced over his shoulder at the drop that awaited him should he decide to jump. He wasn't a particularly fit man, and there were stairs beneath him. He could break his leg, or face the snake. The creature drew nearer, within arm's length, and extended his hand to grip around his chin again.

"How about something...sssstraight from the tap?" Cyrus asked with a smirk, and shifted his twin shafts within an inch of Stewarts face. The hips were pressed forward, the two tapered shafts grinding against his frozen cheeks, until his face was molded in the liquid that made up the creature. The shafts were dragged back over his face, leaving another slick trail across his smooth skin, until they hung at his lips. His eyes darted between the slick heads that demanded entrance, and the smirking face that hung above him, eager to take whatever it wanted of him. "Wrap your mouth around the tap like a good human. What is the term you usssse? 'Party animal'?"

Stewart kept his lips tightly pursed as the twin shafts waved before him, bobbing in wide arcs. His wide eyes followed the two tips unblinking, afraid if he looked away for even a moment, they would embed themselves into him.

"Now, now, Sssstewart," Cyrus said. "I thought we were going to work together? Will you make me do all the work?"

Stewart tried to turn his face to the side, to get the two shafts away from his mouth, but the grip on his chin was too tight. The smirk on Cyrus' face turned to a scowl, and without warning or wisecrack, one of the two shafts was pushed firmly against his lips. The tapered end wedged between his jaws and spread it wide open, allowing unhindered entry as the oddly firm shaft pinned his flattened tongue. The shaft was hot, and tasted of heady grains and smooth liquor. He had tasted this flavor before. It was just like the beer. He tried to sputter and spit the shaft out of his mouth, but the creature's hips were mashed tightly to his face. Not even thinking, he bit down hard on the invading object. The rubbery skin pinched under the force of his jaws, and a bubble began to form at the end of the shaft as liquid pooled up within it. A moment later, the whole thing popped, spraying hot goop all around the inside of his mouth and straight down his throat. He coughed and gagged, collapsing to his hands and knees as Cyrus backed off.

"Now, Sssstewart. If you wanted me to burst in your mouth, you only had to ask," Cyrus said, that triumphant smirk once again returning to his snout. His left shaft, split open and dripping a black substance onto the floor, quickly bulged and stretched back into its original shape leaving him no more worse for wear.

In the meantime, Stewart was busy hacking at the ground, trying to cough up what had been put into his body. That...thing had made the beer he had enjoyed so much. He had helped to push it into success, and now he wanted to sell it all over the country. What was he thinking? He had to get out of here. He tried to stand, managing to prop himself on his knees before his stomach rolled around itself and he collapsed to the floor again. He felt so hot all of the sudden, and his bladder was full to bursting, when he had just emptied it ten minutes before. He began to sweat profusely, the thick liquid drenching his shirt and pants until they stuck to him like spandex. Hanging his head, he began to gasp for breath, as huge drops of sweat dripped from his forehead and nose to splash against the wooden platform. He tried to use the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, but found that he could not clear the skin. Liquid just kept pouring down around him, through his clothes, and pooling onto the floor. He watched his hands, sitting in the puddle of sweat, being coated in a thick layer of the stuff that seemed to get thicker every second. It was like being enclosed in a bubble of water. He lifted his afflicted hand, trying to free it, but the bubble moved with him, hanging from his skin no matter how hard he shook.

"What...What have you done?" Stewart looked up, terrified at the smile that Cyrus was aiming down at him. It was no longer a smirk of victory and control. It was far more sinister, almost maniacal.

"Letting you ssssee firsthand how the drink is made," Cyrus replied, his voice level despite his face. "Sssshowing you how all the greatest brews of the age have been made!"

Stewart cowered beneath the snake-creature, juices running from his every pour like rivers. It wasn't long before the weight of the liquid are his wrists and ankles kept him immobile, and could only struggle against his bounds. His reckless writhing only managed to throw him forward, and he smacked hard against the wooden floor. His mouth landed in the puddle of thick liquid, with some of it splashing onto his tongue as his mouth opened from the force of the impact. As the droplets inside his mouth merged and pooled, the strangest flavor coated his tongue. It was smooth and gentle, with a hint of sweetness behind it. It had the tingle of alcohol, but it was so light that he almost mistook it for his imagination. He looked down at the floor, and saw the puddle glimmer with a gentle golden tone against the darker wood. In fact, it looked like the same golden color he'd seen running into the bathroom drain. He turned his head to the left and gazed up towards the ceiling. In the dim light, he could just make out the spout of a drain running straight down from the ceiling, which hung directly above the huge barrel next to them. The barrel filled with Cyrus' beer.

The fluid was quickly rising, now up to his shoulders. It was growing in a long pod along the floor, keeping him entirely secure as the warm beer continued to rise around his body. He turned his head back, and noticed that the stuff had eaten through his soaked clothes, leaving him completely naked. The liquid wrapped up across his back, causing him to shiver as the last of his skin was wrapped up in the warm cocoon. Only his head was free now, but he could feel the stuff quickly crawling up his neck towards his face. He gave one last, ditch effort to free himself, but it did no good. The beer wrapped over his ears, filling his head with the sounds of rushing fluids, and he took a deep breath before shutting his eyes tight. A moment later, it slipped around his nose.

The only things Stewart could detect inside his liquid cocoon were the warmth of the flowing fluid and the beating of his own heart. The beer had slipped into every open orifice and around every flap of his body, holding him tight. The only thing left untouched was his mouth, but he was quickly losing that battle. Every second the pressure around him grew, as he assumed his prison grew bigger, and the fluid was beginning to slip between his lips. He could taste it, pooling under his tongue. He couldn't hold it much longer, the pressure was just too great. His muscles trembling, he finally gave way, his lips parting to allow the waiting liquid to rush into him all too quickly. In less than a second, he felt the beer move into every space inside him, down his throat, up his nose, and into his trachea. He coughed and hacked at the fluid filling his lungs, and wrenched his eyes open suddenly. But they didn't feel like his eyes. He could still feel the liquid all around him, but he was looking from the outside, down a stubby translucent snout. He tried to move his arms and legs, but they would not move. He tried his neck next, trying to look back over his immobile shoulders, but too much of his body rotated. In front of him, he could see the first foot of Cyrus' body, with the rest towering high above him.

"Oh, look at you," Cyrus cried, suddenly hoisting him up his eye level. Stewart could feel his body sliding against the floor, and just felt his end leave the floor when Cyrus stopped. "You look much better now."

"What happened!?" Stewart asked, his jaw movements feeling alien as he spoke. "What did you do, Cyrussss."

"That's it!" The snake-creature exclaimed, a huge grin crossing his face as he raised Stewart like a newborn baby to the sun. "That'ssss how you pronounce my name."

He couldn't stop himself. The sound had just slipped out. As he thought about it, he caught his tongue flicking out of his mouth of its own accord, waving its two-tined head through the air and gathering an enormous range of tastes and scents. He could almost taste the beer in the barrel nearby, without even having a drink of it. In fact, he could still taste the beer while his tongue was inside his mouth. It was overpowering to have that light flavor and smooth buzz on his tongue all the time. Looking down at his snout again, he could see its pale golden color flowing in a wide pattern behind a clear, shiny layer.

"Am I...the beer?" he asked, beginning to tremble in Cyrus' firm grip.

"Yessss," Cyrus said with a hasty nod. "Is it not wonderful? You are just like me now."

"You...are beer, too?"

"You are the flavor, and I am the body," Cyrus replied. "It is only when we mixsss that we become a true brew."

"Issss it permanent?" he asked.

"Oh, heavenssss no," Cyrus replied. "Do you have any idea how many snakes there would be sssslithering around if it were. No, after we mix, you will go back to normal."

"Mixsss?" he asked hesitantly. "How do we mixsss?"

"The more passssionate we are, the better the taste," Cyrus replied. His lips darted forward and locked to Stewart's in a heavy kiss. His tongue tickled at the outside of his snout, and he had no control as his mouth opened. He could see through the translucent skin of his snout how the pitch black tongue wrapped and wrestled with his own, as black saliva dripped over his lips to pool against the floor of his mouth. The taste of alcohol in his mouth intensified as Cyrus rubbed against the inside surfaces of his mouth, darkening the insides to look like the beer being enjoyed in the bar above. He found his body responding far more actively to the kiss as the seconds passed, as his tongue began to fight back against Cyrus. He could feel a hand tracing down his right side, foot after foot registering the snake-creature's touch, until the end of him, a rounded tip, was pinched and wiggled. He moaned into the kiss as he was suddenly pulled tight to Cyrus' chest, his circular body fitting between the massive pecs and making Cyrus seem that much larger and more intimidating. He felt a blast of erotic pleasure as his shaft, now split in two and tapered on both sides, was mashed between himself and Cyrus' abs, while Cyrus' much larger shafts ground into the giving skin where his tailhole should be.

The much larger snake-creature slowly uncoiled his tongue from Stewart's and pulled their lips apart, fixing him with a sultry stare. "I told you that my beer was made with love," he said, and suddenly sprang into the air, pulling Stewart along with him. They splashed down together in the massive barrel of beer, with Cyrus on top and forcing him down towards the bottom. As they sunk together, Cyrus pressed his body tight to Stewart's, and his pointed shafts pierced his thin, rubbery exterior and it felt as if his own ass was being filled. At the same time, his twin shafts pierced through Cyrus' stomach, and a warm, tight sensation overtook him. He couldn't really move, or breathe, or squirm at the bottom of the beer pool. In fact, he couldn't really tell his own body apart from all the rest of the beer around him. The only thing he knew for certain were the massive walls of pleasure that boxed him in as Cyrus thrust against him.

He didn't really know what was going on around him, only that his end was approaching far too quickly. Without a strict definition of body shape, he found that different parts of him were showing up all over the pool. When he opened his eyes, he found them in separate places. His left eye was keenly watching Cryus' black shafts thrusting into him, a gelatinous area that seemed separate from the rest. He could make out the clear coating clenching and molding to the shape of the cocks as they moved, in much the same way that Cyrus' skin was doing it his shafts just above. His right eye, on the other hand, was staring down the snake-creature's wide throat. He could see his black tongue lashing around his eye as he panted and groaned, with black saliva dripping out into the beer around him. At the back of his mouth, the fluid flexed and contracted with vigor.

A moment later, he felt the massive shafts embedded in him swell and shudder, at the same time his did inside Cyrus. He finished first, with the most massive orgasm he'd ever felt roll through his strange body and explode through his twin shafts. A second later, Cyrus finished, blowing an equally massive load of hot, inky blackness into Stewart. Whatever was left of his snake body was blown apart, and he suddenly felt human again. His arms and legs moved the way they were supposed to, but at the moment, he could only flail them wildly, with minimal success. His lungs instinctively opened to take in fresh air, but quickly shut again as burning beer and liquid snake semen rushed in. Stuck at the bottom of the pool, with no air in his lungs and no strength to swim to the surface, Stewart slowly began to black out.

"Now, now, no need for that." Cyrus' voice came through his left ear. He could feel a warm, smooth hand cupping his left cheek and hot air blowing against his face. Suddenly, his chest lurched as beer began to pour from his mouth, spastic coughs echoing around the room.

"Ssshhh, Ssshhh," Cyrus cooed. "That'ssss a good boy. Get it all out."

Every time he tried to breathe, streams of beer would rush back into his lungs and choke him again, sending him into another fit. When he began to feel numb, and his lips turned blue, Cyrus stepped in. He leaned in and locked their lips into a deep kiss, his massive maw covering well beyond Stewart's small mouth in warm, black wetness. His longue tongue slithered through the man's mouth as he coughed, and like a snake in itself, wriggled down his throat and into his trachea. Stewart felt a powerful suction against his face as Cyrus sucked the beer from his lungs, the last droplets leaving in a rush of air as his lungs were left empty in his chest. The corners of Cyrus' mouth extended up to allow fresh air to enter their combined mouth before the snake blew it down into the space, now breathing for him. His slender tongue was wrapped in Cyrus' tender embrace, swinging him back and forth as the snake provided air to him. It may have only been the buzz of alcohol through his bloodstream, but he felt very safe with Cyrus so close. The way his lips were brushed by that big snout, the way his hair was softly stroked by that soft left hand, and the way his balls were fondled and rolled against the warm palm of the right hand. All of these caused Stewart's muscles to loosen, and for him to hang in anticipation of Cyrus' every move.

"There. Feel better?" Cyrus asked, breaking their supple kiss.

"Yes, thank you," Stewart replied.

"From now on, I will be here to take care of you," Cyrus stated firmly, stroking down Stewart's neck. "I will make sure you are fed and happy, and any family you have will also be brought into my coilssss."

"I have no other family," Stewart replied, the buzz in his brain so wonderful and encompassing.

"Then I will be your family," Cyrus said, lifting the man to his feet and wrapping him against his chest in a tight embrace. His head snaked down and tongue flicked out against the edge of the man's ear. "And so long as you make us money, we will love each other."

The words sounded too good in Stewart's ears. They sounded like false promises, and yet he knew deep down in his tingling gut that they would never be broken. He reached up and wrapped his arms as far around the snake-creature as he could, not quite able to touch his hands on the other side, and pressed his head against the smooth chest.

"Look at what we have done," Cyrus said, and turned them both to look over the pool of beer. Instead of the pale yellow that used to fill the massive barrel, the entire pool had darkened to a near-black hue. "You helped me make an excellent batch."

Stewart could only smile, and began to shake with silent, giddy laughter. Pale yellow drips began to abruptly fall into the pool from far above, the sound echoing across the large open room. The drips soon escalated into streams, and soon after, a whole torrent was flowing from the drain in the ceiling.

"It seemssss the others are having fun without ussss," Cyrus said, smiling brazenly. "Let us hurry, before they are finisshhed."

The amount of energy it took Stewart to stand on his own seemed to be exponentially high, and he found himself to be quite limp as he tried to take a few steps. His arms hung loosely at his sides, flopping with his every twist, and it looked as if he might tip over at the waist if he went to fast. He made his way over to the stairs, Cyrus watching with a smile and a chuckling behind him as he stumbled back and forth across the platform. When he tried to take the first step down, a hand on his shoulder stopped him, and another reached around to hoist him up into the snake's arms. Cradled against the soft body, Stewart simply sat there and enjoyed the ride, feeling again like a young child in the arms of his father. The ride was the smoothest he'd ever felt, the snake-creature's body conforming perfectly to every bump and crevice in their path. The trail took them down the stairs, around the pool, and back up to the bar, which was now deserted. The sound of rushing fluid could be heard coming from the direction of the bathroom, were a small pool of pale yellow liquid rolled from under the door. Cyrus made a beeline to it, waiting a moment outside the door to flash Stewart a wicked grin before pushing his way inside. Within the narrow corridor the four stalls of the bathroom all thirty-or-so patrons of the bar had packed in tight, all wrapped into pale-gold snake bodies and writhing against one another. Stewart could see the original man, naked and rosy-cheeked, suspended in each body, as he must have been moments before.

"This is what makessss our beer," Cyrus said to him. "They start the processss, and we finisshh it."

"I want to help," Stewart said, his gaze swapping between the slithering orgy and Cyrus with alcohol-fuelled reverence. His loins surged with lust and longing, and yet his shaft would not rise.

"Me too" Cyrus replied with a smirk, and tossed Stewart into the mass. He was immediately rolled, thrown, poked, and bashed by the writhing crowd, all looking to embed there stiff shafts into another body, or their own. After being jostled for what seemed like minutes, Stewart was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor, nearest to the drain where the others' alcoholic fluids were draining into the pool below. From the flurry of rolling bodies above and around him, two snakes emerged from the fray, slithering slowly across the tiled floor from either side. They were a calm juxtaposition against the disorganized rabble, looking more like they were silently stalking a mouse then looking for sex. Or, as Stewart suddenly thought, those two things were one in the same.

Both snakes were much larger than him in both size and weight, making them an intimidating sight as they slid silently towards him, tongues periodically scenting the acrid air around them. They came around and began to circle him, pinning him in place as they waited to strike. He had the strangest feeling, like he wanted to run as far away as possible, but the warm haze in his head quickly overtook this rogue thought. Not feeling eager to wait around, Stewart lay down on his back, the warm beer flowing around his soft skin. He spread his legs apart, giving the snake behind him an excellent view of his untouched anus. The snake behind him stopped for a moment, his tongue flicking out towards the lusty display, a moment before striking. Moving like bolts of lightning, both snakes pounced onto him, smothering him under a sloshing pile of gelled alcohol. The first snake brushed against his head and rolled his twin shafts onto Stewart's face, their tips mashing around his mouth. The second snake leapt between his legs, his cocks grinding up his bare stomach before resting at his chin. The twin snakes wriggled and bucked against him, attempting to force their collective cocks into his throat. They were as thick as his wrists past the tapered head, but he managed to fit two of the tips between his lips, although he wasn't sure if they were both being satisfied, or if one snake was left out. The heavy gyrations against his body pushed the shafts deeper into his mouth bit by bit, as well as rubbing roughly against his soft cock. His tongue reached forward and licked at the pointed, jiggling tips that had broken through his defenses. They twitched, surged, and pulsed, signaling the impending release of the two snakes. There wasn't a part of his body that could be moved freely. Everything was pinned and rubbed against by a one or more snakes, as the crowded orgy had collapsed in on them. Stewart wasn't sure if the rubbery skin rubbing against his hand was part of a body or the underside of a cock, but he squeezed it with wild abandon nonetheless.

"Good boyssss," Stewart heard in his ears, even as the thick snakes pushed against his ears. Looking down, he could see the murky black shape of Cyrus faze through the crowd and stop between his legs, the massive and beautiful crest on his back flexing with apprehension. Stewart felt the commanding snake-creature lift the tail of one of the other snakes, freeing up his hidden ass for use. He felt two warm hands come to rest on his now bent knees, and he could just make out the grin on his face as he felt a warm, wet tip bump against his anus and balls. With a slow, teasing thrust, Cyrus pushed past Stewart's meager anal resistance, spreading his hole wide while brushing against the man's now hard cock. The new touch was electrifying to Stewart, his back attempting to arch, but the weight on his torso too heavy to move. The first thrust was the only easy one, and the rest were given at full force. With his body pinned to the floor, his body had no room to move as their hips mashed together with wet slaps. Each thrust sent a wave of force and pleasure through his addled mind, making his cock jump and ass tighten in time. The slick member leaked its own lubricants, painting him an inky black but making each thrust glide like it was on ice. He wanted to writhe, pant, and moan against him, but with so many other needy bodies and cocks pressed against him, there was no room for selfishness.

"You have done well, my friendssss." As if on command, the bodies around him began to jitter and quake, pulsing inside his mouth and ass. The haze of alcohol that crowded his mind blew away, and the anaphrodisiac that kept his cock from relief lifted. A wail of ear-shattering pitch rose from the crowd as they all reached their peak together, a tidal wave of pale ale, black liquid, and regular cum blowing out in all directions. Every inch of the walls, ceilings, and floors were drenched in beer, and was did not stick dripped down and towards the drain, where the massive torrent could be heard flooding the pool below. Beer rushed out of Stewart's mouth like a fountain, joining the wave that rushed over his head. The gelatinous snake bodies of the men burst like balloons, adding even more to the wash that swirled and crashed. It was all over in a matter of seconds, leaving the room in a sticky, acrid-smelling coat. Thirty-odd naked men lay in a scattered, unconscious heap, piled over each other in compromising positions.

Every once and a while, one or two of the men would stumble to their feet, shake their heads, and stumble out the door. In the distance, the front door swung opened and closed, as the confused bar patrons stumbled to their homes or vehicles. In the middle of it lay Stewart, a dumb grin on his face as Cyrus spooned him, one cock still buried in his asshole and a black splatter running over his cheeks and halfway down his thighs. The snake-creature held him close with one arm, and used the other to draw warm patterns on his chest with black goop from his finger.

"Tomorrow, I want you to call your friend," Cyrus said into his ear, nuzzling the side of his head with his blunt snout. "Invite him over for a beer."

"I would love to," Stewart replied.

"And then, when we are...famoussss." Cyrus tickled his earlobe with his flicking tongue. "I want you to meet the rest of my family."