FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

All things considered, Desmond felt out of place at work. As nothing but a lowly intern, he came in wearing just blue jeans and a plain, white t-shirt - something of an unofficial uniform for the unpaid flunkies - and found himself incessantly saddled with the most dull and demeaning jobs just short of scrubbing the toilets, though the janitors were at least on the payroll. If he stuck it out, there would possibly be a fantastic job with a well-to-do company in his future, but all it did was leave him demoralized and depressed, and frequently dozing off as a result. On one such occasion, as he lay slumped beside the Xerox machine in a secluded corner of the office, he was swiftly awoken with a literal boot against his ass from his supervisor. "Sleeping again, Longhair?" the supervisor sneered, looking down his snout at the young fox. The supervisor was a dragon, and a handsome one, at that, but as dragons were apt to exhibit, he had a truly obnoxious superiority complex over creatures who didn't share his species. And, as Desmond was always being reprimanded, the red drake quite often took his prejudice out on the young vulpine alone, something his superiors never so much as batted an eye at, being dragons themselves - it never occurred to Desmond that, in his year of working there, he had never witnessed one of his fellow mammals earn a promotion and a suit, and had never seen a dragon in the blues and whites of internship.

"Sorry," Desmond mumbled with insincerity, standing and leaning against the wall. Of only an average height, the fox found himself no less than three feet shorter than his supervisor, and severely lacking in comparisons of musculature, too, so that dragon found it entertaining to bully and intimidate his least valuable intern. Pinning Desmond to the wall with his heavy paws, he leaned down as low as he could and huffed two nostrils full of smoke into his face, being the fire-breathing variety of dragon that he was. The way the tod's eyes watered and squinted shut brought a callous grin to his face. "I have a very special job for you today, Longhair," rumbled the dragon, his voice coming across so lewdly that Desmond expected to be propositioned then and there - altogether not a bad day at work, he thought. Of course, he was wrong. Letting the vulpine off of the wall, the supervisor pulled a crisp envelope from within the breast of his jacket and pressed it against the twink's chest until he clutched it. "This goes directly to Mr. Whiptail," he growled in deadpan monotone, his eyes drilling slits into Desmond's own, dominating him in such a way that the twink vulpine subtly cowered. "No fucking around this time, Longhair. Get moving, fox!"

"Alright, alright!" Desmond yelped, sidling along the wall to escape his supervisor, whose gaze stayed on him like that of a sentinel. As quickly as he could, he ran to the elevator, waited for many anxious seconds, dodged a gaggle of frantic interns as they emerged from it, and finally stepped inside. Turning around as the doors ding_ed closed, he took in the excessive row of buttons inside. One-hundred and sixty floors, four levels of parking garage, and a button at the very top labeled _P, which he knew meant penthouse, the luxurious office that few ever saw, and the place where the president of the company, Searlas Whiptail, ruled. With a tentative finger, he pushed the red button - contrasting the others with their dull yellow hue - and flinched when the elevator first lurched, then began to smoothly rocket its' way up to the penthouse. The LEDs above the door cycled through floors at a dizzying pace; watching it made Desmond feel ill, so he leaned against the railing of the wall and closed his eyes. An amazingly short time later, the elevator came to a halt, and the doors slowly opened, revealing a beautifully decorated hallway with, of course, two enormous draconian guards wielding matte black assault rifles. They stayed perfectly still as the young fox, clad in the derisive colors of the intern, emerged into the hall and slowly walked along its' length. In truth, the hall looked like what he would've expected from a palace; a fine Persian rug stretched from the mouth of the elevator to the mahogany double doors of the penthouse office, and marble pedestals stood along the sides of it; standing atop them were solid gold and silver statues of feral dragons in various poses of conquest and destruction, their eyes represented with various rubies, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds. Though the dull fox wasn't aware of it, he was clearly looking at the modern representation of a dragon's horde.

Finally, he stood before the two armed guards, standing in their pitch-black monkey suits, their eyes obscured by shades. He almost wanted to giggle at how ridiculous they looked. Then again, he didn't want to wind up shot, or broken in half, or the victim of any other ways they could've killed him if they wanted to. "I'm, uh, here to see Mr. Whiptail," the fox stammered, offering them a passable smile, though his flattened ears painted him as very, very afraid. They both canted their heads to look at him, but neither dragon said a word. Finally, after a truly uncomfortable pause, Desmond thought to present the envelope, signed by his supervisor in draconian script. At once, they nodded to the twink fox and stood to either side. "Uh, thanks," he muttered, pushing apart the enormous doors, finding that it took every ounce of his strength to budge them. What he stepped into was a skylit office, its' beauty second only to its' monetary value. Draconian statues made entirely of precious metals and pocked with gems stood like guardians, and priceless paintings were hung on every wall, including a colossal commissioned portrait of the black, handsome, ruby-haired Searlas himself whose domineering gaze left unease in the hearts of all who entered. The fact that such an enormous, opulent chamber existed above the dreary office hell he spent his daily life in left Desmond speechless. Interrupting the twink's stillness was a voice, one calm and smooth, even pleasant, but commanding as it echoed, picking up strength with every bounce. "If the guards let you in, you must have something for me. Bring it here."

Forcing himself to walk, Desmond stepped closer to the solid oak desk at the rear of the room, towards the dragon as he sat in his high-backed leather chair, turned away from the doors. Without a word, he set the envelope down on the desk, and the dragon turned. For a split second, he eyed the twink of a fox while simultaneously snatching the letter up, and just as quickly, he turned his back on the vulpine. "Nice hair you've got," said the drake as he tore the envelope open with a claw, "you seem to be quite a lovely vixen." His voice was even and gentle, as though it had been an honest mistake, though it flustered Desmond. As he opened his mouth to correct the drake, however, he was cut off: "You're an intern, right, girl? Go be a dear and fetch me some coffee." And then, before the tod could even ask where?, a clawed hand dramatically pointed towards a side door. "Rrf, alright," Desmond grunted under his breath, walking through that side door, in which he found, of all things, a full kitchen - and just off of that was a handsome, modern apartment, where the dragon apparently lived, probably without ever coming down. Though he felt an urge to explore, the last thing he wanted to do was draw the ire of the president of the company, and so he found a coffee mug and poured it full of re-heated coffee, just waiting on the counter. It surprised the tod to see that Searlas, with all his excessive decadence and draconian tastes drank black coffee, but he didn't dwell on the thought. Emerging from the side door and into the office which he felt so tiny in, Desmond carefully set the cup upon a coaster on that no-doubt priceless wooden desk, then merely waited across from the dragon.

Turning just enough to grab the cup, Searlas slid the now-signed forms within the envelope across the table, then took his cup, sipped from it, and put his back to the twink again. "Looks like another kid who couldn't cut it is losing his job," the dragon chuckled, taking another slow sip. As he glanced at the unreadable text on the sheet before him, Desmond felt a sense of dread, but he swallowed it, and listened to the dragon. "Some boy named Desmond seems to have pissed off my favorite power-hungry supervisor. Tsk, tsk." Searlas was oblivious as Desmond's heart sank, though the tod doubted the dragon would have cared, had he known. "Go on now, girl. Take those papers back to him for me." For any number of reasons, Desmond felt like crying; indignity and hatred were a good part of that. Roughly grabbing up the papers, the twink crinkled them into his paw, intending not to discard them, but toss them in the face of his supervisor. "Very well," Desmond said, his voice beginning to crack. "But for your information, Mr. Whiptail," said the tod in his best condescension, his shaking voice making the threat that he would soon cry, "I'm Desmond, you son of a bitch!" Just then, the fox turned, already starting to weep and sob, unable to stop himself; at the same time, Searlas whipped around in his chair, his green eyes positively glowing with anger, but on his face was a very controlled and cruel smirk. "Is it, now?" he growled, punctuating it with a sip of his coffee. "Looks like you better find a new job, boy. Preferably in another city, after an outburst like that."

Desmond whipped his head back, his lips quivering; he so clearly wanted to snap back, but nothing came to mind, and so he simply started towards the door. Though his gait was quick, and he clearly wanted to escape as quickly as he could, Searlas couldn't help but ogle the feminine sway of his hips, and the taut ass that the derogatory intern blue jeans so thoughtfully accentuated. "Stop right there, fox," the drake commanded, his voice suddenly such a booming authority that Desmond flinched and froze, then slowly turned. "Since you just lost your job," the dragon mused, taking another sip from his piping-hot coffee, turning himself to not look directly at the vulpine, "maybe I could offer you another position in my company." Every fiber of Desmond's being told him that he should leave, but to be offered a job by the president of the company was something he couldn't ignore. "What kind of a job?" Desmond asked with caution, though his voice was remarkably calm for somebody who had just shed tears. "A wise question, fox," Searlas chuckled, setting the coffee on the desk. He turned his back on Desmond completely, and then came the unmistakable zzzzzzt! of a zipper descending. The fox needed no further instruction, and none was offered. Walking over behind the drake's desk, he was treated to a lewd grin and the sight of Searlas' exposed penis, the black shaft already free of its' sheath, beginning to dribble with viscous precum. Its' shape closely resembled a human penis with its' rounded head and uniform shaft, and hanging below it, the drake had a set of external balls, plump and covered in a tender, smooth hide, the surface of which was not unlike flesh. "Oh, you can put that in the wastebin," Searlas said, nodding at the termination form; Desmond tossed the wadded papers into the nearby trashcan without a second thought, then knelt for the dragon.

As if approaching a venomous snake, Desmond slowly moved his head closer and closer to the drake's exposed penis, intently watching every throb and pulse of the meat. "Don't just look at it, fox," the dragon growled, loosely clutching the armrests of his fine chair. "Suck me dry. You foxes know how to suck cock as a matter of instinct." Desmond had no ground to defend himself, but wasn't sure if he even wanted to. The drake's scent, a heady musk that could play naughty games with any mammalian creature's instincts, had begun to take hold of him, and that saw any argument become less and less appealing. Very soon, all he wanted was precisely what he got; engulfing the dragon's member in the sultry heat of his muzzle, Desmond sucked and bobbed, twisting his head and dragging his teeth along the tender flesh of Searlas' penis in infinitely pleasing ways, proving immediately to the handsome dragon that he needed no resume to work beneath him. "Ooh, good, very good," Searlas grunted, soon losing much of his composure, freely stroking through the long, blonde locks that adorned the vulpine's head, feeding his young employee-hopeful a steady stream of his bitter-salty precum, a liquid so musky and sharp that it left a pleasantly tingling burn on his taste buds. In silence, the dragon took the tod's skilled blowjob, finding with delight that Desmond was not afraid to stir things up; he felt the velvet fur and cuddly, soft, pink pads of a vulpine paw clutching his scrotum, oh so gently groping, but mostly just holding the tender hide in a gentle way. With every suck and bob of the twink's muzzle, Searlas found himself huffing a little bit harder, losing a little bit more of his composure, but that was perfectly fine.

The dragon grunted with an involuntary growl, almost a snarl. "Keep that up, boy," he huffed, clutching the top of the young tod's head, "and you'll have a permanent position in my company." For several moments, Desmond continued to suck and slobber, and Searlas' length dribbled with yet more with the acquired taste of his preseminal fluid. "You're such a pretty boy," the drake suddenly whispered, leaning over top of the tod, looming over him, treating him to a broad grin on his lips. "Look at how good you are, Desmond," said the drake in reserved praise, squeezing a little tighter on the tod's skull. "I'm going to jizz right down your tight little throat," he hissed, licking his lips, glaring holes into the tod, "and you'll take it, you won't waste a single drop of it, will you? No, I know you won't, because you know my sperm is worth more than your whole family." It surprised Desmond that Searlas didn't chuckle or otherwise imply that that was simply a perverted joke, though it slowly occurred to him that, being worth billions upon billions of dollars, the dragon really was about to deposit a multi-million dollar load in his mouth. "Rrh, fuck, you've got a nice, tight face, fox," Searlas gasped, finding himself involuntarily bucking his hips, still holding on tightly to the back of his young subject's head. "For all my money and power, I couldn't buy a sissy half as skilled as you to suck me off," Searlas mused, his lewd thoughtfulness belying his coming orgasm, "yet you simply walked into my office, ready to be plucked from a pointless existence fit for a creature of your stature, ready to do something worthwhile like please me..."

Even with the drake's musk swimming around in his lungs and sinuses, filling his brain with hormones and pheromones, Desmond couldn't help but feel the bitter slap of the words, the derision so heavy on his voice. He began to weep again, but that mattered not to Searlas. "Here it comes," the dragon gasped, clutching the vulpine's skull with both paws, shooting his mighty, high-pedigree wad into the sissy's yap, nearly choking the fox with the sheer volume of it, but Desmond wasted none of the dragon's semen; he swallowed every last drop of it, ingesting his boss' load despite the tears and frustration. Though he tried to pull back, the dragon held him in place, and the fox wearily chose to comply. For an entire minute, the dragon stayed hilted, savoring the feel of the twink's maw around his post-orgasm penis, and the tickle of that fuzzy chin upon his tender balls. "Very good..." Searlas trailed off, pulling Desmond's head back, freeing his penis, still completely erect. Other than being covered in a sheen of saliva, it was impossible to tell the handsome dragon had just gotten off, but for a dragon to have such stamina, to fuck two or three times in a row, was no secret. Grinning down at the panting, blushing fox, sadistically savoring his tears, Searlas stood from his chair and let his trousers fall to his ankles, along with the boxers he wore beneath them. "Of course, I'd be foolish to hire you based on that alone. A creature as sexy as you... For a mammal, at least, you must have other assets to offer me," the drake grinned, dragging his tongue across his lips afterwards. Though it took the fox a few seconds to guess the true intent of that on-the-surface harmless remark, Desmond soon stood, then set about unzipping and unbuttoning his jeans. The dragon's grin widened and he nodded as the vulpine slid them down, leaving him in only briefs.

"Leave it to a fox to figure out I wanted anal sex," Searlas chuckled, "even if it was the right answer." With Desmond still in his briefs, the dragon turned his trembling young thing around and bent him over the desk, pressing his mighty erection against the taut curve of the fox's ass, dry humping the mammalian creature through his underwear without mercy or shame, pinning him down with both paws upon his shoulders. Despite his continued, gentle weeping and sorrow, Desmond had begun to softly moan for Searlas, a genuine noise of pleasure, and one the dragon met with a sneer. "You don't have to moan for my sake, fox," he said casually, grinding a little bit harder, somewhat hotdogging the foxcoon even through the stark white of his underpants, "I like it consensual or not, but if you get off on this, hey," he grinned, "good for you." For Desmond, the statement made it that much clearer how spoiled by power Searlas was, but in the same instant, he wondered what kind of pampering he'd get if he gave it up for the drake like so; the rumors were that dragons, if they so chose to associate with inferior creatures, would lavish them like well-loved pets. They would never want for a single thing, but their submission and obedience was compulsory, and a lack thereof would be met with swift punishment. "Sir?" Desmond gasped, turning his head back to look at the handsome, sleek, wingless dragon, his eyes still wet with tears, but imbued with respect. "Yeah?" the drake asked in deadpan, grinding yet harder, smearing the material of the tod's briefs with pre. "Out with it, fox, why're you speaking without being spoken to?"

As badly as that stung, and as much of a warning as it was clearly meant to be, Desmond would not look on that as one of his brightest moment. "F-for letting you fuck me like this, whenever you ask, what do I get?" As the last word passed Desmond's lips, Searlas stopped, and that sent a feeling of dread through young Desmond's body. "What do you get," Searlas dully repeated, tightening his grip on the twink's shoulders, not yet upon the threshold of pain, but nearing it. Dragons could be notoriously temperamental creatures; some might even use the word bratty to describe their behavior. Though a largely balanced individual and a brilliant business mind, not even Searlas was immune to those bouts of entitlement, and to have his authority and actions questioned by such a fragile bitch of a sissy was not sitting well. "You get fucked by me, that's what you get," he growled, leaning down closer and closer, choosing then to pin Desmond not with his arms, but his own body weight, and with his muzzle near the twink's ears, he nipped one. By that point, Desmond had gone completely silent, already regretting his words, but he was wise enough not to mindlessly backpedal. "You get to be my slave, you get a roof over your head, you get food, and you get a life above your fellow fleabags, all in exchange for a little draconian debauchery and your dignity!" Searlas hissed, his voice ramping up in volume and sheer rage as he lectured the twink. "You came in to this office losing your pitiful internship, I decided to keep you around for a lay whenever I want one, and you have the sheer audacity to presume upon my lust, bitch? Did you think your life would be a free ride, that you'd control Searlas fucking Whiptail with your loose, slutty behind and jism-stained muzzle, fox!?"

Beneath him, he could feel the tod tremble and cower; he could hear the whimpering and sniffling; and he was immensely satisfied with himself. "That's what I thought," hissed the dragon, giving Desmond a dismissive nip upon his ear again. "Never speak unless spoken to. Never look me in the eyes unless I ask for it. Do you understand?" From beneath him came the tiniest voice: "Yes, sir," but that wasn't enough. "Louder!" Again: "Yes, sir!" Finally, Searlas grinned; he had stomped the tod's ideas of abusing his power and wealth and ground them with his heel, and he'd made the fox cry. On that victorious note, he slid the vulpine's underpants down just enough to expose the split of his behind, and he forced his ever-erect shaft between those warm, furry cheeks. For but a moment, he let the blunt tip of his member prod the twink's pucker, but just as quickly, he pushed forward, penetrating young Desmond. Having rubbed his shaft against the material of the tod's underpants for so long, no lubrication remained but the pre he oozed, and so the fox cried out in sharp pain from that entrance. With but an inch inside, he paused and allowed his intern bitch a respite, but it was pointlessly short. Standing up straight, he clutched the fox's hips and drove the remainder of his manhood inside, hilting Desmond in but a few seconds, meeting his twisted yelp with a shuddering murr. "You will respect me, Desmond," Searlas cooed with hardly a hint of malice on his voice, only the smugness of his recent domination. "You'll never want for a thing, but you will come to respect me, fox..."

Slowly, Searlas began pumping his hips, breeding the handsome young fox with skill that he might have enjoyed under different circumstances. "Oh, god," Desmond shuddered under his breath, and though the drake heard it, he ignored the twink's mutterings; smacking him would have taken time away from the far worthier cause of fucking the tod. "I will admit I was wrong about one thing, Desmond," said Searlas, continuing before Desmond could ask just what, "your slutty behind is anything but loose. I can see myself spending many nights grinding away at your taut rump..." All pleasure had left the act since Searlas showed his true colors, but Desmond kept repeating to himself the phrase which would keep him sane: you're doing it for the pampering, you're doing it for the pampering, even though he knew no amount of pampering could make up for the psychological abuse. Oh god, what am I getting myself into? Worse still, he knew that the dragon would never let him leave; now that was a secret no successful man wanted out. Behind him, the handsome dragon sped up his pace, pumping his behind with abandon, deliberately making use of the fox as though he were a fleshlight. "I can't wait to leave a nice, hot load underneath your tail, fox," Searlas murred, grinning broadly, though Desmond couldn't see it. "For all your whimpering and swearing under your breath, you will moan. Looking at you, with your long, girly hair," Searlas cooed, clutching a handful of it; a handful he swiftly tugged, coaxing a shriek from the fox, "mhm, you always moan when men climax inside of you, Desmond. I can tell. I bet men so strongly expect you to moan that they get violent if you don't..."

To hear Desmond's cry and his renewed sobbing, Searlas found himself contently plowing the twink harder and faster, but the intercom on his desk buzzed for his attention, and the soothing British tones of his secretary came through, those of an eastern dragon in his employ. "Mr. Whiptail," she politely cooed, hardly interrupting Searlas' brisk, huffing pace, "your partner, Mr. Clawtooth needs to have a word with you about your joint investment. What shall I tell him?" Searlas made no effort to stifle his panting and growling, though he did clamp a hand tightly around Desmond's snout, stifling his immediate whimpers, but evoking a new set of muffled cries. "Put him on my phone, please, Ms. Zuan," said Searlas, releasing Desmond's muzzle to plant that paw on his back, moving the other to hover over the phone, which he picked up the moment it began to ring. "Hello, old friend," the drake chuckled, still rutting away at the young fox, and still huffing from the ordeal. "Mmm? Oh, you might say I'm exercising, yes," he laughed, a noise entirely without happiness, just a dark, unnerving sound, one that made the tod's ears flatten. Oh my god, thought the fox, he's such a fucking creep... He's fucking me while he's in a business call? Searlas straightened his back somewhat, choosing then to brace his paw on the tod's hip, fucking him a little bit more slowly and smoothly, not that it helped the fox's discomfort. "Yes, yes. Of course, you know my money's on the table if yours is," said Searlas in a reassuring tone, a loan shark sort of voice. Then: "Hm? Oh, some kind of a fox, but he's got raccoon marks. Yes... Mhm, very, perhaps for your next flight up here, I'll coerce him into entertaining you as he's entertaining me this moment," the drake said with a lewd flair, acknowledging the way Desmond cringed. "Of course, I look forward to seeing what comes of this venture. ...Of course, goodbye."

Dropping the phone into its' dock, Searlas changed gears at once, again pinning Desmond by his shoulders, his manicured claws poking through the thin material of the shirt, digging into that soft, cuddly fur, jabbing into pliable young flesh. Off the phone and inside of his new office bitch, he had no need for words, his actions doing all the speaking for him. Bearing his teeth in a malicious grin, the dragon's hips became nearly a blur as he pounded the twink fox, his pelvis practically spanking the intern's taut behind. He sullied the vulpine's inner walls with consistent spurts of precum, with nonstop dribbles of the slime in-between those shots. It left the fox very well lubricated, his insides warmed by the drake's fluids. Though Desmond found some pleasure in the act, it was negated by shame and the forfeit of what remained of his dignity, something even a fox had in some quantity. As ruthlessly as he pumped young Desmond, Searlas soon felt his climax fast approaching, and all signs in his body pointed to it as well; the fine sheen of sweat on his brow, the quickening of his breath, and his testicles slowly drawing up to the warmth of his loins. "Mmh, slutty fox!" the drake gasped, giving Desmond a few final thrusts, vicious gyrations and bucks of his hips that drove his member all the way home, then yanked it back to the tip, and plowed it back in just as roughly. Those final, shuddering moments gave way to a mighty climax, one that saw him snarl in a throwback to his feral roots, and he laid his body over the twink's own, possessively but not lovingly spooning the vulpine as his load, as thick and potent as the one he'd just fed the fox, filled up that accommodating behind. To feel such hot volume enter him first sent Desmond rigid, but he soon relaxed, falling slack beneath the drake, panting softly in what could be mistaken for pleasure, but most certainly was not.

Had he been fucking somebody he cared for, or at the very least respected, Searlas would have remained inside and partaken of post-sex cuddles, but Desmond was a bitch through and through. With a snort of contempt, he tugged his at last waning erection free and smeared its' semen-covered surface sloppily across the fur of Desmond's ass cheeks, leaving him with a fine brand. Even after the drake stood and stepped back, the tod stayed as he was, draped over the desk, panting so subtly, his tail raised high, drawing attention to his abused, messy behind like an exclamation mark. Searlas admired this view even as he bent down to pull up his trousers, sitting down when he had them fastened. "Now, Desmond," said Searlas in a calm tone, extracting his checkbook from one of the desk drawers, "I'm going to send you down to the boutique that fits my suits for me, and you're going to get fitted for one of your own." By that time, the fox had stood up straight, and he gazed down at the dragon through his reddened, puffy eyes, though he had since ceased his crying. As he pulled his briefs back up, covering his well-worn behind, the dragon began to fill out a blank check, something he had finished by the time the fox had gotten his pants back on. "Now, take this, and use it to pay for your suit. If they give you any problems, tell them to call me." Clutching the check between his thumb and forefinger, Searlas offered it to Desmond, but snatched it away with a grin as the tod tried to take it. "Come right back when you're done, fox. And," he began, suddenly lashing out with his free hand, clutching the long, thick braid of Desmond's hair, which he used to yank the sniveling bitch down to his level, "don't fuck around. I've got eyes everywhere. Go, fox."

By the time Desmond had had a suit fitted and tailored, and he returned in the expensive, stuffy outfit, four hours had passed, an amount of time the tod was certain he would be punished for, but Searlas didn't seem to mind, greeting Desmond with some indifference, though he did surprise the fox with a compliment on his new look. Night had begun to fall in the tod's absence, and Searlas had just finished his work for that day, so he stood from his desk and walked for the side door, gesturing for Desmond to follow him through. This time, Desmond was given a much better look at the drake's apartment. It had a modern feel, but was decorated with wealth in overabundance as the hall and office had been, with more shiny objects than Desmond knew what to think of. "You, um, must have a lot of money," Desmond uttered, staring into the eyes of a seven foot tall dragon statue, one of its' mighty feet propped up upon a mound of gems and even treasures of men, like coins, crowns and scepters, all brought to life with great detail in what seemed to be solid gold, pocked with priceless gemstones. Searlas came up behind Desmond, one paw on each shoulder of the vulpine, and he pressed his lips into the twink's ear with a chuckle. "Please, boy, I'd have to lose about thirty-seven billion dollars to have a lot of money." That was a figure Desmond found truly unfathomable; the idea of it dazed him, and he leaned back against the dragon with a small huff. "Come over here," said the dragon, pulling away from Desmond, smirking at the way he nearly fell over without the support. He moved to sit upon a leather sofa, poised before a glass-topped coffee table and a dormant fireplace, and the twink took his place beside the drake.

Desmond was uncomfortably stiff, but Searlas expected such behavior from the mammal. Though he did welcome fear and apprehension, Searlas also enjoyed closeness and warmth at times, and a chilly Autumn evening, even though his apartment was comfortably warm, was the perfect time to satisfy such an urge. Relaxing back in the cushion of his sofa, the drake first unbuttoned the coat of his suit, then pulled Desmond against his stiff, toned chest, obscured by a snug undershirt. "Let me explain something to you, here," he began, noting the twink fox's reluctant motions and uneasy expression. "You're my bitch, of course. I have obscene wealth and a big dick, you have poverty and a warm, tight mouth." Despite his grin, he spoke so casually of the subject, stroking up and down the length of the tod's flank, encouraging him to relax, which he did, however subtly. "Before, your life might have required you to, hm, go to college, and work as an intern for a company such as mine, and be continually harassed and abused until your will breaks, all so you can work for a living." Sliding his roaming paw beneath the fine, freshly-tailored coat of Desmond's charcoal-black suit, Searlas caressed the furred flesh of the small of his back, pressing his lips into the tod's ear so he might purr words right into it. "But with me, you don't have to be smart - only pretty. You get harassed and abused, but your reward in my presence is a life without responsibility or petty worries. The only thing you need to worry about is making me moan, and you're a fox, so that's probably something you've been doing to men since you were twelve years old, hm?" All Desmond could do was close his eyes and sigh, but it was no ordinary sigh; not just a noise of disappointment and frustration, caught up in its' wind were regrets and sorrows, and a heaping serving of shame, too. "So, Desmond, let me ask you a question; are you willing to accept that life? Of course, you'll answer yes... I don't look kindly on those who tell me no, fox." Slowly, Desmond opened his lips to speak, but Searlas gently clutched his muzzle, silencing him. For the second time that day, the dragon slid down his zipper and exposed himself to the fox, offering Desmond his yet-dormant sheath.

From his position in the dragon's lap, Desmond turned so he was nearly belly-down, then nuzzled into the soft hide of Searlas' thick sheath, a contact that made the drake shudder and rumble with a low growl. Well-versed in drawing out any man's resting erection, Desmond wrapped a paw around that sheath and pressed his lips to the mouth of it in a gentle kiss, then snaked his tongue down inside of it, a technique he found could get anybody going, even the mighty Searlas Whiptail. The way he lapped down inside, dragging his tongue over moist, pink flesh, Searlas soon found himself panting and grunting, and his shaft quickly grew. Much faster than any other man Desmond had pleased, the dragon's erection emerged from the safety of its' sheath, and the fox went about answering the handsome drake's question, engulfing the entirely of his thick meat in one silent gulp. With that member buried in his muzzle, Desmond felt the shame greater than ever before, but he again tasted and smelled the musk. It drilled into his sinuses and flooded his brain and body with sexual hormones, a cocktail of natural drugs that turned him into a self-loathing slut. Noisily and eagerly, the twink bobbed and gulped with all his skill upon that fine, black cock, swallowing every drop of pre that oozed forth from it, lifting his head up all the way to the tip, only to shove it back down to the dragon's sheath with every descent, coaxing great moans and shudders from the powerful creature. Reaching up, he found himself again cupping the dragon's scrotum, squeezing loosely, but otherwise merely holding the tender hide, rolling and caressing it in his smooth fur.

"Oh, so unspeakably divine," Searlas lowly hissed, feeling a third climax for that day fast approaching, a fine cap to an exhilarating day. Threading his fingers through the gorgeous blonde locks that made up Desmond's hair, the drake pressed down on the mammal's skull and forced him to keep engulfed the throbbing flesh of his need. "No more bobbing, Desmond, just suck me off now," the drake murred, his grip not yet painful on Desmond's cranium, and the fox had no desire to press his luck. Besides that, with the dragon's scent overtaking his mind, he wasn't sure he could resist anyway. Clutching a little bit tighter on the dragon's balls, he lavished that cock with his tongue and tried to squeeze the life out of it with mighty, tight sucks, sucks which drew not only greater volumes of pre from Searlas, but also noisy, passionate moans, desperate sounds the fox never expected to hear from him. "Yes, fox, yes! Suck it dry, just like that!" he cried, no dominion in his voice, just an intense desire to climax and sully the insides of the tod's maw for a second time. Harder and tighter, Desmond sucked and sucked, and finally, for the third and final time that day, Searlas erupted with a climax as virile and voluminous as the first, sending rope after rope of his salty, sticky semen to die in the twink's body, who gratefully swallowed every drop down, loving the taste of it almost as much as he hated himself at that moment.

That night, despite his reluctant arousal, Desmond slept well. Whether he was aware of it or not, the fear and shame of the day had left him exhausted, and he rested in the drake's bed, but not in his arms. Come morning, the twink fox found himself gently shaken awake, roused from his slumber at some time close to six in the morning. "Wake up, fox," said Searlas with a firm tone, giving the vulpine another shake or two. "Desmond, wake up." Very slowly, the fox opened his eyes, then yawned so wide that his jaw popped, something that sent a twinge of discomfort through his face. "Mmf, good morning," said the twink with some reluctance, looking at Searlas through weary eyes. Grinning, the dragon rubbed his hard, toned body against the slender inoffensiveness of Desmond's own, then kissed his neck. "Good morning to you, too, fox," Searlas growled, his voice distinctly lewd. "I never do like fucking around. Let's get to the point here, boy," the dragon said matter-of-factly, releasing the tod's shoulders, shoving him down flat against the bed. He lifted himself and turned, and then, just slowly enough to make the gesture seem dramatic, he lowered his taut behind until he felt the twink's chilled nose against the crack of his ass, though he didn't stop there. Pushing down a little bit harder, he forced the twink's muzzle in between his cheeks, and relaxed only after grinding the tight pucker of his asshole against young Desmond's nose for a few long moments. The fox shuddered and groaned, absently resting his paws upon the drake's hips, and Searlas chuckled, reaching down to clutch the tod's erection - simply morning wood, but it had begun to throb and ooze with pre since the dragon sat down.

"Let's start this day off on the right foot, fox," said the drake, grinding his behind a little harder into the twink's snout. It was with long, sloppy slurps that Desmond began eating out the drake's ass, pushing away thoughts of shame and discomfort, choosing instead to embrace the musk and the sex. I might as well enjoy it... And he just smells so good, he's so handsome, and so powerful... These thoughts kept Desmond from crying, but also spurred him to please the drake as well as he could. He put to work all of his skills, being no stranger to having his snout between another man's ass cheeks. Occasionally interrupting his long, standard strokes were gentle kisses upon the pucker of his asshole, but just as frequently, he rubbed his cold, wet nose intently into it, both pleasing Searlas with the sensation and bathing his tender nose in yet more draconian musk. Over top of him, the dragon groaned and growled, beginning to stroke his own erection fast and hard, gripping the flesh so tightly that he drew veins to its' obsidian surface. "Good boy, Desmond, keep it up," he huffed, pushing back now and again, occasionally grinding his ass down on the tod's prostrate face. Desmond cooed and moaned in response to this grinding and domination, and thought to further please the drake. Pressing his strong, long tongue firmly against the very tight, pink pucker of Searlas' ass, Desmond forced the muscle inside of him and began the intensely lewd task of lapping all along his unbelievably tender anal walls, stimulating flesh that had never known the dominating feel of another cock, and not even a finger. So overtaken with pleasure was Searlas that he arched his back and hissed, taking such a posture that, had he been blessed with wings, they would've been fully splayed. In this moment, the drake came explosively, splattering his salty semen down the length of Desmond's body, leaving a white line that zig-zagged from his chest to his own erection, a fine mark for a fine slut.

In his afterglow, Searlas found himself clenched down tight on the squirming muscle of Desmond's tongue, but he savored its' writhing, wet surface and rumbled victoriously as he rode out the fruits of his domination, the fine climax that the sissy fox had just inflicted upon him. "Very good," the dragon gasped, his eyes shut tight against the early morning light of the sun, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair still messy from sleep. "You've pleased me well, Desmond," he murred, again reaching back, stroking through the vulpine's locks, also matted down and ungroomed from sleep, "so well, in fact, that I'm going to let you lick my feet." The way it so casually rolled off his tongue, Searlas presented the act as though it were some exalted privilege, but Desmond was not about to complain - not that he could with his tongue lodged the way it was in Searlas' behind, though that was soon changed. Gradually leaning forward, Searlas shuddered at the feeling of Desmond's tongue slowly pulling free of his snug anal passage, gasping when the tip of it at last slurped free from the pucker. "What a wonderful pleasure," he gasped, on all-fours over the fox for the moment. "It's not a wonder foxes like you love getting fucked so much."

With his tongue freed, Desmond panted softly, his cheeks lit with blush, his erection throbbing harder than ever before. Though so intimately smelling the drake's musk and tasting his virgin ass were pleasures he never expected and didn't entirely want, he enjoyed them nevertheless, and correctly assumed that it would be to his advantage to learn to like it. The tod closed his eyes and relaxed, expecting the dragon's feet in his face shortly, but he was mistaken; climbing off the fox, Searlas braced both paws against his side and roughly shoved, rolling him off the bed and into the floor with a yelp and a start. Snickering in mischief and cruelty, Searlas moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet planted on the floor, and he snapped his fingers for the tod's attention - when he had it, he pointed at the floor directly before himself, and once Desmond knelt, he lifted a handsome, clean, well-groomed foot and offered it to the twink. It was with a greater blush but absolute resignation that Desmond clutched it and began licking along the bottom of it, closing his eyes and shivering subtly at the feel of such surprisingly tender hide against his smooth, sensitive tongue, and Searlas growled, both for the exact opposite reason, and the dominion he exerted over Desmond. With near worship in his touch, Desmond stroked that foot, rubbing its' heel and arch as he sucked upon one of the clawed toes, his noises of suckling so gentle and innocent that he sounded like a pup nursing off its' mother, though Searlas was more impressed with the tod's sensual skill and the spectacle of him degrading himself.

Searlas decided that Desmond's own erection at last warranted some attention, and so, with his free foot, he began tending to it. At first, he rubbed the arch and heel of his fine, plantigrade paw against the swollen vulpine shaft, teasing the throbbing, pink meat with firm rubs and grinds, a lewd grin spreading across his features as he worked on the fox. For a moment, Desmond paused and shuddered, though without taking his lips off the dragon's toe. "That feels good, doesn't it, fox? Don't get used to it, I'm just feeling a little bit generous this morning," Searlas gently warned, slowly pulling his toe free of the twink's mouth. Now with the use of both feet, Searlas proved himself quite skilled at giving footjobs, clutching the vulpine's penis between the two of them, grinding it against his loving, flesh-like hide. Desmond's frail, nude body shook with a trembling moan, and then he found his body slanting back somewhat, and from there, he used his fore paws to prop himself up. It was a position in which he unconsciously offered his entire being to Searlas, and this was not lost on the dragon, for he gazed down his snout at the twink, treating him to a curt smirk that adequately summed up how little the tod meant in his eyes. Despite how skilled and pleasing his feet were, Desmond knew that everything Searlas did, especially his looks, implied that the fox was but a possession, a bachelor's sex toy to be used and abused, then put away unclean and unloved until arousal saw his life gain purpose again.

Desmond didn't dare question the drake's conspicuous skill with his feet, but instead cherished the pleasure, taking it as a respite. He correctly assumed it was the most pleasure he'd directly attain from the drake; there was simply no chance that the fox would ever be allowed inside of him in one way or another, so in a way, to get even a footjob was an honor from such a powerful creature. "Tell me, Desmond," Searlas rumbled, pressing the twink's shaft against his flat stomach, grinding the bottom of his dominant right foot against it, "how does it feel? Are you going to cum soon?" Though the tod's shudders, moans and deep, sexually blissful whines told Searlas everything he needed to know, to hear impassioned, yet broken words from the sissy's lips is what he so craved. "Oh, god, yes," he gasped, involuntarily grinding his penis against the drake's foot, his swollen knot throbbing and bulging with his quick pulse. "Then cum, fox," he growled in response, clutching that vulpine knot with both feet, squeezing down so hard that he grimaced in exertion - though his grimace was nothing compared to Desmond's, who went so far as to squint his eyes shut and bear his teeth while a deep, shuddering groan quaked past his lips. Under his breath, he whispered all kinds of nasty little things, things Searlas couldn't hear. "Come on, fox," Searlas growled, squeezing down again, and then again, quite ruthlessly abusing the twink's knot. "Cum soon, or you can wait until the next morning to do it for yourself."

Now that was a terrifying prospect; staggering around the drake's office with blue balls and a knotted penis tugging at the constrictive fabric of his new slacks, all the while enduring incessant sexual harassment, messy blowjobs, and unprotected, largely dry anal sex with a man who owned his soul. "Oh, please," Desmond whimpered, opening his eyes just enough to gaze at the drake, "don't make me go through that, j-just squeeze me a little harder, please!" Searlas first paused, his face taking on an indignant expression, but he finally cracked a grin. "Well, fox, you did say please," the dragon chuckled, "and I will oblige, but this won't go unpunished. Later on, we're going to see just how flexible that ass is." He gave the fox no time to fathom this warning, for he soon clutched the tod's knot with greater ferocity, squeezing that turgid flesh so tight that he thought it might burst; a wad of pre shot from the tip, but that was just an appetizer, for a moment later, with a noisy, impassioned cry, the fox came, shooting ropes of his incredibly messy jism all over his own body. The drake's feet were so low that they were spared the mess, and instead, the twink merely painted his own chest and stomach with semen. After such a mighty climax, one given only after enduring sexual torture, humiliation that degraded him to filth, and musk in such vast amounts, the fox felt dizzy, almost high, and he fell flat on his back with a grunt. There he laid, his penis still in the clutches of Searlas' feet, his body on the floor, but his head in the clouds. "My my my," said Searlas, moving his feet, resting them on the floor with a reserved smirk, "aren't you quite the productive little thing..."

Standing from the bed, Searlas stretched and yawned, then gazed down at the fox, who looked up with dull, hazy eyes. "Get up, now, Desmond. Get cleaned and dressed," said Searlas, reaching down to take hold of his own sheath and balls, clutching himself lewdly for the tod. "It's going to be a long and hard day for you, fox..."