FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"I just don't see why I have to go when I've already made plans!"

It was two days before Thanksgiving, and Tyler and his mother were arguing again. Over a month before, he and his best friend, Chase, had conspired to take a trip to a nearby city to gamble a bit and see the sights instead of putting up with football (which neither of them liked) and excessive dinners. They had both requested off for several days from their jobs and had told their families, and Tyler had made absolutely sure that he'd clearly stated his and Chase's intentions to both his mother and father.

And yet, here he was, trying to figure how his mother could unilaterally decide that his hard work and carefully-laid plans should be brushed aside for her own.

"I cleared this with you. I cleared this with Dad. I did this more than a whole month ago. So why can't I do what I want to when I'm old enough now? I've been going to Aunt Jenny's since I was a child. Can't I take a holiday vacation of my own here and there?"

"You have to go because your aunt will appreciate it," his mother said, as if that explained everything. "It means a lot to her to have her family around."

"No, she doesn't!" It was getting harder to keep a lid on his anger: his mother's simple-as-that tone stoking his ire. His waspish timbre and clear backtalking starting to set her off didn't even register as he continued. "She gave you and the rest of us the same greeting last year that she did the year before, and the year before that! All she ever says to you is what's necessary for small talk; she has never once that I can recall from the past several years actually taken an interest in any of us beyond whether we want to take home leftovers. Does that sound like she gives a damn about one less person visiting for a single day?"

He'd finally realized he'd pushed the wrong buttons when he saw how stony his mother's face had become, her eyes small and dark and angry with him. He started to apologize, to explain that he was just frustrated at how his hard work was coming to nothing for the sake of someone who didn't visibly appreciate it, but she cut him off.

"Your aunt is going to say hello to you when you show up. She is going to give you a biscuit and gravy and cranberry sauce at dinner. She is going to make sure you have an armful of plastic bins that contain leftovers so that her fridge is not stocked until next summer. And the entire time, you will smile and say thank you and be grateful that you have another chance to spend time with a relative you don't see often enough. Is that clear, young man?"

Her voice had become soft and deadly, her eyes narrow and dark, and Tyler found that his throat had become very dry and tight. It was all he could do to nod feebly, and when she dismissed him, it took all his willpower to awkwardly shamble to his room. When he closed the door, he had to take several deep breaths to calm down.

"The hell was that about?" he wheezed. Neither of his parents had ever hit him, not even a light spanking. Sure, they got angry and yelled, but they never got so softly dangerous that he was honestly afraid of them. Maybe the "old family motto" his grandmother had mentioned about members' tempers being "slow to burn" was right, that it took a good bit to set them off but they burned like hell when they did?

After a few minutes, he calmed down enough to give Chase a ring. As he'd expected, his best friend was not happy at the news, nor did he grasp just how serious the situation had become with Tyler's mother.

"How does she insist that, really?" Chase asked. "We're 19, we made plans and were thorough about it, and there's more food for the people who do show up. Why can't your mom just suck up the fact that it's now always about her wants? We have needs too."

"Man, I don't know," Tyler said, exasperated. "I tried to tell her that but I screwed up and she got pissed at me and now I can't back out."

"Just tell her you're not going. Just don't go."

"It's not that simple! She is really mad at me right now!"

"And I'm massively disappointed in you," Chase retorted. "You need to grow a pair and just tell your mom that you aren't going. Last I checked, you weren't shackled to the goddamn wall. She can't forcibly hold you in the house and the world knows it, so why can't you come? Seriously, why?"

Tyler couldn't answer right away. Chase was right, he was always right. But then why in the hell couldn't Tyler bring himself to do what was needed? He had a car (albeit a lemon) and he was old enough to call his own shots, so what held him back? Something about his mother? His aunt?

"Tyler? Did you hang up on me?"

"No, no, I'm here. Just trying to come up with an answer."

"And?"

A heavy sigh. "God, man, I don't know. I know you're right, I know my mom is being unfair and I don't have to take it, but I just don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do other than go."

Chase didn't reply immediately. "Then go," he said, his tone cross. "I'm not going through the trouble of kidnapping you just so you don't have to satisfy the She-Tyrant."

God, why did he have to put it like that?

"Chase, I'm--"

"It's fine," the other boy interrupted. "I'm not mad at you, I'm pissed at the situation. I don't hold you responsible."

Tyler didn't feel like that was entirely truthful, but thanked his friend all the same and readied himself for bed. They'd be leaving by noon tomorrow, meaning they'd get to Aunt Jenny's either late that night or early the next morning. He'd need all his energy.

***********************************************************************************

"I'm still upset with you," his mother said.

They'd pulled over to what could be called a strip mall for a late lunch. There were a couple of shops and a sub joint, some knockoff of Capriotti's, but other than that, nothing worth a damn. The trees on either side of the road looked beautiful, a full range of colors that commanded far greater levels of study from visitors.

"Tyler? Are you coming or not?" his father asked when the young man didn't answer his mother. "We're not eating again until we stop for the night."

The teen waved him off without looking back, his eyes glued to the establishment across the road.

Daddy's Girl Country Kitchen it was called. The place resembled an old-fashioned general goods store, with its all-wooden design, front porch with railing and roofing, dusty barrels standing guard on either side of the front door, and, for seemingly no reason at all, a rusty-looking pair of scales hanging from the porch's ceiling, as if customers were expected to give in to the sudden urge to weigh some grains. There were only two cars there, parked to the side and a bit back, probably belonging to the staff. For the time of day, they should have been hosting a few patrons, even on a lonely stretch of country road like this.

"You can eat there, then," his father grunted. "Don't take too long, because we're leaving right after we finish lunch."

But Tyler wasn't listening, his eyes glued to the old-fashioned eatery. Sure, he had plenty of greenbacks; might as well grab a bite at a place with more depth than the cookie-cutout chain his family had just shambled into. Decision made, he crossed the road and went in, taking note of the jingling bell that announced his entrance and the smell of fresh cornbread that greeted his nose.

"Afternoon!" a young woman called down from the bar's far end.

The inside was like an Old West saloon, with a heavy oak bar, front lined by black-cushion-topped stools; tables ringed with basic wooden chairs, their tablecloths a demure yellow; overhead lighting that resembled very small chandeliers; the windows framed with bright red satin curtains trimmed with black lace; and the walls were festooned with portraits and photographs of famous country music persons or Western actors and actresses, the latter being largely black-and-white or brown-and-white; Tyler supposed that the coloration was done for tasteful purposes. A pair of swinging doors to the bar's side, lead into the kitchen, from which wafted truly heavenly aromas.

"Hi," he finally replied, walking the length of the bar to the young woman.

She was maybe a few years older than he was, and nearly as tall, making her maybe five-six or five-seven, and with a slender body; even wearing jeans and a plaid button-up short-sleeve, he could tell she had some nice curves. Her hair was dirty blonde, and her tanned face was spotted with freckles, which Tyler felt complimented her green eyes.

"I just had to stop in here," he said. "Place just got my attention."

She chuckled and smiled, and the young man felt his nerves soften.

"Won't lie to you," she said, her accent catching his ears, "I got myself a pretty good operation going here. Got regular crowds, wonderful food, and Sundays off."

"You close completely on Sunday?" Most places would grab a few extra bucks from diners by being open for just a few hours, but he supposed that, as the kitchen was a smaller gig, it would need more downtime.

She nodded. "Yep, every Sunday, rain or shine. It's so folks don't have to mix church time with eating time, and 'cause it's a sin to work on your lord's day of rest and all."

"'Lord's day of rest'?" he repeated. "Uh, no offense, but are you religious? Not that I have anything against religion, I just--"

He broke off at her amused laughter, and blinked when she fished a small pendant up from within her shirt. She held it up for him to see that it was very ornately designed, even for something probably pretty cheap, and shaped kind of like an I, or an H turned on its side and somewhat misshapen.

"I was raised Methodist, but I practice Germanic Neopaganism," she told him. "Worship the ancient gods and goddesses of the North, like Thor and his father, Odin. It's why I wear Mjolnir around my neck."

"So your lord used to be Christ..." he began.

"But now it's the Odinson and the All-Father, that's right," she concluded, putting the pendant back. "Plenty of us down there."

"Down where? Nice accent, by the way."

Another laugh. "Thanks. I'm from Lexington, Kentucky. You'll actually find a lot of religious diversity in Kentucky, even if most of the denominations are from one part or another of Christendom." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder where, between the rows of empty and half-full alcohol bottles there sat a dusty black book, perhaps a small journal. "Got signatures from a lot of folks from all kinds of faiths, but I've yet to meet a genuine Satanist. They're like an elusive stamp that I can't get ahold of."

Tyler nodded. "Never would have guessed." He stopped before he went any farther along the tangent, and introduced himself properly. "Tyler, from Ohio. My family's driving down to my mom's sisters for our annual Thanksgiving dinner at her place."

She gave a surprisingly strong grip. "Kennedy. Daddy named me after his favorite president. If you don't mind my asking, what was with that look?"

"I'm sorry?"

She waved a hand in front of her face. "Like that and gone, you had this shadow cross your face. Not enjoying the trip? Got gas?"

It was his turn to laugh, blushing heavily. "No, no, nothing like that, it's just..."

And before he could stonewall it, he was spilling all the beans, telling Kennedy about how much work he'd put into taking the holiday off to spend gambling with Chase, how his mother had refused to let him do so, how he felt so denied but at the same time he couldn't just shun his family.

"I just...I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing," he said, sighing. "I don't know why my mom's so adamant about seeing her sister, or why I absolutely can't skip out for just once."

Kennedy kept quiet, her eyes narrowed in thought. Finally she coughed and said, "Well, call me a fool, but I think it's on account of your mom's guilt."

Tyler blinked, completely confused. "Guilt? What?"

The Kentuckian shrugged. "Way I figure it, your mom and your aunt didn't always get along. Since she sounds so dead-set on seeing her, I'm guessing it's because they were real bitter enemies for years, and only a little while ago got back to being sisters. I mean, it really sounds to me that your mom regrets that time they weren't friends, and wants to show her sister that they'll always be family, like a group apology. I'm wagering your daddy doesn't say much of it because he knows it means a lot to your mom."

He stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Aw, heck, I don't know. Maybe I'm looking at myself in this. When daddy got sick from smoking, he tried to make it up to the family, insisted on taking us to our favorite places often. For me, it was hard, because that meant taking time off from work so we could travel, because I like seeing things like the World's Largest Shovel or Ball of Twine and getting my picture taken next to them. We saved a bit of money because daddy refused to take medication, saying it was just going to bankrupt us, but the emotional cost..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

After a pregnant pause, Tyler said, "So, uh, not to leap to a new track in the worst way possible, but I was kind of hoping for a quick bite before we get back on the road. Could I bother you?"

Kennedy brightened up, beaming at him. "Sure thing! Why, with our secret sauce right...here...shoot." The spot she had been reaching for was occupied by a short jar that could barely be held in one hand, but which was currently utterly empty. "Gonna need to make more. We make a killing with our secret sauce, folks even buy it straight without a meal, pay top dollar and everything. How the heck did we run out?"

"I'm good at helping," he suddenly blurted out. What the hell was he saying that for? He didn't know jack about cooking; all his Home Ec crap had washed out of his head years ago.

"Would you, please? It's a simple recipe, and you'd only need to add some ingredients while the boys and I do the rest; I can't get you any today, because of the time it takes to properly prep it for public release, so it don't taste funny."

He was nodding almost too much. "Yeah, absolutely. I'm game." He didn't seem to care about actually getting the sauce, or the mention of others being involved in the prep, or going hungry for a few more hours; all that he was paying heed to was a nice and pretty girl who would appreciate his assistance. If it was some kind of whacko Freudian thing to get back at his mother, then fuck it, he was cool with that.

"Well, right this way, then!" Kennedy instructed, leading him back down the bar's length and into the establishment's namesake.

He'd barely stepped foot inside, noticing the strange bench, which resembled one of those gymnastics horses, when thick, hairy arms grabbed him, one wrapping around his chest and pinning his arms while the hand of the other clamped over his mouth, perfectly muffling his cries. Lifted off his feet by the large assailant, his weak and awkward kicks did no good.

"All right, bring him over," Kennedy ordered, gesturing to the horse.

When Tyler was over it, she loosened his pants and yanked them down, not fully removing them before strapping him to the horse at the ankles.

"Scream and be sorry," a man's guttural voice growled in his ear.

Weakly nodding, he said and did nothing as he was doubled over the horse at the waist, Kennedy strapping his wrists to its other legs. With his torso and pelvis supported but not his neck or head, the positioning made it very difficult to get a look at his attacker; only hanging his head below the horse gave him a look at the man's mud-crusted jeans and work boots.

"Reggie, you in here?" Kennedy called, and there was a loud grunting deeper in the kitchen.

Tyler raised his head just in time to see "Reggie" step out from a blind corner...and he felt his mouth go dry, his mind filling with confusion and bewilderment.

The man was Tyler's height, with stocky arms and legs and a forming pot-belly. Like the guy behind Tyler, Reggie also wore weather-abused jeans and boots, and his shirt was missing a couple of buttons, exposing the faded white T-shirt beneath.

But what sent the young man's mind in circles of astonishment was that Reggie wasn't human. His head and arms were covered in fur, dark greyish-brown, except for his face, which had dark brown skin and dull white tusks. He was a warthog.

"Yeah, he's pretty hunky, isn't he?" Kennedy asked. It was hard to tell if she was being serious or joking. "And the guy behind you's Cork."

Amazingly, Tyler's voice croaked back to life. "But...you said..."

The blonde chuckled. "Yeah, I did, and we are. This is the final secret ingredient, the one magical herb that we simply can't do without." She gave him an appreciative slap on the ass, kneading his flesh. "You'll provide a real good mix, I just know it. Don't try fighting, just give into it and thing's'll be a lot better. Once we've milked you good, we'll let you go so you can bask in the afterglow. Might even help with your mom."

He was sputtering to form words, to beg off the impending violation, when Reggie came up to him, fly open. The warthog's cock was a mottled mix of pink and black patches, human-like shaft and head extending from a sheath, a generous set of balls below that; the head oozed pre, the musk pervading Tyler's nostrils.

"Suck it," Reggie grunted.

Tyler tried to keep his trap shut, but the heady musk seemed to be clawing at his olfactory senses, and he inadvertently opened wide in a silent gagging, allowing Reggie to shove his thick cock in. The large member completely filled the human's mouth, his and a little greasy, like a pulsing sausage. The cock easily hit the back of Tyler's throat on each invading thrust, which seemed to really please the male.

As Reggie worked the front, Cork readied himself for rear entry, dipping his fingers into a jar labeled "Speshel Grees." It was thick as Vaseline and had an odd smell to it, but it was a damn good lubricant for tight spots. Using the grease, he rubbed his own dick liberally before lining up, teasing the boy a moment before giving a single hard thrust.

Tyler's face was crushed against Reggie's crotch by the intrusion. While Cork claimed his anal virginity, Reggie's scent dominated his nose. The odor was rich enough that it made the human's eyes water, sending his mind spiraling. He tried to resist, both physically and mentally, but the twin girths filling him, stretching his holes like nothing before, along with the heady musk, was overtaking him. Below, his own cock hardened to its full (if modest) six inches.

He started to respond to the warthogs' actions, eagerly suckling Reggie's cock and trying to squeeze down on Cork's. His meager supplications did not go unnoticed by the pair, though they seemed more amused than pleased; most likely they'd had much better.

Kennedy, for her part, ignored most of this. With Tyler's cock finally erect, she opened a cabinet and removed a milking device. The five-gallon drum was nearly half-full with the collected seed of other hoodwinked men. Kennedy slid the tube over Tyler's dick, securing it, thinking she was at long last going to get lucky and get the rarest type of the secret ingredient.

She stepped back to admire her handiwork and watched as Tyler's body began to change. Neither Reggie nor Cork slowed down, both continuing to piston in and out of the trapped youth, not caring in the least as a tufted tail sprouted from just above Tyler's anal crack. His face pushed out into a boxy muzzle, small horns popping up on either side of his head, and a white coat with black patches spread over his form.

"No, no, no, no!" Kennedy scowled as she watched the transformation. Her attitude, which had once been hopeful, quickly soured as she realized her hopes were being dashed in front of her eyes. "Damn it all, why can't we get a turkey?!"

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to figure out whether a sacrifice would improve their luck. Best to at least try; she made a mental note to have the boys ready things for a ritual later that evening.

Well, at least it wasn't a complete loss: even though turkeys had the best essence, any breed would do, their cum spicing up the family's secret recipe to incredible heights. Of course, if she'd been lucky enough to get a gobbler instead of a heifer, then the sauce wouldn't just taste good, it would put eaters into an aroused state; some would even experience small orgasms.

Tyler was moaning--or mooing--around Reggie's cock, trying to get more of it down his throat even though the warthog was bottoming out with every thrust. Both dominators edged closer to their climaxes, the pressure to cum building inside. They picked up the pace, pumping in and out of Tyler with almost reckless abandon, paying no mind to the boy's muffled squeals of carnal delight.

Both males slammed into Tyler's holes, hilting as each loosed both squeals of orgasmic satisfaction and their loads. Hot, thick seed surged from their cocks into Tyler, filling his rectum and stomach. Pushed over the edge by their peaks, the now-bovine lad hit his own orgasm, futilely bucking his hips into the horse, his cock swelling as it unleashed his cum. It shot through the collection tube, draining into the tank. Shot after shot was collected, the altered human giving out a generous helping of his milk.

After letting every drop out, all three relaxed, the warthogs pulling their softening cocks from their victim's abused holes and unceremoniously stuffing them back into their jeans. They exchanged smirks before setting about unstrapping Tyler.

He was in no condition to do anything other than stare into space. The afterglow, the incredible bliss, of the carnal madness had momentarily drowned him, his eyes glazed over, a faint smile on his thick lips.

"Maybe fuck him again?" Cork asked, but Kennedy shook her head.

"Nah, can't risk it. He nearly filled the tank, and we should be able to make quite a batch of sauce from it all, so let's leave it at that." She nodded towards one of the kitchen's shelves, which held a variety of spice cans. "Give him the antidote so we can push him out the door. He'll be fine."

Reggie took a small can from the shelf and wafted it in front of Tyler's nose, and the change back quickly began. Even reverted, he didn't seem to come out of his glow, wallowing in the aftermath. The warthogs picked him up, fixed his pants, and helped Kennedy send him on his way, watching him stumble out the eatery's front door towards his waiting family.

"What in God's name took you so long?" his father demanded when he reached them. "We've been waiting for almost ten minutes! Didn't I tell you we were leaving right after lunch?"

"Yeah, yeah, you did," Tyler replied, an eerie, almost absent-minded smile on his face.

"What's with you?" his father asked suspiciously. "You do drugs in that place? Your eyes don't look right."

A shake of the head. "No, not drugs, just really good food and friends. We should get going; can't wait to see Aunt Jenny again."

His father's eyes widened and his mother's jaw hit the pavement. While their son insisted nothing was wrong, for him to act like this, something pretty bizarre had to have happened, and they had half a mind to march over to the kitchen and demand some answers.

Tyler, though, got into the car and encouraged them to resume driving, going on about whether he should have an extra helping of sweet potatoes or not, because those tasted so good at Aunt Jenny's.

Feeling like they should say or do something but not sure what, his parents slowly got back into the car, started it up, and went along their way, exchanging an occasional glance at each other, searching for an explanation for the boy's abrupt optimism.

The End