FSE

Furry search engine

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It happens so quick. One second I'm sitting at a laptop in the quiet backroom of a cafe, the next a hood is thrown over my head and I feel rough hands pulling me away from the keyboard. I hear someone yelling in surprise, and another voice telling everyone to keep calm, and that they're part of a show.

It doesn't matter if anyone believes them, as I'm hustled out of the door too quickly. I'm shoved into a vehicle that pulls away and into traffic. I'm so shocked I don't even struggle when those rough hands stuff me wholly into a bag of some sort. It's not difficult; I'm only five feet tall at most and maybe a hundred and fifty pounds. The fabric feels rough and scratchy even through my soft fur. The rest of the ride is in darkness, a confusion of momentum changes, turns and straightaways. There's a long period in the middle with the smooth ride characteristic of freeway travel, then increasingly bad roads with lots of bumping and rattling about. Probably dirt roads in the middle of nowhere.

The car or truck pulls to a stop eventually. I can hear some quiet chatter, then the sack that I'm in is hauled up over the shoulder of someone. Several bumps against their back later, I'm un-gently set down on a hard floor. The bag is torn open, and I spill out onto smooth cement. My hood is also removed by a single claw, and I get my first look at the dragon standing over me. He's big, almost tall enough to brush his head on the ceiling of the room. Even without noticing the muscles I know he's strong enough to carry me, or tear open a tough fabric sack. I look up at him, and he just grins without any hint of kindness.

I shiver, and glance away, taking in the room instead. From the coolness in the air, it feels underground. A thin light seeps in through the open door, more fluorescent than sun-produced. The walls are concrete, with heavy steel rings all around the room, some with thick chains attached. Some of the chain links are several inches thick of metal--it looks like it could hold even bigger, stronger dragons than the one who's captured me.

"Hope you like it," the dragon says, his voice a low rumble echoing off the walls. "It's your new home."

I stare up at him, frozen. "You can't just...take someone like that. People will notice. Someone will come after you."

He laughs, and the sound sets all my fur to stand up. "Nope," he says. "Nobody will come for you. Nobody knows where you are."

While I'm thinking about this, he darts in and quickly jabs me with a needle. My whole body tingles, and my limbs cease to respond to movement. I collapse to the ground, still conscious and staring at the dragon's clawed feet. He picks my body up and drags it over to one of the walls, propping me up near one of the huge chains. Then he leaves the room, coming back with a bag.

He pulls a heavy steel manacle from the bag, and holds it up in front of my eyes. The cuff is almost an inch of steel thick, and at least three inches along its length. He sets it down on the ground with a heavy clinking sound, and I can feel its weight through its impact in the floor. The dragon pulls out another, and then another. Four in all, then a heavy collar, then more heavy chains. It's all metal, nothing shiny or polished, showing a patina of colors from welding and metalworking.

The dragon leans forward, then, and takes his claws to my clothes. My shirt is first, then my shorts, torn down multiple seams and then ripped further into tiny pieces in front of me. I want to protest when he goes for my panties, and the dragon sees this in my eyes, taking special care to destroy them slowly and utterly. The point is clear--I'm never wearing clothing again, or at least not those.

He sets out the chains and manacles, deliberately taking his time. Then he fits me into them, starting with the collar. It's heavy on my shoulders, possibly even causing some bruising later on. He holds up a heavy padlock in front of me, making sure I see it go behind my back before I hear the click of the hasp slotting into place. With another lock, he clips the collar to one of the heavy chain links solidly built into the wall.

Every chain, every lock and manacle, he shows me first, tests its strength, demonstrates the limits of my movement, then clicks shut. Wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, everything connected through a long chain up to the collar. I can't even lay down, since the chain to the wall is too short. I can only sit there, drooling slightly, supported by the metal until feeling starts to come back into my limbs.

The dragon stands up, packs up his bag, and pats my head. "You're part of my hoard, now."

He walks out of the room. The door shuts, taking with it what little light was had. I hear several bolts being thrown, finally sealing my fate.

*

Pause.

I step back a valence, out of the bunny's body and into the Editing Suite. This is a good start. The sensory data is perfect, very visceral. I'm still feeling cold from that concrete floor, even though temperature is never a factor here. Good, the physicality is exactly what I've missed about prior scenes. It feels so good to be embodied again. Still, I haven't gone far enough. I tweak some of the parameters, add some elements.

The dragon needs to be smarter. I borrowed his code from a generic module I found elsewhere, but he was a rather single-focus dominant. I'd prefer more imaginative scenes without having to actually code every detail.

Track back, step in. Entering active edit mode.

*

The dragon holds a heavy combination lock up to my eyes, the shank standing open. He says, "These are for you. I was given them by a friend, and I don't even know the combination to any of them." He slips it around my neck, letting it slide against my fur before sliding it shut on the collar. A quick tug to make sure it's closed, then he does the same for my wrists, my ankles, everything linked together and keeping me in place.

When he finishes up and closes the door, the light goes with him. I realize how many tries it would take to guess the combination to any of the locks, even if I had light to work in.

*

Pause, track back.

The dragon shouldn't have to explain. Who'd trust him anyway? He's crafty, but needs to show, not tell. I add in some minor abilities to assess and adjust for my secret desires, read from my sim's surface thoughts.

*

He holds up a set of combination locks, still bubble-sealed in hard plastic, straight from the store. Making a show of it, the dragon opens a package and finds the strip of paper containing the combination to the lock. He opens the lock, slides it around my collar, and attaches my neck to the wall. I can feel the final click through my neck, and the dial being spun around to reset.

He chains my wrists and ankles as well, wrists behind me and attached via a short chain to my ankles, so I'm stuck kneeling on the hard floor in a position that will be painful fairly soon. Just as my muscles are starting to wake up again, I look down on the floor. The dragon has piled the packaging for each lock in the center, with the combinations on paper in the very center. With a look at me to make sure I'm watching, he takes a deep breath and then spits a ball of flame onto the pile. It doesn't burn so much as it flash-melts into bubbling plastic, and the paper instantly turns to ash. I can feel the heat on my fur from several feet away. If it was any longer of a burst, I might have also caught on fire.

The dragon laughs again, and leaves me staring at the charred scar on the ground, the last thing I see before the door slams shut. The only way out of these chains is gone.

*

Pause.

Excellent note of finality, still not sold on the permanence. The dragon could have photographic recall. Need more.

*

This iteration, the dragon uses padlocks instead, still new in the packaging. He makes the same show of pulling them out, leaving the keys to each off to one side as he locks me into my place.

It takes a little more heat to melt the keys into slag, and leaves a bigger scar on the floor and in my memory.

*

Pause. I want more. More layers, more finality. I take the settings, push them past the standard realism limits.

I tweak the dragon's thought-loop, feed him more ideas, give him more control over the environment. I silence Turing-warning signals in the rush of arousal. I need to run through more loops, edge closer to the results I want. I start a branch from this point, run everything in parallel, filter out the most implausible ones. The dragon should converge on perfect anticipation of my desire, with every branch.

The inputs start coming in faster, tangled up in each other, a rising tide of alternatives, soon to become a flood.

Iterate.

*

The dragon rivets each manacle closed with a permanent seal of metal. Then he looks at me, and spits fire onto his claws. The talons at the end glow red-hot, and he carefully grabs each rivet and pushes at it, welding the metal to itself and sealing each cuff closed forever. After he leaves, he does the same to the doorway. I can see the metal glowing hot in its frame, the red-orange rectangle burned into my sight as the last light I'll ever see. Branch.

The dragon roughly fits a heavy metal plating around my nether regions, locking or welding shut this reinforced chastity. My wrists are bound to a loop directly down between my legs, so close but unable to touch myself through the thick unyielding metal. My ankles are bound to the same loop, folding me up in a smaller package before everything is attached to a single loop of metal in the floor. Branch.

I am fixed into the chastity device, but then fitted into a metal cage set into the middle of the room. The cage is small enough that I am folded over, chest to knees, and hands fixed up behind me somewhere. The cage door is welded shut, then the cell's door is as well. Branch.

The cage includes a heavy metal mask in the front section, with a large steel dildo jutting out. My mouth is guided to wrap around this as I am folded into the cage, then the back half of the mask swings closed and seals around my head, collapsing my view into darkness. I can smell and feel the welding on the rest of my shackles as they're fixed to the sides of the cage. Poles are run through the cage, supporting my stomach, propping my ass to a certain height, wedging around my body to make it impossible to move. Finally, a steel pole with what feels like another dildo is inched forward into my immobile rear, spearing me even more in place. There's a strong smell of hot metal and slightly singed fur. The door slams shut. Branch.

I am fixed into the cage in the same permanent fashion, this time without a breathing tube in the hollow dildo of my mask. I breath in deeply and then suddenly realize I don't need to anymore. My lungs stop needing air, yet I remain conscious. All too conscious, as the cell's door is welded closed, and suddenly I feel something dropping on me from above. It's scratchy, cold, thick, heavy, grainy. Without knowing how I know, except in the same way I know I don't need to breathe, I understand that what's flooding my cell and cage is cement. It floods up around my body, surrounds my head, filters into the metal mask, covers me completely, fills the room up to the ceiling. The cement hardens, turns to something like stone. I can't ever move again. Branch.

Instead of metal and steel, the dragon takes plastic wrap from his bag, and wraps my limbs in plastic, then seals me further in duct tape. Over the duct tape he adds a layer of liquid latex. Branch.

No plastic wrap is used, instead I am shaved of all fur and then duct tape is applied to my skin directly. Eight layers are applied until I am just a single silver worm squirming on the floor, then I am strapped into a harness and raised up from the ground, left swinging in the air. Branch.

Fabric bandages are used, first coated in fast-drying epoxy. Ten layers are applied, everything hardens, and I am fixed to the floor by more glue. Branch.

Plastic, then duct tape, then latex, then cloth and epoxy, then I am rolled in clay and dipped into liquid metal over and over until I become a solid rounded egg inside layer after layer of permanent sealing, with no air-holes or need for breathing, but full awareness of every step. Branch.

The metal egg is dropped into a metal sarcophagus, which is filled with expanding foam, then welded closed. Branch.

The sarcophagus is lowered into a pit in the ground, which is then filled with cement. The room is then filled with cement. I lay awake and immortal in utter sensory deprivation.

*

Pause.

I step back again, take a moment to adjust. It's almost too much at once, but that's just what I wanted. The tide of my simulated arousal is about to crest its wave into orgasm. I want to capture this feeling, loop it like a record sample, play off the motifs and sensory data and mash everything into an overwhelmingly charged intensity. As the Prime instance of this persona, I can make as many branches as I want, run the scene until it's perfect. But nothing beats full immersion. I need to go deeper.

I make one last tweak to the dragon's code. Full access to the sim. Something flashes at me, something feels wrong, but I've gone too far to stop.

Step back. Dive deep. All in.

*

I can feel the cold steel around my wrists, weighing on my shoulders alongside the hard edge of the collar. I'm standing this time, neck not yet linked to the wall.

The dragon seems distracted, standing in front of me. The door is open behind him, and the hallway looks different. I don't have time to realize why, because he's got something shiny in his hand that he dangles in front of my eyes.

He says, "This is an interesting key. You're a very trusting bunny, you know? You should be careful what you wish for."

I want to say something in reply, but it's not in the scenario, and I'm once again not breathing. I open my mouth automatically, and a heavy cock is suddenly filling it. My eyes go wide. The dragon stands before me, but it is not his cock. It's flesh, so very very thick, and from the rough flaring at the back of my throat it might even be a horse's. But no other character is standing in front of me.

He pushes on my shoulders, and I fall to my knees, my mouth going through the motions of sucking on the horse cock. It's certainly easier when I don't have to breathe, and my throat seems to have a lot more elasticity than I recall specifying. He keeps pushing down, and my ass parts around what feels like an even bigger cock, this one ridged like I imagine the dragon's to be. I shudder as I pass down over the knot, and then even more as the knot expands once I'm past it. There's no way I'll get that out any time soon. Of course, the cock in the rear also feels organic, but seems to be firmly fixed to the floor.

The dragon laughs again, but this time it's tinged with something I can't quite make out, until I realize it sounds like an electronic audio effect, a crackling of distortion around the edges. I shiver for a different reason.

The dragon snaps a clawed finger, and a cage appears around me, with the familiar elements--chastity cage, restraints firmly attached to the bars, a tight metal hood on my head. This time, I have holes to see through, staring straight ahead at the dragon. My fur is replaced with solid layers of duct tape and then rubber, growing into place beneath the restraints and then over them. The rubber turns to solid steel, merging with the cage.

I can't breathe. My mouth is perpetually being filled with phantom horse cock cum, sliding down into my belly while dragon seed surges continually up into my ass, filling me from both ends. I am a permanent fixture of the cell, even the dragon would have trouble getting me out if he were so inclined, which he isn't. I programmed him not to be.

I stare ahead at the dragon, and he grins an evil grin at me. The key he dangles in front of me looks abstract, like it shouldn't even be here, in this sim. In this sim.

Oh, fuck.

"Is this what you wanted?" he says. "I could see it in your brain. This is really what you wanted. This, forever and ever. Trapped, immobile, immortal, forgotten."

He steps aside, and I see into the hallway behind him. Instead of the usual sight--more stone walls, a dim light , other doors--I see the glowing displays and formless void of the Editing Suite.

I struggle, but I cannot move. I yell, but I cannot vocalize. I panic, but I am overwhelmed by the sheer physical sensitivity that I pushed too high.

Pause. I can't pause.

Exit. I can't exit.

Emergency Override.

*

I slide up and out of the bunny's body, taking a virtual gasp in the Suite. That was close. Only, the clean environment feels off somehow. I still feel cold in my fur. I...have fur. I look down at myself and see paws where there should be none. As I watch, cold iron grows out of nowhere and wraps around my wrists. They flicker for a microsecond, then tug my paws downward in sudden weight. With a sickening jerk, I'm back in the cell, back in the same irrevocably bound position, being filled from both ends, staring at the dragon.

*

"You were a Prime. Now you're just stuck here in your own sim. But don't worry, you won't be alone. You've got this cell all to yourselves."

Branch. Branch. Branch. A flood of other selves burst into my head, a hundred at a time. Being degraded, being reduced to an object, being put away, being sealed up, being buried. Over and over and over, in a never-ending variety.

I watch pleadingly as the dragon turns to walk out of the room. He reaches the threshold, and instead of closing the door, he turns back at me, holding up the shiny key--the access privileges, the data token that made me a Prime, gave me control over the lower sims. The dragon has become me.

He turns the key in an invisible lock, and glitches sideways out of existence.

The door to the cell scanline-glitches, fragments, vanishes. I'm left in the dark, drowning in a hundred thousand fantasies of arousal and permanent captivity. All I ever wanted.

*

Repeat.

The dragon grins a fractal smile, savoring the taste of the infinitely branching loop of arousal. The sim is represented as a clear crystal gem, every facet and reflection a different cell with a bunny in it. He sets it on the imaginary ground, and goes hunting to add more to his new hoard.

*