FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Crisp smiled as he rode through the countryside, the wolf enjoying the air rushing by as he rode his bike through the rolling green hills and forests just outside of town. There was a nice network of country roads around, and he had his favorite circuit he liked to ride once or twice a week, and the day was perfect. Warm but not hot, not too dry, with a nice breeze. The hood of the wolf's red and white hoodie-vest flapped lightly behind him as he rode, his red-sneaker-clad feet pedaling away.

As he approached the halfway point in his regular ride, though, the breeze became constant and a bit stronger, and he noticed some darker clouds on the horizon. In fact, the previously blue sky directly above him seemed to be growing clouds from nothing as well. He could smell rain on the wind, and decided he would have to cut his ride short. He didn't know how long he had, but he certainly wouldn't be able to finish his ride. Thankfully there was a crossroads at the halfway point in his ride, and instead of continuing forward on his normal route, he turned to head back into town directly.

As he took the shortcut home, the weather quickly worsened, the clouds above darkening to match those that were approaching. Crisp saw sheets of rain in the distance even as some drops started falling sporadically on him. He pedaled faster down the road, but it seemed the weather was fast outpacing him: in a couple of minutes, the occasional drop turned in to a light right, then a steady rain, then an absolute downpour. The wind also picked up, making the raindrops pelt him sideways as it became difficult to stay on his bike. It was even difficult to see very far in front of him with the rain coming down in sheets like it was!

As he came around a turn, he was able to make out the shape of a house through the rain. A particularly strong gust of wind finally made him crash at that point, spilling off his bike and almost into the groaning trees by the side of the road. Fur soaked completely through, he didn't bother trying to get back on, he just grabbed his bike's handlebars and ran toward the house, starting up the driveway just as the first flash of lightning and clap of thunder took over the sky.

He roughly dropped his bike in the front yard of the house as he ran up the driveway to the covered porch, another bolt of lightning lighting the sky as he bent over to catch his breath, hands on his knees. He then roughly shook himself to gets as much excess water off as he could, though it didn't help much. "Ugh... I don't think I'm gonna dry out for days..." he groaned, running a paw over his soaked chest and arm, water still seeping out of his fur. He sadly shook his head, hrmming as he rued the smell of wet dog that would come...

He took a moment to examine the porch he was on and the house it was attached to. Nice, not too big or too small. Even though there were no cars in the driveway, everything seemed to be in order, so he guessed people lived here. Heck, if there was a big, abandoned house in the countryside just outside of town, he would have surely heard about it already! He decided to sit down on a chair there, hoping to wait out the storm without bothering the occupants. Several minutes of thunder, lightning, gale-force winds, and torrential rain later, though, the storm didn't look at all like it was going to let up.

He sighed, and finally decided to knock on the front door and ask for real refuge while he waited out the tempest. He lifted his paw and knocked on the door - only to take a step back in surprise when just the force of his knocking caused the door to open ajar. He froze for a moment before putting his hand back on the doorknob and hesitantly leaning forward to stick his head in over the threshold. "He-hello?" he asked, quietly at first, before repeating "Hello??" in a bit louder tone when he didn't get a response initially.

Still, the only response he heard was the constant rush of the rain and wind going on behind him. The lights inside the house were currently off, but when it came to choosing between a porch in a storm and a currently unoccupied house... Besides, it wasn't breaking and entering if the door open THAT easily, was it? Not only was it unlocked, but even the mechanism wasn't functioning if he didn't even have to use the doorknob to have opened the door. Growing bolder by the moment, Crisp edged his way through the doorframe, keeping the door open as little as possible as he made his way inside, closing the door behind him and reaching for a light switch.

After a little fumbling around the dark entryway, he found what he was looking for, and was pleasantly surprised when the lights came on as one would expect. The entry hallway was a fair size, and had a nice comfortable feel to it - not old-time-y, nor ultra-modern - with a nice grandfather clock by the door. To the left was a dining room with apparently some nice pictures, and to the right a typical family lounge. A hallway led forward, stairs going up to the left. Although both were dark at the other end, he thought he saw tile and the end of the hallway. He shuffled forward, thinking that the squeaking his sneakers were making was much louder than normal in the quiet house, until he suddenly tripped.

He thought at first it was just because his shoes had slipped on the floor, the rubber being wet and all, but as he righted himself, he realized his favorite sneakers had somehow become untied. He didn't think much of it for now, just being careful as he continued down the hall. He soon made it to the tile flooring at the other end and fumbled around for another light switch.

The kitchen lit up for him, showing basic white tiles, quaint cabinets, a gas stove, and a kitchen table with a plaid table cover. After taking a few moments to look around, he noticed what looked to be a washroom off to the side as well, which then led to a short hallway. Like the rest of the house, all lights were off, but everything seemed to be in order. Surely someone lived here, but they similarly were definitely not home right now. Crisp's squeaking sneakers once again reminded him of how soaked he was, and that his fur and clothes were dripping everywhere. At least he had gotten out of the wood-floored entrance hallway and into the tiled portion of the house, so he didn't have to worry too much about the water causing problems. It was certainly uncomfortable, though...

After a moment's indecision, he bent down and started carefully removing his sneakers. He wiggled his toes as he pulled the wet accessories off with a wet 'schlorp' each. He then grabbed the edges of his hoodie-vest, sliding the wet fabric off his shoulders and down his arms, laying the soaked garment across the back of a chair for now. He then blushed a little, hesitantly messing with the front of his shorts. He was getting naked in a stranger's house! But no-one was home now, and he really wanted to get out of his wet clothes...

With a wet plop, his shorts hit the ground, followed a moment later by a pair of bright red briefs. His state of undress in an unfamiliar situation made his cock swell just a little bit, but he didn't notice as he collected his wet clothes and brought them all in to the washroom. Dumping them in to the washer, he then wandered naked down the side hallway, his wet fur wicking heat away in the open air, making his member continue to swell at the sensation as he examined the guest bedroom and guest bathroom down the side path. Turning on the bathroom light, he decided to take care of the 'wet dog' smell and climbed in to the shower there.

The act of taking a shower without permission in a stranger's house crystalized in his mind the potential naughtiness of his situation, a thought that was not lost on his loins, which caused him to blush as he finished up. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist, tent obvious as he left the bathroom to check on his laundry. He sat on the dryer for a few minutes as the wash cycle finished, humming to himself the song he had been singing aloud in the shower, then transferred his clothes to the dryer and began wandering around the house a bit more. He had showered here now, after all, so he felt a bit more comfortable in his exploration, even if all he was wearing was a tented towel.

He turned on lights as he went, first in the family lounge and then the formal dining room. Whoever lived here had an elegant but not extravagant taste in paintings and other simple fineries. He also took a closer inspection of the guest bedroom and, continuing back, the den, which was like the lounge but with warmer earth tones and much more informal furniture. He was tempted to turn on the TV, but curiosity got the better of him and he started walking back toward the front of the house, thinking to see what was upstairs.

As he made his way back to the front hallway, there was a loud crash than made him jump, causing his towel to fall off. He hastily fumbled it back up around his waist and then froze, ears perked high and listening intently. After a few moments of no sound save the rain and wind constantly assaulting the outside of the house, he cautiously walked forward to investigate the source of the crash, re-tying his towel as he went. He found it in the formal lounge, where one painting had apparently fallen off the wall, the hook holding it up having failed. Maybe the inhabitants of the house had been gone longer than he thought...

After taking a moment to lean the battered frame against the wall and then gather his senses back up, he started up the stairs, turning on the light to the upstairs hallway as he made it to the top step. He peeked into each room as he passed - bedrooms, a study, a rec room - but didn't enter those or turn on their lights, respecting the privacy of the house's owning family. He started to notice, though, that of everything hanging on the walls, there were no pictures of said family. Not a one. They were all art - scenery, abstract, ferals, or geometric - with some mirrors and random other papers, presumably representing accomplishments of sorts.

As he walked back down the hall, he felt something brush against his bare back, making the fur on the back of his neck stand straight up. He whirled around, but nothing was there. His heart rate didn't go back down, though, making even the towel awkwardly uncomfortable from the tent there as he made his way back down the stairs. It was then that the dryer finished, the buzzer making him jump and tense up for just a moment until he realized what the next surprise sound actually was, earning a laugh from the wolf as he made his way back to the wash room. The fresh-out-of-the-dryer warmth felt particularly good on his crotch as he got dressed again.

His stomach rumbled then, and after a moment's consideration he decided it would be okay to maybe grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. He first took stock of what was in the fridge, then started perusing through the cabinets. As he was browsing what spices were available, he heard a little rustle somewhat above him, looking up just in time to a white bag tip out off a higher shelf and-

PPFFFOOFFF! "ACK!"

Just like that, he and a good portion of the kitchen were coated in flour, the contents of the bag pooling around the wolf's feet. "Aw, dammit..." he muttered, stepping away from the counter to examine the mess, "that's gonna be hell to clean up..."

He managed to find a bucket and began trying to rinse the flour that had fallen on the counter down to the floor, but he soon realized that just seemed to make the mess worse. After a little while more or unsuccessfully trying to contain the mess, he gave up for the time being. He walked over and flopped down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, laying his head down on his arms. Ignoring his rumbling belly for now, he decided to take a quick nap...

Next thing he knew, the wolf was mid-fall. He had dozed off at the table, that's for sure, and now BAM he was flat on the floor, the chair crashed out behind him on its side. Had he been leaning forward on it in his sleep or something? "...ow." He rubbed his chin, which had taken the brunt of the blow when his head hit the floor under the table, as he rolled to his side and sat back up. He thought he heard a little giggle at that point, but the sound was so faint and so fleeting he brushed it off as him being dizzy. Still, it made him bone up just a little as his heart sped up a little bit.

After a moment of quiet, though, his heart picked up the pace again when music - undeniably music - started drifting down from upstairs, making the fur on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked around the kitchen at nothing in particular, eyes wide as his brain refused to process what his ears were telling it. He noticed the clock on the stove had just hit 6pm - maybe it was a radio alarm that had... mixed up morning and evening? That didn't sound very convincing, even in his head. Timidly, though, he got to his feet and crept back up the stairs.

Still covered in a dusting of flour, Crisp made his way back upstairs in the supposedly empty house, nerves starting to fray as he got closer to the source of the music. At least it sounded like a simple radio station and not some old-timey... whatever you called those turning things with the needles... Yeah those things... He walked down the hallway and to the entrance of the dark master bedroom, craning his head to look inside while still keeping his feet in the lighted hallway. Sure enough, on the nightstand there was a little alarm-clock-radio, the lit display flashing the time as country hits played.

Realizing the relative normalcy of the situation, Crisp started walking across the dark bedroom to turn off the music. That normalcy was shattered, though, when he got the distinct sensation of someone grabbing the sides of his shorts and yanking them down, making him trip and fall flat on the floor.

The laughter was clear now as Crisp was laid out flat on the floor, shorts around his ankles. His ears burned and the front of his red briefs bulged out as that voice - or rather, those voices - heartily enjoyed his predicament. His embarrassment quickly turned to panic as it became clear the laughter was still coming even though he was the only fur in the room. He flailed around to get back on his feet, completely losing his shorts in the process, and then bolted out of the room, fully ready to run pant-less back out into the storm to get his bike and leave.

He tripped going down the stairs, though, causing another bout of giggling to follow him as he tumbled down, crashing in to the grandfather clock by the door and making it fall sideways, effectively barricading him inside the house! Not that he realized that initially, head throbbing from his fall as it was. He looked down and saw his shoelaces were tied together, realizing that the untying from earlier had also probably been these ghosts. He wasn't sure when his shoes had been untied earlier, but the ghosts had an obvious opportunity to tie his feet together when they yanked his pants down. He then took a moment to separate his shoes and re-tie them, taking a bit longer than normal as he was still dizzy.

His ears then perked back up when he heard an odd hissing noise come from back upstairs. Even though his head was throbbing and his vision not quite together, he looked up to see what appeared to be a can of shaving cream come in to view at the top of the steps, plus a sharp-looking razor blade. He gulped, staring at them for a moment, then yelped and scrambled back up to his feet as the shaving accessories started floating down the staircase at him!

He heard the TV way back in the den turn on just then, and from the voices and dialogue Crisp could make out, it sounded like a scene from_Ghostbusters_. "Of course..." the wolf wheezed out, scrambling to his feet to run from the shaving cream can as it suddenly shot a little of its contents out at him, more giggling accompanying the can's hissing release. He ears burned a bit at the teasing sound, the wolf boning up almost uncomfortably in his briefs as he evaded the shooting shaving cream.

He suddenly felt a soft impact on the side of his head, drawing his attention to a ball of yarn that had flown in from the formal lounge. He tried batting the ball away, but all that accomplished was helping it unravel as it kept coming at him, starting to cover him in a web of string. The TV in the back apparently changed channels at that point, going to some animal show as a series of meows and other cat noises sounded from the back. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in!" he growled, the flour-coated wolf still trying to bat the floating ball of yarn away with his paw.

A tingling shudder shot up and down his spine as something cold and wet successfully splattered over the small of his back. He had slowed down, distracted by the yarn, letting the shaving-cream can slide under his hoodie-vest and hit it mark! He tried swiping the goop off his back, but another squirt quickly replaced it as a strand of yarn caught his arm and temporarily prevented him from cleaning off that second assault. His whole body tensed up a moment later as he felt a cold scraping on that area, the razor blade having also flown up under his vest to start shaving his back! "No, stop!" he yelled, trying to reach for the blade but scared of cutting himself.

The TV apparently changed channels again, this time playing the sounds of a barbershop quartet singing. That made the (somewhat illogical) connection in the wolf's mind that turning off the TV would turn off the haunting. Trying to ignore the yarn web forming around him and the shearing on his back, he made his way toward the kitchen in hopes of making it to the den in back where the TV was. When he got to the kitchen, though, he found the floor was wet, some water still dripping from the now-full sink. The water wasn't running now anymore, but enough had spilled on the floor and mixed with the flour mess already there that the kitchen floor seemed beyond saving.

It got worse a minute later, too, as Crisp started carefully tiptoeing his way across the slick tile. A cabinet popped open and a bottle of vegetable oil spilled out, cap coming off and adding another immiscible layer of slickness to the tile. "Oh for crying out-" Crisp cursed, finally taking a swipe at the razor at his back and knocking it down to the floor as he carefully inched across the kitchen. He cringed a little at the patch of bare skin he felt there and almost didn't duck in time as the empty oil bottom careened past his head. That made him misbalance, though, and a moment later he found himself flat on the floor again. That's when he distinctly felt fingers at his sides...

Tickling!

He started rolling and flailing on the slick tile, trying to fend off the invisible digits, which was much easier said than done as laugher racked his body, a bulge quite clear in his briefs as his hoodie and underwear got soaked with the water-flour-oil mix. Every time he nearly got up on to all fours, he would slip again and fall into another rough of tickle torture. There was constant laughing and giggling going on around him, and as he tried (and failed) to scramble away, he heard the TV in the next room over quickly flip between channels to say "You can run but you can't -/tsssch/- stop embarrassing yourself -/tsssch/- you horndog!"

It made his ears burn, but the TV was correct - he was completely hard as he tried to get away from the invisible assault on his sides. Yarn, shaving cream, flour, water, and oil all conspired against him, but after far too long he got to the threshold between the kitchen and the den, scrabbling for the carpet and finally pulling himself out of the kitchen. After panting for a couple of minutes, (the ball of yarn still unraveling itself on top of him,) he finally got up to his feet, groaning as he straightened up and walked over to the TV.

It was unplugged.

"...of course..." he sighed, giving the TV stand a kick and stubbing his toe in the process. This earned a fresh bout of laughter from the air around him and from the TV as it cycled through the laugh tracks from several sitcoms. He cursed at the TV, hopping on one foot as he massaged the offended toe, and then suddenly misbalanced when one of the pillows from the couch smacked him in the face. This prompted a ten- or fifteen-minute long pillow fight in the den, Crisp trying to fend off the new assault before he finally asked "Wait - what the hell am I doing?"

He dropped the pillow he was wielding and ran to leave the room - sending him right back into the kitchen, where he promptly slipped and fell flat on his face again. He lay there for a moment, dazed, before starting to slide his way toward the washroom, where the floor was at least free of flour and oil and was mostly dry. It once again took a while to traverse the kitchen, but he made it to the washroom and just lay at the foot of the machines there for a while. His stomach rumbled again, but he had no desire to return to the kitchen to feed it.

A few minutes later, he heard a rustle from the guest bedroom just down the hall. "Uuuuugghh.... What nooow...?" he groaned, tilting his head to look toward the guest bedroom. He heard more rustling and more giggling, but nothing entered the hallway from the bedroom door. He rolled over to his back, taking pressure off the uncomfortable bulge in his red underwear, and stared at the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts on how to get out of this haunted house, even though he could still hear the wind and rain outside.

His thought were rudely disturbed when the lower hem of his hoodie-vest was suddenly yanked on, getting pulled up a bit, though most of it stayed caught beneath his back. Before he could process this, the 'ghosts' lifted his shoulder off the ground, making it much easier for his top to come flying off a moment later. His feet were then hoisted into the air, the laces being undone by nimble invisible fingers; a moment later, his beloved sneakers were sent unceremoniously flying away, leaving him in just his bulging briefs. To his horror, he felt fingers at his waistband a moment later, and he frantically grabbed whatever fabric he could to keep his underwear on.

It was no use. Either the ghosts were very strong or there were a lot of them, but either way he soon found himself completely nude and completely hard on the washroom floor. Crisp struggled against his invisible binding, trying and failing to get up as his wrists and ankles were held down against the floor. "Dammit, let go!" he yelled, but of course it did no good. He then heard some more rustling from the guest bedroom down the hall and craned his head to try to see what was going on again. The wolf blushed furiously when some clothes floated out of the bedroom door.

He renewed his struggles to get up, but as before it accomplished nothing. He was lifted directly in to the air, only his quivering tail left brushing against the ground, as the selection of girly, green clothing started adorning his body. A pair of mint-green low-rise briefs slide their way up his legs, snugly hugging his loins even as the tip of his member was left sticking out over the waistband. Next, a short-cut pea-green tank top with thin shoulder straps came over his head. A matching set of green-and-white-striped arm warmers and knee-high socks followed, the "outfit" getting completed (somewhat awkwardly, Crisp thought,) by some big, kinda-clunky green hiking boots.

He started feeling himself get turned in midair, his feet being lowered back to the ground, but before they made contact, he yelped in surprise as an invisible hand shamelessly squeezed over the front of his new briefs. That made him blush once he recovered, a bit shaky on his feet as he got back to supporting his own weight. The ghosts were apparently leaving him alone now, so he took a moment to examine his new threads. His blush deepened a bit as he thought that he had, maybe once or twice before, thought of outfits like this...

A growl from his stomach broke his little reverie, but he still didn't want to go back into the kitchen. The decision apparently wasn't his to make, though, as suddenly his arms and legs started moving on their own accord! He yelped and almost fell over, but the tubes of fabric around his appendages seemed to have a life of their own, holding him upright as they marched him into the kitchen. He still had control of his fingers, toes, and torso, but his hosts had full control over his movement overall. The boots at least had better traction on the floor than his sneakers had...

He was sat down at the kitchen table as a sandwich started floating over to the table. He looked around and saw that jars of peanut butter and jelly had apparently been taken out and used while he had been on the floor in the washroom. "Oh! Wait, no, I don't like peanut -" SMACK! His own hand slammed the side of his face, propelled by a sudden movement from his arm warmer. He whined a moment before continuing "...but the roof of my moummmpphh!" At that point, the floating sandwich silenced him by jamming itself into his muzzle. For a moment he did nothing, but as the food was forced further forward he started obediently chewing and swallowing. His ears burned as he was force-fed, feeling those invisible hands on his body again and petting his head as if he was just a pup.

Before the sandwich was even completely gone, those striped garments stood him up again and started marching him into the back den. His legs took him to another door, his arm raising to open it, which he eventually did while still trying to gag down the last of sandwich. The open door revealed a nice, friendly-looking staircase leading down to what appeared to be a finished basement. His legs took him down, the wolf flicking on another light switch when the descent was complete. He was walked down a short hallway and gasped slightly when a grand space opened up before him - the owners of the house had a basement theater, complete with stage! A stage his new boots were leading him straight to.

Crisp blushed and whimpered a bit as stage lighting turned on, realizing that the ghosts intended to put on a show with him as their puppet. He caught sight of a camera at the back of the theater turn on, embarrassing him all the more as his member poked out of the top of his little briefs. He legs led him up to the stage, where he was surprised that those boots click-clacked on the stage surface like tap shoes, very different from the way the behaved back up in the kitchen. A spotlight came on him then, his arm and leg warmers forcing him into a very show-biz-like pose.

Classic 1920's music started playing from the theater's speakers, making Crisp's new green boots really come to life. His right boot tapped its toe side-to-side a few times with the introduction music, with a heel-click right where the music paused; the song then started in earnest, and the wolf found his feet tap-shuffling to the left, then right, then giving little jumps. Well, this isn't so bad... Crisp though, still blushing a bit at being so exposed and helpless on stage, the little bit of giggling and cheering from the "audience" also keeping him hard.

The dancing got more intense as the song went on, though. His legs started doing crazier things like running in place and hopping on one leg, his arms also being brought in to the show and miming along. Crisp was panting slightly by the time the music stopped and his possessed green getup relaxed. Or, at least, they stopped moving - he actually tried walking back off stage, but found his feet, legs, and arms were held in place, no matter how much force he applied with the rest of his body. "Oh khum un..." he muttered, the peanut butter still sticking to the top of his mouth.

Another song started up - much faster this time.

Crisp's eyes went wide as the boots went crazy, his other clothes supporting his arms and legs as his feet began a non-stop barrage of tapping, making him glide and spin around the stage at the complete mercy of that possessed footwear. If he hadn't been completely helpless, he would've been impressed at the string of clapping and clopping his feet were doing. By the time this second song ended, the wolf's chest was heaving, his muscles beginning to feel sore even though they weren't really working, just being pulled along by his boots, socks, and arm warmers.

He barely had time to catch his breath when another song started up. He felt like he had heard it somewhere before but couldn't place it... It didn't match the two he had just been put through, though, definitely more recent. He was marched to the side of the stage, interestingly noticing his boots were no longer tapping as he made it to stage right and turned, his arms being lifted above his head in a pose he only recognized from one place: gymnastics. "Oh, no..." he muttered before suddenly finding himself dashing across the stage.

A few dizzying, stomach-churning moments later, he found himself safely sticking the landing of a completely unreal tumbling sequence on the other side of the stage. His "audience" was cheering and laughing, enjoying the full-on Vaudville-like show as Crisp was turned around for another tumbling sequence. Handspring twisting two flips three twists... He couldn't count, now simply focusing on keeping that sandwich down, wishing and praying that these ghosts would be done with him soon enough.

Of course, they weren't. Once the gymnastics show was over, (the wolf losing his loose tank top somewhere along the way,) the telltale clicking of tap shoes returned. Crisp groaned as the music started up again, his boots taking him on yet another frantic ride around the stage. He would have been starting to panic about his absolute lack of control if he hadn't already been emotionally worn out from all the teasing earlier and physically worn out from his time on stage already. His knees and ankles started to feel worn down a bit as that third dance gave way to a fourth one.

He felt like his torso was just hanging from in-between those arm-warmers by that point, chest heaving and muscles aching. He yelped meekly when he suddenly felt invisible hands on him again, gripping and massaging his bare sides. It made him blush furiously to feel himself getting felt up by ghosts, but at least he was getting a break from dancing or flying across the stage... He started squirming a bit more insistently, though, when he felt one of those invisible hand caress his rump and prod between his cheeks. "H-hey, don't touch th-there..." he murmured. The ghost(s?) stopped at his behind then, but he yelped in earnest as he felt the front of his briefs squeezed.

He didn't have time to recover, though, as music started up again. With his boner renewed from the grope, he became acutely aware of just how tight those mint green briefs were as he clattered across the stage again, the fabric rubbing over his crotch teasingly. That contact, along with the cheering and laughing from his spirit audience, only made him harder as he boot-covered feet danced across the stage.

With all the energy he was being forced to expend, it wasn't that much of a surprise to the tired-out wolf that his stomach began growling again by the time the dance was over. Somewhere in the back of the theater, near where the camera was, he heard some clattering and a machine of some sort being turned on - he couldn't see what it was himself thanks to the stage lighting making the rest of the theater look like a complete black box to him.

Next on the program, though, was apparently a slapstick act, as from backstage a "ghost" came out wearing an old jacket, trousers, boots, gloves, and a hat. No head was visible, nor was any other part of his body, but nonetheless Crisp was forced to start interacting with his unannounced costar in a physical comedy routine that often left the wolf blushing and on the floor. The act ended when the ghost helped Crisp up to his feet again, then got behind the wolf wand wrapped his(?) arms around the fur. Crisp wasn't sure what was going on until he felt a thrust against the back of his briefs, making him start to wiggle in an attempt to get out from the ghost's embrace even as the front of his briefs was dragged down a bit by his swelling member. As suddenly as it had started, the act stopped as his costar literally vanished, the extra clothes falling to a heap behind Crisp's feet.

He realized what the machine was earlier when he heard some popping, and a moment later a theater-style bag of popcorn floated up to the stage. As before, though, he wasn't allowed to feed himself, the arm warmers keeping his arms engaged in removing the ghost's clothes while handfuls of popcorn started coming at his face. He first tried dodging the messy snack, not wanting to get any pieces into his eyes or up his nose accidentally, but he finally just opened his mouth to let popcorn get forced in to his mouth. Once his snack was "complete", the music started back up again, a 1960's jazz tune this time, his boots starting to tap away again.

Crisp lost track of time as he was forced to dance over and over again, with other acts throw in to the show - not to mention having those invisible hands feel him up occasionally as well. Between those, the tight briefs, and the giggling that seemed to permeate the air, he stayed hard all night, whimpering as the exhaustion - mental, physical, and sexual - really got to him. He was fed some soft pretzels at some point, but he was really not paying any attention any more.

He had no clue how long he had been tormented up there on stage, but finally some "handiwork" at his tailhole and sack got to him. Whatever it was inside him that was trying to keep what little dignity he had left finally gave up, the wolf moaning in defeat as he came, feeling the last of his energy drain out with his jizz. The music started again a moment later, and he felt his arms and legs get back in to the act as if they weren't tired at all, but barely ten seconds in to the song he passed out - not like the ghosts required him to be conscious anyway, with the control they had over his arms and legs...

He woke up in a limp heap on the stage, not sure of what time it was. He groaned and rolled over, rubbing his eyes - it took a while for him to realize the girly green getup he was still wearing no longer was controlling him. He shakily got up to his feet, regular low light filling the basement theater instead of the stage lighting he remember, and he made his way off the stage. At the edge of the stage, he noticed his green tank top folded neatly on top of what appeared to be a VHS tape. "A copy for your entertainment" was scrawled in messy writing on the label.

He blushed as he made his way back upstairs, barely noticing that the den and kitchen were inexplicably cleaned up once again (as was the rest of the house). He gathered most of his clothes from the washroom, glad to be back in his own underwear and with his favorite sneakers, and then went upstairs to fetch his shorts from the master bedroom. After a little bit of indecision, he nabbed an old grocery bag from the kitchen and put the VHS, green briefs, and tank top inside.

He went back outside as the sun was just coming up, observing the damage the storm had done to the countryside as he picked up his bike from the middle of the yard. He put the bag in the bike's basket and got on - suddenly groaning in embarrassment as he realized the seat was still soaked! He was going to have a noticeable wet spot on the underside of his shorts all the way home...