FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

No CGI (male)

by Tagenar (https://www.furaffinity.net/user/tagenar | https://tagenar.sofurry.com/)

{This is inspired by a character in my Archeons series (first appearance is in book 4). Ratash would do this in a gay club. Oh yeah, and everyone lets him. I decided not to write this in the Archeons storyverse because there's too much context. (More info on my blog: https://daydreamingintext.blogspot.com/p/the-archeons-series.html) Much easier to create the same scenario in a new setting, and have some fun with it. Someone needs to depict an over-muscled theropod. For science.

https://www.furaffinity.net/view/29787/ (helpful illustration)

https://www.furaffinity.net/view/44728210/ (also helpful illustration)

https://www.furaffinity.net/view/34538867/ (the character's inspiration)}

The bouncer waves you through and you step into the club. Not really exclusive, but they do pay attention to who enters. It gives you some assurance the place is safe.

High ceiling, loud bass, muted lighting, bar to the far side of the building, dancing poles between it and the front entrance. Several twinks wearing thongs that barely contained their bulges gyrated around them. One buff man wearing only a hat is waving his junk while swinging around another pole.

You cross the crowd, pausing to check out the hunk on the pole and the men watching him. They are wearing fishnet shirts and short shorts and tight tank tops, making you feel overdressed in a t-shirt and jeans. You're here for drinks and the atmosphere, not a hookup.

The bartender has nice pecs and a full set of abs, and he always wears clothes that show them off. Lawrence once told you he was required to show some skin, and he doesn't mind because the tips are good, plus as often as he is in the gym to look like this it should earn a return.

Lawrence notices you as you take a seat.

“Hey, man, you haven't been here in a few weeks. What happened?"

This is why you keep coming here. People notice when you're absent, unlike at work.

“Blew all my spending money at the import store. Had to wait another paycheck before I could come back."

“Been there done that," he smiles as he shakes the mixer, which always makes his biceps and pecs pucker. He knew it, and he made sure people saw. One time he let you feel them while he made your drink. Easiest way to get a bigger tip. You are in the wrong line of work.

“Martini, please," you say, “as traditional as you can make it."

“Coming up shortly."

Lawrence shuffles to the side and pours for a couple of bears a few seats down. You glance at the menu, considering something from the kitchen when the noise from the dancing poles behind you rises well above the thumping bass. You spin around on the stool and suddenly you can't breathe.

There's a dinosaur walking the floor between the dancing poles. Orange scales, red flecks in random places all over, standing as tall as everyone in the room, walking like a bird, just like in the movie. Six guys have their hands on his thighs, and when he moves you can see why: he's ripped. The way he's standing now shows the dinosaur has freakin abs, too.

“Lawrence... uh, Lawrence."

A moment later you hear the shaker coming closer. “Yeah?"

“That's a... Is that a velociraptor?"

“Utahraptor. Oh yeah, he's been in here a lot since the movie opened. He's home now and hitting the clubs again."

“The fuck did you just say?"

“Jurassic Park is out, so no more publicity tours. He goes by R. Been a fixture of the gay clubs all around the state since 81, I think. Surprised you haven't seen him before."

The dinosaur stands taller, letting everyone see his chest and underside, also bulging. Strange bulges; some muscles are overly large and others seem too small, such as the arms, but he still has more mass on him than most of the men in the room. Some of the bigger guys are comparing arms with him. Undersized as they seem compared to the rest of him, the dinosaur's arms are twice as thick as the ones on even the biggest gym-rat in sight.

You hear glass sliding beside you, and you take your martini and raise it to your lips.

“I thought that was computer animation."

Lawrence snorts behind you. “That rumor won't die, will it? Why do you think they made a movie about dinosaurs if there weren't a bunch of them around?"

You notice how many people are feeling between his legs. Their hands come back wet, but you can't see why.

“This is allowed?" you ask.

“He's a movie star. He could get away with murder with those looks. Can't blame him. I'm at the gym five days a week and I'll never get legs that big."

After comparing arms and chests with a number of humans, leaving the mammals defeated and lightheartedly struggling to assert their position to their respective partners, the dinosaur climbs onto one of the little stages and begins swinging around the pole. His muscles look obscene even from a distance. The onlooking crowd grows.

“So... no extinction?"

“Your school hasn't updated their textbooks either, I take it." Lawrence chuckled. “Honestly I'm glad the ethnic group is getting attention now. Maybe someday Hollywood will let them talk."

You sip again, and then you push off the stool and head straight for the platform with the dino on it. He is now upright against the pole, underbelly exposed, and now you can see everything. No balls. He has a slit, tip of a dick peeking out of it, and an alarming amount of clear, stringy fluid is dripping out of it, webbing his legs together and connecting his slit with the ground. He's feeling his own chest and stomach up and down with one hand while holding the pole with the other.

You reach the platform. R has leaked enough to make puddles on it. You take a chance and reach out, get a little on your finger. Warm and slick. Very slick. You sniff it. You are instantly hard, even though it doesn't seem to smell like anything. Nonetheless you can't stop sniffing it. You take a lick, and then a sip from your martini.

You look up, and all you can see is dinosaur abs and a head peeking down between a chest that looks rather undersized compared to his legs, but somehow perfectly proportional for his stance.

“I saw that," R says. His mouth movements don't quite match his words. A drop of lube the size of a golf ball falls from his slit and hits the stage. “Ha[pp]y to satis[f]y your thirst."

“Damn," is all you can say. You watch him dancing and gyrating and flexing his theropod muscles before continuing. “I hear you're a movie star."

“You [b]et." He lowers himself to what must have been a more comfortable position.

“Sorry, but I don't recognize you."

“S[p]iel[b]erg insisted on [p]ainting us muted colors. He thought it would look like a co[m]edy otherwise. I'[m] everywhere in the movie, and I'[m] also the one that lunges [f]or the group at the end and then gets snatched out of the air by the T-rex."

You look up at his underside as he moves about. Now you can see his legs in motion, and they look more solid than tree trunks.

“Best part of the movie!" you say, sipping your martini. “He's not CGI either?"

R crouches to be closer to your eye level, backside still raised. The crowd behind him goes nuts. You can hear another loud drop of lube hit the stage.

“[F]orced [p]ers[p]ective. She actually [w]asn't on set. Editing makes it look like she's gra[bb]ing me. T-rexes haven't been that [b]ig in a cou[p]le thousand years. She's only two feet taller than me. Has a medical degree."

You laugh. R snorts.

“And we all had speaking roles," the dinosaur continues. Now you notice his lips can't actually move. He's approximating some sounds with his tongue and throat, giving him a strange accent with no m's, p's, w's, or other lip sounds: “Just -efore I get snatched, I'- telling the- to -uck o- this is our island now in -y o-n language. It's in the scri-t. S-iel-erg nixed the su-titles from all of our lines. Said the story worked -etter if the dinos can't talk. I'- still -issed about that, -ut what can ya do. It's just a -ovie."

Sip. “Did he also start the rumor you're just computer animation?"

He waves his tail around, bouncing his legs. Eight people have reached up and are patting his thighs, mostly to confirm they are just as solid as they look. “Do [p]eople really think co[mp]uters can [m]ake something like [m]e? Have you [p]layed Doom?"

You can't help but stare at his arms. They are thicker than your neck, and they're easily the thinnest part on his body.

“Fuck, dude, do you even lift?"

He parts his lips, showing his pointed teeth. “Yes, I do. You should co[m]e [w]atch [m]e sometime."

He rises and takes a spin around the pole, giving everyone a view. You have enough time to take a few more sips from your martini. While his rear is facing you, his slit drips. The stage is slick with this stuff, and you realize you're leaning forward.

You reach out and take another finger-full from the stage. You lick it off again. Still no taste, but you reach for another.

Orange scales suddenly bump your nose, pushing your hand out of the way.

“You like how I taste?" R growls, muzzle an inch from your nose.

“Don't know. This is weird."

R drops to his side, underbelly facing you, everything exposed. “Go for the source. Touch anything you [w]ant."

You set your drink on the platform and feel his chest. His muscles barely give to the touch, even to a push. You let your hands wander down to the abs. His scales are coarse, and they don't hide a single muscle fiber underneath. He takes a few breaths, showing them in motion. No reason to be coy. You reach between his legs and part his slit. A wad of clear fluid falls out and spreads over his thigh.

You feel hands—human hands—on your shoulder, urging you on. You may as well be onstage with the dinosaur.

“Fuck, you drip a lot! They let you walk around the club like this?"

“No one co[mp]lains," R says, drumming the claws on his hand on his chest muscles. “[M]ale dinosaurs drip [w]hen [w]e're horny. I'[m] always horny. Was a fun on set. Had to have a guy with a [m]op follow me around."

You begin rubbing his slit. His cock immediately emerges. It's already thicker than your wrist and still sliding out. Meanwhile the crowd behind you is cheering you on. You are still not dressed for this.

His cock doesn't smell like anything, but nonetheless your face is on it, licking it up and down. It's still coming out as you rub his slit. He opens his legs wider and rolls flat on his back to give everyone a better view.

It finally stops. It's as long as your arm from elbow to fingertip and about as thick, subtle ridges lining its conical form. You can see your reflection in all the lube covering it. You can't keep your face or your hands off it. Your hands are so slick you doubt you could grip a doorknob. His hips buck. You continue licking and rubbing. One hand wanders up his chest, and you see some other hands feeling his arms and thighs. His abs are a delight to explore. A few other hands are on his dick, some just giving it a squeeze and then making room for someone else.

He doesn't warn you when he busts his load, so it sprays you in the face, just barely missing your eye. Laughing, you aim his cock at someone else and end up hitting his chest. Everyone is cheering. A few couples are kissing. Kinky.

R's cock is shrinking. You feel claws on the back of your neck, pushing your face down to his slit. You keep licking as it retracts. It's beginning to smell like something. You're unsure what, but for a few seconds, you consider this is where you want to be for the rest of your life. Right here, face buried in dinosaur slit, covered in cum thick as toothpaste.

The crowd is beginning to disperse throughout the club. The bass is taking over again. Your pockets feel weightier than usual. Cash has been stuffed into them. You look up R's body at the toothy muzzle looking between his thick pecs back down at you.

“Not very often a hu[m]an likes [m]y scent," R says, rubbing the back of your neck with his claws. “I'm serious about the gy[m]. Do you [w]ork out?"

“Just a weight set at home," you answer, not sure where the words are coming from. “I can meet you wherever... so long as you're still a faucet."

R growls, and for some reason it makes you hard. “You can't pronounce [m]y real na[m]e, so I'[m] R. I like your scent, too. What's your nu[m]ber? I guess I should know your na[m]e."

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4539730.James\_L\_Steele

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7136003.Tagenar