FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Home at last,” thought Anthro-Thor.

Scratching at the back patio French doors, he drew breath to howl, then remembered his hands. Resembling paws, they possessed thumbs and retained enough human dexterity to work simple mechanisms like the doorknob at Dallas’s apartment and the one now barring his way.

“How odd,” he mused, “to open doors like a human, and how much odder to know it’s odd.”

Canine consciousness had not evolved complex self-awareness and situational assessment, leaving Thor unused to introspection and logical dilemmas. Still, he was not a witless monster. Though he crouched on digitigrade legs and heavily padded hindpaws, access to Dallas’s intellect augmented his mind to that of a human child.

Walking upright and talking also provided alternate perspectives, stimulating a rush of insight. Never before fathomed concepts drifted about his feral awareness like a cloud of arboreal detritus stirred by an autumn wind, his inner puppy snapping at phantom leaves with joyful enthusiasm. Each illusory capture opened a novel mental vista as likely to confuse and confound as to enlighten or inform.

Shaking his shaggy head, Anthro-Thor dismissed the flighty abstractions. Master and mistress were real, and his keen sense of smell confirmed they were home. A light touch from one clawed digit depressed the unlocked handle, swinging the door open into the spacious kitchen. He exulted in familiar odors but winced at the recognizable sounds of his owners making love. His ears swiveled, tracking grunts and gasps originating from the family room. The recollection of past rebukes barring his participation evoked an aching melancholy.

Though Thor whined mournfully, he was ever hopeful. From within Dallas’s storehouse of trivial wisdom came the phrase:

The third time’s a charm.

Thor had failed more often than that yet still embraced the maxim’s positive intent. Believing in familial love, he crept forward, anticipating a joyful reunion with his pack.

ef

Years had passed since Trevor last experienced sex with Susan so intense and long-lasting. After a quick cowgirl-style humping, he went down on her, and she guided his tongue and fingers to repeated orgasms. In recompense, she gave the best head of their marriage. Through it all, he managed to stay erect. Trevor suspected some ancillary WereBendr effect, but Susan generously credited his love and unwavering devotion.

“You must have really missed me,” she cooed after letting his cock slip from her lips.

“Hmph,” Trevor grunted as the last dribble of cum seeped from its tip. “Of course. You’re gone so much lately, and I don’t have much else to do but think about you.”

Though Trevor knew his words were base hypocrisy, Susan purred like a pleased housecat.

“All the more reason to maximize our time together, and since you’re being such a good boy….” She turned to stand bent over with her palms resting on the sturdy oak coffee table. “You can fuck me like an animal.”

Trevor hesitated, unable to believe his ears, prompting Susan to wiggle her hips invitingly.

“Come on. You beg for it often enough.”

Needing no further encouragement, Trevor happily plunged balls-deep into her pussy and ground away, focused exclusively on her beautiful butt. Distracted by the view, he remained oblivious to the tall, shadowy figure standing in the entryway until Susan screamed, “Monster!”

Trevor looked up into eyes glowing with reflected light. Susan scrambled backward, pushing him onto the couch, using him as a shield against the hulking threat. With only his dick pointing forward like a fleshy spear, Trevor was equally terrified until the mystery figure stepped into the light, revealing itself to be Anthro-Thor.

“Wait, Susan! It’s okay! It’s okay!” he shouted, but Thor’s eager advance increased her hysteria, fingernails biting into Trevor’s naked chest. “Thor! Stay! Sit!”

Obeying years of training, the dog-man froze and squatted on the floor. His goofy, tongue-hanging-out grin belied any hostile intent. In truth, the beast’s posture and demeanor did more to blunt Susan’s anxiety than her husband’s reassurances.

“What did you call it?” she asked from over his shoulder, her tone equal parts amazement, fear, and disbelief. “Did you say Thor?”

“Yes, dear. It’s him…Well, it’s partly him.”

“So we’re both seeing something besides a dog? I’m not hallucinating?”

“No. I mean, yes, you’re not. He’s real, that is, and means us no harm.”

“How…how do you know?”

Trevor cringed, rose, and paced back and forth, forgetting his nudity. His marriage teetered over the edge of a terrible chasm, his only options for saving it a host of appalling choices. The devil on his shoulder urged him to knock her out, put her to bed, and later claim it must have been a nightmare. If that didn’t work, he could always kill her and bury her in the backyard. His shoulder angel immediately condemned both idiotic plans, recommending confession and atonement. Because Trevor loved his wife—always had—and was willing to humble himself before her, the righteous course prevailed.

“What I am about to say would be unbelievable without the evidence before you.”

Mentally bracing himself, Trevor gathered his last few weeks’ activities into a coherent narrative. Susan listened attentively to his embarrassing monologue. No sordid detail of the grotesque affair went untold. Every emotion known to humanity played across her face as her gaze shifted between him and the somehow familiar yet totally mysterious creature sharing their otherwise everyday, dull suburban existence. When finished, Trevor sagged into his favorite easy chair and put his hands over his face.

“Okay,” Susan began after a long and uncomfortable silence during which Trevor sweated away half his body weight. “Let me get this straight. A magical phone app you found on the dark web fuses a human and animal into a hybrid with the personality of the animal?”

Trevor nodded.

“You used this to have gay, beastly sex behind my back?”

Nodding again, Trevor squirmed, certain she would demand a divorce.

“And in this shaggy body is Thor mixed with that little creep that romanced and then dumped our daughter?”

“Yes,” Trevor croaked.

“I’m disappointed in you, Trevor. I really am.”

All hope vanished. He thought, “Here come the demands for a divorce.”

“After all these years together, I am disappointed you did this without me,” she said with a puckish grin.

She tentatively approached Anthro-Thor to stare directly into the creature’s liquid, brown eyes. Even squatting on the floor, he was nearly her height.

“Are you really Thor?” His tail thrashed manically. “Are you Mommy’s good boy?”

“Yes.” The man-dog greedily licked at her face. “It’s me. I’m your Thor.” Childish innocence juxtaposed with an incongruous baritone.

“I’ll be dammed!” She ruffled his luxuriant mane and scritched behind his proud ears. “It really is Thor.”

Thor’s excitement and love manifested. His scarlet penis protruded from its sheath, growing longer and thicker with each beat of his happy heart.

“Oh my. He has the body of a man but is still a dog down there.”

Tentatively she touched the expanding red shaft with one finger. Feeling nothing repulsive, just the warm, rubbery texture common to most male mammals, her fingers tentatively wrapped around the throbbing organ.

“So this is what it feels like? I always wondered. He often got like this during our lovemaking.”

Trevor was too astounded to do more than gawk like an idiot. Never in his most fevered imaginings had he believed she would react this way.

“Was Mommy mean to Thor, always sending him away?” she soothed the muscular, fur-covered giant. Thor nodded, his ears laying flat in sorrowful pantomime, but his tongue lolled in and out with each panting breath. “Does my baby wish to make love to Mommy?”

Accepting the invitation, Thor thrust his snout between her thighs. Susan gasped but did not shy away. Instead, her fingers found purchase in his neck fur, steadying her quaking body. His moist nose and long tongue, flexible beyond any human’s, combined to reawaken interrupted passion.

Thor’s loud slurping and Susan’s panting breaths were too much for Trevor to endure alone. Creeping up behind the hypnotizing gyrations of his wife’s hips, Trevor spooned against her.

“Got room for three?” he asked, but Susan shrugged off his encircling arms and pushed him away with her butt.

“You watch from the chair, you bad boy. This is your punishment for lying, cheating, and keeping secrets.”

It was definitely less fun spanking the monkey, but Trevor was reasonably content to observe and fondle himself. This was a wet dream come true, and Susan’s performance was excellent, eventually cumming messily in Thor’s face.

“Stand,” she commanded, wrapping her arms around Thor’s neck and her legs around his waist.

She was lifted off her feet, straddling his lengthy cock. It took some maneuvering to guide the tip between the slick folds of her sex and significant pressure before the fat sausage parted her private gates. Leisurely at first, they moved faster, deeper, and with increasing urgency until the bulbous base slapping against her labia shouldered its way past all resistance.

“Oh, my God, he’s enormous,” Susan grimaced, “and I swear he’s still growing.”

“That’s the knot. I should have warned you about that. You’ll be tied for half an hour at least.”

Susan shot Trevor a dirty look over her shoulder but made a come-hither wave. Confused, he approached but had no idea what she expected. Anthro-Thor’s paws spread Susan’s thighs and buttocks wide, and a small fraction of his glistening globe was visible, but not even Trevor’s pinky was getting past that—certainly not his dick.

“What…What do you want me to do?”

“Lick me here…,” she said, reaching down to tickle her butthole, “and finger me here,” she added. Tracing forward with one iridescent turquoise nail around Thor’s bulky equipment, she stopped at her clit.

So many firsts in twenty-four hours left Trevor thunderstruck. The idea of a threesome had always been just an elusive dream.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “You’re still being punished, so get busy.”

Trevor wasn’t in a position to object, but he was in a position to please. Swallowing his pride, he knelt and tentatively licked the fleshy iris. Whatever unpleasant tastes and odors he anticipated were absent or subsumed by the combined assault of Thor’s musk and Susan’s heat. Dread became delight and his chore a pleasure.

Thor’s balls packed the gap between Susan’s thighs. Trevor wedged his hand past the fuzzy orbs and over the dog-man’s buried knot. Straddling the pulsing shaft, Trevor’s fingers pinched Susan’s sensitive nub.

“Yes. That’s perfect,” she moaned, clutching fistfuls of Trevor’s hair. Held aloft by Anthro-thor’s muscular arms, she shook in the throes of a violent orgasm—a signal Trevor worried meant no further fun, but Susan pulled his hair painfully. “Up! Up!” she demanded. “I want you inside.”

“Where?”

“My asshole, dummy. Thor’s already cumming, so get going.”

Trevor obliged, forcing his cock past her saliva-coated sphincter. With Thor already monopolizing her guts, the constricted tunnel resisted his advance. Squeezed mercilessly, he came again, accompanied by Susan yowling louder than the neighbor’s horny cat.

ef

Trevor felt his wife stir beneath him. She lay atop the sleeping Anthro-Thor, the filling of a kinky sandwich. Yawning, she stretched her arms, unable to move much else.

Trevor nibbled at her nape. “Am I’m forgiven?”

“Get off my back, and I’ll let you out of the dog house.”

Trevor pulled out and rolled to the side. Susan grunted until Thor’s semi-deflated knot popped free. Laying on her back between both males, cum oozed between her legs in two sluggish rivers soaking the carpet beneath her butt.

“That was incredible. I can’t believe we’ve been married over a quarter-century and never tried anything like this before.”

“Which part? A three-way? Anal? Fucking a werewolf?”

Susan laughed. “All three, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Trevor winced. “I guess I never had the guts to ask for what I really wanted. I thought you’d think me a pervert.”

“I had a friend once who said sex acts are only perverted if they can’t physically be done.”

“I suppose without WereBendr, having sex with a furry would have met that definition. You do know what a furry is, right?”

“Sure. Like our baby here.” Susan’s hand patted Thor’s taut stomach. “Although I’ve seen pictures of dragon and bird-people, too, I suppose.”

“Scales and avians,” Trevor corrected. “Anthro-sharks and dolphins are fins.”

“That’s weird. I’ll stick with fur.” Her brow furrowed. “Thor’s going to be like this each time, right? I mean, he’s not going to sprout gelatinous tentacles to probe our butts, is he? That shit is perverted.”

“No. Of course not. That’s ridiculous…At least, I think it is. We’d probably have to cross him with an octopus or a squid…Yuck. Best not to think about it.”

“Already forgotten,” said Susan, affectionately petting anthro-Thor’s dense fur, the pleasant interlude ending with a sudden and shocking transformation to pale skin. “What the fuck!?”

Two bodies now lay on Susan’s left: Dallas and Thor. Repulsed by the intimate contact with her daughter’s ex-boyfriend, Susan rolled over Trevor to get away.

“Gross.” She rubbed her hands on the carpet and used a couch doily to scrub at her groin. “So disgusting. Is this Dallas’s or Thor’s cum gluing my thighs together?” Susan headed for the stairs. “Either way, I need a shower.”

Trevor scrambled to intercept her, grabbing her wrist.

“There’s no time for that. We have to get rid of Dallas before he wakes up. Last time, I left him in his truck. I’ll see if it’s here.”

Trevor ran to the living room window, scanned the street, and returned, dejected but holding his phone.

“No luck. Thor must have walked here.”

“What are we going to do, then? Dump Dallas in the woods?”

“Tempting, but he’ll be suspicious this time for sure. What if he contacts the police? I think it’s best if we can get him in his own bed. When he wakes up, whatever he remembers will seem like a freaky dream.”

“Where does he live?”

“I have no idea. Do you remember his last name so I can google it?”

“No, but Thor might know.”

“His name?”

“No. The address or at least how to get there. You just said Thor ran from Dallas’s place, right?”

“I’m assuming that, but so what? Dogs can’t talk.”

“Ours can.”

“That was the fused Thor.”

“Then I know just what to do,” Susan declared, snatching Trevor’s phone. “Let me see that fusion app.”

Trevor wasn’t sure messing with WereBendr was such a good idea, but his wife was a formidable opponent in any kind of argument. Surrendering to her whims was an old habit.

“This is pretty straightforward,” she said after several minutes perusing the options. “There’s all kinds of control settings like how much the fused subjects remember and the time it takes to fuse and unfuse.”

Trevor watched her manipulate a host of slider options before pressing Accept all Settings.

“Hold on. Something’s weird here,” she said.

“Human subject unavailable due to physical exhaustion. Acquiring alternative subject…Alternative subject acquired.”

Susan stared at Trevor.

“What does that mean?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“I think I know, and it’s a combination of good news, bad news, and news somewhere in between.”

“Crap! Give me the bad news first.”

“It seems that Dallas’s health is too depleted for the fusing.”

“It’s hard to imagine any good news fixing that,” grumbled Trevor.

“Thor, on the other hand, still has just over fifty percent health, which is marginal, but acceptable, according to the app.”

“So? Without Dallas, there’s no one….” Trevor recoiled into defensive silence as her intentions became clear. “No! Not me. There’s no fucking way I’m becoming some mindless, hybrid sex toy.”

“Bah. The app has settings for how much control you’ll have and how much of a dog you become.”

Trevor dared hope. “Really?”

“Yep. The tricky part’s figuring out what portion of Thor we need.”

Trevor balked at the uncertainty. “Then it’s too risky. We’ll dump Dallas somewhere and hope for the best.”

“Nonsense. Look. You had it set on one hundred percent Thor, and he made it here.”

Trevor was too nervous to think straight. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“Hear me out. How did Thor know how to get home?”

“I don’t…I have no frigging idea.”

“I do. He must have got it from Dallas’s memories. Maybe you can do the same with Thor, but in reverse.”

“Oh. You mean I’d be one hundred percent in control? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I’m not sure we should go that far. What if you can’t interpret Thor’s thoughts and instincts? We can’t risk it. I need to be able to speak to him at least for directions while we drive.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

“Seventy-five/twenty-five. You should be in control, most of the time.”

“I don’t like that but can’t argue with your logic. Can we go with physically zero percent dog? “

“Don’t be a party pooper. A furry you would be super kinky.”

“Well…maybe…maybe later when we have this all under control.” Trevor warmed to the idea of having a tail and Thor’s prodigious equipment. “Yeah. Sounds like fun.”

“There’s a minimum setting of ten percent anthro. We’ll just have to live with that for the moment, and I have set it so you will remember everything but Thor won’t. You had it the other way around.”

“I guess all that sounds fine. Okay. Go ahead and do it. I’m ready.”

Susan laughed. “I already did. Feel the top of your head.”

Trevor reached to find that his ears had relocated higher on his skull and were now tall and fuzzy.

“And your butt,” she giggled.

Trevor craned his neck to observe a black, shaggy tail.

“As for the rest of you, best look in a mirror.”

Trevor walked to the hall, where his reflection revealed he was taller and bulging with muscle, though not fur-covered. Susan leaned against him from behind, running her hands along his thighs and six-pack abs.

“Nice body, cute ears, and a tail; I’d take this for a test spin anytime.”

Trevor smiled and felt himself rising to the occasion. A quick check confirmed he was no longer human in that department, resembling Anthro-Thor in size and form. Exercising his transformed tool sounded great. Lifting Susan, he slung her over his shoulder and headed towards the stairs and master bedroom.

“What the hell?” Susan protested. “I meant later after we ditch our uninvited guest.”

Unsure what he had been doing, Trevor put Susan down. Someone else had taken control of his body, and he knew who.

“Sorry. That was too tempting for Thor…maybe me too.” Trevor pointed to his head. “It’s a bit confusing in here.”

“Oops. I forgot Thor was in there. I promise not to flirt anymore until Dallas is home.”

They dressed. While Susan warmed up the minivan, Trevor hefted the naked, unconscious pizza delivery guy as if carrying a baby.

“Wow,” thought Trevor. “I really am strong. I wonder how much this body could bench press? Ditch the ears and tail, and I’ve got a shot at the Olympics.”

ef

For Trevor, the drive was surreal. Sitting in the passenger seat wearing a pair of too-tight sweat pants, a cap to cover his ears, and an old Hawaiian shirt barely fitting his expanded torso, he let Thor’s personality rise to share his consciousness. Wild impulses accompanied the mental accommodation. Hanging his head out the window with his mouth open was one. The urge to sniff at Susan’s nether regions was another. Trevor yielded to the former to avoid distracting his wife with the latter, swallowing several disgusting bugs for his trouble.

Early on a Saturday morning, the awkward stares were few, and the probability of being recognized remote, but Trevor still felt like an idiot on display every time another vehicle passed. Fortunately, no one noticed his deformities, and the scents and sights stimulated his mind-mate to remember key junctions of his earlier journey that Trevor verbally relayed to Susan. Though the route was circuitous and Thor tried to take them off-road through parks and trails, Susan found a driveable workaround each time.

When they finally reached their destination, Susan had Trevor remain in the van. She scouted ahead, ensuring the route was clear and the apartment door unlocked. It was then easy enough for Trevor in his buffed-up state to haul Dallas up a few flights of stairs, sneak inside the efficiency unit, and deposit the slumbering burden on the bed next to his equally sonorous girlfriend. In and out like expert cat burglars, Susan and Trevor returned to the van and celebrated with manic relief.

“That was scary and thrilling,” Susan said between fits of laughter.

“I don’t think anyone saw us,” agreed the squirming Trevor. His enthusiastic tail made sitting uncomfortable. “Let’s go before someone does.”

Susan pulled away from the curb but headed towards the city’s center instead of home.

“Where are we going?” asked Trevor.

“To my office. I have some files to upload and instructions for my staff. This product is needed pronto, and I never let a client down.”

Trevor understood the pressures of his wife’s consulting business. He also recognized that the associated profits exceeded his income, which barely covered basics like food and utilities. Susan was the breadwinner for expenses like their kid’s college education and the bulk of the mortgage. Wary of derailing the gravy train, he didn’t argue.

Thus, he rode meekly with his mouth shut, distracted by the need to suppress Thor’s exuberant desire to bark at squirrels, cats, and joggers. Still fearful of being exposed as a freak, the nearly empty parking garage under the high-rise office building was a welcome refuge. Trevor released his cramped tail from his pants and tossed the stocking cap in the backseat. Since none of Susan’s staff were scheduled to work, he followed her to her private office on one of the high-rise’s mid-elevation floors.

Susan went right to work at her computer, ignoring Trevor. Bored, he wandered the open space where staff toiled during the week. With nothing else to do, he found himself tidying up desks, straightening pictures and plaques on the walls, organizing office supplies, and adjusting the position of anything that looked slightly out of place, his accountant’s inclination for categorization having combined with Thor’s shepherding instincts.

When Susan finished, she was astounded to see the usually disorderly common area arranged meticulously. Her fuzzy-eared husband sat in a chair, guarding it all with a cattle dog’s wariness, waiting to pounce and coax any stray objects into place.

“Uh, Trevor?”

“Yeah,” he answered, snapping out of his trance.

“Nice tidying job.”

“Thanks. It’s a pity to think your staff will come and mess it all up again. I’ll bite ‘em if they do,” he growled.

“Okay…Am I talking to Trevor or to Thor?”

Confused, Anthro-Trevor shook his head.

“It’s me…mostly. It’s a bit weird sharing brain-space with a dog. When I get tired and go on autopilot, he jumps in and takes over.”

Susan sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, setting the office chair to swiveling in a circle.

“I like this blend. Your build is amazing, and what woman could resist these?” She scratched behind his ears. “Let’s do it right now. Come on. In my office.”

“Um. What if someone….”

“No one’s scheduled to work today, especially not this early.”

Dragging Trevor by his wrist, Susan closed her office door and drew the blinds before removing their clothes. Pushing him against the desk, she marveled again as his fleshy sheath released its hidden treasure to slip between her thighs.

“There is something super sexy about the feel of this thing,” she said while bearing down upon her quarry, speech degenerating to gratified moans and gasps.

After a few minutes of pleasing herself, the knot slipped inside. “Ah!” she squealed, and Trevor howled in concert, unaware Susan’s personal assistant had just walked into the outer office.

Answering only to Serena, the weeaboo’s real name was Margaret Baumgartner. Tall of stature with pale skin, a generous bosom, and wide hips, her sturdy Bavarian heritage was difficult to hide, but she tried. Modifying her appearance to appear more Japanese, the late twenties German immigrant was a bizarre study in contrasts.

Tight bindings flattened her tits. Dyes, scissors, and a hot iron straightened curly blonde hair, rendering it short and pink. Carefully applied mascara lent a flattened shape to her round, blue eyes. Her short-sleeved white dress shirt and pleated skirt—more akin to a schoolgirl’s uniform than legitimate office attire—left her arms and legs bare, displaying colorful tattoos of pagodas, samurai, wading heron, cherry blossoms, dragons, and even Hokusai’s iconic Great Wave off Kanagawa.

Irritating everyone with her extreme extroversion and mangled mingling of Japanese and English, she was the office pariah. Her lack of discretion spawned numerous faux pas, the latest of which involved wondering at the odd sounds behind her boss’s closed door and thinking nothing of barging in to investigate.

“Ohay? Gozaimasu, Miller-sama…,” she began, but the pretentious greeting died on her lips like a frolicking deer encountering a speeding semi’s grill.

Stunned by the unexpected display, Serena froze. As all traces of her assumed persona vanished, she reverted to her native Deutsche.

“Mein Gott! Vas ist los?”

Trevor scrambled to catch Serena before she could bolt, but he was bound to Susan at the groin, dragging his wife and the phone with its cursed app onto the floor. Fortunately, his prey was slow, and his fusion reflexes were lightning quick. He seized her ankle and pulled her down into a tight embrace with one hand firmly covering her mouth.

Trevor’s victory was short-lived. During the struggle and confusion, the app activated. Finding no other suitable target nearby, it locked on Serena. A warning flashed on the screen, but the entangled trio was too distracted to pay attention.

Human-human fusion not recommended. Proceed anyway?

Unlike most legitimate programs, WereBendr lacked fail-safes requiring confirmation to prevent unintended consequences. Instead, the mischievous app displayed a countdown from ten alongside a Cancel button, making the fusion inevitable for the preoccupied users.

Serena vanished at zero, as did the insistent tugging on Trevor’s knot, leaving him clutching empty clothes against his chest. Susan was replaced by the now naked secretary. At least he thought it was Serena until a more thorough appraisal of the full-figured woman sitting snug against his rear with her legs spread wide revealed recognizable features.

Nearly three decades of marriage had tutored Trevor in the distinctive landmarks dotting the terrain of his wife’s body. Beauty marks, the angle of her ear lobes, and other subtle indications were recognizable to him even masked by the dominating overlay of Serena’s plumpness and voluptuous curves now magnified in erotic proportions.

Her breasts were truly massive. Her hips seemed borrowed from an ancient fertility goddess. Curiously, the pink hair on her head matched her pubes. Trevor wondered if that was a WereBendr side effect or if the weeaboo dyed those too. Either way, it was a titillating complement to the crazy quilt collection of indelible ink images covering much of her skin. The app had modified her tattoos until they were now a curious caricature of their former patterns. A serpentine dragon sipping a cup of tea encircled a pagoda, carp flew above Mt. Fuji, and samurai wearing kabuki masks and kimonos danced on the rim of the moon.

“Where’s Serena?” asked the human-human fusion. “Did she get away?”

Recognizing his wife’s voice, Trevor thanked good fortune that Susan’s personality dominated, though he was perplexed how both women were accommodated in the one body. The combination of their masses should have resulted in a much larger construct than this relatively ordinary—if full-figured—woman. The mystery would have to wait for later because Susan panicked over Serena’s presumed escape.

“You’ve got to chase after her! We can’t let her talk to anyone!”

“Whoa! Chill. She’s still here.”

Susan glanced rapidly around her office and even out the open door. “Where?”

“Uh…look at yourself.”

Susan did, trying to see past her enormous breasts. The bizarre tableau of Japanese imagery covering her body spurred a series of cascading freak-outs.

“My skin! My hair! My thighs! My butt! My boobs! My God, these are huge!”

Trevor let the episode run its course, waiting until Susan looked to him for an explanation. Shrugging his shoulders, he expressed the obvious. “WereBendr. It must be able to fuse two humans.”

“You mean Serena and me…?”

“Looks like, but at least you have control. I hope that means she’ll have no memory afterward.”

“Afterward? You mean we can’t undo this right now?”

“I…Wow. I never thought of that before. Let’s see.”

Trevor thumbed his way through a series of menus and options with no luck. Impatient, Susan took it from him but failed to find a reverse feature, though she did discover something new.

“I located a screen showing fusions in progress. It says yours is going to end in ten seconds.”

“Good,” yawned Trevor, unexpectedly tired. He reclined on the floor. “I’m beat and need to….”

ef

A splash of water on his face and Susan’s insistent voice dragged Trevor back from the peace of a restful nap. The bounteous cleavage hanging over him belied the notion that the latest WereBendr catastrophe had been a dream.

“Did I sleep long?”

“Long enough to leave me stewing in panic and lust.”

Examining his head, butt, and groin, Trevor was delighted to see he was entirely himself again.

“Thor must be home and….”

Susan-Serena’s lips locked with his. Her opulent body nearly crushed his comparatively slight frame as she lay atop him. The fingers of her left hand plowed wildly through his hair while the right encircled his flaccid prick and stroked it back to full tumescence.

“You were totally unresponsive in your sleep,” she said, her heated breath against his ear as she chewed on his neck. “I’m glad you’re responding now.”

He was rising to the occasion, and how could he not? Her enthusiasm and luscious opulence were a novel thrill he desperately wanted to savor.

Susan-Serena rode him, her colossal breasts bouncing in sync with the grinding of her pelvis. When she reversed, Trevor enjoyed a glorious view of the Kanagawa wave bursting outward on either side of the canyon dividing her luscious buttocks. For Trevor, this was heaven, but Susan-Serena was not satisfied.

“I need you deeper,” she complained and crawled forwards onto her hands and knees. “If only you were as big as before.”

Trevor’s slippery shaft flopped out and smacked against his belly.

“Get on top,” she urged.

Delighted, he placed his hands upon her flanks beside the breaking waves and hilted her in one assertive thrust.

“Sploosh!” he said aloud, bearing down hard.

“What’s that?” she groaned through gritted teeth and the shaking of her orgasm.

“Nothing dear,” he chuckled, exploring the interior contours of her harbor until the shared storm of passion broke.

ef

It was Susan’s turn to sleep after she and Serena unfused. Trevor woke her while struggling to shimmy her panties up her thighs.

“Oh. Good. You’re awake. You can do this yourself.”

Susan rubbed her eyes. “Where’s Serena?”

“At her desk. I did my best to dress her and prop her up so she’ll think she just fell asleep there, but she may wake up any minute. We need to be gone before then.”

“Okay. Just let me get the rest of my clothes on…Hey!” Lingering tattoos from the fusion still decorated Susan’s upper arms and abdomen. “What the fuck? Is the separation not complete?”

“It’s gotta be. You two unfused about twenty minutes ago. Maybe it’s a glitch. I don’t think the app was meant for this.”

Susan rubbed furiously at the ink, which remained stubbornly in place. “A glitch?! Tattoos are fucking permanent. I don’t want these on my body for the rest of my life. How do we fix it?”

“I don’t know, but that’s not all. Your hair’s still pink.”

“What!?” Susan snatched a strand and pulled it in front of her eyes, confirming the noxious color. “Great. It’ll take a month to grow this out enough to cut it away. I’m a professional. How do I explain this freaky tint to my clients?”

“I don’t know. Dye it?”

“From pink to blonde. I’ll have to bleach it first, and even then it won’t look right.”

“We’ll have to figure that out at home. If Serena wakes up and catches us, she’ll want explanations for things I just can’t explain. Come on. Let’s go.”

ef

Trevor drove. Susan spent most of the ride brooding over the app, searching for a reset function or anything to erase Serena’s lingering traits. As they pulled into the driveway, she was nearly weeping with frustration.

“I give up. I’m sending a help message to the developer.”

“What’ll you tell him?”

“The truth. We accidentally fused two humans.”

“The truth sounds crazy.”

“I know, but the creator of this app should have an answer. We can’t be the only ones.”

Several hours passed. Susan showered and scrubbed her hair and skin to no avail, and no response from the app developer materialized. Desperate to help, Trevor made what he thought was a reasonable suggestion.

“Maybe we could try another fusion with you and an animal?”

Susan was not amused. “Really? That’s your answer, to do the same thing that caused this in the first place?”

“It’s a little different,” Trevor pouted, “and we know those kinds of fusions go back to normal.”

“I don’t know….”

“It’s the best idea I got. Actually, the only idea.”

After a few moments of silent despair, Susan relented. “Okay, but I set the parameters. I stay in full control, and it’s going to be one hundred percent anthro to make sure and erase all traces of Serena.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go get Thor.”

“Are you crazy? We can’t use him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s a he. Duh! I haven’t found gender settings in WereBendr. I might end up as a hermaphrodite. I’m not ready for that.”

“I don’t know. A dickgirl sounds pretty hot.”

“You have a lot of hidden kinks, Mister. How’d you keep all this from me for so many years?”

“I don’t know. I guess it all seemed kind of embarrassing. Don’t you have some too?”

“Hmm. I suppose…,” Susan seemed on the threshold of confessing then retreated back to the relative safety of the ongoing crisis, “but we can explore that later. For now, let’s stay focused on the problem.”

“Sure, but if not Thor, what?”

“I don’t care as long as it’s mammal and female.”

“Let me go look around outside. If I don’t find the neighbor’s cat or a squirrel, I’ll run to the pet store if I have to.”

“Fine. Fine,” Susan agreed while waving her hand in dismissal and leaning back into the overstuffed couch cushions. “I’m going to take a nap.”

The Doyles, who lived several houses down the block, had an exasperating black cat that delighted in provoking Thor into fits of frantic barking. She paraded on the patio when the dog was inside and tormented him from the fence-top when he went out. To Trevor’s eternal consternation, Susan fed the feline hell-spawn, giving the cat more incentive to trespass. Lilith was the irksome cat’s name, and just as Trevor suspected, she was lying in his hammock, shedding fur all over the fabric.

Thor was asleep in another part of the house, allowing him to sneak up on the sleeping menace. Trevor scooped her in his arms and carried her unwillingly into the house. Lilith disliked him as much as he disliked her, so he held tight to the tense bundle of teeth and claws until he reached the living room.

Susan was inspecting the collection of knick-knacks on display in the breakfront. That should have been a clue that something was amiss, but it wasn’t until the cat hissed in alarm and launched herself across the room, escaping to somewhere else in the house, that what he had thought was his wife faced him.

Susan had re-fused with Serena, the change made obvious by her ill-fitting clothes and the abundance of cleavage spilling out her blouse. Trevor couldn’t figure out why his wife would want to try this combination again.

“What are you doing? I thought we agreed on using the cat.”

“Use the cat for what?” asked the hybrid in a voice that was nothing like Susan’s.

Pandemonium erupted in some distant part of the house as Thor and the Lilith met. Barking and yowling ensued. Sounds of overturning furniture and the shattering of something fragile preceded galloping paws echoing down the stairs and out into the backyard. The distraction gave Trevor a few precious moments to think.

His wife was not in control of the body, and Serena couldn’t be allowed to know the truth. The lie Trevor conjured was implausible but might perhaps convince the weeaboo secretary.

“Ms. Baumgartner. All of this seems very weird and unreal, doesn’t it?”

“Hai,” she agreed, looking around the room and appraising Trevor a bit too long, making him uncomfortable. “I have no memory of coming to wherever this is, and these clothes aren’t mine. They’re like three sizes too small.”

“That’s because this is just a dream.”

“Oh? I must have fallen asleep at my desk, which is funny because that’s twice in one day, and I experienced something like this both times.”

“You are asleep, so no need to freak out. Just go with the flow. Nothing bad can happen, right?”

Serena smiled enthusiastically, giving Trevor hope that she would play along.

“Mein Gott! This must be a lucid dream. I’ve heard of them before but never had one. They say you can do whatever you want.”

“Yeah. I suppose,” mumbled Trevor, worrying his lie had backfired.

He retrieved his phone and began swiping through the app, hoping to force a fusion with the cat and be rid of Serena before she acted on some crazy idea. Serena-Susan sauntered up to him, licking her lips and loosening her ill-fitting garments.

“I know you. You’re the boss’s husband. We met at the office Christmas party. I always thought you were super hot. Your wife is so lucky.” Ripping open the front of her blouse, the fusion’s enormous bosom spilled forth. “Let’s fuck.”

She knocked the phone from Trevor’s grasp as her arms encircled his shoulders, and she kissed him. He struggled, but she was absurdly strong. Only the ringing of the doorbell saved him from immediate rape.

“Maybe I should answer that first in case it’s important?”

Serena-Susan was undeterred from her naughty conquest. She had already loosened Trevor’s belt and unzipped his pants.

“Whoever it is can wait.”

A loud pounding on the door followed, accompanied by a young woman’s voice. “I know someone’s in there! I hear you talking!”

Trevor recognized the accuser. “Not Emily,” he groaned.

Serena-Susan’s roaming, grasping hands paused.

“Who’s Emily?”

“The creepy little neighbor girl, full of sass and attitude since puberty. Goth kid. Glad she’s not one of mine.”

“Goth? That sounds kinky. Dreams are so weird. Let her in and let’s see what happens.”

Free of Serena’s crushing embrace, Trevor considered whether involving Emily was wise, but Serena’s suggestive grinding against his groin while removing her bra motivated him to choose the door.

“Okay, but you stay here out of sight until I get rid of her.”

Serena-Susan shrugged. “Sure.”

Emily was no longer the little girl Trevor remembered, but it had been a year or two since he last saw her up close. Still, much about her appearance was familiar: pale complexion, long black hair, matching eye shadow and lipstick, spiked leather collar, and military-style boots. Short and skinny, she bore a cynical glower reserved for all adults and most of her peers.

Her tattoos were new, as were numerous piercings—most noticeably in her nose and lips. Though adolescence had rounded some harsh angles and added several exciting curves, she was still so thin and wan as to be nearly cadaverous, but what shocked him most was the incongruity of her girl scout cadette uniform. The white polo shirt, khaki vest and skirt, and baseball-style cap would have been no less out of place on a gorilla. Her shirt buttons were open, revealing the black lace edging of her bra. Though emblazoned with legitimate achievement patches, her vest was sullied by morbid pins featuring skulls, zombies, tombstones, other grim, or even obscene, themes. The hem of her skirt rode shockingly high on the round curves of her hips, incapable of hiding her panties. As if possessed by a malevolent and perverted spirit, she exuded young, forbidden sexuality.

The one element of normalcy was the red, metal wagon stacked with dozens of cookie boxes. Trevor concentrated upon it rather than the gum-chewing, mischievous succubus.

“Hi, Emily. Long time no see.”

Emily blew an enormous bubble, let it pop, and sucked it in with practiced insolence.

“I’ve gone by Raven since I was thirteen, dickhead. I’m an adult now, so show some respect.”

Poor Trevor, already rocked to his core from two days of relentless unreality, had no response to her offensive backtalk other than, “That’s right…Right. Aren’t you a bit old for Girl Scouts…uh, Raven?”

Another impudent bubble exploded with insulting violence.

“My participation in this poorly disguised sham of patriarchal capitalism is a punishment.”

“Oh? For what?”

Raven’s wicked smile made Trevor regret asking. “Fucked my boyfriend on my parents’ bed, and in their shower, and on their….”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

She laughed at his evident embarrassment, then scowled. “The only way I’m getting out of these stupid clothes is if I sell all these fucking cookies for my little sister.” Shoving an invoice in Trevor’s face, she added, “Your wife promised to buy six boxes, so pay up. I’ve got a lot more to unload and want this over with, pronto.”

Raven retrieved an armful of merchandise. Bending over, her bare, supple buttocks, slit by a narrow band of black fabric, greeted Trevor like a sideways smile. Glancing backward, she delivered a devilish grin, having caught him gaping at her charms.

“I’ve got a better deal just for you, Mr. Miller,” she said slyly, standing straight again and shoving the half-dozen boxes of thin mints, samoas, and lemon-ups in his arms. “You buy all this crap right now, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Worth my…? What are you…?”

The glossy black nail of her right index finger tapped the end of his dangling belt strap. “Do I have to make it obvious, or can we just assume you answered the door with your pants open for a reason other than to get some air?”

Reminded of his exposure, Trevor dumped the cookie boxes on the hall floor, yanked his zipper up, and fumbled with the belt buckle. He had no desire to confirm her intent, but Serena-Susan chose that moment to intrude into the awkward silence.

“Wow! She is a little hottie. This is the best dream ever.”

Unflappable, Raven’s sardonic expression never wavered despite the appearance of a half-naked adult. “Fucking around on your old lady, Mr. Miller? I was gonna suck your dick in exchange for buying the rest of these cookies, but now I’m charging triple just to keep your secret.”

“Heh. Heh,” giggled Serena-Susan. “You are so precious.”

The pink-haired fusion grabbed the goth-scout by the wrist, dragging the surprised teen into the foyer. Raven was not a complacent victim, though, and a scuffle ensued.

“Let go, bitch!”

Trevor was forced to intervene by breaking Serena-Susan’s grip, who reacted by swooning, forcing Trevor to assist her into a living room chair. After ensuring that she was in no immediate medical danger, he rushed back to the door to apologize to Emily, but the dark scout was gone.

“Oh, shit! She’s run home to report the assault.”

The bright red wagon was still sitting on the porch. Not knowing what else to do, Trevor pulled on the handle to drag the cart inside, but he felt resistance and discovered Emily’s scout vest wrapped around the axle. The rest of her clothes lay underneath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, surmising the malicious app had struck again.

Scooping up the boots and the other empty garments, Trevor added them to the wagon, parked the evidence in the hall closet, and braced his back against the front door. It was a pointless act of defense, considering the outside world blithely went about its business unaware of his travails. Whatever peril intended bedeviling him next was waiting in the living room.

Scattered cookie boxes lay in his path. His stomach growled, reminding him he had skipped breakfast. Unable to ignore the gnawing hunger, he carried the snacks with trepidation towards whomever or whatever lurked around the corner.

A pale, naked woman of Rubenesque proportions stood unnaturally still and poised in the center of the room. Glossy, black hair cut severely straight at her bangs draped over her shoulders to part around her enormous breasts like a dark river encountering a pair of mountains in its floodplain.

Seductive curves and luscious abundance balanced by a haughty gaze of grim authority made her a baleful temptation. Elements of both Susan and Raven were discernible. Angular cheekbones and steel blue eyes came from his wife, providing the fusion a regal bearing. Dark eye shadow, lipstick, and the silver and gem-studded baubles protruding from her earlobes, lower lip, and nose were pure Raven. Trevor imagined her exotic, unnaturally black nipples and labia were a WereBendr side effect.

Uncertain how to react to this alluring presence, Trevor wondered whether he should be terrified of her minacious demeanor or enamored by her voluptuous beauty. Was there enough of little Emily present to make his cravings shameful, or did being married to some part of the whole provide adequate ethical cover? Trevor silently prayed that Susan dominated.

“Uh…so…uh…who…,” he stammered, unsure how to pose his anxious question. “Who are you? I mean, am I in the presence of Susan or…Raven?”

Imperious eyes stared down upon him, judging a peasant far beneath her station and authority. “You’ll do, I suppose,” she announced with less warmth than a graveyard at midnight, each word enunciated with the clipped precision of inevitable fate.

During every other transformation, the tone and timbre of the fusion’s voice had clearly indicated who retained mental domination, but this fusion sounded like neither Raven nor Susan, more like a gestalt entity.

Trevor protested feebly. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“You may call me Mistress Morticia,” was her stern answer. “Sit and remain here.”

Clasping her hands against her navel, Morticia departed with refined elegance and graceful strides. No accompanying movement betrayed any lack of balance or equilibrium.

Her dictate was to Trevor a geas, compelling him to crouch on a footstool in the farthest corner of the room, intimidation imprisoning him as effectively as bars or chains. The cookies lay within reach, but foreboding overwhelmed Trevor’s hunger. He worried instead about Morticia’s plans. Based on her name and odd demeanor alone, it was likely to be something aberrant and frightening.

Yearning to reestablish control over his life, Trevor considered how to reverse the latest fusion. He feared worsening the situation by meddling with the troublesome app, but desperation goaded him into risking his mistress’s wrath. Cautiously, he retrieved his phone from the coffee table, the small act of disobedience precipitating an overpowering dread. Sweat beaded on his brow that, when wiped away, simply resurfaced.

Back on his seat, Trevor examined his message queue, relieved to find a response from the app’s developer.

Human-human fusions result in coding instabilities and unpredictable outcomes. Such misuse violates the terms of use to which you agreed upon installing the app. WereBendr Inc. accepts no liability for adverse consequences resulting from user error.

“Well. That’s not very helpful.”

Noticing the reply had only been posted a few minutes earlier, he crafted and dispatched another quick plea.

The human-human fusion was an accident. I’m not looking for reparations, just help with getting back to normal. Can you fix this?

A few anxious minutes elapsed with no reply. Trevor’s stomach growled, reminding him again it was empty. His trembling fingers fumbled with the nearest cookie box, extracting a single thin mint, the reply distracting him before he could take a bite.

I am working on a patch to resolve your issue. Will push the update when complete. Please ensure that you enable automatic updates in your settings.

Trevor complied with the request and blindly accepted several other access prompts without reviewing their terms. A feeling approaching calm settled upon him for the first time in hours. He brought the chocolate-covered mint to his lips, saliva filling his mouth.

“Put that down!” commanded Morticia.

Trevor nearly fell off his stool. No longer naked, Morticia had partially covered her alabaster body with glossy latex, a loosely laced bustier exaggerating an abundance of cleavage. Low rise, zipper-crotch panties promised easy access to a garden of earthly delights, but her head-covering threatened devilry with ram horns sprouting above a half-mask leering with fiendish intent and silky black hair spilling from underneath and behind like satin drapes.

Contour hugging, stiletto-heeled boots, embellished with buckles and laces, rose to the middle of her thighs like a pair of hungry pythons competing to swallow her whole. Opera length gloves similarly sheathed her arms, but Trevor’s attention fixated instead on what they held. In her right, a riding crop with a skull and crossbones-shaped keeper tapped rhythmically against her thigh. In her left, she clutched a bundle of studded nylon straps connected with buckles, clasps, snap hooks, and O rings.

“Are you deaf?”

The uneaten cookie was still hovering scant millimeters from Trevor’s mouth. Regretfully, he placed the delicious morsel on the nearby end table.

“Kneel on the floor.”

Unable to resist, Trevor obeyed.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Struck dumb and unable to respond, the keenness of his desire manifested in his pants. Morticia smiled at his discomfiture.

Finding his voice, Trevor asked, “Where did you find all that dominatrix gear?”

“You’d be surprised what your daughter left behind in her closet. I think it suits me well, don’t you?”

“Our daughter? Are you sick? If she wore that, then I can’t….”

The riding crop’s jolly roger lashed forward, contacting his cheek—not hard enough to injure, just firm enough to capture his attention and establish dominance. Pressing it into his skin, Morticia’s gaze subsumed his will.

“What you can and cannot do is entirely up to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Trevor croaked.

The smooth flap of leather slid under his chin, forcing him to crane upward uncomfortably.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Much better. You have earned a reward.”

“The cookie?”

Her laugh—a triumph of subtle cruelty inspiring envy in history and fiction’s greatest villains—made Trevor tremble, fearing some grave transgression.

“Of course not. At least not yet. You shall have the great fortune of pleasing me first. Is that not reward enough for a lowly little cur like you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Trevor answered, surprised by his eagerness to make her happy.

“Good. Very good. Now stand, come forward, and remove your clothes, but do not touch yourself.”

Trevor did as instructed, first pulling his shirt over his head. Morticia’s crop wandered across his bare chest, over his shoulders, and down his back like a serpent encircling its prey. His pants and briefs dropped to the floor, and the roaming instrument of discipline parted his buttocks, slithered forward across his thigh, and up his erection, then down again to rest beneath his testicles.

The erotic transit left him panting. A thin rivulet of pre-ejaculate dangled from the end of his quivering cock.

“So ready and so eager,” she observed. “It must be maddening to be denied the touch of skin on skin.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Trevor agreed.

“That shall be part of your punishment—to delay your orgasm until I am satisfied…satisfied that you have learned your lesson.”

Trevor gulped. “Yes, Mistress.”

The crop slapped several times gently against the underside of his balls before swishing sideways, toppling the cookie boxes to the floor. By some minor miracle, the opened carton landed upright.

“Feed me,” she said. “I want one of each.”

Trevor opened a box of samoas and one of lemon-ups. He chose the latter as his first offering and began to stand, but she placed her crop upon his shoulder, guiding him back to his knees.

“Stay down, and hold it as high as you can reach.”

He obeyed. Morticia bent forward slightly at the waist, her melon-sized breasts dominating his view but remaining implicitly forbidden fruit. Nibbling with dainty precision, Morticia made a deliberate spectacle of each cookie’s consumption.

“I enjoyed the mint most,” she declared when finished. Drawing Trevor’s attention to his abandoned wafer on the table, she added, “It seems that you do, too, but you have not yet earned that pleasure.” Morticia tossed the tangle of straps and hardware to land between his knees. “You will put these on first.”

Trevor had no idea what he was supposed to do with the bundle, but his mistress explained the attachment points, fastening what he could not reach until his wrists, ankles, and waist were connected to a central ring behind his back. Fettered thus, kneeling was his only option aside from lying in a fetal position on his side. Morticia stood directly in front, her pubis scant centimeters from his nose.

“Open my panties,” she demanded despite the restraints rendering his hands useless.

Trevor gripped the pull tab in his teeth. Morticia held his ears like handles, deliberately pressing herself against his face, caring not that she hindered the process. Her moans mingled with his grunts as he struggled to drag the slider down and backward. The arduous journey of exquisite scents, tastes, and sensual humidity ended at her back door with the parting of the shiny fabric.

Panting like a dog from his labors, Trevor tried escaping her suffocating crotch, but Morticia held him fast. Her flush of arousal gave a rosy glow to the otherwise unnaturally ivory skin surrounding the indigo orifice.

“Lick me, dog.”

Desire’s heat made an inviting kiss. Trevor lingered long before retracing his route along her taint to the jet black folds of her vulva, where his tongue explored every contour.

Shuddering, Morticia found satisfaction while poor Trevor’s forsaken prick drooled like a salivating hound. His mistress pushed him away when sated, gloating over the clear puddle at her feet.

A less resolute overlord prone to empathy might have relented, but Morticia exhibited no pangs of conscience. Trevor’s release would only come from a posture of extreme submission. Tipped onto his side, Trevor felt Morticia unfasten the strap connecting his ankles to the central O ring.

Allowed to stretch his cramped legs, Trevor was grateful despite her command that he rise on cramped muscles and lie upon the couch with his butt on the overstuffed armrest and his legs dangling in space. His wrists remained restrained behind his back with his shoulders below his elevated hips. To prevent him from deliberately or inadvertently finding a more relaxed position, Morticia connected the ankle straps to the couch’s legs.

“Comfortable?” she asked ironically.

“Yes, Mistress,” he lied.

“Good, because I am about to end your suffering.”

“You are?” Trevor’s doubts magnified as he watched her apply lubricant to her riding crop’s handle.

“Of course,” she said while wriggling the slicked handle into his anus, making Trevor yelp. “Relax, and this will be easier.”

Not daring to protest, Trevor gritted his teeth and did his best to un-clench until the entire handle disappeared. Anthro-Thor had been much thicker, but this felt wrong. His rebellious sphincter spasmed, unleashing Morticia’s cruel laugh at the amusing bobbing action of the protruding keeper.

“Now, I will give you what you have always wanted.”

Trevor’s only desire was to free his balls from bursting with their pent-up load. “What is that?”

Instead of an answer, Morticia straddled Trevor’s head, kneeling astride his shoulders and upper arms. Her stubby black clit hovered centimeters above his nose; sticky fluid clumped his hair.

“If your final performance is worthy, I will bring you to your climax. But first, you require a small morsel to rebuild your strength.”

She held a thin mint tantalizingly close to his mouth. Instead of feeding it to him, she tilted her hips forward, inserting it like a silver dollar in a slot machine. Trevor’s desire for her and the tantalizing edge of melting chocolate merged into one all-consuming passion.

“What are you waiting for?” she chided.

Only her explicit permission. Trevor attacked with his mouth—licking, chewing, nibbling, nudging, trying anything to elicit the slightest indication of enjoyment from the woman ruling his body.

Purring like a satisfied lioness, Morticia leaned forward, enveloping his cock within her cleavage. Smothered in her thighs’ fleshy embrace, Trevor was blind to her actions, replacing sight with sensitive nerves and imagination. Unlike the firm grip of palm and fingers or the wet caress of mouth and tongue, he visualized two silk-covered pillows snuggling his shaft.

Trevor shuddered at the edge of ejaculation, forestalled only by Morticia’s vise-like grip. The supple fullness of her lips surrounded his glans. Her tongue massaged the sensitive head. Torture soft as velvet persisted for a rapturous eternity, his seed pulsing against the sole barrier to release.

Whimpering like a beaten dog, Trevor believed his mistress’s sadistic capacity inexhaustible, but Morticia had choreographed every instant of her sex play, including the denouement. Swallowing every inch of his twitching boner, she acquiesced to his pitiful pleas. Unclenching her hand, globs of semen poured down her throat.

Too depleted to enjoy his reward’s aftermath, Trevor’s world faded to black.

ef

“F...f...fuck,” groaned Trevor. “I must have passed out.”

Aching muscles reminded him that he was still trussed like a turkey with his butt on the sofa’s armrest and his shoulders pressed into the seat cushion. Morticia’s enslavement returned in vivid detail.

“Oh…my…God,” he breathed with fond recollection. “That was the most erotic fusion-induced sex yet. I don’t care if this one sticks forever. Morticia is the hottest….”

The gentle, pre-wakeful stirrings of someone nearby interrupted his amorous musings. Susan slept peacefully in one of the nearby wing chairs, so she was not the sound’s source. Searching elsewhere—impeded as he was by his awkward posture and restraints—Trevor spied movement just beyond the edge of the coffee table. Peering underneath, he was mortified to observe the naked Raven rolling onto her back.

No lie or coverup could save Trevor if the young woman woke in his living room unclothed, finding him in bondage fetish gear. The girl was too smart and cynical to believe any lie he could concoct, and the truth—that he had been artfully lured into damnation by an evil app intent on destroying his life—sounded absurd even to him.

With no better plan than repeating his ditching of Dallas, Trevor tried sitting. Unable to use his hands or arms, it proved impossible. Panicking, he struggled, but his fetters were unbreakable, and he slid sideways instead, striking the floor with the top of his head. Upside down, he remembered how Harry Houdini escaped from similar predicaments, but the trick involved dislocating wrists and shoulders, an act of self-harm he was unwilling to commit. Such drastic measures were rendered pointless when Raven’s inscrutable face appeared in his topsy-turvy field of view.

“Is that comfortable?” she asked, eying his nudity and scrunching her face in disgust.

“Hi, Raven,” Trevor said sheepishly, aware he now had no choice but to come clean. With a sigh, he surrendered himself to being forever screwed beyond redemption. “How much of…of…the way I got like this, do you remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” Raven closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. “All of it, perhaps. At least there aren’t any gaps other than after you blew your load in my mouth.” Raven stuck her tongue out, huffing against her palm. “Phew. That stinks and tastes worse. So gross.”

Trevor cringed. “Are…were you in control of Morticia?”

“Kind of. Susan was in there, too. I think Morticia was both of us somehow.”

“I know this is vastly inadequate,” began Trevor with all the repentance he could muster, “but…but, I am so sorry…so fucking sorry. What happened and what I did was unforgivable, especially to a kid. I don’t blame you for being upset.”

Raven frowned and furrowed her brow as if distraught.

“The freaky, kinky shit you put me through? My innocent, impressionable psyche is forever stained, you bastard. There’s no hope for me now; just drugs and turning tricks for the rest of my short, ruined life.”

“Crap,” groaned Trevor, “We can pay for counseling…,”

Raven’s abrupt laughter cut him short. “You are so gullible, Mr. Miller. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“And she wasn’t a virgin coming into this,” intruded Susan, awake and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“We shared many thoughts and secrets when we were Morticia. I doubt there’s much about our love life she doesn’t now know.”

“You and your wife have some serious repressed sexual issues to work out,” Raven said while unfastening Trevor’s ankle restraints and the clasps binding his wrists to the small of his back. “Don’t worry,” Raven assured him, patting his head while he rubbed his chafed wrists. “It was all pretty boring…until recently, that is. Getting humped in the butt by your dog fused with your daughter’s ex? That’s some gay shit, Mr. Miller.”

Freed, Trevor slumped to the floor, grimacing as he pounded a charlie horse in his left calf. Dumbfounded by Raven’s munificence, he could think of no way to adequately express his gratitude.

“So…you’re…you’re not angry?”

“Angry? Nah. Being Morticia—the confidence and power—that was pretty cool. Susan and I could have stopped Morticia at any time, but we both enjoyed making you the sub. I might just try that on my macho boyfriend. He needs a lesson in women’s power.”

“As do all men,” intruded Susan. “I work in the arrogant bastards’ hypocritical world every day.”

Trevor tried to climb up onto the couch, but his legs were still asleep, tingling from thousands of needle pricks, and he crumpled back onto his butt. Raven offered her arm, helping him into a sitting position where he covered his groin with a pillow and blushed furiously.

“Could you hand me my clothes, please?” asked Trevor, changing the subject. “And put yours on also? I feel like a degenerate creeper discussing my sex life with a naked teenager.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” protested Raven, but she and Susan did as he asked.

“Makes no difference,” countered Trevor. “We still have a big problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I know,” said Susan. “The app that fused us is unstable, and we might join and become Morticia again or something else at any time.”

“So? That sounds fun. If I’m lucky, it’ll transport me right out of math class.”

“You’re missing the point,” objected Trevor. “Morticia isn’t going to show up for tea and cookies. She’s going to want to…you know.”

“What’s the big deal? We already did the nasty together. Didn’t you like it?”

Trevor pleaded to his wife for help. “Susan, you explain. She’s younger than our daughter, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but Raven and I formed a bond. Morticia is still there linking us, allowing us to share feelings.”

“Are you saying whenever you and I…do it, Raven’s going to know?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a boner killer. Will you two become Morticia every time?”

“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Put that way,” agreed Raven, “we’ve got to fix this. It’s gonna be hard to keep a boyfriend if I turn into a creepy dominatrix every time we make out.”

Trevor could think of only one solution. “We all need to agree to no more sex for a while—at least until the app is fixed. The developer is working on it right now.”

Raven and Susan both nodded.

“You should go home now,” Trevor urged Raven, “but wait for just a second,” he added hastily. “I’ve got something for you first.” Trevor fished his wallet out of his pants pocket and handed Raven a wad of cash. “This is not payment for sex or for your silence. I’m buying all the cookies you got so you don’t have to wear that ridiculous outfit anymore.”

Raven grinned. “My own sugar daddy. Nice.”

“No,” he sputtered. “That’s the opposite of what I….”

Duped again, Trevor suffered the indignity of her mocking laughter as she stuffed the bills in her money bag. She then kissed him gently on the cheek.

“Sorry about that. You’re just too easy to tease, but you’re okay for an old guy, Mr. Miller.”

“I am? Really?”

“Really. I look forward to being part of Morticia again sometime soon, but you’re right. I’ve gotta go. Mom’s no doubt wondering where I am. Ciao.”

ef

A nice, dull, and ordinary week passed. No fusions, spontaneous or otherwise, disrupted Trevor’s life, leaving him mostly content.

He and Susan’s negotiations with _WereBendr’_s mysterious developer reached a solution of sorts. Offered the choices of deleting the app forever, leaving it as is, modifying it to include a permanent prohibition on human-human fusions, or allowing Morticia to be the only such additional union, they selected the latter. Trevor’s preference for the third option was outvoted by the two libido-cojoined females.

Thinking of his complicated love triangle, Trevor grumbled, “Fusion sex was simpler with other males.”

Susan looked up from her laptop. “What’s that, dear?”

The television’s blare had masked his words. “Nothing. Just a sarcastic comment on this stupid movie’s plot.”

“You want to watch something else?”

“Naw. It’s amusing enough.”

A lazy Saturday evening of mindless entertainment was precisely the tonic Trevor desired. His whiskey and ice-filled rock glass sweated in his hand, and a light buzz enveloped his senses. “Suburban bliss,” he thought until his phone buzzed, startling him.

The device had become the source of so much madness, Trevor was gun-shy towards its notifications, but this was just a message from his buddy Ryan. He opened it, thinking that nothing wrong could ever come from his best and most fun-loving friend.

Some seriously weird shit is going down at my place. I think it’s that WereBendr app you recommended. Need you to come over right now. Hurry! Help!

Trevor had never mentioned the app to Ryan, but a quick perusal of the chat history revealed a text—purportedly from Trevor—extolling WereBendr’s virtues. The diabolical piece of code was no doubt responsible for hacking his account and promoting itself. Trevor wished for nothing more than to punch its double-crossing developer in the face, but he didn’t even know the company’s country of origin.

“Fuck!”

“What now, Dear?”

“We are so screwed.”

[End of Story]