FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A.N.

part 2 is here

Trying out a pair of new characters. May or may not continue this short. I have something longer in mind for them, that involves Tyge having some additional powers to what's mentioned here.

This story contains content that might harm some readers. Please be gentle and kind to yourself; if this is not something you can handle right now, please don't read this story. Specifically, this story contains coercion, stalking, messing with medication, public sex, sex between strangers, risk of pregnancy, D/S vibes without negotiation, and non-consensual sexual acts.

Ciriaco is transmasculine. This story does not call him a cunt boy, but that is also how he identifies. It describes his genitals in graphic detail, and uses the following language in reference to his genitals: t-cock, cock, pussy, cunt, lips. There is risk of pregnancy re: the trans character. He is NOT misgendered at any point in this story.

I do writing commissions and copy editing, hmu if interested.

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The first time Ciriaco meets Tyge is unremarkable.

In fact, the first several times Ciriaco and Tyge cross paths are all unremarkable-- as a rule, Ciriaco tries to avoid most forms of interaction on the subway; he keeps his eyes downcast, attention focused firmly on his phone. Ciriaco thus fails to notice the massive, handsome black hippogryph that sits across from him daily, eyes fixed on Ciriaco's slighter form with the same deliberateness that Ciriaco focuses on his phone. It doesn't matter that Tyge does this nearly every day, that the intensity of Tyge's stare makes other passengers clear out of their car in a hurry, or even that Tyge rides the orange line well past all the stops in the city, until the entire train is near-empty and they are the only ones in their car-- Ciriaco never looks up, never meets his hungry eyes. The best he gets is when Ciriaco stands to leave; occasionally the cavalier king charles spaniel will brush against Tyge on his way out the door, an accidental touch followed by an apologetic, distracted little smile and a complete failure to see him there at all.

But Tyge is a patient man.

Ciriaco therefore doesn't notice, during one busy evening where the train is abnormally crowded with big gaggles of rowdy sports fans on their way to a game, that his bag disappears for several minutes-- he is too fiercely focused downwards, drawn into himself, trying to drown out the overwhelming noise of an uncomfortably crowded train car in his usual way. It is returned moments later, slid right back where it had been dropped at Ciriaco's feet, sans one little packet of heat suppressants.

And so, when Ciriaco feels that itch one morning at work, that little tickle in his belly that precedes several days of discomfort and craving and risk, his heat suppressants are nowhere to be found. He considers leaving work early, but it's been long enough since he's experienced an unsuppressed heat that the memories of its intensity are hazy, unimbued with urgency, and he doesn't want to draw attention to himself. At work, he is stealth; nobody knows that he's trans.

By the evening, Ciriaco can definitely feel it, the tickle low in his belly now an ember. The damp fabric of his boxers is sticking to his sensitive lips, his t-cock stirring slightly with every little shift and movement of his body. It's inconvenient and distracting, and his usual selection of mindlessly engaging phone games cannot compete with the strength of the sensations, even so freshly into his heat.

Fuck but he always forgets how intense this is.

The train ride is hell. His phone only frustrates him further, his attention sliding off of it like his mind is covered in oil; people are pressed in close all around him, and a huge, iridescent black hippogryph is staring at him-- has been staring at him all train-ride. Ciriaco sends the hippogryph deep, disapproving scowls, but they don't break the man's concentration; he can feel the pressure of those golden eyes boring into him, and he wishes they didn't make his heartbeat dance harder. By the time the train exists the city and disgorges its last several local passengers, leaving only Ciriaco and Tyge in the car, Ciriaco is near-tears with frustration. He doesn't do well with crowds at the best of times, and now he is overstimulated and uncomfortable, and this damn handsome stranger won't stop staring at him.

When Ciriaco meets Tyge's eyes again, the stallion smiles, slow and wide, and then lifts his front lip, flaring his nostrils and inhaling deeply, making a show of scenting Ciriaco's heat in one of the lewdest ways possible. Ciriaco goes beet red, his eyes snapping down at the floor, humiliated and ashamed and just a touch excited; he closes his legs tighter, as if doing so will prevent his cock from twitching to attention.

They sit like this for several minutes: Ciriaco panting slightly, trying (and failing) to sit still and act as if nothing unusual is happening; Tyge letting one of his hands fall to stroke the growing bulge straining angrily against the fabric of his pants, his hungry eyes never leaving the spaniel sitting across from him. Ciriaco glances at his bag, clearly considering flight-- but then he meets Tyge's eyes again, makes a tiny embarrassed noise, and tries to look away again.

"Open your legs." the stranger hippogryph says, calm but firm, naturally commanding.

Something in Ciriaco sings, thrilled to be addressed in such a way, deeply hungry for submission; he wants to obey. The request is so shocking, though, so unexpected-- Ciriaco responds with an alarmed noise, beautiful brown eyes wide and pleading and confused. "No?" He tries to sound firm, tries to put all of his will into it, but Tyge smiles again and leans back, smug, like he's just won something.

"I want to see you." he says, as if the thing missing here was an explanation; "open your legs, beautiful boy." As he speaks, he strokes himself, calling attention to the fat, heavy shape between his legs. Ciriaco is humiliated and outraged, and moreso because he can smell the hippogryph stallion's musk now, thick in this tiny little train car, and his body is reacting to it. He is still, shivering, obviously resisting for several long seconds-- but Tyge only continues to watch him with proprietary, expectant eyes, undoing his pants enough to release the flared tip of his cock.

It's huge, of course-- no mistaking that through the pants-- and Ciriaco moans low in his throat, opens his legs, covers his face with his hands as the wet spot visible through his pants is exposed to open air. It sticks to him, fails to hide his soft lips or engorged t-cock, the slickness and readiness of cunt-in-heat unmistakable. "Fuuuuck, baby boy." Tyge drawls, his voice low and hungry. "You're so hot and ready for me. Good boy."

Ciriaco stiffens, shivering, but he doesn't close his legs, and his tail gives the barest of wags: the words are electric, shooting strait to his cunt, and something in him thrills to be a good boy, to be praised such by such a virile stranger. It is a huge effort of will to leave his pants on, particularly as Tyge slides out of his, lets them pool around his ankles as if they're not both still in a train car that is technically public space. Tyge wraps a hand around the base of his cock, pumping it slowly, letting every barb studding the thick shaft fight the compression of his hand. "I can't wait until I'm inside you." he breathes out, and then, louder and more commandingly, "touch yourself."

Ciriaco doesn't question the command, just traces his hand down his belly hesitantly until it is flat against his mound, rubbing lightly in circular motions-- obeying, but still aware of the small part of himself that is screaming through this situation, reminding him that this is madness, that this ends with him pregnant. "Not like that." Tyge interrupts, impatient-- the flat hand blocks his view. "spread your lips."

Ciriaco resists this command; his hand stills, begins to draw away, but Tyge's sharp rebuke puts an end to that. "Touch yourself- spread your lips out, and don't make me have to say it again." Ciriaco whines, pleading, but when Tyge doesn't relent-- only begins to scowl in a way that makes Ciriaco deeply and immediately afraid that he's no longer a good boy-- he does as bidden, trying to spread his cunt through his pants initially, and then slipping inside for better traction. He makes a shaky little noise when his fingers brush against his heat-inflamed cunt, spreading himself out so that Tyge can see the shape of him through thin, wet fabric.

Tyge scents the air again when Ciriaco's hand re-emerges, greedy for the scent of fresh heat. "Good boy." Tyge breathes, pleased at the flash of excitement and relief that renders on Ciriaco's face. "Now run your finger up and down, slowly, from your entrance to the tip of your cock-- that's it, very good, excellent boy."

Tyge watches Ciriaco obey him, stroking himself tighter-- Ciriaco's initial press against himself is shy and uncertain, but it becomes faster and more fluid as his body reacts to any touch on sensitive flesh; he quickly loses himself to the sensations. "That's right," Tyge soothes, watching the effect his words have, the way they slow Ciriaco's breathing just a hair, how Ciriaco's eyes flutter and shut, throat working around a silent keen of want, little abortive stutters of his hips as he approaches a rapid orgasm. "Tease the head." Tyge groans, stroking himself harder to match Ciriaco's pace, "That's it, good boy."

A fraction of his attention is on the train as it approaches Ciriaco's traditional stop. Ciriaco hasn't noticed; he's completely lost to the sensations, four fingers curled around his t-cock, rubbing the flared underside of the head, back stiff, humping hard into his own hand. "Fuck, yeah, there you go. I can't wait to be inside you, baby boy." Tyge hisses as if under his breath, grinding out the words to let Ciriaco hear all the hunger and want. They do the trick, and Ciriaco opens wide, shocked eyes, vulnerable as he twitches his way through a strong and sudden orgasm. The thin fabric of Ciriaco's pants and underwear provide no modesty, pressed as they have been against his entire vulva, twitching with every pulse of Ciriaco's t-cock in orgasm. Ciriaco is beautiful like this, more than Tyge imagined; the stallion moans and thrusts powerfully into his hand as Ciriaco half-watches, chasing the spaniel into his own orgasm.

Ciriaco's face can hide nothing right now: he watches Tyge cum with hunger and trepidation and want and fear and yet more arousal, insatiable as any bitch in heat. He watches the barbs stiffen with each drag of Tyge's huge hand-- a hand that can barely wrap around the cock it's working-- he watches the head flare wider and drool thick, white fluid that collects heedlessly on Tyge's still-pumping hand. Tyge chuckles, leaning back but making no move to clean the mess he's making; he decides to push his luck. "Come here and close your eyes."

This brings the hesitation back to Ciriaco's face-- he comes back to himself slightly, glances around and realizes that the train is moments away from his stop, and his expression slips back to fear and uncertainty. He stands, grabs his pack, shoulders it, and moves as if towards the door before the pull between them asserts itself. Ciriaco stops in front of the hippogryph, panting, looking at him sideways.

Tyge smiles slowly again, this time showing more teeth; he drags two fingers along the underside of his cock, making a show of gathering sperm thickly into a dripping glaze. He gives Ciriaco no room to hesitate or flee; with his other hand he strokes Ciriaco's side, hooking his fingers into the other's waistband as they pass and pulling both pants and underwear down to expose the delicious cunt he craves. Ciriaco yelps and tries to pull away, but Tyge's big hand darts out to grab Ciriaco's hip again, holding him still with surprising force for such a small movement: his grip is hard enough to bruise, leaving no question about control between them.

"Watch." he says, drawing Ciriaco's attention down to fingers that drag along the glistening slit, spreading cum across still-splayed lips. Ciriaco struggles, tries to flee, only stills when Tyge's slick fingers breach his hole. Tyge doesn't wait for him to stretch or accommodate; he fucks Ciriaco hard with two fingers as the train slows to a stop, pushing his cum deeper and deeper inside a clearly inexperienced pussy that struggles to accommodate so little of him.

Ciriaco's eyes fill with both tears and desire; Tyge adds a finger, forcing it inside as the train begins to slow. "Oh, fuck. Good boy." he growls, spreading his fingers roughly apart and speaking over Ciriaco's wail. "Don't take your suppressors tonight. Don't wear anything but pants tomorrow. Don't struggle. Be here at the usual time." He punctuates the instructions with harsh thrusts of his spread fingers, pushing them still wider against how tightly Ciriaco's cunt contracts against him. "I make you mine tomorrow." He pulls his fingers from Ciriaco's red hole and releases the other's hip, causing the spaniel to nearly stumble with the train's motion as it stops. "Well," he adds, smug once more as he watches Ciriaco shakily right himself, "More mine." Ciriaco says nothing, just looks at Tyge in bewildered fear and hurt and shame and pleasure; he pulls his pants back over his hips and flees the train as soon as the doors slide apart.

Of course he's going to ignore the commands, he tells himself. Of course he's going to find a different way home tomorrow. Of course he won't walk so blithely into this situation a second time.

But that night he doesn't take anything from his spare bottle of heat suppressors. He tells himself, later, that it was an accident-- that he forgot, that he was so overwhelmed with confusion and pain and fear (and want and heat and hunger) that their existence completely slipped his mind.