FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Club

by RabidChipmunk

CW: M/M, fox/human, unwilling fatal vore, shrinking, alcohol, digestion.

It was a cold night, about 10 o'clock on a Thursday evening. He was in the city for business, but the company hadn't bothered to put him up anywhere decent. His walk back to the hotel took him straight into the heart of the slums. Nick had grown up in a city, so this wasn't anything too new to him, but it irked him that the company apparently did not deem him important enough to spend more than 25 bucks a night putting him up. Ah well, there wasn't really anything he could do about it now. The place had a bed and it had a bar, and that was really all he wanted. He hurried back to his room as quickly as his legs would allow. Stepping over stray bottles and avoiding eye contact with anyone he passed.

Nick stopped suddenly. He had thought he heard something. The sounds of the city were all around him, but he had heard something out of place. He pulled the collar of his trench coat down a ways to uncover his ears. He could hear it clearly now. It was soft and muted, but unmistakably the sound of a piano. It was lively and it was enchanting. Just the sound of it filled him with warmth and made him feel a little bit nicer. The sound appeared to be coming from below him. He looked down and saw a staircase leading to the basement of the building to his left. A sign hung near the top of the stairwell, but it was blank. The building itself looked like it had been abandoned for quite some time, but it really did seem like there was some sort of club below. The city was full of out of the way places like this, known only to locals. Nick remembered reading about a few where you had to give passwords to be allowed entrance, and others that moved location every night. He thought the whole thing was a little contrived, if he was to be completely honest, but there was something about the current situation that intrigued him. A combination of the beautiful piano and the mysterious sign maybe. He had been planning on drinking something back at the hotel anyways, so why not pop in here for a drink or two instead? If it didn't look like his type of joint, he could always leave.

Having made up his mind, Nick descended the staircase and nudged open the little black door at the bottom. The place was dark and musty, but it had an unmistakable charm to it. The joint looked like an old speakeasy, and the clientele matched. He couldn't help but feel more than a little out of place, but no one so much as glanced at him as he worked his way towards the bar. He sat down on a worn down leather stool and the old man behind the counter glanced at him, a hard to read look on his face.

"Makers on the rocks, please."

The bartender acknowledged him without really showing it and turned to find the bottle. As his drink was being fixed, the businessman glanced around the room a bit more. Since he had walked in, the sound of the piano had been working its way into his ears, relaxing him from the inside out. He looked back at the bar, where a generous glass of whiskey had materialized in front of him, two milky cubes of ice bobbing slowly up and down in the caramel-colored liquid. He replaced the glass with a crumpled ten dollar bill and made his way towards the sound that had brought him into this place to begin with.

The piano was up on a slightly elevated platform, and was situated in such a way that it was hard to see the man playing it. Nick continued to sip his drink, feeling unusually lightheaded, and tried to get a peek at the artist working the keys. Up close the sound was nothing short of entrancing. He was swept up in its subtle beauty. He couldn't help himself, he needed to move. Nick gulped down the last of his amber elixir and took off his coat, letting it drop to the floor. The music whirled and spun and his body followed. He felt connected to the song; it was a part of him. The rhythm swelled and his body pushed itself harder. His felt that he was moving with incredible force, but it was fluid. There was nothing violent about his motions. He closed his eyes and let his world fall apart. He began to spin. He twirled and he jumped and his head felt like it would leave his body. The music enveloped him and wrapped itself around him. He kept his eyes shut for fear that this feeling should end. His feet left the floor. He could no longer feel the weight of his clothes. He was drunk off the music, but not out of his mind. It was instead as if his consciousness had been shifted to a new plane of thinking.

The spinning continued, but it felt different now. Some of the weight was back. Now he was falling. Down, down, down, there was no end. He fell for what seemed like hours, but never seemed to fall any faster. Finally something did stop him. He was lying now on something warm and leathery. Slowly he opened his eyes. He was lying down on what appeared to be a massive paw. He just barely fit in it without spilling over the side. The music continued, and Nick was still drunk on the whiskey and song. He followed the outstretched paw over to an equally massive arm, covered in orange fur, and he followed that arm over to a body. Attached to that body was the face of the largest fox he had ever seen. The creature was focused intently on the piano in front of it, where its other paw was still gliding expertly across the keys. It was this creature that was the artist. This creature had crafted the most beautiful piece of music he had ever heard. But why? How was it that this thing could play an instrument, and how had he come to be in its grasp?

As if in answer, the fox's paw slowly closed around him. The grip was gentle, but it was also firm. The giant arm moved up for what seemed like quite a while, and then it stopped. Suddenly, the walls holding him disappeared, and Nick felt himself tumbling down into nothingness once again. This trip was substantially shorter. His fall was broken by a glass of whiskey. He plunged into the liquid, gulping down some of it in the process. The glass was not too deep and he quickly found his way back to the surface. He gasped for breath. The alcohol stung his eyes and his nose and made it hard to breathe. He tried clinging to the side of the glass, but it was too slippery to get a decent hold of. He felt that he would drown in the fumes, as powerful as they were. Soon enough he noticed the glass being lifted. Forcing himself to open his eyes, he saw his crystal prison being brought towards the fox's muzzle. The creature was looking at him now, and although it was hard to tell with the way his eyes were burning, he could've sworn a smile danced lightly across the beast's lips. The fox lowered his nose to the glass and took a massive whiff. He let the air back out through his mouth, and Nick caught the unmistakably musty smell of his breath. Satisfied, the fox slowly tilted the glass towards his looming muzzle. The businessman felt his stomach drop as he began to slide to towards the entrance of the creature's body.

The music swelled. Nick found himself pressed up against the muzzle. The fox gulped around him. He felt the warmth of the creature's lips and nose and the bristly fur that grew around them, and he was struck by how organic it all felt. This was a living, breathing creature. With each gulp the fox made, Nick worried he would be carried off with the whiskey. He could sense the massive size of the fox even without seeing it. He could feel the moistness of its insides and he could hear the wet sound of the alcohol traveling down its gullet. Finally, as the last of the alcohol drained away, the fox opened his mouth just a little bit wider and let Nick slide in after it. Once as he was partway inside, he felt the animal take control. The teeth and lips gingerly held him down while the warm tongue moved under him and began to coax him further in. The thick muscle pulsed and suckled around him and, and soon he was drawn into the fox completely. The mouth closed around him and the sound of the piano grew muted, more similar to when he had first heard it. He longed for it to return. Nick was pushed around and pressed against wet surfaces that yielded to various degrees. Mixed now with the music were the sounds of slick flesh lapping against itself, and the almost tangibly thick, musty smell of the fox's insides. As it rolled him around and played with him, the tongue coated him completely in a slimy layer of whiskey-infused saliva. It was near-gelatinous and it restricted him. He felt himself adhering more closely to the tongue as it tasted him so thoroughly.

He suddenly felt a bit of suction. The tongue began working him towards the rear of the fox's mouth. He felt his feet go over the back of the organ, the thickest part, and he could no longer move them. Every time the fox swallowed, the tongue would swell around him and he would be pressed against the bony roof of the creature's mouth. Soon the esophagus was doing its part as well, tugging him down into the soggy depths of the animal's body. Soon only Nick's head and arms were outside of the throat. He tried to grab onto something, but his hands only pressed uselessly into the rough warmth of the quivering organ so intent on mushing him into the fleshy confines of the esophagus.

The fox opened his mouth slightly and light flooded into the muzzle. This would've been Nick's last view of the outside world, but his eyes were closed. It was not only light that found its way into the fox's maw. There was also music, and it was even more beautiful than it had been before. This song was one of passion and of sorrow. Tears began to drip down the man's already wet cheeks, and the mouth slowly closed.

The music carried on, but the sound was muted to him, and so was its effect. The fox took one last gulp and Nick was forced completely into the throat, the sound of the outside world now utterly absent. It worked on him slowly, coating him further in saliva and a new layer of mucus. He was pressed so tightly during this final stretch of the trip that he couldn't breathe. The heat was penetrating, and the soft folds of the esophagus worked the fox's bodily fluids into every square inch of Nick's body. He was saturated in it. After what seemed like far too long, the throat opened up into a tiny space, already mostly filled with liquid. As his head was released from the throat's grasp, he gasped for breath, though what little air there was down here was already very stale, and tainted by the fumes of the whiskey just recently swallowed.

The stomach churned, and Nick was once again pushed around and around and around as the fox's body began to break down his own. The music was gone, but the rhythmic sloshing of the stomach's contents, and the steady beat of the animal's heart also held a strange appeal. Nick once again closed his eyes, and let himself be taken away.