FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Remind me why I have to play dress-up?” the voice resounded, with a tinge of artificiality in it through the comms. But it was clear enough to convey that frustration, underlined and about to rise, boil, and explode.

“The club only caters to cyborgs, and I am too human-looking to pass. Plus, I have a cunt.”

“I can’t deny that. But why that mission is for us? Infiltration? You know how it’ll end.”

“Have faith in yourself and us. We’re watching your every movement and every act- Even that.”

“Not my fault; ever since they plugged that fake cock, I got that hitch!”

“Handle it later, focus on the mission.”

“Right.”

Slowly, the Cyborg slipped out of the street he had parked in. He watched around, hands in his pockets while he rolled his shoulders and tried to make himself look smaller than the hulking mettle of steel and circuits he was.

He looked around, feeling the gaze of the non-borg, glancing at him with a mix of curiosity and interest. However, as he advanced, those gazes slowly disappeared. And so went the non-cyborgs as he went from the good part of town to a near slum. Except Olympus doesn’t have any slums, Olympus was to be the perfect town.

Yet, as he watched those guys with robotic parts grafted onto them, covered or not with artificial skin, he thought about it. His “ears” shifted and opened, only to take a screenshot of his position along with checking his coordinates.

And then, he was in front of it, a new nightclub, strip club, and allegedly brothel: Pumped Steel. The name was… Quite the joke, though he didn’t dare to consider it as he approached the queue of partial borgs waiting to get inside. He advanced and ignored them, walking adjacent to them until he stood in front of a bouncer.

Another full Cyborg whose head had been replaced and now showed a single cyclopean eye surrounded by eight little ones disposed around like spider’s facets. With one hand on the pad, the bouncer checked him, then… Allowed him to enter, much to the partial-Borgs’ cries.

With a sigh, he advanced despite the crowd crying about how unfair it was and then brought his hand to his ear, checking the comms.

“I’m inside. They let me in,” he commented as he stepped in and was welcomed by the upbeat music. Lights, purposefully selected not to assault Borgs’ artificial eyes, flashed around and then returned to the show in the middle of the room. Today’s event was a… Strip teaser, a girl from the form of her armature. By choice, she had kept her feminine shape, from those long legs, the generous curves, the artificial breasts supported by a pink bra, all in a delicate weave of steel and titanium.

“Good. Mingle around, Briareos. I’ll locate our target. He’s gone dark.”

With a sigh, he approached the scene as he watched the girl dance. Her artificial hair was closer to tendrils that followed her cadence without going in her way. No, they even bent against gravity for mere seconds to improve her looks before she approached a nearby pole, her heels stomping on the reinforced glass protecting the neon lights below.

“Oh, oh! Shaina is feeling sassy tonight! Maybe she’ll do more than twist our feelings! Go on, give us a show, girl!” encouraged a voice in the back, the terrible line almost stealing a groan from Briareos. Yet, if he did, it would be heard through the comms and around. Instead, he shut down his speech synthesizer and approached, placing a hand on the scene while he watched around. The crowd was captivated by “Shaina”’s show. As she slipped a leg around the pole and leaned on it, men were crying out loud, their hands over their mouths or what were supposed to be their mouths. They shouted as the girl leaned back and, with a deft hand, undid the bra, which dropped on the ground, much to be suddenly caught by a pervert.

Pervert. He was surrounded by them, many of which were lazily stroking their bulges, whether they were their natural organs or not.

As for Briareos. He had to admit he felt that renewed itch. His groin was starting to get tense, and he was a bit needy, yet he didn’t dare to reach for his bulging pants. Lest Deudan would notice. It was better for her not to know he was affected by that stripper’s act and that dance, especially as that body seemed to glide and ignore gravity itself. She rolled and twisted along that pole, but never to reveal the full picture of her perky tits.

“I…” he tried to vocalize, only to be reminded he had turned it off. He turned it on… Then, he walked away from the scene, his spot instantly taken by another customer while he played shoulders to get to the bar.

He leaned on it, his black cargo pants brushed by many legs and his green vest almost pulled by a dumb guy. He raised a hand to grab the barman’s attention and spoke in a tone slightly deeper than he was used to. A different voice so he wouldn’t be recognized. Or not as quickly; the Hecatonchires class was not so common in Olympus.

“Not to your taste?” asked a sudden voice as Briareos waited for his beer. He turned and twisted, finding another full-Borg sitting by him.

A large one, whose shoulders were so broad they could be used as a table. His face was vaguely human, yet stripped of any unnecessary parts like ears, eyelids, and nose. It looked unnerving to notice those red eyes glancing at Briareos, but it was bearable. Better when he caught the glass sliding to his side and emptied it in his mouth, feeling its warm beyond the dull nutritional pasta he usually chugged while at work.

“What? The event?”

“Shaina,” the Borg answered, pointing at the scene with all the hollering men happily squeezing themselves closer to get a better angle.

“There were too many people. Plus, I got a…”

“A?”

“A better thing to do. I mean, that’s striptease. You can pay, but you can’t touch.”

Briareos’ interlocuter didn’t seem convinced, so Briareos twisted and turned, hoping nobody was on the line or watching him. He leaned against the bar, raised his hands, and slid them down as if touching someone’s body. Deudan’s body.

“I see those curves. But there’s nothing like the haptic feedback of the skin, the curves, the slight tremors when you reach the right spot,” explained Briareos. His hands mimicked the presence of breasts, the waistline, the thighs… But went up, the fingers bending inward as if he touched someone’s butt. Then, he dropped it all and turned to his interlocutor.

“That’s it. I can see it. But I need more than seeing it,” he added.

For a moment, the Full Borg stayed silent. But he nodded, seemingly aware and sharing the same view while Briareos returned to his beer.

“Briareos!” suddenly screamed his comms, bursting from Deudan’s voice. “He’s our target! Milk him!”

Two sentences, but nothing more. He tried to amplify the signals, only to find statics. Someone used a jammer, here? Why did nobody notice it?

“You there?” asked the voice nearby, Briareos’ interlocutor.

“Hmm? Sorry! I was thinking about what I said. Just thinking about it makes me… bothered, you know?” said Briareos, turning to the man and chuckling.

He was… Chatting with their target. Just like that.

Hyperion. They didn’t know his real name, though they assumed he had ties with Olympus’ council. That guy looked like a politician with his clean black suit, white shirt, black ties, and tight slacks. Way a contrast with Briareos with a relaxed attire.

“Hmm. Let me guess. You lost our genitals and have artificial ones?” suddenly said Hyperion, raising his glass to Briareos.

Right away, the Cyborg’s “ears” dropped in frustration, and his shoulders slumped.

“You’re not the only one in that case. It happened to many here. But it’s no issue; that place caters to men like us! Those who got hurt during the wars and need a safe place!”

If everything on the folder was true, the Pumping Steel wasn’t solely an illegal brothel but also a spot where illegal Borgs pieces were made and sold. Not that Briareos could ask about it point blank. Instead, he leaned and ordered another beer.

“It’s true, then? I heard about… The girls around,” Briareos said. If he got Hyperion’s admission, there was a brothel; it would be enough to close the place.

“Who told you about them?” asked Hyperion, raising the right plate he had for brows.

“Uh! A friend! An ex-military like me! He- He said I could get off here!”

Briareos lifted his hands. He was losing his cool; the situation wasn’t where he would shine. Infiltration wasn’t his forte. But alone, without help or guidance, having to handle the whole case by himself… It was worse.

He thought his cover was blown off, but Hyperion laughed and raised his glass of wine.

“It’s true you can get off here, but there are no girls around. By the way, call me Hyperion.” smiled the Cyborg, relaxing. “It’s your first time here. Do you want me to guide you?”

“Brandon. You… Guide people here?” Briareos’ ears perked up in surprise.

“Sometimes, when I’m feeling generous, someone catches my attention. You? You seem particular, hecatonchires. Never before have we got someone of your class in our establishment.”

Briareos would have muttered to himself, but he instead turned his voice synthesizer off, the time he screamed in silence. Before he turned it on. He knew it would be too obvious if it were him who entered the bar. He was right all along.

“I am… I’ve been working and trying to adjust to Olympus. But with… This. I can’t find any partner.”

“Aren’t you lucky then? Follow me,” said Hyperion, his synthesizer sharing a note of joy and amusement while he played shoulders, too, to force the crowd apart. But he didn’t go to the scene, in the middle of the nightclub. Rather, he went for a staircase hidden behind curtains.

It would have been too suspect to sweep the place, but Briareos was directly led to the higher level, dogging Hyperion around while they progressed through corridors left and right.

The place was a maze, difficult to explore. However, his internalized computer already drew a map and tried to upload it to the crew outside… Again, no dice. The jammer was active and blocking any active transmission.

“What are you thinking about?” suddenly asked Hyperion, turning and checking Briareos, who had been following him, up to a vast hall that opened on different rooms. Each bore a number and had a little light above the doors: from one to six, the lights were red. But the seventh door had a green light. Door Hyperion opened.

“Hmm? Well. If someone were to set up a trap here to catch me, I would be caught easily. There are too many spots where they can hide, and there could be an EMP device hidden here,” he said point-blank… Only to scream in silence as he spoke his mind.

Yet, his host took no offense.

“A military’s mind is always so cautious. But no, don’t worry. The place is a sanctuary for borgs. If someone were to use an EMP, it would kill many clients. No, it’s safe,” said Hyperion while heading inside…

Briareos followed, finding himself within a large bedroom that could be fitted for… Even a human. Everything was cushioned. The furniture was pink, dedicated to soft curves and sleek designs. Nothing like the hard edges around his work office.

With a sigh, Briareos approached the bed and sat on it… While watching Hyperion remain at the door, a hand on his “missing” ear, almost a call.

This allowed Briareos to glance and do a quick X-ray scan. He didn’t dare use a radar ping, but an X-Ray scan was enough to scope the room and see there were no hidden traps or doors… Everything was as it was, except for the circuit board above the bedframe, with a slew of connectors dangling from it.

He noticed them and reached for them, watching the different connection types. They had everything, even for age-old tech.

“What’s this?” he asked Hyperion, holding one of the connectors. He didn’t get any answer for a moment until his interlocutor ended his call and approached, pointing at one of Briareos’ ports near the neck.

“A centralized system to handle the request. You plug it in, request your partner, have your fun, and pay. It also accesses your biomonitor to avoid any accident,” explained the guy with a smile before a waitress arrived, carrying a plate with three bottles of beer, a glass filled with ice, and a bottle of rum. She placed it all on the night table while Hyperion snatched the connector and plugged it into his neck.

“Hmm, hmm,” seemed to say Hyperion, nodding before he unplugged and proposed the connection to Briareos. “Try it out.”

“It’s… Hmm,” said Briareos, looking at the drinks and then Hyperion. “It’s incredibly nice to guide me through. But I-“

“You don’t want me hanging around while you’re shagging?” laughed the criminal, patting Briareos’ shoulders. “I won’t. But I want to be sure you’re not messing with the tech. Just in case, consider it a security.”

To Briareos’ mind, it seemed there was another reason for Hyperion to hang around. But it wasn’t like he could refuse and told him off. Quite the opposite: the guy guided him here and even brought some rum he started to pour. Plus, he had already used the “afraid of exposure” card so…

He grunted in petto; the synthesizer turned off while he grabbed the connector and plugged it in, bracing himself for an assault. Even if there were a virus implanted in there that targeted his biomonitor systems or the organ supports, for the remaining few he still had, there would be an automatic switch to sleep mode. It would help him survive as long as he was found within the next twenty hours, a bit more. It wasn’t pleasing, but it was better than nothing.

He sighed, checked with his internal computer system, and then plugged in, feeling the… Connection.

Right away, his optics were overlayed with an interface showing the different list of girls and men that worked in the brothels: all in steel and all… Scantily clad, showing off their bodies. There were photos of them and information such as their health, their current modifications, the biomechanical parts they possessed, and so on.

He kept cruising and then selected one, looking as close to Deudan as possible despite the silvery skin. And then… There was the shopping cart.

Mods you want. The kinks you desire. How much would it cost if you break them. Conditions of breaking. Rules… Briareos’ brain was suddenly swarmed with information. It wasn’t solely a brothel; it was a brothel à la carte: you picked how you wanted to fuck them. There was even an option to have the employees dismembered and used as fuckdolls. That was…

Briareos felt sick, but as he reached for his connector after downloading the presentation, his fingers… Slipped.

“Feeling frisky?” asked Hyperion, shaking his rum, the ice clinging, before he took a sip, sitting in front of Briareos and… Smiling.

“He-Hey. I need help, could you?” asked Briareos, pointing at his connector.

“No need, Briareos Hecatonchires.”

As the word came, silence dropped in the room. Briareos’ hands dropped, his optics focused on Hyperion as much as he could despite the overlay… Before said overlay vanished, replaced with another. An upload.

[I]5%

[/I]“You thought I wouldn’t notice it? The ESWAT sniffing around my place? You truly believed in the kind-criminal façade? Please. I’m not an idiot,” said Hyperion, crossing his arms.

[I]20%

[/I]Briareos glanced at the download bar, as it advanced faster. Again, he reached for the connector, only to find his fingers slipping or… No, someone tampered with his motor control. No, someone was overtaking them and forcing him to lie on the bed.

“If you know who I am. Then you know you cannot kill me without having the ESWAT on your back. If I die, you’ll die with me, and what you built will be over. That virus won’t even kill me.”

“It won’t,” confirmed Hyperion, approaching without a hint of fear. Even if his armature was heavy and imposing, it would be nothing against a military-grade Hecatonchires armature.

But with his motor control blocked and reduced to nothing, Briareos only watched Hyperion reach for the vest he wore and undo it: unzipping it and throwing it away.

[I]45%[/I]

Beneath the clothes, Briareos’ chest was… Well. A mix of artificial muscles and plates intermingled to provide the best movements. However, it had been deemed necessary to provide him with haptic feedback. When Hyperion’s hand touched his chest, he felt it like a shock through his body. He tried to shut off his vocalizer, only to grunt out loud from the touch. Even that switch had been taken over.

“You will come back to ESWAT and show them proof I have Astrion dealers in my club, but no brothels. You will have the dealings and such videos downloaded from my system. I will comply and help you eradicate those dealers, and you’ll have to move on to a different case through political pressure.”

“You know I won’t. You can’t buy me with a threat like that one. As soon as I return, I’ll tell them about the virus,” said Briareos, his muscles out of control. Yet, he had that feedback of Hyperion’s fingers dancing over his abdominal waist and lower… Then, on his belt.

[I]70%

[/I]“You would do that… If you had control. But it’s not a virus destined to destroy or kill you, Briareos. Most full-Borgs like us integrate a computer handling requests for us, boosting our cognition, and handling the feedback so we can process it,” said Hyperion, his metallic fingers dancing on the belt and clinging, almost like an instrument, while removing the last protection to Briareos’ recently integrated modesty. With a movement, Hyperion pulled the pants down. Much to Briareos’ frustration, his body helped him by lifting his legs and allowing the pervert to access his… Well, jockstrap. He had bought it urgently, thinking the white fabric was comfortable enough against his newly added private bits. Yet, it offered no resistance and allowed Hyperion to gaze upon the shaft’s shape beneath it. More than that, there was a wide damp spot where would be his cocktip.

[I]95%

[/I]“We will overtake it, and use it as a way to control you. That computer is a direct access to your consciousness. We will be able to… reprogram you. But don’t worry, you’ll still be Briareos and… Well, we’ll see. Good night, Briareos Hecatonchires.”

[I]100%

[/I]Just as suddenly, Briareos felt… Pulled away. Out of his body and mind, away, in a shell. Yet, he was able to sense what happened. He saw… Smelled… Heard... Tasted... Felt.

He sensed Hyperion’s rough fingers removing his jockstrap, brutally exposing his artificial cock: a black-colored rubber-covered cock with different underlined artificial muscles acting like his original organ. Without the restriction, the organ sprung up while exposing that length. Inside, the organ was of pure steel, linked to a pump where would be the prostate and a reservoir refilling with fluids: whether artificial cum or “natural,” through a set of cloned and modified testicles. The latter acted as testosterone pumps atop of producing the seminal fluids plus the sperm cells.

For a full Borg, having a penis was an ordeal, and outside of his body, Briareos felt the rush of hormones and needs he didn’t experience before. It was… Strange.

Without any control, each sensation was heightened: from the strokes on the rubber shaping his bulbous cocktip to his nutsack covered with black synth skin layered with sensory captors; he felt Hyperion’s hand stroking him. He sensed that debauched pervert massage and stroke him. His hands moved on their own to spread his thighs and expose His body to that man.

A man who didn’t hesitate, stroking and yet licking the Cyborg’s body, slathering the fake muscles with a facsimile of saliva that dripped with a strange pink color.

Worse, it felt… Exciting.

Exciting enough for Briareos to feel the orgasm rising in his loin, yet with no hands to stroke himself. He was… Unable to order, to control. Someone else controlled the stroking; The one currently licking his pits. Briareos moaned, though no sound came from his vocalizer and throat. It was… Good. But also wrong. So wrong as he was basically puppeteered and watching a man prepare him, even… Kissing him, if kissing could be the right way to describe their heads pressing together. Worse, he couldn’t merely close his eyes and refuse the information.

No, everything happened and was forced onto Briareos.

He had to sense his hands going over the Mob Boss’ body as he stripped, feeling the textured nipples on those artificial pecs, the tensing and coiling titanium fibers acting as Hyperion’s abs… Then down his groin, directly on a cock that was almost as big as a forearm. Red, it looked closer to a furnace with the red synth skin, the light peppering the cock’s sides, and the steam emanating from little vents near the base. But when Briareos inhaled, it had a strong… Scent. Like a beast, an animal rutting, like… A man.

“Do you like it?” asked Hyperion, though the Puppeters didn’t answer. Probably, the question was directed at Briareos directly, even if he couldn’t answer. He was a spectator as Hyperion stood on the bed, kicking his shoes until only socks remained when he squatted above Briareos’ groin.

“I know you’re still active in there. My team would tell me if you flatlined. Enjoy the moment; we’ll grow intimate over time, Briareos. Your body is just… perfect for modding. Maybe you’ll get the same… Nipples as me. Maybe with a lactating option; clients are fond of that one if it’s mixed with liquor. Or… A properly controllable ass. We’ll see.”

With a growl and a grunt, Hyperion lowered himself, using a finger to adjust Briareos’ cock and point it up to his ass. The mere touch was enough to nearly fry the Borg’s mind. Yet, it didn’t… Or wouldn’t do as much as feel that rim, naturally lubricated and lined with rubber, open up against Briareos’ cockhead. It… Opened, yet the micromotors seemed to close on that cock, stroking it and rubbing it all. Worse, it seemed those inside had been lined with bumps and little rotors rubbing and massaging Briareos’ cock…

It was good, hellish, perfect, intense. Briareos felt that artificial cock, never used before, being hammered by a slew of new sensations from the little bumps pulling onto his cockhead and pressing against it, to the rotors rubbing against the length. Even the rim joined in by clenching and opening in rhythm to pull the rubber and synth skin mix as much as possible.

If he had control, Briareos would have been screaming and throwing his head back, gripping and ripping the sheets while orgasms after orgasms would overtake him.

But not his body, which stayed still… And fought to restrain the orgasm, to fight to stop the prostate pump from pouring all that cum within Hyperion. Though it was a mere order from the Puppeteer, it was worse for Briareos. His internal computer was overtaken; it didn’t filter the sensations anymore or attempt to lower the threshold. Everything and nothing came to him: from Hyperion’s breath against his body, from the warmth of that man’s body through the steel and inside… Even that precum as it dripped from Hyperion’s cock and dropped on Briareos’ belly, slathering it.

His mind went blank for moments, his thoughts and brain taken by a seizure of sensations. Or he assumed. Seizures were only possible from a lack of blood within his augmented cardiac system. Unless the computer didn’t work…

Even then, Briareos tried to grasp at his thoughts. He was… Just something inside his brain. He had no control over the situation, from punching Hyperion’s shit-eating grin or clenching his fists to feel the haptic feedback as an anchoring motion. He was… A soul without body, only able to perceive and attempt to survive that onslaught of pleasure.

Which amplified with Hyperion’s movements. The bastard was a full Borg… And his movements, currently, were only a portion of what he could do. His artificial muscles were surely lined with hydraulics destined to secure his movements. But as soon as the idea of their presence echoed within Briareos’ mind, the sounds of the piston graced his ears.

He heard the sounds as Hyperion lifted his body with one single motion, still smiling.

“Let’s see how much you can endure, Briareos,” said the Mob Boss.

He lowered himself, suddenly rushing and forcing Briareos’ cock inside, pressing against the tight rim, the rotors, the bumps, the constricting artificial walls that were… Made to please someone else.

“Hrmph! Was your cock as big before?” asked Hyperion, his vocalizer grunting while more fluids were sprayed over Briareos body. He moved with an outlandish pace, up and down until his artificial testicles smacked against Briareos’ groin… And again, filling the room with the echoing smack.

“Maybe! I’ll get you a bigger one! An equine! It’s quite en vogue with our customers, too! And four arms! Twice as many partners! What do you think?”

Briareos thought… But didn’t want to. The Hecantochires class was made to be modulable and altered if you had access to schematics. But even without the schematics, the controls and ports were easy to access and understand. Worse… They had the knowledge about his brain system to hack it and overtake it… Modding his body was… Nothing.

Nothing they couldn’t do to him.

“Still listening? Hmm! Good! Let’s reward you, Briareos!” laughed the Mob Boss as he descended. Soon, the pistons’ screams grew in intensity and frequency as Hyperion forced them to thrust his ass up and down. Faster, so fast it would snap a human’s cock like a twig. But not a reinforced artificial cock… Not an organ designed to resist the assault such as was Briareos sported.

But this resistance meant for him… For his mind to endure Hell. His cock was afire, his prostate pump on the verge of exploding, his testicles pumping testosterone within his bloodstream. If he had control over his eyes, if he had his natural eyes, they would have rolled. Instead… He blanked.

Did he flatline? Did he have a seizure? Was he gone?

For a moment, Briareos’ mind occluded itself to everything. Too much data, too much information.

His optics were still on, but watching through them was an ordeal. Everything was fuzzy, even the resolution and the picture of Hyperion smacking Briareos’ cheeks.

“Are you there? Is he down? No? Just too much. Ah, let’s tune down the sensory feedback. And keep him piloted,” said Hyperion, his hands to his temple as if he were talking to someone. Then, he returned to Briareos and grabbed him by the chin.

“Let’s have a talk… Shall we?”

The end of that talk was... Fuzzy. Not to Briareos’ artificial brain, currently handling and holding the reins, but to his… Self. Everything remained so; even as he was given a new set of clothes. Like a puppet, he was guided through the doors while still a bit reeking…

His steps were mechanical, even when he stepped outside and drove on his bike, the communications cut from him. But by the slight droning and the hands against his temple, he knew his robotic brain was communicating with the others through a direct line.

He… Was stuck.

Thoroughly stuck as he watched his other self hand over the data to the ESWAT, felt its hands over Deudan’s back as they left. But worse, he could barely make it. Watching and hearing, all at the same time was fuzzy.

Time… Was the same. He felt exhausted yet in no control as he watched the routine continue. And his boots guide him back to the Pumping Steel. Then, he heard the voice, his voice speaking words he was afraid of: “I’m back, Boss. When do I start?”