FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

World Wide Wabbit by Eightane ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And then you affix... USB end to input jack of... Computery-jargon..." Richard had a damp face already, straining while he mustered all strength to... Stretch a length of cord from a camera to the PC tower. Much as he was in love with how tech made his life easier, it's only after installation; he could wish this written in braille, upside-down, it would be about as helpful but more interesting.

Gooey hands - thanks to hot sauce - finally hitched them up, the prong-having end to its parent dock. A green light came on by the port, and he clapped, sparkles showing 'round his enlarging eyes. Two seconds of whimsical wonder, then the 'fairy-magic' feel disappeared and gave way to him studying more of the manual, reading past his double-chins. Triple-chins. Some number of facial bases, they'd change when he moved any of his neck. Nothing really changed the stains in his pits though, his dress shirts were merely doomed to this. The collars, the ties he'd sported, comfy tan slacks... At least he had his own caricature to begin with, by default. Hopelessly Starched. The Sharp-Dressed Homebody. He'd, eh, have more time to fine-tune the name.

"Now... Once connected, your system should bring up an auto-install... Waaaait a second!" He felt suddenly smart, discovering a logic error with their intent. He stuck a finger high in the air. "I don't need to install a car on my computer! This is bogus." He threw down the booklet. Tried to stomp on it, it just came out greasy. Must be that foot pizza... He'd dragged out a slice from under the couch, just trying to brace and stand up. He knew better than to eat the damn thing, of course. Before washing it. He belched, and the taste of marinara came back on him, along with dust and a bread wrapper twist-tie he'd missed.

He coughed a gasp. The PC's screen had a new window, alright, and it looked like it was asking him to take action. Slowly his face drifted in close, sensing duty, stern as a wartime field major. He saluted his reflection in the screen. "This time, computer, it's me who tells YOU when to update my Adobe! Or, do this thing." He plopped in the chair, filled its sagging seat with... Well, the same. The first option was a full-install. Yes, well and good, exactly what he needed. One click, and he was verifying data left and right, watching the progress bar. Imagining it was brown. Chocolate. Mmmm, trans fats.

The bar finished, and his floppy ears perked, two pink antennas. A few hunt-and-peck bashes on the keyboard, and he was staring on the main attraction. Crisp new icons, for his new cam. He 'OOO'ed. His stubby 'stache itched his nose, so he raked his upper lip to and fro, scratching it better. A smile found him, after this menu's sign of success, AND the lingering smell of peanut butter from his after-brunch snack. The button on the screen, "Launch MyCamPanion", beckoned to him. He imagined it begging to be clicked. Telling him it loved his favourite sports team. Asking if he'd been working out.

With true conviction and a swelled chest, close to popping every seam in his front pocket, he yelled out "YES I HAVE in fact, I lifted the remote fourteen times with leftie today!" He looked up to the ceiling, as if it was sky. Brave or something. "It was a slow infomercial cycle! But enough about my rippling sea of arms... Now you get to bring me to the masses! I demand them."

There was only so much 'regal', though, to squeeze out of a househusband's triumph, no less when that victory cost $49.99 at the local circuit shop. He situated himself, ass plush on the fabric seat, and was more humdrum as he clicked through options, got a handle on its ways. All set to launch his new online life.

He went through the motions verbally; always helped when his mind was multi-tasking, half of it on brisket, the rest on celebrity poker. "Now, toggle audio... Connect to stream... Yes... Yeeeahh, ready!"

This was finally it. The golden change. And Nicole hadn't even asked him to, or done like her more-comfortable medium, yelling it. He had the mental might to dream up a channel... Yes, a feed on the internet, where someone could watch him do stuff, live. Like, balance a spoon on his nose. Or prank-call a random number in Moldova. Or eat a sandw-... Nah, that's too by-the-numbers for him. He'd eat three sandwiches. One with tofu, and he wouldn't LOOK while he made them, so even HE'D be surprise-disgusted! It was brilliant. NO one had ever tried something like this! How could they? An intellectual time-sink of this caliber must be worth a hundred views. He'd break the YouTube record even, a THOUSAND views! No one could step to his popularity, it'd be that and his vast well of early-20th-century hat trivia. He just wished he'd found a store that sells bowler derbies in time for the christening of this brave new spotlight.

So his must-be-novel notions guided him to his homepage, set up days before from the grimy reaches of AngelFire. He must stay on the cutting edge with this, after all, IF the bored browsing crowds were to flock there, and discover just how mysterious and rich his stores of entertainment. Just, whole troves of entertainment, like they were acorns and he had chipmunk cheeks full of 'em. Likewise, he swallowed down the malted milk balls he'd somehow found inbetween clicking the 'launch' square and the natural load time. Oh, right, from his pocket protector. Best snack nook if you want that new-ink-spill taste. It was making text, checksums, confirmations that all was well in single-line notifications. And then the rectangle loaded in. He stared into the abyss of his chunky, huggable face and it stared back.

"WHOOOO!!!" A shout like Ric Flair, and a bash of party-time fists on the table next to his office chair... And its demolishment into tiny little pieces, and his frown, looking away, and grinning back to the online cam feed. "Lookin' good, Mr. Watterson," he ingratiated, teeth wide and deranged. "Are you feeling particularly dad today?" A rhetorical. His hands fired imaginary guns at the screen, at his image, before he caught himself. "Oh geez, they might send out a SWAT team if I do that." He made a 'click' noise with his tongue on those teeth, twice. Both hands had the safety put on.

But, down to the nitty-gritty. He had things to do and people to... See him. "Alright. Elmore, I am ready for your ideas and the ensuing love. Whaddya want to see SirRichard1975 attempt!? Records broken? Or some little minds blown?" He scratched a love handle through his pants, it followed his fingers, then snapped back when left alone. His shirtcollar already felt warm; must be all the heavy labour a few minutes back. But the cam and chat window? Not warm in an inviting sense. In fact, nothing at all. He'd just brought it to 'life', after all. He knew to wait.

Ten seconds passed, and he did a little dance. A very-much dad dance. His cabbage-patching didn't bring in the honeys, or viewers.

Another minute or so. He balanced a plate on his nose, because of course one was nearby. The crash of it falling came as no shock.

Three minutes of nothing. He had carrot-sized fingers tapping the desk. Then a miracle graced him; the viewer count changed! No longer a zero, it was bona-fide ONE!

His mind reeled, and a panic started. Do something to keep the number. Whomever it was, think of a show. Three minutes of nothing.

The person must be bored. 'Maybe', Richard thought, 'they fell asleep at the desk. Happens to the best of us.' Armed with the knowledge he had a fellow sufferer, possibly, he made a snap decision. Inspired.

He typed out what he'd last said out loud, kind-of. 'Elmore. Ready for your ideas. Suing love. Or insuing. You know, R-E-S-P-C-K-T. Wanna see records broke, little minds blown?" A remarkably accurate reproduction, by his given standards.

There was a pause. Maybe twelve seconds, and a chime was all the fanfare for his first received comment. It read "I'm a field mouse dude, thanks for the insult. GTFO."

Richard's head blew up like a balloon. He popped it with a fork, also handily near. A new head grew under it, one that looked more like a pressure cooker. He allowed himself to simmer, huffing and puffing. Then reached up, turned the dial by his ear, lifted his hair-lid and used the fork to stir. His delish smell calmed him down. Sighing, he set out to type a witty comeback. He'd get 'em alright. With a flick of the wrist, he tapped 'Enter', laying out this sick 'n' twisted burn: "A troll, huh? Well I'm gonna goblin you if you don't try nicer talk."

He was still busy with another sentence, stopped halfway and bogged down on how to slip the word 'dwarf' into an extended putdown, when the one became none.

If given more time, he'd have lost it again, but the goose-egg digit was fleeting. Back to one it swung. But now, he was having none of it. He frantically pecked away. "Oh, wise guy wants to come back for more, huh?" Pressed enter. "I'll tell you what, young man. I assume you are, I mean the law of averages, but anyway..." Pressed enter. "Your grandfather buys buttons from a manatee." Enter again. He scratched his second-chin-from-the-bottom-left. Another great strike of mental lightning. His fingers lit up the board. "And THAT'S why they DON'T FIT!"

Reclined back now, and he lifted arms to lock behind his head. Such a good mood, he showed that numbskull. He even started to drift through thoughts of the Frisbee Golf Open; to watch that live had felt just like this, the ultimate achievement of modern sports and communication. He was certain camming was a sport. Nicole had quit arguing about it when he stated this yesterday, so...

Either way, he got a reply back alright. It 'ding'ed in appearing, and his teeth bared the moment it came through. He took in the script: "Mister Watterson, that's no way to talk to a lady! And my grandfather is no longer with us. Thank you for the terse reminder."

He... Hated to admit that he knew the tone of that one immediately, a neighbour. "S-sorry, Mrs. Stone. I had a problem child on here earlier, I thought he was you." He'd even typed out the stutter at first. "Oh, and thanks for the lovely service you held for him, it made last week brighter." Uhhhh, oops. "I mean, I mean it would've BEEN darker, if he was forgot, or thrown out in a dumpster somewhere. You know." He wiped sweat off. He licked it; tasted faintly like butter.

While he wished there were scones nearby to wipe more onto, he did get a fairly gracious answer. "Thank you, I suppose and I'm reaching. So, if I may be blunt, what's your intent here?"

"I... Wanna star in do-stuff videos. Silly stuff. I could take requests."

".... You must be bored to Baghdad and back."

"Buuut it's... The internet? " He typed this out as meek as it felt. Truly, he was exactly where boredom goes to die. And revive, and die again, screaming.

She felt philanthropic. "Fine. I've always wondered, what would it look like if a friend took the cinnamon challenge."

"... Oh! Well that sounds like-"

"Or you, you could try it too."

"Yeah." Never had one word said so much ear-droop. She got to see it in action now, though; pink floppy hear-organs dangled as he got up, sulked to the spice rack, and was out of frame. His fist, and a canister of cinnamon, came back into picture before him. He'd lost the sads on the way, too. This one seemed a cinch. He sat down, smiled like a kid who just got a car for his birthday. At age seven.

She watched alright; he unscrewed the cap. "Now, forgive me if my memory's not the best, but it's where you take off the lid and swallow, right?"

"Um, no, I think it's just a teasp-"

He already had it upside-down, over the mouth of no return. It caught every grain. He gulped. It was like calamarie, went down smooth as could be.

She, in her cultured poise, typed her natural reaction. "Holy mother of fuck, how!?"

"Ohh, it's easy! You just think of it as a bunch of fairy dust, and now you can fly, and that makes itHUUUUGGHHH!!!"

It didn't take long to clean the camera's brown coating. And the monitor's. And desk's. The towel he wiped with looked like it was dyed tan. He declined to think much of what it resembled. He dropped it where it lay, and his cinnayummy paws tapped out more words. "Sorry about that. Must be all the humidity."

"I... I'm sure it is. I have to go now, be a dear and... Say hi to Nicole, I think I took the last flank steak at the market when she was right behind me."

"Hah! Oh that's fine, if she'd wanted it you'd be able to see your grandfather again!" He'd waggled a limp wrist, poo-pooing her fears. But right when what he ended that with struck him, there came the magical zero again.

He made his best Garfield face. There he had it, another silent absence, minutes alone. He found a lint ball. Rolled it on the table. Flicked it. Got it stopped by his other hand. Now, it was a back-and-forth. Left thumb halted it, but right pinkie caught the return serve. Sent it right back, and the toss was stopped dead again! He played both sides, but leftie had a slight edge! He was dominating himself! The him went wild! Then a chime.

He looked up. Text on the screen. He pieced it out. "Good serves. You could do that pro', take it from me."

My God, was this his proudest moment. Arms locked in reverse 'L's, he scowled with a grin, untouchable. Beat his own chest a few times. After catching his breath from that, he typed with bombast. "Well, that's just what you can expect from SUPER Dad!" ... He... He really could've tried harder.

But whaddya know, it mattered not. "You're super alright. What's your name, guy?"

So friendly, unassuming. But Richard was puzzled. "Uhhh, it should be on the window. Lessee, on my end it says... Anonymous001." His eyes widened, pupils opening out like a beautiful flower. "Oh my God, and all this time I've expected them to call me Richard? My own family's played along with my delusions!!" He looked down, horrified. "Oh, what they've put up with for a man called Anonymous..."

"I... Think that's the placeholder, you have to change it on there. But you have a family? I knew it, I thought I saw you out. Just once or twice." This had just grown considerably intriguing. His eye-macro'ing, the maudlin turn, they were gone in short-term. He looked curious and open into the lens. "I doubt it, I only leave the house if there's food or threats involved. Both of those my wife's mastered."

"Maybe, but you didn't deliver pizzas once?"

He had. Once. It was a time best left to the town's historians, they had policies for honouring tragedy. "Yeah. Not any more though, I have a better job." He ignored the lie, though for a moment his tongue felt different inside him. A bit toward the forked side.

"I knew it. Always nice to see a broad-shouldered hunk out, doing a man's work."

This... Eh... Mmm... "Oh, so you live in Elmore?"

"Hahah, you caught me. Upper East Side, near the hat museum."

"We... Have a... HAT MUSEUM?" The kid-getting-a-car-face again, IF that kid was let in on the news while skateboarding down Pike's Peak. "Lol, I guess you've never been. Looks like it's piqued your notice. If you're ever over this way I could show you around." A pause; Richard had a spot of drool now, awaiting more. He got his wish. "Y'know. If you ever wanna fling pies again. :)"

This... Being... She, him, xim, they were a breath of fresh air, or Cheeto-dust air for the likes of Richard. He recalled though, one can't be too careful. He impersonated authority. "Well, my good man/woman/third option, while I am pacified by your offer of fun, I do not think it's in our futures."

"Sure, sure. Just a suggestion. You wanted those, right?"

"Uhhh..."

"I mean I can see the script from earlier. You told someone you take requests for things to do."

"Oh. On here. This stuff."

"What stuff, exactly?"

"... Just, ya know, things. On a cam."

"Ah. I get it now. Well, honestly I already did."

Richard's eyebrow hit the stratosphere. It came down, he licked his hand and glued it back in place. Something was happening. "You did?"

"Oh absolutely. It's common nowadays, plenty of dads getting in on this. I can help you along :D"

Lessee... Nope, no dubious nature here, in the bunny man's head. "Oh what a relief. Then I give you my invitation, good boy-girl-etcetera. Lead me."

"Hah, fantastic." There was blank time. Richard moved his tie, loosened it while the viewer typed, just for comfort. He was hit by another blindside. "Funny your hands went to that, you must be psychic too. I wanted to ask, why are you wearing that? It's after noon, and looks like you're at home."

"Well, you see it's that... I wanna be ready... For..." He'd have gave a full answer, if he had one.

"Never mind. Just that it's choking you. Maybe loosen it some more, and I'll think up something cool for you to try."

"Hahah, say no more, fan!" Overconfident, he loosened it further. Too much. It fell in his lap. "Oh, drat. You can say more now I guess."

"Man you're funny. Well, we're of like mind, it looks like, but I work from home and don't get to wear suits. Can you show me how you'd model one?"

This question came off as a bit... Practical. Totes ordinary to the rabbit. Him, a model? It wasn't exactly what this peer of his said, but... Fuck it, it was.

He had dimples like mad, smiling while he stood again. Hid his breathiness, and had a stance at first like Captain America. The shoulders were wide alright, presented blades. They even sparkled; or was that just the last of cinna-fog in the air getting sunlight through the window. His chin felt three times... More formed and singular. With one jerking motion he shifted their hang on his arms and chest. The front knot of a proper tie - no doubt cinched and secure by Nicole's hands - dragged down the pittance of a canyon, where the stoutest neck around met the buttressed peak of moob canyon. To the sides, some shape was noted even through the clothes.

Note-revealing was to be done by his mystery critic. "You can pick your look, that's for sure. Nice detail w/ the double-starching."

"Oh that? My wife does it with half-Niagra half, eh, talc powder. It helps the deodorants kick in, she says."

All at once a feeling was indescribable for Richard.

... Oh yeah, just shame. He'd forgotten that for a while. A rare happening.

In this, the avatar-less watcher was expected to confirm his fears. The bunny dad thought he'd hear a crack about his thighs in those double-knit slacks, or the idea of an odour so distinctive it took an extra catalyst for antiperspirant to have a point. Just something to stand in for Nicole's voice, caustigating him.

What he got was this: "Sounds like she gives a lot of a damn about you. She's lucky to have that honour."

Richard's face was out of frame, above his chest fat, flare of his pale yellow collar. His eyebrows had inverted, just like anyone's when they worked to fight off mist in the eyes. A sniffle, maybe, but too low for our occupado's hearing. Man-behind-the-glass went about judging more. "Good blousing on the tuckjob, matched teak belt, I commend whichever of you has an eye for that."

"H-heh." By now, rubbing his neck, and that meant an arm was up out his shortsleeve cuffs.

"Hm, can't be easy fitting those guns to a non-tailored Brooks Brothers either. Python city." "Hahah, well it's hard to get 'em free now sometimes, they are a bit bigger than when I first got this number..." He felt there was a lightbulb above his head, flickering in a wish to come on and glow. Sputtering like someone blew out his transformer, AKA knocked down his substation. It finally decided to hurry up and shine. "... You're awful friendly, you know. I could get the wrong ideas."

"... Oh?"

"Yeah. I could, you know, just warning you. I'm not always the best at coming up with good ones." Some part of him almost felt the confusion exuded, textless, by his watcher, but nnnnope, didn't click like his mindbulbswitch. He continued to have a big mouth while turning to accidentally flaunt his hefty buttocks. "Whenever I find someone I like, I get into trouble. Even just for stuff like filling the pool with mouthwash. I told Darwin it was so I could swim and take care of my famous 'repeating nachos'."

"You like me, huh?"

It hit Richard like a ton of bricks, delivered by a linebacker. Looked to both of them like he'd let slip a little reverse-review of his own. He'd been talked into smooth, relaxed modeling. This was something alright... A GREAT start to his web career! He was certain this was a talent scout. Or a most interesting browser of fine talents. Why not tell the truth, and alongside this, keep bringin' the requestbait. He flicked with his shoulders again. This pressed the suit back 'square', leaving grooved wrinkles on his bulging blades. So what if it was blubber, not definition, still filled out his suit in tall order, and kept his viewer coming with phrases like "S'a wide back you have" or "Let the gut hang, no need to suck it in", and even "Filled up to the brim in that suit, you're poured in like a glass of cognac on the rocks. You must have nice ones." Richard could only dream of the attention he'd get if other friendlies were as frank and knew what they wanted like this, his first.

But yeah, a man like him couldn't process that last answer. "A few nice ones, yeah. I arranged them around our barbecue grill, it was supposed to be a heart but it came out a kidney. I mean..." He couldn't decide how to continue. Funny, he'd been talking plenty about Nicole, compared to his intent. Who knew why he felt compelled to bring her up, lingeringly.

The viewer pounced on a latent pause. "It may be handsome but it can't be comfy. I got some other requests, just so this isn't all about clothes." "Hah! That sounds peachy." "Go ahead and take off your jacket while I sort 'em out." "Yessir, internet customer!"

The well-meaning doofus had his sleeves, and the hang of his overshirt, shimmied off in two shakes of a supersized tail. The gut threw itself around in the undershirt; it peeked out, button-first, from a white tank. For a moment, he had to make do with one single entry from his solo audience: "Damn, Captain America lives!"

Richard knew he was lying; the Cap' couldn't be behind him, in the window or anything. He turned to see. The patriarch's back then filled the view, bare at his bicep's beginnings; maybe a fraction of tiny pink wisps shawshank'ed from the bends of dad pits. There was definite darkening; the viewer guessed, in silent 'analysis', this boy could sweat like a prized horse in Texas. Wisely the man knew that such a comparison rung accurate; having wits, and plots, he surveyed the change in Richard's core he'd affected. "Man you're a sturdy fella. I see why the moneymaking power look was a shoe-in choice."

"You got it, guy. Hah, check this out!" He felt spontaneous; a little young in this moment, and held his large-radius fingers to his overhang, a love handle or two atop his belt. They scrunched a fold together and a line was made. Then another squeeze, more particularly-done, and half an oval appeared on its 'end'. He'd made a spoon. "On a good day I can shake it out twice and form a bowl too. I drank a lotta water though, to wash down the popcorn. Our air popper's broken."

"Hahah, anything that works, right? Wonder if that means you'll have to excuse yourself and drain off every now and then. I'm okay with that."

Richard chuckled. He released his gut, it dropped like Wall Street. The shirt, the tie, they still draped over vast fields of Richardcore. Not music, but to the eyes of his fan they could be. He came aware of an itch; to scratch it, he had to lift one arm. Raking his hand through hairy pits, the fuschia coiff was there alright. Like curly sorghum, and his mitt was a dull scythe, of course not cutting a single stalk down. The stranger might have sworn he could see fog drift up, in front of the window where that husband arm had exposed. Humidity that didn't come away fragrance-free.

"Are you there, champ?" Richard was forced to type after two minutes of nothing.

"Sure are. Just had to adjust how I'm sitting, it was getting restrictive. Long story." My God, even just throwing out his massive hints and having not a one chomped on by his figurative fish on a line, was its own novel excitement. Richard yawned, but his stomach fussed over that; he rubbed the growl, and with his face in frame a mix of blush and hunger owned it.

"Awww man, sounds like you need some lunch, big bunch." He made Richard chuckle again; shook when he laughed, a healthy measure. "Wanna demonstrate what you eat? I don't mind if you drop some here and there, it happens."

"God, you're so much cooler about messes than some people I know!" He didn't name any names, since the list would number fifty or so. Just those he met most anywhere, anytime. He turned; the snack had been too far to the left, but when he bent down, showed some aloof top-o'-crack, it was put into view. He narrated his first love. "Choco-chips. Can't have your cocoa without a serving of vegetables. Potatoes, sliced for easy access? You gotta love eating healthy." He smiled, shoved a handful into his mouthole, and the eyes went almost crossed.

"Attaboy, enjoy 'em! The good people who make it work for just that." He almost started wondering if a man like this rabbit could be genuine; all accounts were stacking up too good to be true. But he understood; and watching flecks of chocolate bounce, some even finding nest or asylum in the low cherry-blossom fuzz of Richard's muffin top, he knew how to conduct the imminent symphony.

Raising his baton - no fear, since HE didn't have a cam - he manifested. "You gonna ruin your T-top like that? I mean when I get the munchies, I don't go around not bare-chested, it's kinda careless to the shirt."

"Huh... Man you're right! I should know better." With all the smoothness of a dyed-in-the-wool dad, he steadily, half-awkwardly dribbled out of his top. Crumbs of the first chips to go down the gullet dusted his thighs. He moved, and his manly breasts went with him. "Hey, you okay?" He said to the man who just sent him an audible, strange squeak.

"Yeah. Just fine, you, eh, keep on snackin' if you want. I'm eating too, feels good to have a buddy." He didn't say what exactly went down his talker, it was left open to thought.

This sort of pleased Richard. Was it pickles, maybe some barbecue pie? The pizza or just chicken in a crust, if it had a drizzle his name could be on it. He scratched under one moob; it bounced, and he... Nah, it couldn't be... Yeah, his watcher wasn't all the men to let out unplanned pleasure. Mystery-watcher knew this treat, though. Sure as he picked up on what transpired, it was time to be a vessel for truth. "You really wear your weight well, man. And sounds like you like it."

.......

... Alright. The rabbit wasn't scholarly, but he'd been thrown enough pieces of a puzzle. His figurative mental hands pawed at it until enough locked in to read this for what it was. His arms lowered, his brow set a bit firmer. A twitch hit one side of his whiskered cheeks. "So, you thought you could pull this on me, huh?"

"What?"

"Dooon't give me the innocent act. I know what it means to have some evil mind ruin your pride, and then play the big-eyed cute card, I have kids!"

The man still had to hide giggles under covering shame. But hell, if Richard had wits sometimes, he had a triple-portion. The words of a prime answer came to him like manna from chunky-guy heaven. "You think I'd be cute?"

"Oh, indubitably, you nasty punk! I bet you're the most adorable pervert behind that glass, they always get my goat!" His pride had been besmirched. And his shirt, and with it, decency. Made vulnerable, now babbling to ignore the blush on him. Not a second's thought to help him ascertain just what he'd told.

More of the perfect engagers reached the tip of stranger's tongue. "We're not talking about your spawn anymore. It's over, cutie."

"And since you... Eh... Uhhhhh... You, eh, hm. Fuck." A word he said rarely and mushmouthed. True, he had some of that on the average, but a bit more tripping over his tongue now, much as he'd began a bit of drool. Blame the chips, the cocoa, or something else.

"Yes, I do. Lol. It doesn't matter now, I've seen half of you bare. Can't take it back. And it's a thick, strong half." Richard read this, and couldn't sit still. His fist balled. He steamed from both floppy pink smokestacks. His folds jiggled, but something else didn't stay stagnant. Where there had been a bulge, all the time, there was change. For the bigger.

"Hahaah, you know what I see, tubby. And how I'm feelin'." The bunny dad did. He couldn't turn any redder. Looking down, mouth wavy with butterflies in his healthy gut. 'Why now', he thought, 'Dear sweet design. I don't need you happy, don't be-..."

So fruitless, the hope to cut off that rise at the pass. His briefs were below the frame; blown out on the sides, where his hips dominated that waistband, ripped it free where the fat and macho curves pressured them most. Now they might be torn worse, since a hill in the front headed high, pointed. This, the stranger named for his cam man's embarrassment.

"You got a goddamn cannon there, big guy. And you wear Hanes? Hell yeah." Richard's fears were all enlivened. His meat went taller than he thought, poking into frame from its mire of curled pinks in breathable white cotton. So it was long enough to grieve him, with this; it wasn't all Nicole had it cracked up to be. Not that he minded that worship, but this?

The anon' poked more at his predicament, sweeping right in on a vacuum left by a man who stared down, frozen by shamed fright and being found out. "Big dad's got a big, bashful boner. So sorry it seems to vex you, looks like you're a boy yourself who got scolded for dropping something. My jaw, today."

"Sh-shuddup... I have a wife!" He tried to yell, it just trilled out in a stupor. Mother of fuck, he stared at the damp spot expanding on the tight white summit. It was a mountain of fire, sure felt that hot in his drawers. Little stretches every second, from those Hanes; every time his heart beat, and with that much heft and cholesterol and this going on, it rattled with throbs.

"Yeah, no wonder you got her to the altar, if she knew any of that before. D'you wear pants most days you're alone, Mr. Obvious Homebody, or is it not even worth trying to hide?" Richard's ears dropped low. So ashamed and helpless. Stranger typed more. "Yeahh, why don't I shorten that, call you Mr. OH. It's what you make mine feel. You know what I'm doing right now."

"B-buddy you're about to be ejected..."

"Go ahead, kick me off. We'll see how long you go without copying me. Call a plumber for that pipe, it's sprung the biggest, worst leak..."

"B-buhhh... Hhhhh!"

He'd been right. All the courtesy, masking the story, it was miles behind them in a flash. So were the briefs, or half of them, behind two things of round make and model. Richard couldn't believe what he did, any more than the stranger who was chomping at the bit not to type just onomatopeias for drool and pre'. Never seen a friendly dad - even a latent, subby cuss like what he seemed to have hooked online here - yank down and expose his cock this fast or thirsty. Richard fell victim to two secret buttons; his own huge beercan whipper, and the charm and orders of another chap, a man who talked like a real chief of something. In his simple mind, Richard wanted to know, for his peace if any were to be saved. "Are you... A boss?"

"Hahahah! I'm guessing you mean at all? I've managed some shit in my time, nothing you need to know about. Was it that overt? I gotta work on my technique then."

"No, no." It was more short and easy text, from a cam star now putting it out one-handed. His other, no, not on his member, no matter how it beckoned. On his left moob. Clutched and pressed in. He felt the fur feather in his hand fat. Sweat from right on the oval. His chair creaked, with such a fluffy father squirming in it.

"Attadaddy. Clamp it. Only goes so tight before it pours back on your knuckles, right?"

Richard, for the life of him, failed to not groan.

Perv'-watcher was SO far from done. "Bet you could lean down and lick it, with a few less chins. Hot as fuck, lardo. You shouldn't lose it, but I know you've tried to sweat it off. Ever watch aerobics DVDs?"

"You got me." It was plaintive now, the reply. Richard couldn't hesitate; for this, he didn't have it in him. Certain things he wanted in, but...

"Oh I can see it, totally. In a sweatband, your skivvies, gettin' wet to the oldies." Confidence was so thick you could cut it with a knife, or cover it with a Magnum XL. Richard didn't know just how much the villainous fuck had in common with his physicality. There were two large chests played with in the chatbox, but only one of Richard's hands served his. The other had went to dive for parts in a low fold. Somewhere tight, that hand had found and went to tapping, pushing in a finger at the center of a crack. He was redfaced, but from helplessness and the pain of fitting in a hand in his pants' rear with all the waistline taking it up.

Richard's eyes were going heavy; his heart racing, and it didn't help his daddyhood go down. He had to talk now, for so many things and causes. "I tried losing it... It didn't take, as I had to tell my nachos the next day... I did get plenty wet, all over... Maybe I wouldn't mind if you were there to dry me off..." He jerked a little from behind; then once more with a flexing arm and brief strain. "My hand's stuck... It won't leave my ass."

"Fuuuck yeah you buff-oon." The meeting of terms, when the stranger could see muscle - maybe not built, but a natural base - try to poke through flab. They were such a meld, truly set each other's best traits right off.

Richard's hand scooped his crack every time he tried freeing himself. It was a thoughtless war; he won only more flustered sweat, and a few rakes of some circular dip on a few recoils here and there. This could only be one thing, and it twitched like his mouth and whiskers. The latter two were nervous habit, but the first, his nine-point-five said everything about what meaning lay there. He hoped it wasn't visible, when his hand gave up, set close on it, and slowly put a glide around that circle. Fat fingers, on a wide hole, daddy's manpussy.

He hid his hand, not his mouth. Gentle curves of lip fat and pinkness, coarse bristles under his nose, they all moved in time with bliss shooting up his body, stabbing his awareness. The stranger left dots and then curses of approval, too many in a short burst. Richard jerked off with his ass, not his dick. Rabbit meat stood with one drop just hanging on the top, where a tarp of foreskin wound around the fist-of-a-shroom that would catch it any side it fell. He squeezed moob, and the nipple flashed through a slit between digits, pushed out into his own grip. He let go, in ache and stupor and growing arousal. He got far more hot than just what his cock projected, and boy did it project itself, a third of the screen covered.

Stranger watched him reach down with the ex-moobmassager, and relieve his pants cutting into him. The muffin-top relaxed, the nuts that had been ripening in the suede fly under liberated tool got to 'breathe'. Extra-large eggs on this bunny, they'd been frying in that zoot suit. Air hit them, and a cool gasp carried his sub' pleasure, moan of a manslut-turnt, into clear audio. The stranger's shout crackled in the PC speakers.

"Mother of God" came the typed addendum. "Barely saved myself there. You... You know what you gotta show me."

"I do?" This was spoken-not-pecked, like most prior from Richard, but this new tone poured on his inflections. Tame and serene. Timid, looking up to this other daddy; and leaned back in his chair, he almost looked up to his own fuckstick. But it wasn't the star, and the more Richard thought, flicked his ring, he knew what was. Breathing hard as he sat up in the seat. Rolls of his neck, as if begging a man in closer, while he turned around. Bless the good construction of heavy-duty office chairs; this one held like an Olympian with Richard getting on his knees, splaying over and against the back. Where his enormous length had been just moments before, the fat limb was replaced by cheeks. Broad oceans of fuschia. Darker pink, since they were unwashed, musky as all hell.

Richard stuck two fingers in the top of his subduction; they guided down every inch of bun split. A grapefruit-sized hole played peekaboo at halfway.

The stranger typed and it suffered. "Tha t is the fattst backside, man you'r a big boy, goddamnfuck!!" Preserved as written. Thoughts offered to the filthy dad that could only make it worse. He had to show off his ass, it was loved so much, and with this... Such a feeling, rawer compulsion than he thought could ever be... He had to play with it. Right there, front-and-center he just committed. Stuck his hand in that volcano. Rubbed the walls, pushed in until all the sounds he made were bitch to the stranger's butch.

"Fuckin' dig in that quagmire, poor big daddy's needin' it. Your gut gets hungry but *there's* your thirst." He could barely keep it grammar-sound. One hand, sometimes none, were on the board. "Demonstrate. I know you play with it every day."

"How... Did you..." Richard knew the answer; this was small talk from a big sub to his hugely fond dom'. Giant pink dick dragged all over the chair's leather, getting thick clear painted in swirls. Even the sack put sweatiness all down the chair's frontside. That sack had hang. It was still a bitch's, and the Watterson patriarch shoved his ass back into his hand, just to help it pierce far in the tight moraine. He cried out and shimmied. "FFFFuuuck!!-" The lock-in had wet, slurped audio fill their ears like his own stank filled the dad's sinus, and his turkey-leg-holder filling his access.

To the wrist. It was thick like his dick, his dudesnatch. He wrestled not to tumble outright, with legs beating the leather, face to the seatback so his love for takin' punishment sha'nt be seen. It would be heard though, while his cheeks folded in, pooched out with the push of his own damn fisting. Amazing, this rabbit could reach like that, turn his arm and punch into his moist walls, hardly needing to go slow or 'walk it in'. Stranger's camera picked up the faint sound of his chair creaking; he was so getting comfy, obvious in working it. Richard couldn't see his hand - or hands - on his manhood, but the mind was there to fill in blanks.

"Y-you like my daddy rump, buster?" He asked with utmost sincerity, and hobbling wavers while his fingers raked where 'helpless' defined him. "Ooooo... I never stop... Loving this..."

"I just fucking bet y' big manbitch, and hell yeah I'm sprung here!" Richard read it from backwards; his neck craned; his ears fell over shirtless back folds, his bare cheeks still pulsed in and out with his hand impersonating dick. This man... Holy fuck, his depth of shame and buttons had already been tripped, how far was this dirty fuck willing to go?

He'd find out. Right when he grinned, took a deep breath and pulled out the fist, there was more typing on the other end. He sat even higher from the middle up, put two fingers by the giant hole and just teased himself. Commands were coming down the line. "Boy you show just how much hard girth you've stuffed in there. Hold your balls down, wanna see the networks in 'em!"

Richard summarily didn't understand, but went along, still horned up and helped by an ask for those nuts. He pledged 'em down alright, one hand tight on the sack's hang, putting the globes out the other end of long suspension. Their capillaries ran, the very network of a rat-bastard's naming. Flushed like Richard's face, and since there was space enough to fit such a hulk-sized hand between a father's balls and their base - his dick's root with its pink woolen brush - the watcher's camera mike picked up slick lubed strokes now.

To this, Richard's neediness, arousal, reached heights that only time with wife had ensured. He pulled his nuts harder, they pained him right where his cock's enormous throb started. A soft cringe, as they felt close to ripping, if only to the slightest and just sensory nags. He shivered more; God he actually felt cold, and as he turned a tad, to read and obey, one wide nipple on his chest fat stuck out, erect.

"Hahah, nasty mantits, give it a twirl! Let your balls rest, punish that hard bud for now!" He would type 'RRRgh' into the chat, the way he felt, in time. Now, he still had Richard by the figurative balls even while the hand left them to go twist and print his scrotum musk all on his moob. Close enough to smell, and the stranger's dick close to a sound receiver, making just the noise his made in a wet tug. The viewer held back, but at the same time, had a bombshell to drop on this sturdy sub, this time-perfected faggot. "Your wife's gotta love it. Don't even lie to me... Sometimes she's the man. For you, even if it's just your ass loves surrender."

Richard's teeth clacked once, he so quivered, and the first pinch of his manbreast cornered this. He told the jerk what he wanted to know; meanwhile, the whole time he recounted it and painted memories orally, he wished to have a hand still dug in and fucking himself. Prepping for the dick he heard, petted by his fan here. "She has... Been that. I love my birthday, she brings out the paddle. I'm so fucking bad."

"You are, cumsucker! Does she find something white and thick to substitute for what you need?"

My. Fucking. Hell. He was so direct and succinctly breaking down fences and reserved yearns. Pure fealty rose from their ashes. Richard, squeezing his nip red, running a hand on his hip, down his ass fat, frontwards so it'd skew down his member and start strokes mean and moderate, let the words gush. He'd tell everything.

"She loves me so much, my body's her playground. We get the kids down to sleep at night, and when she's not exhausted from work... First she shuts the door to our bedroom, and locks it... I stand like a statue, she tells me to while I disrobe. She likes to lean in, sometimes nibble my neck. I make whatever whine she wants, and if it's not good I do it again. If it is she grabs me, pushes me down on the bed. When she takes this-" He was still talking, but pawing at his own size, tremendous, raining swallows worth of clear. "-She wants lube. We don't buy it at the store, she just sits on my face and... I eat her out. She's trained me not to nip, even when her pussy tastes sweet... She eats pineapples, it makes the juice... Paradise nectar..."

The man he served now was bent, but it all traced back to Richard's being a pet, enslaved by crave and hugely male while even more of a manbitch. It didn't matter he married a woman. The stranger typed groans, approving everything. "Makes her wetness a treat just like when men eat that fruit, and shoot sugary salt down in you."

"FFFFF-... Yeah, I know it, big guy." Ironic turn of phrase from such a fat, hung hunk. "She gets wet, my tongue compounds it... Then she slides down, slow and so sexy. Sits on my wood, rides it and calls me the slut I am. I'm her snugglebunny, her stud and her whore. I've been slapped before, just because. The look in her eye... I love the fire, and she only lets it go when I'm allowed on top of her, after she's had boss-time. And I stick her. Rush in and fuck her pussy so deep. I... I shot so hard our first time, when we were just a couple... Seeing how those tender lips made way for me, so wide! Ohhh-h-h man, she couldn't get enough of this monster!"

"Fuckin' YEAH you dog!!" The stroking heard through speakers was three times escalated; the unseen cur slid in closer, tormenting bunny dad with what he couldn't have. Still pulling out gemstones, the confessed love and lust. "Gets pounded so hard by such a handsome gun, and still finds it in her to put your daddy ass in its place! Shake it, boy, show YOUR daddy how it moves while you bottom-out in her tight cunt!"

"Ye-yehhhh daddy!!" Oh man, to say this himself, Richard felt so right. He pooched it, twerked and coulda gave the girls at Magic City a run for their money. He quit abusing his chest, and put that hand to the fire, steams rising from his big boy hole. Pulled out on one cheek, and the whole pucker just centered on the screen, a balloon-knot like a mug's saucer. "She eats it on my birthday. And hers. I gotta clean a lot though so she showers with me to scrub it."

"Oooo fuckin' damn, lucky lady! What I'd give to see you soaked. Even just in my spunk." He typed loud, into this daddy fag so utterly he'd chonk everything like he wished to plunge in that pink circle. "More talk, wussy boy. And show me that huge thing, turn around and two-fist it for daddy!"

"Yessir!!" He was obligated now, to what he needed anyway. Waved his ass across screen space as it rotated, his body spun to sit back in the chair. He'd just started pleasuring, 'oiling' length with greasy hands and room for both and more, when his watcher took him off-guard.

"Nuh-uh, guy. Not so fast, you're gonna be on all fours. Stick those legs through the armrest holes and pout that ass while your dickhole stares at me."

Richard wanted SO bad to shoot, Al-fucking-ready. Again, barely ever would he lose it (or want to) when his lovely bride wasn't on him, hounding his subjection, lashes curled and titties bouncing. He listened, and got himself on two soft kneecaps, their fat cushion stable. He soon had toes and heels wriggling out the back. Never stopped playing with his meat, and now the glans, a tip bigger than his warm heart, put precum down his digits and palm like he'd turned up a pitcher.

Speaking of 'pitcher' he could try to judge just how big his fan was in his own right, the span of time between hearing that dick tugged upward, and when it cruised back down enjoyed by an invisible seme. If he only had presence, not just wire connection... The Watterson dad imagined every contour, shape and inch of his teaser, while his ass curves and rockethead both screamed across the broadband link for use and owning. Richard thought other ways, too, of his gorgeous and long-suffering love. "Nicole wears me out... If you both had me, I-I mean... You could wear the leather, and her the lace..." He rolled thick thumb over the helmet-flare... Now his dick would taste vaguely of chocolate sauce. "She'd get some rope... And knot it up against the bedposts..."

"Yeah?" The stranger typed, about all his tantalized text could transfer.

"And above the bed... All moist, and unwrapped..."

"Yeah you big bitch? What'd it be shading the sheets, you bi bunny-hole?"

"It'd be... A bunch of deli sandwiches, on a pulley system over the bed!" He exclaimed it, hitting all his own buttons. "At the ceiling where I can't get 'em, until your salty ranch is empty... Her sweet drizzle..." He had his arms on the plastic rests, but at their base; it held him while he strained, pushed up and bulged out some veins on his temple, to drop and pound the chair with ass meat. His dominator struggled and some garbled hogwash filled the text box, for only a moment. Not that Richard quit flogging the leather chair with soft dad beef, a bristly hair for every seedling of tiny pink fuzz. A dual society on the fattie's luscious rump. He felt a jerk, and the chair seemed to 'hiccup' against gravity. Enough of the break-dancing, figuratively... He reached up, and plopped part of a hand in his mouth. Sucking fingers, wishing he had cock in his mancave, maybe showing Mr. Incognito how a big mouth takes a lot to fill.

He juggled this and stopping to speak; it was the best multi-task he'd ever do, and it went, well, as expected. "You be the dahdd-mnhh-dd, she can punish me when I dohhhn't shhrve m' dhhh' *pop* good. The meaning is clear..."

"Is it?" Came a quip, inbetween liberal strokes of the unseen, plus his own rabbit plugger leaking a river, clear as mountain springs or vodka. "It's how much a slut I am. She's right, ohhhh fuck, daddy..." The real dad here spoke these needs, milked his pre', slapped a hand on his left cheek and raked wet slobber from his suckling through the fur and the manlier stubble. Didn't need to shave his ass, though hairy, he sat enough to wear it down and in-check. He had more notions. "She brings out the whip when she wants. Mmmnff... You, you wanna try her cattle prod, big guy?" Struggling with himself now, his ropes were antsy, waiting at the gate to be relieved and sprayed all over the seat. They, too, were checked and balanced on the edge.

The answer was in fragments. "Shock you into submis" ... "sion, like I'd ha"... "ve to. Like it on your nipples, manbitch?" The enter key was below something floppy enough to pound it. The watcher had a nip of booze in him, but within tact's limits. He could pour out his own thick whiskey, though, fine-aged vintage for his good boy. His good, big, hung, chubby, simple, subby sow, a li'l piggy to breed. He creaked in his chair; cheeks clenched while he rode an edge equal to Richard's.

The hare of a dad that bit his own tongue rocked from the screen-hogging core. "Yes-sir-daddy!! Or you could... Shock the sandwiches... Blow them apart, since I don't deserve 'em and all..." The stranger almost laughed his way into an orgasm. It held, and Richard gabbed. "... I gotta drain you first. Eat her pussy 'til she chokes me with her hips... And I gotta fill her canal! Daaamn I wanna plow my wife while you wreck my ass from behind!"

"And you'll be"... "Singed on those moobs, gut full of my first cumdumps!" Another break there; slapping the board w/ inches got his blood flowing, more than its already 100% for a born skank in a man's body flinging him fuel. He asked about more. "Such a perfect bod, thirsty fuck, but show this dad-bastard more. Give me presentations, how d'you look with her 'V' on your maw, forcing you on?"

The Watterson man shivered, held in his jizz and leaned a little more back. Morphed his face to have push-marks, like his lips pressed right on sugary petals, unpeeled them like you'd twist a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue. He knew his way around both. He showed care, dexterity, slithering in the air-guitar version of gash. His favourite place, pleasing and attending his bride; since the couch didn't count, nor the kitchen table. Arguably. Jury was still out on that one.

"HHHHELLL man, your queen's treated like one!" For this Richard grinned, tried to wink and again could only pull off one. A scrunched blink instead happened while he teased the air at the image of Nicole's juice box. "Ever take that tongue talent to a man's musky ass?" Asked his new fan.

"No... And not for not w-wanting..." His mouth quaked and put all in whimpers... His hugeness would be giving him a 'blam', all in good time, less and less now to wait. To have the strength. This daddy knew how to power it up, what Richard loved local and sought outside: To be the middle like creme filling, sandwiched by both sides, the dual ends of perfection. Subjugated to both. Full of cum up his sweaty buns, giving hard to his love with regard for only her.

His new mentor, watcher, sperm well, went adamant again. "Shake your back folds, fatty. Too bad you're not still squeezed into those tight chinos. Bet I could grope your bulge through those slacks, and bring the mitt away and slam it to my nose and it'd still smell just like your junk. A straight whiff." Richard listened, whined, obeyed. He, the chair and the room shook in their separate intensities. Thick softness moved upon so much of him, built and fluffy like a cocksucking box-plunging tank. Anonymous Top said more and darker. "Tugging that giant Pringles can, eh. Can't quit eating yourself fat either, just like you can't quit servin' other dads. Sharing yourself from wife to gay life, can't spread enough of your big ass!"

"Y-yehhh, I'm too fat, I know-" He blushed, and faced away like this was lucky, guaged by how red he'd gone. "I never lose a pound. My only protein shot's yours, daddy!" He kicked the chair, to rattle his rolls. The letter 'F' came through 23-strong from his watcher.

"Bbig old bitch of a bstard" More type-o's from a single hand, the other indisposed. "Dip my nuts through your tongue, dunk them!" He didn't care how he put it now, they were on their way. Steam built up. "Ball sweat's your fondue! Stretch your wife's rosebud! I'll ruin yours, you fat fuck!!" It was like exploding through his ductwork, through a prostate impressive as the bits.

Richard's pressure shot up. Also gettin' it, shamed, wanted for the simpering flabby toy he best-was. "Daaaddy I'll let it go-oo... My cream, tastes like mayo... Gonna eat it for youuuu daaaddy!! Ohhhh, OHHHH!!! " His ass pooched in and out, gut pushing on chairback, legs spiced with dad scent and the odor of caulk via when he tried to fix his shoe with window compound and by a miracle got his foot unstuck eventually. Two furry orbs were pink as Pepto, and soothed his stomach the same while they ascended, fixed to his thick undercarriage, pumped out their gift and had it blow like a solar flare, scorching-fast hit of euphoria. Unreal, the power that washed the sill above the doorframe to the den, half-buckets of cream that drenched wallpaper and wood corners. He thought of his lovely angel better-half, her riding crop and ball gag she kept in their bedroom... The time she borrowed hose clamps from a friend... the time that friend came over, and two working ladies had his macho doltry in spent, sub' shivers. Used and left to clean himself up. It'd be like that this time, only with another groom, and a forward tom at that... Equal, in the best ways, and... With more demands. Not even done.

"Eat it later, big ol' bitch!! " Came the almost spited dictation. "Your daddy didn't say to lose it, and there you went! Close it off, bucko!- Pinch it shut!-" So much expectation, expectoration, slobbering on his noncammed self, letting Richard be the whore, the doofus and have a bit of time to suffer gladly. He meant it too.

God, did he mean it.

Richard shuddered just a touch... Took a deep breath, much as he could while rocked to the core w/ crest and shooting wave after wave of dad jizz. His stubby fingertips ALMOST met, put his slithole amidst. Both ends bunched in and sealed. The cream kept coming. It was the promptest ache, pressure like he'd never even think could be. His tongue rolled around beating his gums as the jaw jacked open, the padded neck carried chin and ears high, down again, rhythmless headbang. Couldn't be stopped nor slowed. He needed only one hand to deny his peak, and it held no matter how the pain tormented, still so blissened, relieved and in joy and anguish. Intensity unparalleled. "OHH-OHHH!! DADDY IT'S TOO-OO MUUU-UUHCCHH!! MAKE IT STAHHP!! AHHH!! " A dick endowed in size, and stamina, it only made it worse and better. So much backup, seed beating on the walls of his rushing, cresting meat. It would not be denied.

And his watcher, the bastard having this show, knew when 'enough' had arrived. "Release then, big boy!! Let it ride, let it flow!... Ww-w-whoooaa SHIIIIT!! " Richard knew just what he'd started to hear. And it survived, the next string of moments where he un-clamped knuckles from daddy pipe. A ceiling tile cracked, fucking splintered when the first shot picked up all that pressure and made off with it, shaking the bunny pop, so bad his ear half-crimped. He grovelled, begged his daddy to fix his leak, make it stop flooding the ceiling, his own face, moobs, soft belly, the wallpaper and thresholds when he leaned back. Stranger Daddy couldn't help him. Sure helped himself though, to his own bursts and sending them hard, groans all the way and deep, rich ones. So much pleasure this dude got from watching him cum. Had to do the same. Shared his physical heaven... That might have done it most for Richard, done him in and rushed him onto this payload. To hell with the 'singleness' of his fanbase, he *was* a star, at least giving his groupie what's wanted. Could've had a million-strong following and still he couldn't ask for better.

Private-dad hummed, drew out his O-moans, and Richard's barrage had its expiration... Wound down, as he milked it, hand a-flurry up and down with tugs, not one drop milked without contact to liven every inch's stimulus, raw and grand effect. Richard's cock slapped a solid puddle on his gutcurve, and he dropped it thus while his helper-fan indulged his own meat, back to low croons and sighs in steady notes. Stepping into glow with both feet, as it were, both of them united there. The rabbit's cock lay puffed and red, so sweetly discharged but wrapped into shooting pain, stretched from inside minutes before by his own sperm. He flexed, arms tight as he tried to focus on cool leather, chest pressed up on the chair's high 'lip'. He had too much, collapsed sitting up and hanging over the back.

"Hahahah, you ain't much more than a one-'n'-done, eh bootsy?" It was a chiding name, reductive to his ego in the spirit it had. This was a welcome job, and Richard whined one last, unbroken time. He just spoke from his big heart. "Your huge little boy's all used up, he's hung himself out to dry. Hope daddy likes his naked hole, while you pet your Winchester." He didn't hear anything of course, none of the snickers by his viewer for the term applied.

He got the answer though. "All empty down there, huh slutboy?"

"Yeah... It hurt so much, when I walled it, I wanted to grab my ears and pull down."

"Hahaah you do that when it gets on top of you eh?"

"And if... You got o-on top of me." So much sudden shyness, derived of post-cum shame; since his brain didn't want to imply but his soul and loins both had to reveal that. Wishes to be plundered, steam-cleaned from inside.

"You want my opinion?" Rhetorical, they both well-knew by now; Richard would jump through napalm hoops if this unknown male snapped his fingers. "You need a fuckbuddy. I may not be young as I used to be but what you didn't hear won't hurt you... Unless you want that :)"

The come-on, clear and for real... Plus an emoji? That tears it, Richard can't have turned down that level of perfection. And he didn't - after adjustments - since upside-down as he leaned back, he read just enough to see he couldn't read a lick from this pose. Nodding with his goofy smile, pretending he comprehended... The quickest way down was exactly that, and he shut eyes tight, braced himself and fell from the front of the seat. Lucky fate that his legs didn't carry it by the armrest-hoops, and slam it down on him; legs were simply too greasy.

He shook off a linoleum-slam that was still more than anticipated... Climbed back into the seat and read the writings. He lit up, and typed back "I have only yes. I hope a million of them's enough..." He then quit trying to be cute, in a way just accepting he was... Inspired by it. "You'd love meeting Nicole. I think she'd maybe sorta grow to like partnering with you... Over me... I'd wear my finest dress, like the jade number that got so many looks in the supermarket last month... Maybe the blonde wig was a bridge too far..." He had so much to work out and suggest. "You'd be ok with two-doms-one-poor-bunny-boy, right? Or I could rock my skivvies and trenchcoat, and we could fight with our private eye's..."

"I think that's all smashing," the very willing text illumed. "I gotta start thinking lunch, if I don't I'll never get off this couch, hahah."

"Hah! I guess not everybody can multitask those like me! " Richard felt a swell of pride, to accompany his swollen junk, a little buckle in his knees while he stood and pointed to himself, still a househusband under strong veneer, a reckless optimist. Drips fell from his half-chub... Half slung onto his ankles, tool swinging far enough to do so.

Then, his watcher struck a point of deviance. "I saw nothing but your fine, famished self; wanna see the one who ruled you and would be proud to tag-team with your honey?"

"S-ssure, oh yes man!!" This was no red flag to Richard, but the greenest light there was, his pitch foretold.

Pitch and him may both have been rash... There was brief delay, but only long enough to set up a quick lens and aim it, and hit the button. In a flash, someone looked out at Richard as he saw them.

What a rat. A low down, disgusting, familiar... Deserter... Over-the-hill, twilight years grampa whose smile, and cocked hat, and crow's feet, all screamed to Richard's dick that it should react. He tried feeling disgust, but no way... Tried 86'ing the grow of his unit, back to hard, then steel-strong, even more than had been, any point in this papa's shaming him, ordering and edging. This papa's arms, his grey furry trails down a bod' just as nude as his. This pop, his pop. He got the old man's balls too.

"D-DAD!! "

"Right, and never be forgetting that boy. Expect me sometime this week." He reached and knocked the brim of his hat with left thumb, tilting it more rakish. "Already had the tete-a-tete with Nicole. Let's shoot for 10 AM, if you get that fat rump outta bed by then. Scoop its scrumptious curves up and serve 'em. Hehehh..."

"I-... I..." Rich' breathed, his ticker thumped, pecker throbbed. A drip of pre already started again, webbing down the camera-frame-size of a cock.

"Splendid. I'll bring beers and chips. And a casserole, and sodas. And we'll grill sliders. And son?"

"Ye... Yeahh, daddy? " He rocked a bit, set his hand on his junk while Mr. Watterson Sr. did identically. They even stroked the same. "You bring the rope. I'll teach how baba does a shank knot."

Richard hoped the local retailers weren't sold out of Scotch-Guard... He'd call them later, disguise his voice so he'd get their real answer. Also tonight would have Nicole clip coupons for whipped cream. Damned sexy dads.

~In'd.~