FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

The mood around Andrea's gym after the customers had gone home was foreboding. With no music, none of the televisions on, and of course nobody around, the sprawling gym floor was dark and dreary. In the low light, the pieces of equipment with all their rods and gaps looked like robotic skeletons, casting awkward shadows on the floors and walls.

Desmond Lankett, resident janitor, went about his work dutifully but he was as skittish as a beaten puppy, flinching at sounds of floors creaking and cars outside. Ever in this shaky state, he wiped down the hand-holds on every piece of equipment and sprayed the seats and porous grips with a diluted bleach solution which was purported to cut down on foul odors, but every seat reeked of jock itch and swamp ass whether he did this or not.

The fox was near the dumbbells, and he was rearranging them according to weight as they were meant to be, working fastidiously despite the growing fear he felt. He was afraid, as always, of Andrea.

Andrea was cruelty incarnate, as far as Desmond was concerned. She was a rapist, using her big out-of-place cock to ruin him several times a week. When the urges struck her, she choked the life out of him while he languished on her cock, wringing his throat or simply arm barring him until he passed out, because you clench down when you're suffocating, it's fucking hot.

Desmond heard the footsteps, whisper-quiet though they were. Andrea was a large white tiger, but she was still feline - a creature of smooth, swift movement. He whipped around to face her, uttering a nervous cry, and he was met by a leering grin on her face. She was leaning down to put herself almost at eye level, and in doing so nearly doubled over.

"Nice. You were quick this time," she complimented him, snickering. A massive white paw shot out and grabbed his shoulder. Now he screamed, his cry cutting through the quiet air of the gym and rebounding back to him. Andrea was used to the screaming, and she liked it, but she only held him still with her grip, making the yowling unnecessary. "All right, shit-for-brains. I'm out of here, gonna go visit my son." She leaned down, smooched his forehead, and patted his shoulder hard enough that he stumbled to the side. "Same deal as always, you lock up. Steal anything and I'll kill you, lock the keys inside again-."

"And you'll tear my face off, then kill me," Desmond said lamely.

The tiger beamed at his recital. "You're smartening up! One last thing, a friend of mine is in my office sleeping off a carb load and a workout." She gave a lewd pelvic thrust for emphasis. "Let her out if she asks you. Don't lock her in here tonight or I'll fist you again. In the asshole, this time."

"I understand," he said, utterly cowed. "Goodnight, Andrea."

"Night, Desmond." She patted his head and sauntered off, beautiful and feminine but foul as a demon.

Desmond went back to sorting dumbbells, and moved on to cleaning up the showers. That night, he found only two jellyfishes - used condoms - on the tiles. His record was seven in one night. They were the reason he kept a plastic grocery bag wadded up in his hip pocket when he made his rounds.

The jellyfishes, one of which had a vague banana odor to it, would have been the most interesting part of Desmond's evening. He lumped the wet towels into a hamper on wheels, and then he'd load them into his car and run them down to the twenty-four-hour laundromat. The fox was just wiping down the towel racks with more of the disinfectant wipes (KILLS 99.9999999% of germs! the hyperactive font on the tube claimed) when he heard footsteps again, but these were not Andrea's. These were heavy, lacking stealth and finesse, and Desmond only had time to think maybe it's a burglar oh my god oh no in a disjointed jumble. The coppery, bloodlike flavor of adrenaline rose into his throat like bile.

It was on top of him before he could turn, the grimy wipe in his fingers held out like a crucifix to ward off a vampire. "My boss'll kill you!" he shrieked, knowing Andrea would indeed leave a night prowler buried in a shallow grave somewhere.

Heavy mitts closed around his throat and his outstretched arm. Both wrenched down with horrible strength and spots popped into Desmond's vision, obscuring the prowler, whose back was to the fluorescent light bar in the ceiling and thus haloed in bluish-white light. He heard a laugh, a sharp cackling sound which sent his ears down against his skull as if to cower from the noise. His free paw flew to the intruder's brutal grip around his neck, and he clawed at the wrist, raking but not breaking skin. He dropped the disinfectant wipe; that limb started to go numb past the vise squeeze of the prowler's fingers.

The prowler's fingers dug into Desmond's supple skin. His fur bristled between its fingers and his flesh throbbed beneath them. Its thumb dug into his Adam's apple, compressing it and causing the foxcoon exquisite pain. He tried to shriek, but his jaws parted soundlessly. A wet wheeze oozed from his throat and drool ran down his chin.

"You're cute!" said the prowler in a voice which was undeniably female. It made her no less frightful to Desmond, whose green eyes were bulging, whites red with fat, angry capillaries. His vision was losing color and definition, reducing all images to out-of-focus smears of gray and black. Andrea choked him sometimes, but never to kill, never like this. The prowler lifted him by the neck, hoisting him several inches which felt like meters to the fading young custodian. She let go of his wrist and the whole arm fell limply to his side, its twin falling away from her wrist a moment later.

Desmond lingered at the edge of consciousness. Pain nested in his skull as an unwanted guest, magnified by the strangulation in a way which reminded him of those autoerotic asphyxia rumors he'd read about online. But he knew unconsciousness was close by, death just behind it, and he felt a very queer sense of peace with that idea.

The prowler balled a fist, a club of stupid muscle and jutting knuckles covered in scar tissue and streaked with dead white fur. She pounded it into his gut as if she were trying to punch through him, and he shockingly managed to cry out in pain. The sound was tiny and infantile, but present. His head tilted forward. Drool oozed across her paw. A stain of piss blossomed in the groin of his shorts and trickled down his dangling legs.

The relief of unconsciousness was short, lasting less than a minute. Desmond came to with a throbbing migraine emanating from both his neck, which was gradually turning shades of mute blue and purple, and his scalp. Breathing came only with difficulty, and each flutter of his heart made his head throb angrily. He whined, but made the effort to open his eyes. He saw the ceiling panels of the gym sliding past. A light fixture came into view and it overwhelmed him, sending fresh throbs of pain through his eyes like railroad spikes driven in by mallets. He closed them tightly, feeling unbearable nausea.

"Hey, you're awake. Guess you're tougher than you look. Figured you were dead." The prowler sounded approachable now. It made sense that she should; she was happy with what she'd received. Andrea told her after they'd fucked and she'd laid down for a snooze on the office couch that when she woke up, there would be a present in the gym. You're gonna love it, Ash, she had said, grinning that mouthful of big, evil teeth her way. And you can get as rough as you want with it. Tiger-tested, let's see if he's hyena-approved.

And so far, Ashleigh - Ash to anyone who didn't want their teeth knocked out - was damned happy with what she'd found in the shower room. He was smaller than her by half a foot; she must have weighed twice what he did. And the way he pissed himself when he finally blacked out? That made the hyena very happy. She could beat and bloody and bruise him up, but to make him piss his shorts was a special kind of power she relished.

Desmond realized his predicament as the fog of the blackout cleared. He was being dragged by his hair like a bride fit for a caveman. He said in a blubbering voice, half terrified and half indignant, "Wh-what the fuck are you doing!? Let go of my hair! Please!"

"But it's a good handle!" Ash said, and her tone was not at all mocking. All at once she let him go and he shrieked. His moment of relief lasted a split second, then he crashed into the floor. It was only a distance of a couple feet, but he failed to catch himself. His elbows and then his skull smacked into the tile beneath. Starbursts of color swam in Desmond's eyes, obscuring his second look at his attacker when she leaned over him.

"Oh, shit, did I crack your melon?" the burly hyena asked, showing a brief moment of concern, and she squatted down, wrists on her knees and paws limp. "Eh, nah, you look okay. No blood." A grin cracked her face, enormous and of course toothy. "Tail now? Instead of the hair?"

"Neither," Desmond bleated, dabbing his eyes with the heels of his paws. Although the migraine still throbbed, he got a look at the bitch currently upside-down in his eyes. Just like Andrea, he found that he liked what he saw: Ash was stout yet feminine, thick legs leading into womanly hips, but a fat bulge in her shorts gave away the ending. In her weathered tank top (which said Pussy? No, I Eat The Whole Cat on it in block lettering), he could see her breasts were only handfuls. A sextet of nipples, three on either side, descended her abdomen like landing lights. All eight, when those on her tits were counted, were stiff and they prodded eagerly into the fabric. She stood up before he got a good look at her face, but he could see the gleam of her teeth.

Ash laughed. It lacked the harsh, barking quality of her earlier laughter. "Neither! Whatever. Was gonna do this in the locker room, guess I can do it here."

"Do what? D-do what? Are you Andrea's friend?" Desmond shakily asked, starting to cry again. Every fiber of muscle in his body was aching to get up, to move and run and escape from this bitch, but the futility of the effort kept him grounded and staring as the hyena peeled up her tank and pulled down her shorts. A fat, brown cock flopped out of her shorts, dangling flaccid, but a dribble of precum fell from it anyway. It landed between Desmond's eyes like Chinese water torture and made him flinch.

"Andrea? Yeah! Best friends. Andrea is way cool," Ash said happily. "Said she left a present for me, one I could get rough with." Grinning a rictus, looking almost childlike in her big brown eyes, she pointed down at him and cried, "It was you! You're a great present. Best fag I've ever choked."

"I'm not your present!" Desmond cried, not defiantly, but desperately. "She must have meant someone else!"

The hyena pressed her thick legs together and her shorts fell to the floor. She kicked them away, her foot gusting past Desmond's ear. "Nope! Can't be anyone but you. Nobody else in the gym, I bet." Again she laughed, this time sharply. "Nobody to hear you scream!"

Desmond wasn't up to screams yet, but he was blubbering and trying to squirm away. Ash put a foot on his wrist and leaned on her leg with all her weight, crushing boyflesh and bone. First Desmond shrieked, and then he began to scream and claw at Ash's ankle with his unencumbered wrist. "Oh, god! Fuck, fuck, please get-! My wrist, my fucking arm, you're gonna-! It's gonna fucking break if you don't get the fuck off!" said Desmond, his voice rising to hysteria towards the end of his screed.

Ash cackled. Her rasping, chattering laughter rang through the spacious gym and amplified on itself, her lone voice becoming a pack of ravenous hyenas. "Limp-wristed anyway!" she cried, and started to laugh again. Her harsh laughter made Desmond's ears wilt back; he was already grimacing from the agony in his arm. "You gotta say you want my butt in your face! My smelly butt! Then I'll let off!"

"Fuck you!" Desmond shrieked in a high, cracking bitchvoice, raking his claws down Ash's leg. Bloody ruts broke in her skin but she was undisturbed by so little pain.

"Nuh-uh! Tiny dick can't fuck me," she snarled, grinning down at him with menacing, gleaming teeth. "Say it! Say it o-o-or...!" She started to twist her foot, grinding his wrist with the heel of her sneaker - the fronts of her sneakers were gone as if her big feet had erupted from them - like she was grinding out a cigarette butt. Gristle crunched in Desmond's arm and he screamed for mercy, but Ash only childishly repeated her demand, this time in sing-song.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Desmond bleated, out of breath from his screaming. "Please. Please. I want your ass on-!"

"My smelly ass!" Ash cut in, grinding the other way.

"God dammit!" Desmond shrieked. "I want your-, your smelly ass on my face! I want it! Now get-! Ple-he-hease!"

Ash really wanted to just lean on the fox until she crushed his wrist. Breaking bones, now that was the sport of bitchqueens, but Desmond had played along. She decided she would, too. She leaned back, taking almost all of her weight away. "Oka-a-ay... pull your wrist back! C'mon!"

The abused sissy pulled his arm away desperately. The flesh rolled on the bone as he squeezed it from under her shoe and he let loose one additional squeak of pain before it came free. He hugged it possessively to his chest, curling onto his side away from the wretched hyena. "Oh, god, it's broken, it's broken," he whimpered, not realizing he could still move his paw. It was swollen and red and raw, and certainly he wouldn't be doing any hardcore polishing with his left paw for a while, yet the hyena had not broken it.

Tittering with wicked, but worrisomely childlike intent, Ash nudged Desmond's hip with her foot then planted her sneaker heel on it. She rolled him onto his back and stepped around him, soon over him, her cock and balls dangling above his breast while her thick ass, which visibly gleamed with sweat, waited over his face. "You like girls that smell? Huh? Like hyenas?"

"Hyenas-, they're okay," Desmond said in a shaking voice. "They're fine. I like them. But just don't hurt me. Please."

"Nope! Hurting you is fun," crooned Ash, starting to squat. She thought Desmond would paw at her and maybe even be dumb enough to use his hurt paw for the job, but he didn't. He was so passive that she was able to sit right down on him. His wedge of a snout packed into her ass crack, where sweat and musk mingled into an almost unbearable cocktail of body odor straight out of a bag of filthy jockstraps. Ash was not a creature of great hygiene; her sweaty anus ground against his snout, winking as if smooching its furry surface. She snickered and wriggled her generous hindquarters on his face, asking him, "Like it? Do you? I'm sweaty as fuck!"

Desmond couldn't tell where his revulsion ended and his very reluctant pleasure began. Ashleigh was disgusting, but delicious. Her anal musk tantalized his tender nose and he shamefully pushed said nose into the bullseye. Her asshole, which proved thick and seemingly well-trained, fit his nose pad almost perfectly. Desmond pursed his legs tightly; the wetness he felt was not entirely piss now.

She snickered. "Push your nose in, yeah! Push it in!" she cried, sounding ecstatic like a very involved fan seeing a miracle touchdown. She clumsily dropped to one knee, then the other, and her ass dropped down sharply. Suddenly Desmond's snout was pushing into the hyena's pucker, his nose just slipping inside. He bleated, helpless and hapless, yet enviable as well. Ash's sweat rolled off her thick ass, through her swampy crack and off her unwashed and often itchy balls. It soaked Desmond's demure body, matting down soft white and orange fur with its vile muskiness. Desmond pushed her descending ass with his uninjured paw, but Ashleigh outweighed him.

Ash gnawed her lip. Her asshole winked around Desmond's nose. "Fuck yeah, inside of me," she snarled, her grin that of a serial killer with a soon-to-be victim. She grabbed her thick brown cock and jerked off as roughly as she handled her playmates, slapping her paw up and down her swollen meat. Precum pooled in her foreskin when she jerked up and slopped out in a sprinkling when she yanked back down, baring her offpink glans in the harsh but isolated light. Slowly but obviously, she rode Desmond's muzzle, fucking herself with his nose not really for pleasure, but the sake of domination. "Lick my balls!" she snapped, chasing it with laughter. "My taint! Lick that too! Just fucking lick me, fag!"

"Awh, gawd," Desmond cried beneath her, finding more-or-less all of his senses both offended and loathsomely pleased at the same time by the burly, smelly dickbitch. He slopped out his long pink tongue, dragging it over Ash's hanging balls, the sum of which was more or less as plump as a fat navel orange and nearly as juicy.

Desmond's head throbbed, his neck and wrist and vulva along with it. He slobbered Ashleigh, working desperately, thinking all the while please just cum, get it over with and cum so I can find somewhere nice to curl up and hopefully die.

With her timing off only by a few seconds, Ashleigh grunted, "Oh, yeah, gonna bust a nut! Slobber 'em!" She beat her meat wildly and rocked her hips down further and further, taking in worrisome inches of Desmond's snout. The foxcoon whimpered and gave up slobbering her when she pushed down so far, but Ash was too lost in what she was doing to even notice the lack of licking. Her anus throbbed around his muzzle, giving him fat whiffs of overwhelming hyena musk. Sweat all but drenched Desmond's face, marking him with her stink for days to come. The boy pursed his legs tightly.

"Oh, god! Shit! Shi-i-it!" Ashleigh bellowed, pulling up far enough that Desmond's snout slipped mercifully free of her ass. He whimpered, thankful for the relief, but Ash sat back down again, this time putting her ass and all its weight on him. Instead of going up her asshole, his muzzle slipped deep into her crack and lodged there, almost suffocating him. Her pucker smooched and winked on his chin.

"Oh my ga-a-awddamn," the hyena said, shuddering the words. She uttered a titter which was almost nervous, and she came, blasting thick and sloppy ropes across the fox as though he were her canvas to paint. It splattered on his clothes, sticking to his exposed legs and matting the fur down like sap. Biting her lip until it turned white, Ashleigh kept jerking off and gyrated on Desmond's snout, finding pleasure in the way his chin ground against her asshole in her climax. "Ooh, ye-e-es. Shoulda fucked your butt!" she snapped, back to her old self. She laughed like the shrill cunt she was. "Next time! Next time I'm gonna wear your butthole like a bracelet. I got big fists!"

Please let me be dead before then, Desmond bleakly thought. Maybe she gave me a blood clot when she was strangling me and it'll go right to my brain or my heart and-

Ashleigh lifted herself with her legs alone, which shook and threatened to drop her ass on Desmond again, this time from her standing height. It made him flinch, yet nothing came of it. "Hey, that was good. Your face is a good buttplug," she said, snickering like an immature teenager. "Ought to wash it though."

"I'll do that," Desmond murmured.

"Actually!" The hyena laughed, shocked by her own brilliance. She backpedaled, stepping on his hair in what was only a happy accident, and gripped her sweaty cock, aiming it at his upside-down face. "Let me wash it for you! Give it a great rinse, since I'm so nice."

Desmond stared helplessly at Ashleigh with her big, stupid dick and matching smirk. He saw what was coming and he tried to cover his face, shrieking to her, "No! Goddammit, no!"

But Ashleigh pissed on him anyway, and she pissed hard. It reminded Desmond of the gutters on his apartment which were angled just so that a stream of drops the size of marbles gushed out whenever there was even slight rainfall. Ashleigh drenched him, splashing piss across his shielding paws and through the gaps, blotting his face and hair and sissy chest with the stream. His bruised neck, turning shades of death under the fur, got a soaking too. Like her rear and everything else, Ashleigh's piss was sickening. It was a piss she had held in for hours, it seemed - a piss which came only from gorging on water after dehydration and therefore was filled with toxins and colored like rust. The smell was unbearable, and the humiliation arguably worse.

Ashleigh giggled when it let off to dribbles. She shook twice and stepped off of Desmond's hair, which lay in a shallow, spotty puddle with the rest of his upper body. "Now wash that up! Or I'll tell Andrea you were a lazy fucker!"

She didn't stick around to see if Desmond started to clean up or not. She had clubs to hit, other fags to nail, places where her muscles and musk and sweat were more appreciated. She gathered up her clothes, slipped them on, called Desmond a cute fag and left him lying broken in her piss puddle.

It was a very long time before Desmond dragged himself to the showers. Kneeling on the tile, weeping, he abashedly fingered himself to completion, fingers pumping savagely in his fat black box. Ashleigh's stink was so ingrained in his fur that it took him less than a minute to climax.