FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Icon stepped out of the sedan, and opened the trunk. Just a briefcase inside, unremarkable. A bit worn, really, old leather. After closing the trunk and blowing Leodin, the driver, a kiss, he turned to face the building, and his assignment.

As an assistant at Kuroko's Finest his job was, quite simply, to help customers unwind. Sometimes that was just having a drink with them while they spoke of their troubles, sometimes it was holding them, cuddling into the night and morning, to give them relaxing, soothing sleep.

Neither of those were really his specialty, although being five feet even and lush-furred, he was quite good at cuddles. Cross foxes always had bright and distinctive markings, sometimes poorly suited to discreet meetings, but sometimes, when you really need to let go, a professional is what it takes, regardless of possible lapses in discretion.

One of those customers was his, today. Midafternoon on a Friday in late May, that time of day when the wage-slaves were counting minutes and trying to stay awake, dreaming of the warm air and sunshine, and a cold beer or twelve. A good time for him to stroll into the skyscraper, and up to the security desk.

"Hello, sir." The security guard gave him a bored glance, then a second, sharper one. Might be the distinctive cross fox coloring, might be the sleek silk dress, might be the intensely blue eyes. Probably not the cheerful smile, but hey, could happen.

"I'm expected, Mister Étoile has me as his three thirty."

The security guard typed a few things into his console, then gave Icon another confused look. His general androgyny and the dress probably accounted for the, "Mister? Newton?" response.

A little grimace of distaste crossed the fox's face. "Icon, please. Mister Newton was my father, and he made some very poor choices when he named me. Would some ID help?" He set the briefcase on the guard's kiosk, and opened it up. One ID card, all fields in order and yes, there was an M in one particular spot. Not that the dress or wide-eyed smile was going to help. But after some more scrutiny, the guard shrugged.

"Seems to be in order, and yes, you're in for a three thirty. Take this visitor pass. Mister Étoile's office is on floor 86, to your left as you come out of the elevator. Do not lose that pass, the security systems are very picky."

He nodded, and clipped the pass to the left shoulder strap of that slinky dress, and made his way to the elevator.

The ride up was uneventful, and isolated, no one else to join him or make small talk with. Plenty of time to muse over the briefing he had for this job.

"Your clients are Mr. and Mrs. Étoile, a combination of stress relief and... call it marriage therapy," Kuroko had explained. "They're not first time customers, but their usual, Janice, is on holiday. Jaguar couple, high-power business folks, and they need someone they can kind of cut loose on. Expect sexual, and they've paid your fee for heavy S&M stuff. You're off for a week after this, as they play pretty rough, but they also understand that you have to be able to walk out afterward. They've been informed of your do's and don't's, and your safeword. Ah, and they left some things and instructions for you, as well."

The 'things' had included the dress he was wearing now, and the panties under it, and one more item under that, as well, a shiny steel chastity cage. Low profile, not a bulge to mar the smooth lines of the dress. It wasn't a real problem for him, he often wore one for his own amusement when he went out. The instructions weren't even all that ominous, though they might have been for someone less comfortable with this kind of play. Two days prior to the appointment, he'd started a repeated cycle of edging and stopping, without release. They obviously wanted a very pent up fox on their hands, though to what end was still a mystery. Wouldn't be one for long.

Just thinking about it all was enough to make that little cage distinctly uncomfortable, and make him very, very sure that he wanted to get this party rolling. He took a deep breath as the elevator beeped his arrival on the 86th floor, and he stepped out. Big hallways. Lush carpet. Wood paneled walls and brass nameplates beside the doors. And, as promised, just to the left was Samson Étoile, CFO. He knocked twice, then waited.

There were a few moments of quiet, then a soft chime. A distinct 'clunk' as a lock disengaged, and he pushed the door open, stepping inside the office.

Large office, too. The same lush carpet, that had him wanting to just take his shoes right off and luxuriate in the feel of it under his paws. One whole wall was nothing but a single seamless window, high enough up for sunlight and a sprawling view of the city. And ,seated behind a truly massive desk was one of his clients. Mister Étoile, certainly, the jaguar true to type, a solidly built man, square-jawed, maybe a bit stocky, though seated it was hard to tell. Tie and waistcoat, tailored shirt, and the matching sports coat to finish the three piece suit was hanging on a hook beside the door. Short, black hair and yellow eyes, behind square-lensed glasses.

"Hm. Well, you're not Janice, but you're pretty enough in that dress. Set the briefcase down and come over here." His voice was soft, gentle almost, and calm. Not someone in a hurry. "Have a seat." He gestured at the desk, which had been cleared of paperwork. Recently, he supposed. However luxurious, this was a working office, with bookshelves, file cabinets, and almost certainly a console built into the desk.

Icon sat, on the corner of the desk, and crossed his legs. "Well, what can I do for you, sir? As I'm sure you know, we- I, will do whatever you like, to help you relax."

Samson just grinned a little. "Is that so? Well, you're small enough to fit under the desk. Get down there and figure out a good way to relax me, then."

Not a bad way to start, really. Icon slide off the desk, and crawled under it. Closed in, and flush to the floor, he'd be all but invisible to anyone not behind the desk. Which wasn't bad. Mister Étoile might have other appointments this afternoon? Still, once he'd gotten comfortable on his knees, it was time to earn his pay. Fingers undid that belt, opened the fly of those trousers. Nothing worn underneath, but "Oh wow. That's... thick," he murmured. It was, too, not overly long (and thankfully not barbed) but god, almost as thick as his wrist. A few licks and a good deep breath told him things.

This male was going to be tough to swallow, but worth it. Maybe pent up or maybe just eager as a matter of course, the way he shivered when Icon ran his tongue from base to tip in one slow stroke. Well... help him relax, alright. The fox opened wide and started to suck. Careful of fangs, only lightly letting them touch, never catch, just slow and easy, up and down, bobbing an inch or so on that cock. He heard shuffled papers above, the low hum of a console coming to life. Then a huff of breath, as his sucking got results, a bead of salt-slick on his tongue. Not pent up, he decided, just excited.

He pushed forward, to put his nose in the other male's fur, and drew back quickly, fighting his gag reflex down to a quiet cough. This was going to be just as hard as he had thought.

"You've got three seconds to get your nose back there. And keep it there." Just as quiet and deep, considerably less calm, that voice. A faint, hard edge to it. Not one to be disobeyed.

He slid forward again, and gagged around that thick cock, pushing hard to get it in far enough to swallow, tears in his eyes. One of his hands tightened on the hem of his dress, the other rose, to slide under the other male's shirt and splay fingers in that thick, white belly fur. He held it as long as he could, fighting that rebellious throat, but finally just couldn't stop, he had to pull back, coughing and choking, to catch his breath. He pushed right back on, back to place, nose in that thick fur, tongue out to lap at his balls.

"Well, that's disappointing. You couldn't hold it. Here, I suppose I'll help." A hand landed on his head, tangling in his hair, grabbing tight and holding him in place, cock in his spasming throat. The other hand curled up under, wrapping that big mitt around his throat as well. Gagging and choking helplessly, for an eternal minute. There was some mercy in that hand, as it pushed him away, giving just long enough to suck in a breath before dragging him back down. Over and over, until finally he hung on tight, pulled him down hard, and poured jet after jet of cum down his throat. All he could do was swallow, hard.

As soon as that hand let go, Icon lurched back, coughing and sputtering, swallowing that spunk down, though some had drooled down his chin, splattering his lap. "Clean up your mess, fox," came the growl from above, and he set to lapping up, cleaning that still-stiff shaft.

Just as he was finishing, he heard the door open and shut, the muted thud of the lock securing, and hushed footfalls in the carpet. A new voice, lighter by an octave, just as calm and easy. "How's your last appointment coming, Sam?"

"He's... alright. Just cleaning up. Want to see?" More hushed steps, and then he saw a face. Much like Mister Étoile, a jaguar, leaner and lighter, but those same luminous yellow eyes. Black hair as well, a matched pair, but hers was worn long, curls and ringlets falling well past her shoulders.

"Oooh, very cute. Crying much? Have you been choking him?"

"How could I not? His throat's even tighter than yours. Alright, I'm clean enough, come out of there." The fox crawled out from under the desk, but stayed on his knees, giving a little stretch here and there. He could feel damp on his cheeks, too, there had been a lot of those choking tears.

"Have you checked him out to see if he did as asked?" she asked. "Suppose if he's one of the professionals he did, but it never hurts to check." The lady (jaguaress?) leaned down and cupped a hand under his dress, feeling the bulge of that too-small cage. For far longer than necessary, fondling and caressing, making him strain and throb in the confined space. "I guess he did. I'll bet silk panties were a real tough thing, sliding all smooth against you with every step."

Icon nodded, breath quicker and sharper after all those touches.

"I'll bet you want out of that thing, don't you?"

Another nod.

"Too bad. You're going to hurt for us before you get any pleasure." Not unexpected, but still... the fox's ears dropped, and a worried look crossed his face. The jaguar stood from his desk and undid his tie, waistcoat, shirt, stepping out of shoes and pants to stand, bare. Somewhat older, with that stubborn bit of paunch that older males tend to get. Fit, though, muscles visible through short, dense fur. Icon heard something from behind him, and realized he'd been staring when the lady grabbed his wrists and started knotting them together behind him.

"What are we going to do with you? Well, you liked my husband's cock so much, I'd say it's only fair to give you more of it. And it looked like you enjoyed crying, so we'll let you do more." Clearly they'd studied his file pretty thoroughly. Whatever was going on with their own likes and desires, they were just as intent on giving him a good time as getting their own. Granted, a good time wasn't going to be easy on him at all.

Mrs. Étoile took the tail end of that rope, and lifted, forcing him to lean forward, then stumble to his feet as she kept pulling. Bent over at the waist, hands up behind him in a position that his shoulders were not liking at all, he was suddenly aware of how damned short the dress was. Those panties were certainly showing behind him.

He squeaked in surprise when they were yanked down, and each foot lifted to let him step out of them. Any further protest was stifled by the wadded ball of silk being stuffed in his muzzle. "Drop those and you're going to be in a lot more trouble than for not keeping your nose where it belonged." Mr. Étoile's voice was amused more than harsh. That 'failure' of his had simply been part of the plan, Icon guessed.

Still, he was in for a rough time, almost certainly, with how thick the jaguar was. And given the admonishment to keep his mouth full of silk, there was really only one place that cock was going to go. Suspicion that was confirmed when someone, he was pretty sure it was the male, dribbled cold, cold lube on his pucker, and started working it in with two fingers, rubbing circles there. That was worth a healthy, delighted little groan. He couldn't help himself, it felt really, really good.

"Hmph, eager thing," Mrs. Étoile remarked. "I bet he'll cum even without taking the cage off."

"Oh? Mmm... probably right, but we'll make a wager of it. How about, if he doesn't cum, I get to punish him, and if he does, you get to."

This was not a bet that Icon wanted either side to win, but his input was not being asked, nor could he make suggestions with his mouth full of damp silk.

"Deal. I'm going to enjoy making him cry."

One of those rubbing fingers pressed in, opening him, rubbing more and more lube in, drizzling it on that finger before it was pushed in. Sheathed claws, thank god, so he wasn't in danger of anything other than not being able to sit right for a few days.

A second finger joined the first, slowly spreading him wider, prompting more enthusiastic groans from him. Eyes shut, focusing on the feelings, he was surprised to feel something settling on his muzzle. Icon opened his eyes to see... fur, creamy white, short and dense and velvety. Oh, and a flash of pink flesh, too, the lady straddling his muzzle with her pussy. He could smell her, her arousal, her excitement, and it was an excitement he shared. Whatever else, he could tell that both of his customers were having a great time.

Mrs. Étoile started to rub herself, grinding along the top of his muzzle, getting it damp. Her fingers, too, just rubbing there, strumming side to side, grazing her clitoris. She knew best how to pleasure herself, and he was going to get an education on it, right up close and personal. Though it was proving hard to focus, as that second finger got fully inside him, spreading, stretching. A little ache of protest at stretched muscle, but he wasn't going terribly fast, still giving him time to adjust, to stretch. Which was good, that thick tool would split him in half, otherwise.

He found himself, absently, wondering what these two got up to between each other. Was it as rough as he suspected, with torn patches of fur, bitemarks and blood, broken furniture? Or were they soft and tender? It was hard to tell, people tended to behave differently when a third was added in.

His muzzle was soaked on top, the smell of jaguar arousal and lust all he could inhale, and those fingers left, leaving him empty and wanting. Not for long, though. There was, quickly, a hand around the base of his tail, and a blunt, thick cock tip against his anus. Pressure, insistent, very, very eager. He had slicked himself as well, thoroughly, for which Icon was very grateful. He tried to push back, but the grip on his tail and the rope on his wrists didn't let him do much of that. But... still, it was electric, shocks of pleasure up his spine. God, that cage was too, too tight, painful as his cock tried to swell, but had nowhere to go.

He groaned protest and pleasure, arousal and pain, as that thick, too thick cock slid slowly in him, stretching him wide. So wide. He knew it wasn't splitting him, but god, it felt like it. And suddenly, while he was distracted by the growing fullness of his ass, Mrs. Étoile came. Sweet, lustful nectar dripping down his muzzle as she yowled pleasure above him. Dropped the rope, at least, in her distraction, which let his shoulders relax. A profound comfort, made all the more pleasant by Mr. Étoile's hips coming to rest against his ass. Full, his face soaked with cum, cock aching in the cage, everything held still for a moment.

And then, the jaguar pulled back, slowly, and pushed, just as slow, easy, gentle. It wouldn't stay that way, he knew, and feeling that rub against his prostate, he started to wonder what would constitute cumming for their bet. Because he was already dripping precum into a little puddle between his feet, and knew damned well that he was almost certain to be dripping thicker stuff, without actually getting off, very soon.

The lady's recovery, still straddling his muzzle, was marked by hands on his hair. He was pulled, up, looking at his customer and captor, his own eyes hazed and half-lidded with pleasure. "You're not squeezing on my husband, are you? Staying relaxed for him? Good boy. Oh, and look at all that dripping. Did you cum already? No?" She seemed amused more than anything, but he didn't have time to wonder. The jaguar behind him suddenly grabbed his thighs and just lifted, leaning back, so that all his weight was above that cock in his ass.

Icon was bounced, there, short, forceful thrusts and that iron grip holding him up, bouncing his aching cock in the cage, his balls so full after days of denial and edging that they, too, ached. That was the idea, probably, to make him ache and need and hurt. It was working pretty damn well.

Samson let him sink down, full, the jaguar's cock nice and deep in his ass, and just held him there. The fox was light enough to carry without trouble for almost anyone, more fluff than mass, and not all that much of either. So holding him still, panting and dripping, dress all disheveled and hair at least as much so, wasn't at all hard for someone as muscular as the jaguar. But through a stray tousled lock, he spotted a lovely sight, as Mrs. Étoile, bare from head to toe, was correcting that, putting on long, fingerless gloves, and thigh-high stockings, garter belt, panties, and an under-bust corset. Which had to have been done up just right ahead of time, since no one could lace and tie it themselves. She just hooked the fasteners in the front, settled it, and there it was, cinching her waist just a bit to take the already feminine and powerful shape, and make it more so.

"Elisabeth," Mr. Étoile huffed, chin between the fox's ears, "are those new? I don't think I've seen this ensemble before. Very nice. What've you got in mind?"

"Cheating," the jaguaress purred, and leaned in close. A hand went to Icon's throat, and she squeezed lightly, before stepping in to trap him between two bodies. Quite a bit of time (or only a few heartbeats, but he was in no shape to count) passed, with the two kissing around him. He could feel, in him and around him, both of their passion's rising. In Samson's case, literally rising, that rod in his ass getting even harder as his wife kissed him ferociously.

The kiss, eventually, broke, and there was a whispered exchange of 'I love yous' over his head. And then... she sank to her knees in front of him, and put her tongue to use. That shiny little cage was... not much protection, not against a dexterous feline tongue. And it was already much, much too small for his liking. This wasn't a blow job, not really. There wasn't much of anything for her to really suck on, but she was lapping, sliding her tongue between the bars, lavishing attention on him.

Some signal must have passed between the two of them, because Mr. Étoile started to thrust again as soon as his wife had their toy in her mouth fully. Every bit of him, cage, balls and all, in that sharp fanged maw. Singing tension all through him, his belly trying to tense in that amazing pre-orgasm way. Samson was certainly enjoying that, if the growls and huffs behind him were any sign. But Icon was, understandably, focused on the woman in front of him, and the prospect of her punishment when he came. Because she wasn't giving him a choice.

She put a hand up, splayed in the fox's black belly fur, holding, still tonguing around that cage, then suddenly stopped, and opened her mouth, removing all touch from his aching, caged shaft. Her husband kept going, and Icon groaned a cry around his mouthful of silk. How had she known? Exactly when to stop to give him release without relief. He felt it, could see it, cum pouring like a leaky faucet from that cage, but there wasn't the rush of pleasure and delight, just a gnawing need for more.

"Aw, look at that. I'll bet you thought you were going to enjoy that before punishment, little fo-" she was interrupted by an explosive growl from her husband, as he got his release, pulling Icon down hard, filling him again and bucking hard, blowing another load inside him. That rush of liquid heat inside him was... soothing, at least. Frustrating still, to feel someone else get that release, and be left achingly wanting.

"And you've made a mess of the carpet in here, too." Nevermind that at least a third of the puddle underneath him was her husband's doing, dripping down those jaguar balls. "Well, I guess it's time to punish you. Once Samson's done getting out of you, anyway. And after you've cleaned him thoroughly."

That took a bit of time, as that stand-and-carry position was a little difficult for dismounting, but they managed, and a dripping Icon got his wrists untied, and took several minutes and a few sanitary napkins to thoroughly clean and polish that ink-black jaguar shaft, and clean any mess from his balls, too. After he was done, it was like there hadn't been any sodomy going on. Well, for him, anyway. Icon was still leaking and messy and sore.

"Lay down on your back, fox." Elisabeth instructed, while Mr. Étoile ducked through a door into another room. The fox hadn't much choice but to obey. "And spit out your panties." That, he was grateful to do. The taste of silk had gotten old pretty quickly. She took those, and tossed them onto the desk, then spent a little time. His wrists were re-tied, then, secured over his head to one of the legs of the desk. Another few lengths of rope found his ankles, and spread them, one attached to a coffee table, the other to a decorative bit of fretwork on one of the bookshelves.

"There. Now you can't cover or protect yourself. You're helpless. But that's okay, you want to be helpless, don't you?" That warranted a kind of 'well duh' grin, and a nod. Really, it was a silly question to ask. "Good." She shifted around, to straddle his face. Once again, his nose was filled with the scent of lusty jaguar, and once again he didn't mind in the least. He could hear footfalls again, coming near, but that wasn't much important to him.

"Just your teeth and tongue, boy. You're going to move my panties aside and eat me out. If I don't think you're trying your best, or if I want to motivate you, or if I just want to, I will hurt you, punish you." He felt a hand cupping his balls, then felt it curl and squeeze. Gently, carefully, but enough pressure to hurt, to ache. "And if I like what you're doing enough, I might just unlock you. Don't bet on it, though."

Icon wasn't going to bet on him enjoying the next... however long this took. Or perhaps he would enjoy not enjoying it? Sometimes being a bottom required some weird mental gymnastics. Whatever the case, he needed to start, and that involved getting his teeth to grip on those beautiful black panties, pulling and tugging and working them aside to expose the next step of his task. Familiar territory, at least to sight and smell, and as she started to slowly squeeze again, he hurried to work.

He wasn't sure how long he worked, licking at her, stuffing his tongue inside and dragging it out. One careful, questioning nip was met with a squeeze and an admonishment not to try any more funny business. He wasn't at all sure if the squeezes and pressure were really meant as guidance on his technique, or if she just wanted him to squirm and moan and whine. She was doing a lot of squeezing, even when he felt her flutter and spasm in pleasure.

And then... her hands were off of him, and he didn't know why. She was still sitting on his face, still having those pleasurable flutters and leaking delicious tastes on his tongue and chin, but... and then it dawned on him, the sounds outside his little world of jaguar pussy. Her husband was standing over him and she was in the middle of sucking him off.

At least she wasn't going to be squeezing him, for a moment or two, and he took that opportunity to work his jaw, stretch and arch and wiggle a little, let tired muscles and joints adjust a little. Then back to licking and nuzzling and stuffing. All of a sudden, he heard a huffed growl from above, then another from closer, and felt her spasm, tense, felt his work rewarded as she came. Quietly, because at that moment, so did her husband, and she was busy swallowing that, trying not to choke on his seed.

Moments later, as all were panting to catch their breath, and both jaguars had seated themselves to either side of him, Samson grinned down at him. "Okay... okay that was... good stuff. Beth?"

"Oh yeah. Foxy, you have more than earned whatever they pay you. One last thing." He was still bound, but a key was rooted out from his briefcase, and that cage undone, removed. "Together?" she asked.

"Together," her husband replied, and they each took the little fox's cock, stiffening proudly now that it was out of that cage, in hand. Samson holding his knot, giving gentle squeezes, while Elisabeth stroked the shaft itself, rubbing her thumb over the tip to spread his pre along that slick red rod. Still bound and helpless, all he could do was moan and push his hips up, the pleasure such a welcome relief, gentle and persistent.

It didn't take long, as wound up as he'd been, for his belly to tense up. He darted a pleading look to Mrs. Étoile, wondering if she was going to ruin it again, but she just grinned and worked her hand faster. Catching that grin, her husband squeezed tighter around that knot, and that was it. The little fox bucked and thrust in their hands, spending himself in exuberant jets onto his own chest and stomach, one even splattering on his nose. Then down, dizzy with euphoria, hazed with pleasure, aware of the pair kissing, holding hands over his body.

They untied him, and spent quite a while petting and talking to him. That, too, had been in the file, surely. Aftercare was always important, and Icon's version tended to be heavy on physical contact and reassurance. Conversation, too. Nothing important, just discussing what had gone on. His questions got a grin from both of them.

"Oh, for sure, you got picked on. A lot of times, both of us alone? We'll fight hard for dominance, and that can get tiring. We discovered that with a third, we can share that dominance over them, and it's a lot easier for us to be... equal."

"Samson's right. Having a playmate lets us cut loose without worrying about the other one feeling walked on, or subordinate, or... whatever. We don't have to do it often, but a session like this is worth every penny, both paid to you and to the cleaning staff."

Taking a glance around, Icon was quite sure they were right. The carpeting was going to need a thorough cleaning before there was any sort of important meeting in here.

After another forty minutes or so, Icon was settled and recovered enough to fix his dress up, settle himself, and head for the elevators. It was well into evening now, the sun going down over the horizon, and his car was there waiting for him. He smiled tiredly at Leo, and let him get on with the business of driving him back to the blocky building occupied by Kuroko, his company, and whoever happened to have booked an overnight stay. He was going to need a long bath, and probably an ice pack for his ass, but it was very, very worth it. The session had been rewarding in itself, and the paycheck wasn't bad either.