FSE

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Cinua awoke when he banged the back of his head. He opened his eyes. At least, he thought he did. The beige floppy-eared mutt blinked again. A third time. Still there was nothing, as though a dark veil lay across his face. Drowsily, he recalled his most recent memory: He was stumbling about, bottle of flavored vodka in hand, his ears ringing with the undulating bass of the moonlit nightclub. Perhaps he was blackout drunk? He'd heard the phrase before. Things were black. The lights were out.

But then his eyes adjusted enough to notice the slimmest shimmer of a yellow light pass along the upper border of his vision. And then he noticed the sounds: The rumbling of an engine, tires making waves in rain-slicked cement, and a dwindling chorus of muffled complaints. The lights were streetlights, Cinua realized. He was in a car or a truck or a van -- the back of one. His jaw was tired, propped wide around something rubber and circular, and now he knew for sure that a blindfold seized his vision. When he motioned to yank it free, he suddenly fell to his side, no longer propped against the wall in the back of the van. His arms were tied behind his back and snug against his waist.

"Grrmph heeeeee hmmmph!" Cinua stammered, joining the cries of the other writhing bodies that surrounded him. His heart raced, his cheeks fumed, and he slammed his feet in tandem against the cold metal floor -- for they were taped together at the joints -- and snorted like a wild animal. Complaining until his throat was hoarse and aching, Cinua refused to believe this was anything more than an elaborate prank.

But why, when the van came to a stop, did his heart skip a beat? His blood ran colder than the flavored vodka that still clung to the back of his throat, but he gulped it down and squirmed and slithered toward the sound of boots splashing in the puddling rain. Suddenly, the wall Cinua pressed against gave in and he collapsed downward, plunging into what had to have been a viscous puddle of cold mud.

"Woah, girl. You're more impatient than my kid." A pair of massive hands grabbed him by his bound wrists and the scruff of his neck, and suddenly he was hoisted over something warm. Someone's shoulder. "Great, my overcoat's ruined. This dry-cleaning is coming out of your paycheck, bitch."

Muscles rippled across his captor's chest and shoulders. With a single step, Cinua could feel them stirring. He was placed down in something dry, something that reeked of wood. A shipping crate, perhaps? Another captive wriggled against him.

But then came another set of splashes.

"Ooooh, big catch tonight, Walker?" This voice was softer, sing-songy, lower to the ground. "Let's see..." Though Cinua was still blind to the world, the rain pelting his face, he could feel the stranger's eyes scrutinizing him.

"You're a dumbass, Walker."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a dumbass and deaf as a fucking cactus. Does this look like a woman to you?" A pair of furred fingers wrapped around his neck, and suddenly Cinua was sitting upright.

"Humph huh uh--" the woman-lookalike huffed.

"I'm not talking to you, slut." There was something affectionate in his voice, but it hardened as he turned away. "Walker, what the fuck is this?"

"Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Whoever Walker was, he had nothing more to say.

"The femboy black market is already seized. If the other gang thinks we're breaking the deal, expanding into their racket, we're going to have a real problem. Now, tell me what we do with some trappy slut you picked up, a trappy slut who can't work for me?"

"Come on, boss. You can't blame me. That bitch is curvy and bubbly as a girl -- stick some tits on him and I'm not the only one that couldn't tell the difference."

"Hmm..." A gloved hand suddenly pressed against Cinua's flat chest. He whimpered in surprise, complaining on deaf ears. The mutt could almost hear the stranger break into a smile. He was clearly talking with one. "Walker, put our new 'girl' in the trunk of the limo and finish sending the others to the facility to get suited up. Sometimes, you're smarter than I think you are."

"Yeah, me too." Hoisted back over his shoulder, Cinua let out a few huffs before he was placed in the felt interior of a trunk. It slammed shut, shielding him from the pit-pattering of the rain.

This time the ride was far bumpier -- but somehow less foreboding, for at least now he had some semblance of where he was and what was happening. He clenched his jaw as much as the ring-gag would let him and then he kicked his feet, slamming his conjoined soles into the top of the trunk again and again and again until he was panting behind the gag, until the limo came to a rest, until, blindly, he kicked at the emergency hatch release. The trunk opened with a squeak. Rather than rain, he was greeted with warmth, with a bright light that pierced his blindfold. This is it! Cinua wormed out of the trunk, plummeted blindly a good two feet to the cold ground, and slithered toward the kiss of the brisk night.

And then he heard a buzzer. Just a few inches from his head came a clangoring. It sounded like the cascade of a garage door. The click and clack of high heels followed, drawing nearer, nearer, and all Cinua could think to do was pitifully whine once he found he had crawled against the lowered door.

"Naughty girl. Someone must be lost." A finger caressed his cheek and slipped under his blindfold. The veil slipped upward until it rested on his forehead. Harsh light pierced his dilated eyes. But Cinua could see again. He was in a furnished, high-end garage with room for nearly a dozen vehicles; a femboy fox with rings of brown pelage and curved horns looming over him with a sharp smile.

His captor had an eccentric, foreign style that clashed with everything tonight was supposed to be about. The mesh crop tops and booty shorts and glowstick necklaces seemed another world, even if Cinua was still swathed in club gear like the muddied fragments of another world. Here the scrutinizing fox wore high heels like a secretary, sleek black leggings, and a dark overcoat complete with a back half-skirt all punctuated with a sharp light blue. An outfit composed entirely of latex, it held a glossy sheen like a classy oriental dress. In the movies and shows he had seen, a mob boss was wide-shouldered, suited in a classic tux, and had a chin that could cut silence. Who was taking orders from a fluffy, diminutive, high-heel-wearing femboy?

"Get up." The fox said.

Cinua got up. "Nnnmfff..."

Well, he desperately tried to. The fox stepped in to help. Once he was balanced precariously on his soles, his ankles still bound together, Cinua hopped away like a rabbit until Raiko seized him by the scruff of his neck.

"Wrong way, sweetheart." He smiled like he was Cinua's secret admirer. That made it even more jarring as Raiko paraded him up the stairs, out of the garage, and into the main foyer of the quaint mansion. Ornate carpets met at a three-way intersection before the visage of a grand staircase. A wolf stood on either side, dressed like groomsmen, their hands folded by their waists.

"Who's this, Raiko?" One of the dark beasts smirked.

"The new maid," said the fox, "seeing as I can't convince you two to squeeze into frilly outfits. Yet."

Both beasts chortled as Raiko passed, Cinua dragging his feet between weak-hearted, humiliating hops. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He panted through the ring-gag as if he'd run a mile, and by the time they reached their destination -- another set of stairs that led into an unfurnished but meticulously kept basement, chains and hooks hanging off the walls -- a single push from his captor was enough to send him hurdling to the rough floor.

"Emmmf eeee oooowwww~!" Cinua whined as Raiko closed and locked the door. And then the fox's supple fingers were on him, over him, squeezing the mutt like dough. The assault only stopped once Raiko outturned his pockets and laid the contents across a cardboard box: A lanyard; a cell phone, the SIM card swiftly removed; and his wallet, which was weighty enough with import that it required Raiko lean back against the roughhewn cinderblock wall while he read it like a book.

"No daunting connections our cleaners can't account for. Good. A new identity will be easy enough to put together. Looks like you're hired." Raiko chortled and tossed his ID and bank cards into a nearby bucket of wet mortar. For a brief respite, the fox just shot the writhing mutt a snarly-toothed grin. Cinua could feel his eyes undressing him.

"Ever heard of the Canine Cleaners~? Nice little erotic maid business of mine." Thinking was a challenge. Everything seemed visceral, terrifying, a bombardment of the senses. But the name came to him. He'd seen an advertisement on a porn website. The maids from Canine Cleaners were swathed head-to-toe in vulpine-styled latex suits all exactly alike in proportion. But they all seemed to be women.

"We got a little competitor racket that does something similar. Good way to hide some cute femboys in plain sight. Ah, but see, I'm certainly not going to give you away, and I can't have a femboy maid strutting around without upsetting a lot of bad people. I hope you don't mind being a little... test subject? I'm thinking you're girly enough to fit in. Being a maid drone made in my image can't be that bad."

"Aaarrruooowww..." Cinua whimpered, and he whimpered again as Raiko led him to a pair of large metal shackles dangling off the cinderblock wall. The rope between his wrists was removed and replaced with the cold grasp of iron. But already this seemed an improvement. Facing the wall, he fanned his fingers against it, stomping, shaking his head, snorting, but soon enough the rope around his ankles was freed as well.

"Watch these for me," Raiko said, and placed the keys to the shackles on an uneven cinderblock that jutted out from the wall by Cinua's waist. "I'll be back for you real soon." With a kiss to his cheek, the fox waved the mutt goodbye and strutted up the stairs. Behind him he shut the door and deprived the basement of light.

First, he told himself to wait. His thighs buckled with trepidation. How soon was 'real soon?' Would an attempted escape have consequences? Cinua waited until his patience waned. Maybe something came up. Maybe he'd be down here for a full day or more. And the key -- Cinua could still see the slightest glint from the line of light slipping under the door. There was a chance.

He stepped back as far as his shackles allowed and bent forward like a slut working a half-priced gloryhole on Black Friday. Head lower than his gratuitously-sized bubblebutt, he nuzzled the key with his nose by mistake. It nearly slipped off the corner of the loose brick. With his lips and teeth parted from the gag, he had no choice but to use the only digit he had left: His tongue. He licked the key gently, wriggled his tongue underneath it, and just barely managed to snag it.

And then a hand clapped against his ass, sending ripples through his cheeks. Even through the surprise, Cinua, startled, stubbornly held the key on his tongue.

"Now aren't you a good girl, holding the key for me? Yes you are! Give Master the key." The glistening fox was behind him. He must have come in through another entrance. Was he watching this whole time?

Raiko held his hand under Cinua's mouth. "Come on. Spit it out, bubblebutt." Looking regretfully over his shoulder... he let the key slip off his tongue and into his captor's waiting hand. He was rewarded with a squeaky glove combing through his hair. "Good girl!"

He noticed there was a pile of orange and black latex beside him. Raiko must have just brought it down. "Time to get you in your new work outfit."

From the pile he pulled the largest mass of all the articles: A latex femsuit with a D-ringed foxtail, generously padded breasts that were no smaller than cantaloupes, and built-in stockings that ran down to his ankles. Luckily it had no hood. Cinua's eyes went wide. A harsh blush suffused across his cheeks, and he tilted his head back and huffed, yanking against the chains like a wild animal.

"I know you're excited. Hold still." He didn't, but that didn't hinder Raiko. He placed the outfit on the floor and stretched the collar, helping Cinua slip in one leg at a time -- though his constant kicking and twitching prolonged the progress. Inevitably, his thighs slipped into the damp embrace of the suit's orange leggings, and next -- with far more squeezing and ironing and groping from the fox -- did his oversized derriere just barely squeeze into the squeaking confines of the latex suit. But from there it was easy.

With some fiddling, Cinua's tail wagged into the orange foxtail casing with a single black stripe, and it certainly wouldn't be able to wriggle free without a helping hand. All the same, Cinua swayed his tail desperately, as though it would slip free from its new prison. When he curled it against his back, he saw Raiko pause, biting his lip as he savored the view. The mutt gave an indignant huff and tilted his head, hating himself for getting hot at a lecherous glance from someone so despicable.

"You know, usually I have to add some padding to the ass to match the standardized proportions," Raiko mused, greedily kneading Cinua's sloshing ass, shuddering against his sharp claws in fear. He leaned in closer and nuzzled into the dog's ear, which twitched against his every syllable. "Your fat ass didn't need any. That's a first. Can't say I blame Walker for making the mistake he did..."

Raiko's hands finally managed to wander upward and pulled free the wrinkles in the latex to ensure the wriggling, defiant slut slipped both arms through the waiting sleeves. Even the arms were unnaturally cold. Almost damp. The sleeves ended at fingerless mitts, squeezing Cinua's fingers into a tight bundle of completely unopposable digits. He couldn't even bend them at the knuckles.

His nervous blush burned a shade darker when Raiko adjusted the front of the suit. Now he could feel it: The weight of his padded bimbo-sized breasts, which the vixen cupped and bounced between his greedy massaging palms, exaggerating their bloated weight. More and more, it felt the real Cinua was being encased and sealed away, given a new skin of some airheaded vixen. He was Cinua, damnit! "Busty girl. These are sure to stop the other gang from picking up on the fact that you were ever a man. Just a cute ditzy bitch like all my other maids."

"Ahmph ah an! 'ell owe!" red-faced Cinua stammered.

The fox kneeled and took hold of Cinua's fretting feet. When the iron grip turned sharp, Raiko's nails digging through his fur as a warning, he ceased his stomping and kicking to uselessly yank against the chains that held him. In the dark it was hard to make out, but it seemed Raiko held a tall black mid-thigh latex boot with a fox-orange built-in ballet heel. A strange scent tingled on his nose. This was far from the first time the slut had smelled latex and he knew immediately something was off. It wasn't just latex.

Holding him by the ankles, Raiko slipped his first foot through enveloping, skin-tight latex until his heel met the curve of the boot. Cinua's feet arched at a harsh angle. He'd never been en-pointe before. It made him feel like some kind of bitch working the corner. And it must have shown. Raiko laughed when Cinua put his weight on his new 8-inch heel and lost his footing entirely. "Don't worry, slut," the fox cooed, dismissively patting Cinua's ass, "you'll learn fast."

At first Cinua just thought the latex boot was cold just like the suit. But as Raiko squeezed his ankles and slipped his hands upward to caress the mutt's thighs, he realized it wasn't cold, but it was wet. And sticky. Precariously balanced on his bare foot, he raised his knee close enough to his bound wrists that he could grab the top of the mid-thigh boot. But he couldn't sink his fingers underneath to take hold of it. It was unnaturally tight.

But the fox stopped his investigation. Raiko forced his heel back down and slipped his leg into the other. This latex was wet just like before and snapped in place, accentuating his massive curvy thighs. Again, Raiko ironed the boots out and then tested the fit. "Nhm. Nice and sealed in. I hope you're not allergic to adhesives, little slut."

"Umphheeiiiff~?" Glue!? How long did it last!? Cinua stomped his heels. They didn't convey his irritation nearly as well as his bare feet had. Now the clicking and clacking echoed in the sparse basement, and to both their ears he sounded like an excited, mincing streetwalker; not a huffy captive.

"Yes, adhesive. We can't have you slipping out of your work uniform and being a tattletale, can we?" Raiko rummaged through the pile of new toys he had brought down. "Let's tighten you up a bit. Really have to accentuate that female figure of yours, huh~?"

"Gmmmff..."

Purring, Raiko rested his chin on the dog's shoulder and embraced him from behind. At least it seemed like an embrace until he heard the squeak of oiled latex rubbing against oiled latex. It was an orange corset with black trim and ribbing, seated just under his breasts to keep them as perky as possible.

There would have been a complaint, but Raiko pressed a heel against his back and trapped Cinua against the wall. With this leverage he yanked on the corset's strings until it held the mutt in a permanent, posture-improving vise grip. Well, it certainly seemed like a posture improvement. His buttflesh blossomed underneath the new fashion accessory, his back arched just enough to provocatively punctuate his backside.

Cinua just huffed, adjusting to the seizure of his diaphragm. For the first time he had nothing to say when Raiko put his hands on him. Because he couldn't say a single thing. Raiko flashed an orange thong with black trim by his face and then, snickering, helped the bitch lift his ballet heels to step into his new underwear.

With a smooth guiding yank they slipped upward, over his calves and thighs, and squeezed into place nearly as tight as his corset. The thong was hardly a quarter-inch wide at its smallest section, the thread between his legs. Seemingly it compressed by design. The whisper of a cock-shaped bulge was gone and forever squished underneath the embrace of a thong too many sizes too small.

"Perfect. You're coming out beautifully. It's almost like this is what you were always meant to be." Spit-covered keys in hand, Raiko unlocked the shackles. Cinua behaved until both were removed, and then sprinted for the door. By his second longstrider step in ballet heels, the dog collapsed against he ground.

Raiko, laughing, straddled the latex bitch's hips and yanked his wrists behind his back. Out came a curse from Cinua, who was certain they'd be tied together like before. But instead Raiko took care to hold his squirming arms flush together and bent them sharply around and upwards. His shoulders squeezed back and his fake chest flattened like pancakes against the filthy basement floor.

Cinua bucked and whined, but Raiko insisted. Slowly his arms and hands were limbered up until Cinua's palms were touching, upright, against the back of his neck. He was trapped in a reverse prayer. Raiko lowered them elbow-first into the wet adhesive lining of glue-slickened black armbinders and yanked the strings tightly.

"Garumph! Hu... hum..."

"Shut it." Apparently this wasn't punishing enough, because Cinua could still wriggle his wrists. Raiko put a stop to that. With a large leather belt fit for a rhinoceros, he squeezed the strap tight around those conjoined wrists until wriggling was no longer a possibility. Then he tugged it tighter, pinning the belt in place a loop too far. "There. Much better. A good maid always prays for her Master's health. Even if it's behind her back~." A light click followed. The belt was padlocked in place.

When Raiko dragged the fox maid to his feet, Cinua's knees buckled in fear. The glue-soaked permanent latex was... salvageable at first. He could have been cut out of it. There were still parts of him left. His head was free. He was still Cinua. Nobody could take that from him.

Nobody except Raiko. The pièce de résistance dangled between two digits: A sable, vulpine-shaped gimp mask with a zipper mouth. His free hand reached around the trembling boy to sink its fingers into his juicy cheek, deep and greedy. The flesh oozed between his possessive fingers.

"It's finally time to say goodbye to Cinua and hello to Cynthia, my sweet new maid. Go on, say goodbye now." Cinua's ballet heels ticked against the floor. Running was impossible. Even walking was too much for him -- only refined mincing on the tips of his heels. And with his arms completely immobile, his spine sore and screaming for release, there was no hope of ever opening a door in a search for escape. Wide-eyed, fear-stricken, he mumbled out, "Uhhh eye..." with half a breath.

That was enough for Raiko.

With a coy smirk, he turned the mask around so the dog faced the yawning opening in its back. Strands of glue dangled within. And then it pressed closer, closer, and Cinua felt parts of the mask hold him as the darkness encroached. Cinua whimpered. With a single tug downward, light returned through the eye sockets, which were now properly placed. Adjustments were made, mainly along the perky fox ears that his old floppy ones were sealed under, and then along the cheeks and neck.ZIIIIP~! And then, briefly, a soft click as this zipper too was padlocked. Keys in hand, he played with Cynthia's new ear and, when he removed his hand, the key was gone. There was a new weight on his right ear. The keys. They were dangling, styled like earrings.

"Such a gorgeous fox maid. Though we'll have to work on that attitude. Open," Raiko demanded. Cinua's mouth was always open behind the ring-gag, and yet the doll meekly leaned his head toward the fox's fingers. Raiko raised a surprised brow but said nothing.

Smiling affectionately, he produced a featherduster that had been hanging from the wall. It had a circular attachment that was screwed into the maid's ring gag. He wasn't very good at walking, couldn't use his hands at all, but at least he could bend over and dust a nice countertop. It's not like anyone hired a girl from Canine Cleaners to actually clean the fucking place.

Both had changed their demeanors. Now that Cinua was completely sealed away, he waddled softly, delicately, following Raiko's gentle guidance up the basement stairs in ballet heels. Once in the hallway, he slapped a sticker against his right breast:

Call me Cynthia, Master!

"You turned out well," Raiko said, "so well that I think I'll be keeping this little maid all to myself. Let me show you the premises..."

______________________________________________________________________________

Sheepishly Cynthia minced into Raiko's office. He'd been working since morning, and while dusk approached and the sun yawned through the half-open drapes, Cynthia knew her work was far from over. Raiko sat at the table with his heels propped against its corner, one over the other, fiddling with a sheaf of papers while he spoke to a sharply-dressed stud across the desk. Neither of them shot her a glance as she made her way across the room and bent across the side of the table, ass raised and vulnerable, looking like a submissive suspensefully awaiting a swatting of the paddle.

She brushed her featherduster gag along the corners of a picture frame still sitting on Raiko's desk. Framed within was Cynthia's forged work contract, detailing her consent to ultimately anything and everything Raiko did or didn't do to her. Cynthia gave it extra attention every day, ensuring it was as spotless as the rest of the manor. If she didn't, Raiko would ensure she did.

Their private conversation continued, though Raiko idly reached out to grip the latex fox's inviting ass while he went through the paperwork. "It may have been a mistake at first, but I'm telling you now, Walker: Do it. Remember the guy you snatched up at the club? He's around here somewhere. With some alterations, anyone can be a proper maid." While other maids worked the house, all with the same proportions and gear and stride -- the training made sure of that -- Cynthia knew Raiko could tell them all apart. He was teasing her. In reciprocity, the maid walked around the desk to clean a spot nearer Walker, presenting her pumpkin-shaped ass to the horse who now began to sweat.

"Boss, can I--" The phone suddenly rang.

Raiko answered it impassively. But slowly, as they always did, his lips curved at their ends into a smirk. "Cinua? Never heard of him, detective. You're free to -- Well, if you insist, sure. Please come over right away. You already have the address." The fox put down the phone.

"Trouble, boss?"

"Hardly. Some prick caught wind of something. That's just fine." Raiko shrugged. "Marcus will handle it at the front door and we'll just have a new employee at the end of the day."

Cynthia knowingly swayed her hips like a pendulum. Being a pleasant distraction was part of the job.

Walker snorted at the view. "Boss--" he began, but Raiko knew what the stud had in mind, because he was thinking the same thing. He stood up before Walker needed to say another word and he grasped Cynthia by her shoulders, pulling her further across the table until her chin hung over its lip.

"Go on," Raiko said. "We can share." He pinched the tube of the featherduster and unscrewed it from its ring gag. Cynthia's maw was wide open and waiting eagerly. Cynthia stared up at him with an impatient huff, and she heard Walker's pants hit the floor behind her. And then his sausage fingers gripped her hip. The other hand unleashed a zipper on her panties hidden under a flap of latex. The cold air brushed against her sensitive star and was immediately replaced with the precum-dripping apple that was the horse's gamey cocktip. She squealed in glee and anticipation, her heels clattering against the floor.

When Raiko unzipped himself, his knotted foxcock smacked Cynthia against her snout. She flinched but didn't miss a beat. She nuzzled, whined, whimpered, all while Raiko bounced and squeezed his cock as if it were a dog's chew toy. "Shhh. You've earned this, little maid." Cynthia's owner pressed closer. He rolled the head around the ring of the gag one way, and then the other. And then he grabbed her fake fox ears and yanked her down his shaft. Eagerly, she bobbed her head, tilting it from side to side, doing everything in her duty to polish just as she'd been taught. Her throat swelled.

"Nhmph. You've definitely earned this."