FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This story was written for Serling as part of his patreon commission reward for February. It contains massage related antics involving consenting adults, and slight themes of masochism. :3

Big Trouble in a Small Package

Harrison groaned as he saw the reason why the reception staff had been smirking and giggling as they gave him the details of his newest client. Why him? Why was he always the one to get the most fiddly requests. Dave got to have session after session with Serling and others like the coyote, people who loved to be squished and flattened and reduced to a mere puddle by a rough and ready massage with the spa's signature oil. But he? Harrison had no such luck, and ended up with all the finicky customers who would likely come once, make some outlandish requests and then never come back when their totally unreasonable expectations weren't met.

Of course, the expectations of his new client weren't all that unreasonable. At least, not by the standards of any normal client. In fact, what make the request so remarkable was precisely how normal it was. They were asking for a massage with no special treatments, and that included the spa's unique and magical oil. They wanted to go oldschool and have massage technique alone relax them, with no chemicals or additional substances whatsoever added to proceedings. And for the bull tasked with massaging that new client, those instructions had sounded fine. A little strange for someone who had chosen to come to this spa out of any present in the city, but far from unheard of and definitely not anything to be shocked or concerned by. But now, now as he stepped into the room in question and let slip an uncontrolled groan of dismayed frustration, he understood exactly why it had seemed so funny to the folks at reception that he had been tasked with massaging this particular client.

The mouse straddling the massage table now was... and Harrison felt guilty even saying it considering the stereotype of his own species as big, bulky and clumsy... tiny. They must have been barely more than two feet tall if standing upright, and even now with their head resting upon the front of the massage table and their legs stretched out, toes pointed backwards, that barely added more than a couple more inches to their fully spread length. Nevertheless, when they raised their head and saw Harrison looking into the room, their expression brightened. They beamed gleefully, whiskers twitching in unabashed delight, and beckoned the buff bull towards them.

"Ah, come in! Please. I'm Richie!"

He extended a small hand, which Harrison walked over and nervously took, smiling politely as the mouse squeezed hard at the two fingers around which he could wrap his entire pink paw.

"I... uh, I assume you heard from the folks at reception what I'm looking for from today's massage?"

Harrison nodded, and was about to open his muzzle to ask the mouse to perhaps reconsider; either to select a massage that used even a little massage oil to keep things softened and supple, or to perhaps consider a different massage therapist more suited to a body type like his, when Richie began to speak once again.

"Good, good! I'm glad I asked for you. I can't tell you how many spa's I've been to where I've asked for their strongest, burliest masseur and they've sent in someone barely bigger than me. I mean, come on. Do they think I don't know when I'm being pandered to? When I say I want a massage that feels like I'm gonna be flattened, I mean it."

Harrison cleared his throat, and within his mind quickly edited his request to skirt around asking the mouse exactly what it seemed as though he was attempting to avoid. He tried to sound as casual and polite as possible, and to keep his suggestion coming across as just that; an observation from a professional, not an expectation and most certainly not a judgement.

"Well, you know Richie... if you want to be flattened, this spa actually has some rather unique treatments which..."

Harrison wasn't accustomed to being cut off or dismissed, but that was precisely what happened as even while he continued to talk, the mouse waved a disinterested paw and started to speak over him.

"Oh no. God no, I don't want any of that mumbo jumbo. No no, just a nice vigorous massage from a man who is strong enough to really make me feel it. Now, come on. I believe I'm already on the clock. So, if you wouldn't mind just getting started?"

By the time the mouse fell silent, Harrison had already done so too. Dumbfounded and frustrated, seething just below the surface but fighting with all his strength, willpower and the lessons he'd learned in therapy not to let it boil over, the bull gritted his teeth in the most humourless smile he had ever been given reason to smile, and nodded to his client.

"Of course, Sir. Whatever you say. Sir."

He murmured pointedly, stepped up to the table, crackled his knuckles loudly before reaching for a bottle of plain, totally non-magical massage oil, and after dabbing a small portion of it onto the tips of two outstretched fingers, he began to rub at the mouse's shoulders as forcefully as he dared given the tiny stature and lithe, delicate frame of the mouse before him. If the mouse was even the slightest bit aware of Harrison's frustration of course, he didn't show it. Indeed once the bull started to massage him he didn't actually say anything at all for a minute or so, and Harrison began to wonder if perhaps now that he was getting started this whole event wasn't going to be so fraught and annoying a situation after all. He kept on rubbing at the mouse's back and shoulders, doing his best to feel individual pressure points and tense muscle clusters with only the tips of his sturdy, meaty fingers. But then he felt the mouse shift, and saw Richie look up over his shoulder with an expectant look upon his face. Calmly, but blunt as a butter knife, the mouse made his demand.

"Harder. Please."

Before Harrison could react, which was a good thing as when he did it was with a scowl, the mouse turned back to the table once again and laid his head to rest once more. With two fingers this time, Harrison prodded at the mouse's right shoulder, only to wince and retract his hand with a surge of guilt as the mouse squeaked loudly in what sounded like intense discomfort. Indeed, sure enough as Richie looked down at the rodent's tiny body, he saw a red flush beginning to develop beneath the grey fur where his fingers had so roughly impacted upon the sensitive flesh of the male. He was about to apologise, to tell the mouse that this wasn't a good idea and he would have to go and consult with another member of staff, when without even looking this time the mouse squeaked impatiently once again.

"Harder!"

Harrison hesitated, and he jumped slightly as the mouse slammed a hand down against the flat surface of the padded massage table.

"Harder, please! I... I can take it!"

The bull sighed, and brought his hands to bear upon the mouse once more. He pressed down, harder and harder, still only a fraction of what he would have applied to a body affected by the spa's massage oil but perhaps a little harder than he would have attempted to massage even a normally sized body without it. Again he heard the mouse squeak at the intensity of the sensation, feeling the body beneath him quaking and convulsing, but this time he didn't immediately stop, and this time he was subsequently shocked by the sound that followed the mouse's cry of apparent discomfort. A louder cry, a longer, more strained and strangled wail, but not one of agony or anguish. If anything, it sounded like the exact opposite of pain, and Harrison's face flushed as the mouse's tail twitched sharply, as his pink feetpaws drummed against the lower portion of the table, and he cried out desperately to the bull.

"D-don't... oh, don't stop!"

Harrison knew he should have stopped. He knew now that there was far more to this mouse's desire for an intense and massage-oil free rub down than just a desire to avoid chemicals, and whether he was entirely innocent in his touching of the rodent or not there was no way he could feign ignorance of the effect his actions were having. But... if the bull was honest, he kinda admired what the mouse was subjecting himself to more and more now that he realised that there was more behind it than just bull-headed ignorance and arrogance. Harrison understood strength, and he understood how much trust and fortitude it took to put your trust in someone else and let them use that strength against you. And for the mouse to trust him of all the massage therapists here? Whether he was reading too much into it or not, it meant a lot to the bull.

He pressed down on the mouse's shoulders and earned another strangled cry from Richie as the smaller male writhed beneath his impossibly firm touch. He ran his fingers down the mouse's back, eyes bulging for a moment as he heard a soft pop from somewhere in the mouse's spine, but relaxing as he heard a strained gurgle of delight escape the tiny, fragile body below. Indeed over the following five minutes as he poked and pressed down on the mouse with more force than he'd ever dared apply to any body not magically softened up, marvelling at the trust and the willingness to subject himself to all this that Richie was displaying, he actually began to enjoy it quite a bit. To delight in the mouse's cries of effortful exertion and what could only be called outright pleasure. He started to relax into the effort more and more, and began to tell himself he'd been too nervous about nothing from the very start. That he should have remembered the old axiom which applied to all trades, including his. The customer was always right.

Except... some ten minutes later, barely half-way through the hour long massage, Richie gave yet another wail. He squeaked and thrashed and writhed around in delight as his reddened, abused body shuddered and bucked. Harrison massaged the base of his spine and his rump, driving his crotch down into the soft material of the padded table below, and it was then that the mouse gave another desperate, pleading cry.

"Harder! S-stop using your fingers... and... ah, s-start using your hands. Squeeze me. Squish me. F-fuck... fucking flatten me!"

Harrison swallowed thickly and stared down at his hands, hands which if he placed them end to end were almost as large as the whole of the mouse's body. He looked from them to Richie, to the mouse's wild, savagely pleading gaze, and groaned softly. Not because he knew he couldn't go on any longer. Not because he knew he had to tell the mouse no, and tell his employer that he wasn't able to meet this client's needs. But, quite the opposite in fact.

He groaned, because he couldn't say no. Because deep down, this mouse was exactly what Harrison had been waiting for all his time as a massage therapist. Someone who wasn't intimidated by his strength and size. Someone who wasn't worried or put on edge by his strength and the ease with which he deployed it.

Finally, he had a client who wanted his strength. Who craved it. Who lived for it, and what it could do to them with or without the magical massage oil of the spa to assist him. And, no matter how much trouble he could potentially get in for indulging this mouse beyond any safe measures... Harrison couldn't help but want to give him anything and everything that he asked for.

His hands fell upon the mouse's torso. They pressed downward, and the mouse squeaked loudly once again. They pressed harder, and a joyous, strained sob escaped Richie.

And then, once again, they pressed harder, and as an even louder pop than before rang out around the entirety of the massage room, the mouse's joyous squeals outmatched that volume in every conceivable way.

By Jeeves

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