FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This is a bad idea, he thinks, pushing his way through the spotless glass doors into the bright foyer of the building.

Body, Mind, Bliss, one of those so-called 'wellness centers': A place for wealthy people to come and hide away from their hectic lives, abandoning all their concerns and responsibilities while they enjoy getting pedicures and lazing in saunas and massage rooms all day.

He shouldn't be here.

Not that he can't afford it, being one of the city's top-rated fashionistas, but he doesn't need an escape from work. He needs... something else. Something he'd rather not talk about, let alone admit to anyone, least of all a stranger.

Yet, here he is, smelling jasmine and vanilla in the conditioned air as he approaches the reception desk. A young woman sits there, cocooned behind the gentle curves of the glossy wood, her delicately painted eyes fixed on her computer screen. On the wall above and behind the plume of white and yellow feathers at her crest hangs an enormous set of gilded letters spelling the acronym B.M.B.

He glances down at the brochure in his hand and almost turns back. What is he doing here? Why did he ever agree to this? He has a backlog of work, needy customers keeping his phone awake all hours of the day, payments to chase up, an exhibition to organize, he doesn't have time to-

"Welcome, Sir! Can I help you? Do you have an appointment?"

The receptionist's voice is cheery and musical, shaped around her neatly manicured beak. She's watching him expectantly, her attention a social trap making it far too awkward for him to turn around and leave now. He reluctantly closes the remaining distance to the desk, only noticing the unique grain of the Zebrano wood as he rests his occupied paw on its cool surface.

"Yes. I'm a little early, my appointment isn't supposed to be for another hour, but..."

"And your name?" she asks, fluffy fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"Kiniun," he says, mentally resigning himself to his fate. "Eugene."

Eugene's eyes wander the room as the receptionist types his details into the system. The place looks expensive, if a little sterile. The foyer is empty save for the reception desk and a couple of chairs, and the ceiling is one giant skylight allowing the morning sun to bask the room in its easy warmth. His journey here was chilly enough to warrant him wearing a cardigan, but inside, the temperature is a perfect 70 degrees Fahrenheit.

The walls are bare, save for a couple of PR posters showcasing smiling faces and professionals dressed up in crisp, white attire. He stares at one of them, noticing the neatness of the seams, the elegant shape of the collar, the attractive design of the breast pocket.

"Ah, here we are. Eugene Kiniun, you've been booked in for our Deluxe package for 10 AM. You're right, you are a little early, but someone should be along to collect you soon. If you'd like to take a seat over there while you wait?"

He follows the point of her wing to a peach sofa against the opposite wall, and sinks onto its pleather cushions with a stifled groan.

As much as he'd rather not admit it, his body aches something fierce.

A certain area of it, in particular; a part which has, for the past several weeks, been giving him certain... issues. In bed. Naturally, coming here was his girlfriend's idea, because he knows of no man who would willingly admit to a bunch of strangers that the only reason he's here is because he can't cum.

Eugene sinks his face into his hands, feeling the familiar embarrassment of his predicament return to him, and for the second time in as many minutes feels the powerful urge to flee before he gets locked even deeper into this mess.

But... He's horny. Desperately, painfully horny. And this is his last hope for a solution, before accepting he might need to visit a doctor. He doesn't think it's his health, though. There's nothing wrong with him, per se. It's just that the stresses of work and a nagging insomnia has made it impossible for him to relax enough to reach orgasm, and right now he feels so tight and uncomfortable, so frustrated and tortured, that he'll agree to try almost anything if it affords him some release.

Still, he doubts being massaged in flowery-smelling oils is going to magically make him able to blow his load. But the brochure does claim that this place specializes in his kind of 'problem', even going so far as to promise his money back if the treatment isn't one-hundred percent successful.

The worst that could mean is that he gets a free massage out of all this. If the decor is anything to go by, it might even be worth it.

He sits waiting for the next twenty minutes, listening to the rythmic tapping of the receptionist's keyboard, until an oak door across the room opens and a tall women strides through it, heeled hooves clicking on the polished wood floor. Clipboard in hand, she beckons him over.

"Eugene?" she calls, offering him a welcoming smile. "This way, please."

She's wearing the same white uniform as the staff in the posters. In fact, he recognizes her from one of them: Same golden mane, same smooth, chocolatey coat of hair, same generous proportions-front and back. She must be important, to be featured in their advertising. One of the managers, perhaps?

Shame, he thinks, getting up from his seat. I wouldn't mind someone like her kneeling over me for the next twenty minutes.

As he follows her through the door, he becomes enveloped in the subtle air of her perfume, a curious mix of ginger and sandalwood that soaks into him like a warm bath, at once relaxing him and making his nose open up wider to take in more of the scent. It gives her a mature and sophisticated air, and as she leads him down a long corridor that branches this way and that to the various areas of the center, he finds himself staring helplessly at the to-and-fro motion of her hips.

He has to wrench his eyes away when he starts to feel heat pooling in his groin. Now is a very bad time for that.

They pass signs for the gym and yoga hall, taking a left past a series of acupuncture treatment rooms, then a big area filled with lockers for personal belongings. Finally they pass through another door and into the massage wing, where the air again changes: There's a light smokiness to it, seemingly from incense sticks burning in every room. The woman picks the closest door and stands holding it open for him.

"Please head inside and strip off your clothes," she instructs, smiling at him from over the thin rim of her designer glasses. "Someone else will be along shortly, and then we can get started."

"I've, uh, never done this before," Eugene admits, running his claws nervously through the thick blond mane at his neck. "Should I- I mean- You want me to... Just my shirt and pants, or...?"

Laughter bubbles up from her chest, and once again he has to avert his eyes from the way her huge breasts jiggle with the motion.

He feels like such an idiot. What kind of a lion acts like a scared pussycat at the prospect of getting a massage? To that point, what kind of a lion needs to subject himself to being prodded and squeezed by a stranger just to be able to orgasm?

What is he doing here??

"I want you to strip entirely naked," she explains, amusement dancing in her dark eyes, "and then lie on the table, face-down. Don't worry, I assure you it's designed to be comfortable in every circumstance."

He doesn't know what that means, precisely, but he nods and enters the room, waiting for the door to click shut behind him before letting out a heavy, shuddering breath.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light in here. It's a smallish room, barely space enough for the long waist-height table in the middle of the floor, a single chair in one corner and some potted ferns occupying the others. Wall-mounted candles in fancy brass holders flicker softly to themselves, little wisps of smoke curling toward the low ceiling. There is a window, but a pair of fine Egyptian cotton curtains are drawn over it, letting just enough light in to bask the room in dreamy orange light.

Even just standing here, Eugene feels his muscles begin to relax and the anxiety in his mind unclench. Maybe he does need this. He doubts it'll do anything for his poor, aching balls, tight and swollen as they are with weeks of unspent arousal, but at least he'll leave here with the rest of him feeling marginally less stiff.

After taking off his clothes and folding them neatly on the chair, he picks up a fuzzy towel that was draped across the table, presumably there to cover his dignity, only to discover the head-sized hole it was hiding in the table's surface. He's stares at it, confused, until understanding hits him like a ton of bricks, and he almost drops the towel on the floor.

That hole... It's perfectly aligned with his crotch. Is that... Is that what she meant by, 'designed to be comfortable'...?

Swallowing down a rush of fresh embarrassment, he climbs onto the padded table, adjusting his hips so that his free-hanging cock and sensitive ballsack slot through the hole.

At least they won't to see anything, he thinks, reaching behind him to drape the towel across his exposed buttocks. Then he waits.

He's not sure how long he waits; the low light and warmth of the air lulls him almost to sleep, before he's startled awake again by the door opening. Two sets of heels enter the room, and the door shuts behind them.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Eugene." He recognizes her voice, but wait, does that mean-

"I've yet to introduce myself. My name is Janet, and this lovely lady here is Janice. We work together with certain clients who we think will benefit most from our unique method of treatment. We'll be satisfying your every need today, so don't worry. You're in good hands."

"Both...?"

Eugene turns his head on the padded table to see them. Side-by-side, they could be mistaken for twins: Both tall, attractive mares of obvious good breeding, their manes similarly styled into long, flowing locks behind their shoulders. From his current vantage, he can barely see their faces above the curve of their expansive chests.

"Are you two twins?" he blurts out, instantly regretting it when the pair glance at each other and start giggling. "Sorry, my tongue gets loose when I'm nervous."

"Not at all, we hear it a lot," the grey-coated mare, Janice, explains. "And there's no need to be nervous around us. After all, we're going to have our hands all over you soon enough."

Wow. Surely she didn't intend for that to sound so erotic. But the way she said it, the tone of her voice...

"Now then, we understand from your initial call that you've been experiencing certain difficulties when it comes to sexual arousal, is that correct?" Janet asks.

Eugene swallows heavily. "Um, not exactly."

"Could you explain the precise nature of the problem?" She circles around to the opposite side of him, and he hears her opening a draw and rummaging around with some glass objects beneath the table.

"It's not that I can't..." He swallows again, his mouth abnormally dry. What brief relaxation he had a moment ago has thoroughly fled him again, replaced by a racing pulse and the burning heat of embarrassment. He can't possibly admit this, not to these women. What will they think of him?

"Whatever you're thinking, believe us, we've heard it all before," Janice says, crouching to eye-level. Her face is kind, somewhat more youthful than her counterpart, her eyes softer. Her expression urges him to be honest.

"I can't... orgasm," he whispers, his cheeks hot as coals. "No matter how hard I try, it never... I've tried everything. I get right there, right to the edge, but it just doesn't..." His eyes force themselves closed, shame tightening his throat. If he admits any more, he might actually break down, and that would truly be pathetic.

"Well, don't you worry about all that," Janet's voice comes from the opposite side. "We're going to take good care of you. Once you leave here, you'll feel like a new man."

I don't want to feel like a new man, Eugene thinks miserably.

He wants to feel like himself again. The same confident lion who, despite his lack of dominance, was still able to claim one of the most gorgeous lionesses he's ever set eyes upon. The same lion who could go round after round with her on a nightly basis, marathon sessions that lasted well into the next morning, until their sheets were soaked through and they both stank of sex and sweat, and the only thing that was sore was the skin of his cock, rubbed raw from fucking endlessly into that firm, incredible ass.

His cock stirs at the memory. Oh... Oh crap. No, stop thinking, stop it now-

Too late. He can only pray that Janet isn't still rummaging under the table, or she'd see him growing stiff as an African hardwood. Fuck. This was an awful, terrible idea. He should have shut it down the instant his girlfriend handed him the brochure. At least he would be far less likely to get inappropriately aroused while sitting in a doctor's office.

"We're going to start by working all that tension out of your back and shoulders," Janet explains, and before he has time to prepare himself for physical contact, two pairs of warm hands begin rubbing oils into his fur, reaching all the way from his neck and shoulders, down to the small of his back and around his flanks.

He can't help the low, rumbling groan that escapes his throat.

"It's always lovely to work on a celebrity," Janice muses.

"I wouldn't-Ah-call myself a-uhn-celebrity," Eugene manages in between grunts. "I just make clothes for rich people."

"And they only look good because of what you do. Without you, the Berlin Fairmonts of the world are just pretty girls with a lot of money."

"Right," Janet agrees. "The Kiniun brand is world-famous because it puts so many wealthy socialites on the map. You should feel very proud of it."

She has a point, he supposes, but it's not as if anyone knows him personally. "I'm happy when people recognise the brand. I don't need that kind of adoration, personally."

"You're very humble," she remarks with a soft chuckle. "That's unusual in lions, but not an unattractive quality to have."

They start pressing firmly into his muscles with their palms, pulling and stretching, slow but deliberate in their motion.

"That actually feels... pretty good," Eugene mumbles, mesmerised by the skill in which they work out the knots in his back. "I thought it might hurt, but it doesn't really, it's just... I can't describe it."

"Just focus on the sensations," Janice says softly. "Notice that tension melting away? We can feel it, too. Like right here"-she presses into a small area just above his shoulder blade, and his mouth drops open in a silent moan-"I bet you weren't even aware that muscle existed, did you?"

"Noo..." he drawls, his mind slipping into a strange, liminal state somewhere between awake and asleep. He breathes in deep, taking in more of those fragrances of ginger and lavendar and sandalwood, and whatever else is mixed into the air that's making him feel supremely and utterly at ease. He doesn't even mind anymore that he's naked, but he does wish his straining erection would relax. It's the one thing currently undermining all their efforts.

"I'm going to remove the towel now, Eugene. We need to move lower. Is that alright with you?"

"Mmm." He finds it strange, distantly, how easily he accepts the suggestion. He feels the material peel away from his hips, and then one of the sets of hands glides over the globes of his butt cheeks, squeezing and kneading them with the same force they were showing his back before.

The massage draws a tingling wave of blood rushing into every capillary of his ass, and he cries out in something dangerously close to sexual pleasure. The pitch and volume of his own voice threatens to startle him out of his entranced state, but he quietens down as he gets more used to the feeling. It swaddles his mind like a heated blanket, safe and warm, even as it brings more pressure into his groin, his cock by now hard as stone and jutting down from the table like a fence post, pulsing with every heavy beat of his heart.

Part of him wants to end the session right here, because if this carries on much longer, he may end up having to limp out of the building in priapismic agony.

On the other hand... the massage feels so good, he doesn't want it to stop, even if it means lying there with his arousal leaking onto their fancy vanished floor.

He can even imagine a pair of moist lips closing over the head of his cock, enveloping it in wet heat. The thought surprises him, making him gasp out loud, but even when he tries to send the thought away, the sensation continues: A slow, sensual sucking of his flesh, his length slowly but surely slipping deeper between his girlfriend's stretched lips with every long, luxurious suck. His mind runs wild with the idea, even picturing her hands gripping his cock further up, squeezing and pulling at it, lubing him up with the same oils the masseuses are rubbing into his back and ass.

He must be asleep-that's why he can't send these thoughts away. He fell asleep during his treatment, and now there's nothing he can do but enjoy the fruits of his creative imagination. It feels incredibly real, the way her tongue glides around him. The pressure, the suction. The rhythmic tugging of those oiled hands, almost as if they're trying to milk him into that receptive throat, that narrow, clenching space that presses against the head of his cock and dares him to squeeze even deeper, to fuck into that heat and have her swallow him down like a delicious treat.

Experimentally, he moves his hips against the table. The imaginary mouth backs off momentarily, just an inch or two, before rising to meet him again, seemingly welcoming his desire to thrust further down into that tight, sucking throat. As he does so, the hands leave his cock and move up to gently cup his sensitive balls, so full with unspent cum that the skin is smooth and shiny, not a wrinkle across their firm surface.

Fuck, what he would give to be able to let go right now and just... Just...

But he can't.

Even while having such an erotic dream, where the stimulation feels almost more real than real life, where he can actually feel his cock sliding in and out of a hot, wet, hungry mouth, his release remains torturously, painfully out of reach.

He can't help but whine, lying there prone and insensate on the padded table, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his mind caught helplessly in the fog of his dream with his cock aching and straining beneath him.

"Eugene," a voice whispers close to his face. Confused, he peels one eye open to see Janet crouched beside him, her eyes half-lidded, her lips glistening. Is he still dreaming?

He wants to kiss her.

As if reading his mind, she leans forward and presses her lips against his. She tastes... He doesn't have the words to describe it, exactly, but it's saccharine-sweet, like some exotic fruit found only deep in the heart of his home country's darkest jungles, and this must be a dream. Nothing else makes sense.

But as the sucking at his cock continues, his mind gives in completely to the fantasy. A noise like a purr escapes his throat and, without thinking, he licks deeper into Janet's mouth. He doesn't know what's happening anymore, except that he wants more of that unusual taste. It seems to stimulate every part of him, like an electric current running from her mouth to his, making him thrust harder against the table as the pleasure ramps up to even higher levels.

Janet's tongue meets him halfway, dancing around his, outplaying him at every turn. It only makes him more eager, more desperate to deepen the kiss. Something like this would never happen in real life, a thought confirmed moments later when he feels his cock sinking once more into the heated depths of a body, except this time, he's sure it isn't a mouth.

His whole body shudders in response, his need to cum reaching a fever pitch. The fantasy is spinning out of all control. His cock is buried to the hilt between the petals of his girlfriend's generously wet cunt, and when her ass presses against his hips and stay there, he can't do anything to prevent his hips from driving down into her, desperate in his need for release.

When release doesn't come, he lets out a long, frustrated whine.

"Let go," Janet whispers against his lips, her fingers carding through his mane, comforting him. He drinks in the sweetness of her mouth while grinding through the hole in the table, the exquisite tightness and heat around his cock making his eyes water in pure pleasure, but it's not enough. Fuck, it's just not enough!

"You want to cum, don't you?" Janet asks. He nods, closing his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Yes..."

"Then, why don't you?"

"I..." His hips increase their pace, but it only feels better, closer, more intense, and still utterly impossible. His balls slap against someone's thighs, again and again, his cock being completely swallowed by the unknown body beneath him. This deep inside someone, his every instinct should be to empty himself, to fill her womb beyond its limit, to cum inside her and not stop until it starts spilling and squirting out around the ring of muscle of her body and the plug of his knot.

But all he can do is jerk and shudder against the table, his cock rigid and twitching, veins bulging, the pressure in his swollen balls nearing too much to bear.

"I knew from the moment I saw you, you'd be a challenge fit for our skills," Janet remarks, smiling at him. "But I know exactly what you need. Close your eyes, sweetheart."

He does so, still thrusting through the table, still chasing the edge that remains tormentingly out of reach. There's a rustling of clothes, the pop of a button, then another.

"Open your mouth," she whispers.

He complies without thinking. A moment later he feels something very large and soft press against his lips. He instinctively closes his mouth around it, and is surprised when his tongue rubs against a hardened nub at the center of its mass. He suckles at it eagerly, still tasting remnants of the flavour of Janet's mouth, except the nipple is giving him something very different to drink, warm and creamy and just as sweet.

As he drinks the milk, he feels a rush of warmth spread throughout his body. Every nerve, every muscle seems to come alive with stimulation. His brow tightens as the space around his cock seems to squeeze impossibly harder, the heat of it almost burning. The depth of her seems to shrink, so that his every thrust meets a solid wall of muscle in the deepest reaches of her body. The resistance causes his knot to begin swelling, and his pounding heart doubles its pace to flush his cock with every last drop of blood his body can afford to spare.

And with his mouth stuffed with breast, milk surging over the back of his tongue, and his knot finally locking him into place, Eugene spasms hard against the table, his body curling, abs solidifying, fingernails digging welts into his palms, his balls rising up and pressing themselves against his perineum as the first pulses of a truly overpowering orgasm start to rocket through him.

He cries out, his own voice unrecognizable in his ears as volumes of long-unspent cum start to erupt from his jerking, quivering, pulsating cock.

He forgets everything: Where he is, what he was supposed to be doing. All that matters is this: Release, at long last. Time seems to stretch out as waves and waves of it crash over him in series, everything from his fingers to his toes tingling with electric pleasure. Soon the body he's cuming into begins to pulsate too, its muscles locking around him, milking and sucking his cock the same way his mouth is still suckling at Janet's breast. It forms a cycle, or so it feels to him: The milk slipping down his throat and the cum pulsing out of his cock. It feels like he could cum forever so long as he kept being fed.

Sleep finds him again while his muscles are still twitching with aftershocks. When his eyes open, he has no idea how much time has passed, but the sunlight filtering in through the curtains is subdued, and the room is a little cooler than before. Pushing himself upright with sore arms, he finds himself alone.

His neatly folded clothes are waiting for him on the chair. Stretching and groaning, Eugene dresses himself, noting that he feels more relaxed and at ease than he has in months. His muscles may be sore, but they feel energized, as if he'd just spent a full day at the gym.

Those women have skills, he thinks mildly. He only wishes he could remember more of the treatment. Besides lying down on the table and the first exquisite press of their palms into his back, he can't recall much else. It's embarrassing to think he fell asleep in their company. How rude of him. He thinks he had some sort of dream, but... Nope. It's gone.

He shrugs. Oh well. The true test of whether the treatment worked or not will come later, when he gets home to his girlfriend.

Weirdly enough, there's a whole lot less pressure down there than he came in with. He touches his balls experimentally, finding that they lift with relatively little weight. He feels almost empty. But it couldn't have all just magically disappeared. It must be a result of the treatment, he concludes, relaxing his body so thoroughly that even the tightness in his balls loosened up. That's pretty amazing.

Nobody is around when he leaves the massage room, and the receptionist in the foyer gives him a polite but distracted smile as he heads for the door.

His hand hesitates on the glass. Something inside of him pangs with sadness, as if he'd rather not leave. The strangest urge to turn back and book another appointment arrests his mind, and before he can push it away, his feet have already carried him back over to the reception desk.

"Hi. Eugene Kiniun."

"Yes, I remember." Her winged hands hover over the keyboard. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like..." Something flickers in his stomach, a glowing warmth that makes him smile without thinking. Yes, this is a very good idea. "Do you have memberships here?"

---

"Well."

"Hmm."

Janice doesn't miss the look of jealousy on her superior's face as they clean up around the lion's insensate body. She can't complain, though: It was her turn. Nothing unfair about it.

"Did you know he was knotted?"

"No. Did you?"

Janet shakes her head. "It's unusual for a lion. This one is full of surprises, isn't he?"

"Maybe we should hurry up. He may surprise us again by waking up early."

"I don't think so." She bends down to peer at his face. He looks utterly blissed-out, a ridiculous smile on his lips, his tongue flopped out and drooling on the padded headrest. "He took to the hypnotism very well. He'll be out for another hour yet, I imagine."

"An hour, you say...?"

Their glances meet, a single idea reflecting back and forth as if they could read each other's minds.

"It is technically my turn, now, isn't it?" Janet remarks, her lips pulling into a suggestive grin. "He's already so juiced up. It wouldn't take long."

Janice rolls her eyes.

"You know he'll be back. Why not wait? I don't mind telling you, but being knotted and filled to bursting by such a virile specimin of a male is..." She bites her lower lip, her nether regions still throbbing with arousal.

Janet's eyes darken, seeing the pleasure flush her colleague's face. "Very well, then. Next time."

"Next time," Janice agrees, finishing drying Eugene's back of massage oil before following Janet out of the room.

Next time.