FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Donald absently clipped the small Bluetooth receiver on his ear on the last ring, nearly dropping his phone from the locker as he fumbled with it in his workout gloves. "Hello? Donald here." The phone was securely placed back into the locker next to the bison's everyday outfit. "Oh hey Reggie. Yeah I just got done with the trainer. You were right, this place is very swank." As he conversed, Don peeled off his padded gloves and wadded them up in his gym bag. "He worked me to the bone, I feel about to die. Sauna and shower first, should be good if it is half as nice as the trainer." When he went to take off his shirt - a delicate matter between his hump and horns, a gym attendant dressed in a maroon uniform seemed to appear from nowhere at all to help. "Thanks again for pointing this place out to me. There are guys waiting on my hand and hoof, and it is amazing." The huge bison sighed audibly as the sweat-soaked shirt passed over his head, allowing the thickly furred slab of muscle he used for his chest to air out. Gentle paws on his shoulders goaded Donald to do a little stretch and flex, his sore muscles tensing into massive lumps of power nearly as large as his humped back. "Thanks guy. I need a sauna and maybe massage, if you can arrange." One big hand touched to his own ear, Donald talking again to the air. "No Reggie, just talking to the guy here. Everything here is perfect - well except this jock they gave me is cramping my nuts, you know?" He laughed, a deep, resonant sound in the nearly empty locker room. "Yeah, the wife is still bugging me about kids. She can wait until I get promoted next year. Yeah, no, I'll talk to you later man. Bye."

The earpiece joined his phone before the bison hooked one thick thumb into the waistband of the mesh shorts he had been provided. With a grunt the big stud skinned then down his thick thighs, allowing the slick fabric to puddle around his hooves before stepping out of them. "Jesus this thing is just too tight..." Both hands were brought to bear on the cotton jockstrap that was indeed at least a size too small. The straps around his waist were at the limit of their elastic, while the two that cupped his massive beefy ass had actually begun to fray from the strain of those bison buttocks. Donald grasped the straps, pulling them away from his sweaty fur and the deep imprints they had been making in his skin. The feeling brought relief, a small measure with his muscles aching so hard from the strenuous workout, but relief none the less. "...they gotta do something about getting these to fit, get me new ones or something." He kicked the jockstrap off, letting it join the shorts, just savoring his own nudity. Free of the undersized pouch, his prodigious endowments swung out and stretched under the force of their own weight. His wife-pleaser peeked out from his thick sheath, the pink tip tasting at the air of the locker room hungrily after suffocating in musk. "Much better," Donald mused, scratching with self indulgence at his ballsack, letting one orb and then the other fill his big mitt. A robe seemed to fall as if by magic into his unoccupied hand, but when he glanced over it was just another of the unobtrusive staffers in maroon.

"Your sauna is ready, with complementary masseur and farrier. This way, please."

As he let the luxurious robe caress his fingers, Donald smirked. What a luxurious day! "Lead the way." The robe was also ill-fitting, but when one is nearly seven feet tall and has a hump, one gets used to that sort of thing. Considering how wonderful everything else had been thus far, wardrobe issues were easily forgiven. Still, it was amusing how the hem of the robe fell short enough to expose the lower half of his admittedly low-hanging balls with every stride. Not to mention the thick tuft of fur at the bottom that signposted his masculine maturity. The slender little lemur staffer led Donald out of the locker room, and down a series of hallways toward the steam room. Along the way a passing waiter in maroon passed a richly flavored and thickly mixed beverage, which Donald drank. The coolness in his belly contrasted nicely to the wet heat of the steam-filled hallway to the sauna. "In here?" Donald asked, when the lemur stopped at a certain door. With a nod and gesture, the bison was encouraged to disrobe and enter - the indulgence of nearly silent and traditional service made Don chuckle.

Inside the sauna, things were refreshingly traditional with only the most necessary hints of modern technology. The lights were recessed and gentle, the walls a mildly aromatic wood with blonde coloration. In the center rested a highly adjustable bench already fitted to make room for Donald's large frame and masculine hump. On either side three attendants waited, a mouse, lynx, and tiger - smallish males that left plenty of room to maneuver, each in a skimpy maroon speedo with their names embroidered; Max, Len, and Tim. "I suppose you fellows just want me to lay down, right?" Enthusiastic nods and the soothing wet heat of the steam was all the confirmation he needed to stretch out on the bench in the center of the room, resting his sore body and taking in a deep breath of the aromatic vapors. "Alright guys, just have at." The three males sprang to action, whipping around the small room, tails and bodies stirring the air pleasantly. A thick, luxurious towel wetted with herbs or oils or something was draped over his face, its liquid seeping into his facial fuzz. A deep lungful of it made Don dizzy, or perhaps it was just the heat and exertion from his exercise that was making him feel so heavy.

Either way, the three professionals in the sauna were doing their best to relax the big bison by attacking him with very personal service. It was impossible to tell which was doing what, but the sensations were unmistakable. Gentle pressure down the top of his skull came in waves as someone polished and rubbed his horns to a sheen with cloth and special blocks of aromatic cedar. On the other end of his body the right hoof was lifted up and supported with a block, allowing picks and brush to begin grooming the all-important underside. Then his center was attacked by whichever was the masseur, small hands plunging deep into the thick, curly bison fuzz to get to those sore muscles. For being so small and fine, those hands had quite a bit of strength! The slender fingers seemed to almost reach the bone, hitting the deep tissue with a powerful pressure that in short order left whatever muscle limp and unknotted. The sudden pinch of pain with each new assault quickly faded into a tired warmth from the powerful strokes, and the mild doses of muscle relaxer injected with the very slender syringe Donald never saw.

Time seemed to stand still as the cloying heat and humidity cocooned Donald's body, the physical sensations slowly steeping his mind in stupefying pleasantness. At some point his horns had been completed, and attention given to both his hooves simultaneously, and the masseur was nearly done with the whole of his upper body. These were the only way that he could mark the passage of time, as more and more of his body became thoroughly relaxed and unresponsive meat under their expert care. In less than an hour's time, three skinny furs rendered a male that outweighed them combined into a completely vulnerable state. They had only his best interests at heart of course. From their perspective, all the three wanted to do was to help the hulking hunk laid out before them. A nod from the mouse and lynx to the tiger signalled their agreement about what needed to be done. Six sets of eyes fell on the tray that held the farrier's tools, which included so many snips, picks, and blades!

Like a well synchronized team the Max and Len fell on Donald's thighs, spreading them out wider under the guise of the continuing massage. Strong finger motions and rapid injections numbed the bison from kneecap to waist in short order. Confident in himself, and already relaxed, Donald didn't protest. Perhaps it wasn't the first time that a massage went a bit south, got a little intimate. What the wife didn't know couldn't hurt her, and so what if the light paws on his junk belonged to a dude? Softened up by the intense exhaustion, the luxury, and buoyed by his sturdy grasp on masculinity that just didn't seem to matter. Hands were hands, after all - and these hands had such skill! It seemed only a matter of heartbeats before his thick pink length was unfolding into the hot, humid air. Spilling out onto his rounded belly for only a few seconds before those small fingers were hefting it up, spreading warmed oils to coax more out. Erotic relaxation filtered into the rest of his groin, causing his tufted sac to almost puddle on the wooden bench. Eagerly, the Tim, took the large bison balls in his hands, each one easily filling one of his palms. While perfectly proportioned for a big bison, they seemed overwhelmingly large to the middling sized feline. Reverently, the tiger gently tugged them closer, testing the dangle of Donald's wedding tackle while Len and Max worked his pole.

The heat of arousal blended with the sauna, drowning the bison in the wet warmth of his own body soaked in sweat, musk, and shortly pre-cum. The soft oiled hands working in tandem tickled up and down his eleven inches of heavy thickness, keeping it rigid as a steel beam and leaky as a garden hose. Rich, musky preseed dribbled from the tip into Donald's thick bellyfur between strokes, or was cupped into waiting palms to be mixed with the oils and creams bathing the shaft. Sneakily, Len leaned over the huge body beneath him to kiss Max, licking the mouse's cheek slyly. They all shared a smile, Tim's hands at work to arrange the ballsack just so, deftly injecting near the root with a local numbing agent. All three just so happy to serve their client, the almost snoozing stud thinking of his wife, or previous conquests, or just the feelings of being so adored. It was with the greatest care and respect that the soft but strong cord was wrapped around the root of Donald's ballsack. Carefully, with an eye to detail, the tiger made tight turns with not a hint of overlap of the cord starting from the root. It was a time consuming process, but his partners kept Donald fully occupied with expert teasing until Tim formed a sleeve of cord of nearly five inches long that fully compressed the bison's low hanging nuts into the very bottom of the pouch. When pushed down like that, the big bison's calfmakers looked all the more impressive, thudding with every beat of the the big stud's heart as they worked in overdrive preparing for the big, messy orgasm Max and Len were building up.

Tim hefted the largest of his clippers, which were more like oversized pruning shears than a tool for hoofcare, and tested them once or twice. He caressed the blade, ensuring it was sharp and clean - only the best for his clients! He looked to his mouse and lynx colleagues, taking stock of their condition - still stroking with ease. Both of them could tease as big a stud as the bison for hours if left to their own devices, no problem. The tiger's breath caught in his lung as he bent over Donald's leg again, bringing himself close again to the bound-up balls which had already turned a slightly darker shade from the binding. The musk there was thick, masculine, and for a moment Tim was struck motionless by it, his eyes dilating wide and nose flaring to savor the sight and scent of those fat calfmakers just radiating out so thick it was almost visible coming off in waves. Unable to resist, his muzzle opened up to allow his tongue freedom, whisking out into the air. The wet pink length of his slightly raspy oral muscle curled in a lapping motion to barely kiss the taut surface of that throbbing pouch, skimming the layer of sweat and musk that covered it. Shuddering, Tim ignored the almost painful tenting in his speedo, biting down on his lip. Clients always came first - that was the rule! Reluctantly, he yanked his muzzle away to avoid further temptation and brought the shears to bear instead. The blades opened, creating a perfect U-shaped gap between them that the cord-wrapped sackroot rested in securely. Tim adjusted his grip and nodded to the rest of the team.

Taking their cue, Max and Len redoubled their efforts. Mouse and lynx worked in concert with practiced timing to get Donald off, using their small hands to get almost full coverage on the massive cock that was on the cliff's edge. The tip, the head, the base - with four hands like angels on all that at once there was no way that Donald couldn't have orgasmed even if he tried! Besides, his body was almost on autopilot, mind dozing its way through the crashing sea of erotic pleasure that fell on him like a thunderbolt. His muscles could not tense, even with the shudder of tension that flew through him. His muzzle could fall open in a soft moan, muffled by the towel that covered his head. Donald's hips twitched once, and if not for the fingers gripping his shaft tightly it would have bucked and sprayed all over the ceiling! Max fought hard to keep the tip under control, to force all the spray into his own muzzle with mixed success. Not that he minded his already white face getting turned whiter with a thick layer of bison cum.

Len with his clever cat-fingers held tighter to the base, carefully counting the pulses of cum that bulged along the bison's underside. When they began to taper in volume, he nodded to Tim. The tiger brought both his hands together, closing the shears with a smooth and practiced force. His placement was true, and the blades passed between the loops of cord neatly. Surgical steel met with Donald's stretched out sack skin, which split like paper. Hints of blood, but not much, stained the white cord. Then deeper, the shears bit into the veins and tubules that ferried nutrition to those fat calfmakers, and fresh sperm from them. These things sliced as easily as bread, and bled so little with the cord clamping them tightly. At last, the razor edges met in the center with the softest hiss of metal on metal, leaving Donald's ballsack severed. Quickly, Tim withdrew the shears back to their tray so he could attend to the now very lonely bound up balls. Gently, the tiger placed them in a small container and sealed it tightly while his partners did clean up work on their end.

All in all, it was a session well done - and their client wouldn't have to worry about his jockstrap being too tight in the future.