FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Leveled Up by Gwydion78

Commission for Xakrai

"Bullshit, just... *bullshit*," Greg grumbled as his character died, again, for the ninth time, yet another chunk of durability hacked out of his armor set to make for one hell of a repair bill. The wait to respawn was interminable, the wispy silhouette of his character standing over his corpse while he watched the seconds tick away.

Finally, the counter finished, he clicked to resurrect and...

"Oh, fuck you!"

A rogue of the enemy fox race had been camping him, and cut down his lion chronomancer in seconds.

"lern2play n00b yer mom was better last night" appeared on the screen while the fox repeatedly crouched over his character's face.

And then a berserker minotaur cut the fox down, but before Greg could type out thanks for the vengeance, he received a private message from the bull, "Pick a better class scrub Chrono sux" And then he ran off to collect his next kill.

"Hell with this." He exited the battleground, which he'd only entered because he'd run out of things to do in the main game world, and because being in the battlegrounds prevented one other thing...

"your account is complaints, pleasure to visit site to pay fine and prevent account ban" "cheap platnum 1000pp/$14! no cheeper aniwhere!" "increase ur pens size click here" "Custom Character hacks! Become the Pwner, not the Pwnee, with undetectable stat adjusters! Reasonable rates, click here for more info."

Any other night he would've ignored all of them, or at least chuckled at the horrifying abuses of spelling, but tonight, coming on two in the morning, actually, he was tired and angry enough to click on the final spam ad. A browser window quickly opened, porn popups surprisingly *not* filling his screen. The site actually looked professionally done, not just a basic text page or stock images. Instead it simply asked him to log in with his game account.

The last part made him uneasy, but he figured it'd be easy enough to change his password to something even longer and complex. Once entered, the site loaded a high resolution model of his character, his stats and equipment listed to the side.

ChronoClaw Race: Werelion Level: 17 Strength: 11 Agility: 13 Stamina: 10 Intellect: 81 Spirit: 62 Special: 0

Equipped: Chronomancer Set, Apprentice Staff

Yep, that was Chrono, but he hadn't seen "Special" in game before. It was probably opened up once you hit the level cap. So far, though, he didn't see any way to change anything though. He clicked on the stats, equipment, nothing occurring from his efforts until at long last a pop-up appeared, giving "upgrade options" with prices attached. The options ranged from "A Little Boost" to "Make Me Competitive" to "The Big Package", which cost $79.99, and a "Trial Upgrade" which was listed for free.

On a whim, he clicked the trial, which immediately set his stats scrambling until after a minute they finally settled.

ChrGregListeronoClaawwww575&($^%#%*^^&^%$& Race: Werelion Level: BGDK Strength: 811 Agility: 213 Stamina: 1010 Intellect: 1 Spirit: 62 Special: 500

Great, it'd fuck up his character. He looked for a way to shut it down, but instead the browser crashed, as well as his computer. "Fuck! Should've known better than to use some... Shit, is that the time?" Coming on four in the morning, had he really been on the site that long? He'd have to fix his comp in the morning, after probably reinstalling everything. He climbed into his bed, not three feet away, and went to sleep.

His dreams were... more exciting than usual. He'd had dreams he was Chrono before, but they'd usually involved going on a quest to slay a vile cup of cottage cheese that he'd had for dinner while flowers sang about rowboats and the other fucked up stuff that happens in dreams. Instead, the dream was about Chrono and him, in his hut on the savannah, and the two of them were... together.

The lion was kissing and nibbling at his neck, something thick rubbing between his asscheeks, fur covered in savannah dust rubbing against his skin. In the dream it felt so natural, a way of connecting to his character he never thought possible. There was an unspoken question that hung in the air as Chrono became more aggressive, to which Greg breathlessly replied, "Yesss..."

And he woke up just in time to feel his penis discharge a lot of pent up semen. "Oh god, no!" A wet dream? At his age? Ugh, it was a good thing he lived alone so that only he had to deal with his embarrassment. Cleaning up the mess was the start of it, followed by a shower and tossing the sticky sheets in the laundry. Weird, though, as he didn't remember taking his underwear off last night, but given the intensity of the dream, perhaps it was just his body relieving some tension.

It wasn't like he did... *that* a lot. He didn't find it disgusting, he just didn't see the big deal. When he looked up game art, the ninety percent of it that was porn didn't faze him at all, except to wonder how exactly anyone could take down a death-dragon with breasts the size of pumpkins and penises the size of trees gushing amounts of semen that would fill a lake.

Well, at that size it was probably safer to call them cocks. Just... sounded more apropos. Cocks shooting jizz. Yeah, that was more accurate. It was odd he was focusing for the moment on that, it wasn't like he was even looking at porn at the moment, but still, there he was in the shower, thinking about pictures of the werelion race, members of which were jokingly and derogatorily as "kittyfags" seeing as thanks to a programming glitch the idle animation for werelions involved them swaying their asses invitingly, even the males.

It like they were asking to have some guy stick his cock in there and ride him until he yowled and roared and begged for more so he could fire his lionspunk all over the-

O-kay..... He couldn't remember the last time he masturbated in the shower, or well, the last time he'd beat off at all. Greg had always prided himself on not having to worry about some rambunctious libido distracting him from getting work done. Seeing as he worked from home, being on the Internet all day would, for most people, probably lead to "porn breaks" and the like, but that had never been the case with him.

Yet still, here he was, fingers curled around his modest five inch erection, pumping it in slow and even strokes while the hot water rained down, making the bathroom steamy. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, to sink his cock between the firm, dusty cheeks of Chrono's ass, gently pushing his tail aside and sliding into him. From the jokes he'd heard and the art he'd seen, that was probably what fucking a guy was. He'd been okay with the idea of sex with a guy, but he'd never been interested in pursuing it until now. Or with anyone, really. He'd never considered himself asexual, just, not that interested in sex at the moment.

How *would* that feel though, for his thighs to meet Chrono's? To hear the beast make satisfied growls as they achieved a true union of player and character, to watch the lion pump his impressive equipment, making his fat nuts jostle about in his sack as he was fucked by his player, his master, about to be filled with hot, sticky...

"Fuck!" The shower quickly washed the splatter of spunk from the wall, and only then did Greg realize he'd been clenching his eyes shut the whole time, lost in his fantasy. "Oh fuck... Maybe I should get some art of Chrono done, god *damn*..." It took him a minute to catch his breath, though the water from the shower suddenly going ice cold was much more inspiring to vacate the stall as quickly as possible with as many profanities as he could manage.

He dried off, his mud brown hair getting a bit long, signaling that it was likely time for a haircut, though once it was towel-dried, his locks shoulder length now and hanging loose around his face, he figured he could wait a little longer, as he didn't look half bad, though his longer hair seemed a mite out of place on his rather spindly body. "Stick figure" was the term he affectionately used for himself, no fat or any muscle to speak, just enough to make any clothes that weren't meant for a teenager seem baggy on him, though he did eat enough to stave off any claims of an eating disorder. Puberty had only done the required work and little else, his body hair patchy and only visible under his arms and on his crotch. Even a beard took him two to three weeks longer to grow than most guys.

Once he was dried off, the day went slowly from there, most of the morning spent digging through various discs and flash drives to restore his computer to its previous pristine condition. Logging on to the game revealed no changes to Chrono, so he was thankful for that, so he went about the quick routine of checking auctions in the virtual economy, though his eyes kept leaving the monotonous financial data collected by his add-ons to watch Chrono's ass gently swaying at the game's camera, blood flowing south already.

"No, I've got work to do still." He logged out, pushed the lion's rump out of his mind and set to his regular job, telecommuting and updating countless records with minute changes from a never ending flow of data. It was menial once you had the right training, but it paid the rent and for other things...

"Jesus, what's with me today?" Greg looked downward, seeing his hand gently groping his crotch, arousal starting to leak into his mind, offer the temptation of just a little break to clear his head before returning to that agonizingly boring work. "Ugh, fifteen minutes, that's all."

Perhaps Googling images of "werelion pictures" wasn't the best idea, seeing immediately very adult images of male lions engaged in countless positions appeared before his eyes. He slipped his hand behind the waist of his pants to his endowment, starting a steady rhythm to match his eyes flicking from image to image, fat barbed cocks pumping in paws, asses, mouths, between thick beefy pecs, tickled by wispy tailtips, erupting on rumps, chests, faces, other cocks in fountains of lionseed that ranged from virile to ridiculously voluminous.

Greg couldn't help but flash back to the dream, only imagining himself as one of the lions, Chrono the other, and the two of them locked in a masculine sexual embrace. He undid his pants, pulling himself out completely to better enjoy his break. Every picture seemed tailor-made to his rising lust, answering every question his virgin body could ask about what two males could do together and how. "Oh fuck... Fuck, Chrono, I'm cumming!" His eyes went wide as he watched a thick ropey jet of jism sail upward, into his sightline, and crash back down onto his keyboard, only to be followed by another, and another, his muscles seizing and clenching as he had the climax of his life.

And then he saw the clock. "SIX HOURS!?!" It'd certainly explain how his orgasm was less like the gentle dribble it had been during the one or two times a month he'd be in the mood, and more like a Howitzer mercilessly mortaring shells of man-spunk onto his helpless keyboard. He looked on his body, his T-shirt damp with sweat and exertion, pants around his ankles, his dick still standing proud, shiny in the low light from it's coating of semen. Part of him wondered if he could do it again.

Luckily for his cock, that part, and his curiosity, overwhelmed the more rational part of his psyche that demanded he clean up and try to salvage the work he was now half a day behind on. Someone else could handle that, probably, he had a cock, he liked his cock, and it needed to make up for a lot of lost time and neglect. Chrono wouldn't worry about some stupid quest if he could just sit in his hut and jerk it until he collapsed from exhaustion, so why shouldn't he?

Granted, that rational part of him was all too quick to bring up that he wasn't a werelion, had responsibilities, that Chrono was a wizard who had more to worry about than his baser instincts, that he'd probably injure himself if he kept at this, and that, oh yes, he wasn't a werelion.

The rest of him decided that beating off and looking at pictures of hot musclebound lions in leather armor pounding each others asses was a much better use of his time than worrying about silly things like that.

This time Greg wouldn't waste time with easy languid drags of his fist up and down his length. The first picture was of a werelion being jerked off by an eager fox with a comically large tongue that drooled all over the lion warrior's cumsacks, making them shine in the light, the lion's expression one of detached enjoyment, as if he'd only deigned the fox worthy of his dick out of boredom. Greg could only imagine doing that to the rogue who'd ganked him in the game, the fox enchanted to be nothing than a simple servant, the chronomancer's cockwarmer perhaps.

He shot hard, hunching forward, his muscles aching from the movement, groaning from the exercise as the fibers under his skin began to grow denser, and slowly multiply and grow in number. "That's it... Satisfy your Lord Chrono you fox bitch..." He grinned to himself, his libido not plateauing or even dipping with his climax, a group of splashes on the keyboard and on his legs now, the skin itching slightly where it was hit, but not so much that it distracted him.

The next image was of a lion so massively muscled it looked as if he'd be immobile, trapped by his own mass, a group of ferrets with buckets and loofahs cleaning and attending to the leonine behemoth, the lion's face one of smug satisfaction, a tiny crown on his head to symbolize his regal station. The attending males were paying particular attention to the lion's mammoth biceps, the swells like mountains that crowded for room on his arms, the bulges kissed and licked and veritably worshiped by the ferrets. Greg made a low, almost growl of a grunt as he took in the image, still giving himself attention, wet slick sounds coming from his groin. His arms trembled as he set his jaw, climaxing again, his midsection getting the warm trickle of seed. The skin itched there as well, hair getting less patchy, thickening along the route of the dribbling semen, a deep brown treasure trail being left in his wake.

He stretched and luxuriated in the afterglow, his bones and joints crackling as his frame ever so slowly began to lengthen, widen, his five foot five inch stature groaning its way toward the more average five seven, then five eight. Smirking, he flexed his free arm, namely the left, imagining the sort of giant muscle that the lion in the image enjoyed, though little imagination was needed, the contraction of the bicep making it swell with blood and strength, the densely woven fibers of muscle making the bulge stand in stark relief. If his triceps and forearms hadn't been taken along for the ride, it would've been all too obvious what was occurring, but for the moment he simply gazed on his expanding musculature, pumping his pecker with renewed power.

In the back of his mind he considered that something was off, that one, people, especially people like him, didn't knock out three orgasms in so short a time, and that doing such certainly didn't cause your heart to race or your muscles to apparently swell. The front of his mind, however, felt that his balls should be cupped and tugged while he rubbed out his next load, and maybe wriggle a finger into his ass, see what that was like.

The front of his mind, he felt, had a much better case, so he moved onto the next image, which comprised of a lion in a leather harness and two wolves lapping at his nipples while a third gave the leo's spunkbarrels a healthy tongue bathing. Visible was the lion's washboard abs, Greg's only middle twitching wildly at the sight of it, though it wasn't enough to distract him from his hands, which had widened, his palms rougher, and had a good grip on his shaft and his sack. Quickly, his stomach further flattened, his abdominals rising in ridges, cut valleys to mirror the eight-pack that he saw on the screen, his pectorals twitching madly as well, mimicking the actions of thousands of pushups and bench presses at staggering weights to make the twin muscles bloat and firm into two solid shelves, the skin stretching his nipples into dark circles the size of a silver dollar, the nubs jutting out, his pecs and biceps and triceps now having to compete for room, his increasingly hairy skin sandpapering between the two limbs.

His climax splattered his chin, spattered his lips which he licked clean without thinking, his five o'clock shadow soon becoming a full-fledged beard. His bones creaked, almost audible enough to shatter his enjoyment, Greg gaining another few inches of height, crossing the six foot barrier as his weight made his chair creak as well with the added load. Blinking a few times, he tried to find the next image to fuel his marathon, his eyes needing to adjust as it was later than he would have guessed, the only illumination provided by the light of the display and the full moon outside the window. "Oh fuck, that was a good one..." Weird, was his voice deeper, rougher? It was definitely sexier, that was certain, the kind of voice he'd imagine Chrono would have, well, the sexy studlion he imagined Chrono to be now.

Why not pretend to be Chrono? There was no harm in it, and imagining he was a well muscled werelion with phenomenal cosmic power over space and time definitely seemed like a way to spice up his enduring stroke session. Growling turned out to be easier than he thought, a husky edge to the rumbling, jagged sound that seemed to cut at the night air, to let all in earshot know of his lust, primarily for himself as his cock was in rare form that night, not showing any signs of letting up or feelings of soreness and pain. Pleasure, a raw, undulating almost bestial pleasure was offered to sate his attention, and he gladly gave it his all. His hips had started to pump at his fist, his free hand scratching at his inner thigh with greater pressure than he thought himself capable of. Greg felt his chest heaving... no...

No, *Chrono* felt his chest heaving. Yes, he should fully commit to the fantasy if he wanted maximum enjoyment, and maximum ecstasy is what Lord Chrono, Master of Space and Time Magic claimed, nay, *deserved* as his regal right. "Yesssss! Arrrrhhhhhh..." Another fat jet of semen found its target on his face, his tongue lapping up every drop, the taste dark and musky and inviting and masculine and *right*. Why hadn't he been doing this all along? He opened wide to catch the next dollop square on his tongue, his jaw cracking hard as his maw went wider than humanly possible, altering and pushing outward with his flattening nose to provide a fine leonine muzzle, his skin prickling as whiskers grew out, hair lengthening an inch with every salvo of spunk, now a proper mane.

Even in the wake of the climax he kept on, needing more, needing to cum, make this room smell like *him*, Hell, make himself smell like Chrono, because a stud like himself should positively reek of sweat, semen, and *power*. His phallus was simply outstanding in its appearance, a thick monster of a tower with a barbed pinnacle, over a foot in length, a cock worthy of Lord Chrono, definitely. Even as his nuts swelled with their virile bounty, his hands never outgrew them and-

*RIIIIIIIIP!*

His T-shirt had torn, splitting along the seams as his frame had widened, swollen with muscle and strength, diminishing the appearance of his neck, his sweat and semen-caked torso visible now in the low-light, covered in a tawny coat of fur save a thick patch of brown chest hair that led a weak trail downward before expanding into a thick patch at his crotch. "Holy fuck..." Was that fur? Just how into his fantasy had he gotten? Sure, he was hot as fuck and his quads were like tree trunks and his knees were pushed upward like he was sitting in a little kid's chair and... Speaking of the chair, was it creaking?

*CRASH!*

He landed hard on his ass with an audible thump, his frame too large, too heavy with muscle for the bargain-store seat to hold him, but even on his back, naked and furry and writhing in lust despite his rational thought processes informing him something was definitely wrong, Chrono could only focus on the fact that he was so massive, so tall, so powerful that he *broke his chair*. His head was bumping against his night table with every energetic thrust, his feet bumping the *other* wall ten feet away. Strangely, though, Chrono was feeling a sensation that seemed far odder than the observation that he had almost out grown his bedroom: He was going to cum.

It was almost funny, given the number of times he'd climaxed already, but this time he could feel an inferno building up inside him, an ecstasy that demanded to be released into the world by way of his throbbing tower of lionmeat. He shifted himself a bit, straining to reach his arm behind his back and stick his thumb between his concrete rumpcheeks, slamming straight home into his hole, the sensation not as satisfying as he hoped, but enough to nudge him over the precipice. His mouth opened, expecting to cry out in bliss, but his body would have none of that.

Lord Chrono would not cry out like a mewling cub. Lord Chrono would *roar*.

The sound rattled the windows, like a crash of primal thunder that reverberated in the air for seconds after it ceased, and it refused to cease until every drop was shot from his cannon. His bounty was thick, sticky, viscous, gushing out like a fountain in slow motion, not soaking into his fur, but standing on top of it, obvious trails of his orgasm marking him in erotic haphazard stripes. Only when the crest and his roar ceased did he finally feel spent, though still... vaguely unsatisfied. It would have been perfect if...

"Next time I do this with a cock in my ass. And servants sucking my dick until I've satisfied them all. I deserve... nay, I *demand* only the finest pleasures." He leaned his head back into his wet, sticky carpet, his mane dappled with his semen as well, licking his muzzle clean with a toothy grin while his clawed fingers lazily traced the deep valleys between his muscles, flicked his pert nipples. "A King deserves no less."

And then, with no other preamble, the werelion reached down to begin stroking himself again. He could worry about being a ten foot tall overmuscled lionman in the morning, right now jerking off felt *good*. It was still night, and the night, after all, was hardly over.

As Chrono began his second marathon, his computer screen flashed a moment, unbeknownst to him, a popup window signaling the message: "TRIAL PERIOD ENDS IN SIX HOURS. PLEASE SUPPORT OUR SITE AND REGISTER "WERELION HACK: THE BIG PACKAGE" FOR A FREE GUEST TRIAL TO SHARE."