FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Story was done for NotMarco http://www.furaffinity.net/user/notmarcothecat

((Disclaimer: Contains elements of musk, hypnosis, mind control, piercings, alcohol, cigars, a truck, skunks, some slob and sex. Maybe some implied watersports, who knows. NOT responsible for any other implications therein))

"Well, that was a bust." The noise of the stuffy crowd and the loud singing silenced as the side door shut behind the russet feline. He grumbled as he looked down at his new black and white tuxedo, marred by the large watermark that did nothing to hide the bright pink of the wine-stain. Shaking his head, he reached through his pockets for a cigarette, grumbling under his breath. First he was late to the performance, and then the oaf sitting behind him caused him to topple his entire glass of wine all over the front of his shirt. The bathroom was full, and the water he procured only elicited stares from the other theater patrons. As he pulled out his cigarettes, he realized his terrible luck only worsened: the entire pack was drenched from the earlier accident.

As Billcat threw his last smokes to the ground, a light flashed behind him, reflected on the wet brick. A slight scent of sulfur hit the air and then something else, something primal and masculine. He then realized someone was behind him. Before he could turn around, though, a cigar moved into view. The end was lit, red from recent torching, allowing the rich sweet-musky aroma of the cigar to hit his nose. The fingerless gloved hand offering it was thick and meaty, grey and slightly damp. A deep voice with a very slight southern drawl spoke out.

"Go on, take it. You look like you had a rough night."

While he stood there in shock, the glove moved the cigar to Bill's mouth and pressed it in, closing the maw around the smoke. Just then, another gloved hand moved to his shoulder, squeezing reassuredly. Bill turned and followed one of the arms up to it's owner, where he spotted a leather vest on greasy yet fluffy dark grey fur. His exploration moved further up his surprisingly friendly individual, past a fairly fluffy white chest decorated with a chest harness. Once his gaze met the taller skunk's deep blue eyes, his wanderings stopped, transfixed. The light from both cigars danced golden within those orbs.

Bill breathed in deep, the scent from the cigar intoxicating, it mixed with something that started out unpleasant, the odor of a rank male, but soon became almost welcoming. The lights danced and shone in those deep sapphire pools, and he realized he was walking to the dark part of the alley, the skunks rich and fuzzy armpit hovering above his head as he is guided. he felt.. overdressed and overwrought, his mind spinning as if drunk. By the time he reached the truck at the end of the alley, he had discarded his coat and shirt, leaving him in a mostly-dry undershirt.

The truck's interior was hot, swelteringly so, as he got in, causing the cat's russet fur to sweat and matte, quickly drenching his undershirt. He wanted to open his mouth to complain, but the skunk was speaking in that deep, soft voice of his. He could listen to the skunk for ever, it almost felt as if he had gotten even bigger since first meeting him. He could see the mephit's round gut bulging out over a pair of leather chaps and exposed jockstrap, stained with use. The truck stank of him, and as Bill sat there smoking his cigar, each puff and breath brought in a stronger hunger for it.

Bill closed his eyes for a moment to relax, leaning back while his new friend undid his pants. After all, they were so tight and restricting in the heat. The truck was travelling and he honestly didn't care where. The fools back at the theatre would have laughed at his plight, but not Sir Khorax. Sir Khorax was a good guy who wanted to show him a good time. As these thoughts floated in his mind, he opened his eyes again and traced the thin line of purple that separated the white from the grey. His eyes instinctively moved to meet his companion and once again, he saw the dancing lights of their cigars. As he breathed in, he could catch a minute touch of his own scent under all the clothes.

"Been a spell since you were awake.. Have a good dream?" The meaty paw moved over and openly reached for his crotch, rubbing his throbbing cock without so much as asking permission. Yet.. somehow it felt good, warm, and comforting. Certainly, it was lewd, and Bill tried to process how another man was grabbing his junk, but the spikes of pleasure just melted away his concerns. Leaning back in the chair, the cat found himself relaxing, spreading his legs and inviting the skunk to play.

As the truck pulled off to the side of the road, along some dark region away from the city proper, and down a dirt road, the jostling got the better of Bill and he fell over against the greasy side of the fat skunk. His face landed straight into the moist, drenched pit of his newfound ally. The skunk chuckled for a second before jumping a bit, smooshing Bill's face right against the whole thing, drenching it.

"Damn it Bill, you dropped your cigar in my lap. Fuck. That stings." The words faded away as Bill found himself blacking out, his senses completely overtaken by the rich masculine spice of the skunk's direct scent. His dreams seemed a twisting of heaven and hell. On the one hand, he found himself feeling intense pleasure, his actions guided by his lust and carnal needs. Any function above the instinctual seemed impossible through the purple haze. On the other, he noticed that something, perhaps the haze itself, had given him impetus for change. He had taken on tattoos labeled "Musk Slave" and "Slut". The chill of metal pierced through his ear, nose, nipples and cock, the last one weighted so that his near-constantly exposed cock hung down half-hard at all times.

The sound of a crude grunt woke the feline from his dream. He felt he had a headache, but it soon melted away, but the dream remained. He reached down, automatically and started rubbing himself needfully. He couldn't remember what happened before the dream, and he couldn't seem to quite wake up from it. All he knew is that his cock felt good and he needed to piss, badly. He needed a smoke, and he needed Khorax's scent. Turning to the crude grunt, he caught the thick, almost squirresque tail of his companion getting out of the bed next to him.

That's when some of the memories floated back, almost pestering Bill out of his reverie. He reached down and flicked the metal barbell through his piss slit, sending a vibration across his member and hardening him instantly. The thoughts faded again, and all that was left was the pleasant warmth of his Sir, or as he preferred, Master. Khorax turned towards Bill and smirked, seeing the cat return to his state of obedience.

As Bill continued to play with himself, Khorax brought out a weathered worn wifebeater and jockstrap for himself and for Bill. He hadn't come up with a new name for the cat, though he was certain that he could just call him 'Boy' 'Cub' or 'Perv' and the cat would get the message. The skunk sighed a bit, leaning over the bed to kiss his captive deeply, running a thick digit under the cat's tail. He pressed in, and as he had done for several weeks, lubed up his already greasy cock with his other hand.

As the pleasure built in Bill's mind, he felt a new sensation in his nether regions, a familiar one of need. He was no longer vacant within his tailhole, and the skunk's finger certainly filled his hole. With each press of his prostate, the cat felt memories fade, twisted and forming new ones. He lived here with the skunk for years now, he was the skunk's roommate and friend. Did he attend school? It was hard to tell. The thoughts ended as soon as he felt the mephit's pierced cock slip into his well-used hole. Bill is a good musk slut. He remembered. Bill loves his Skunk Master. Each thrust brought more thoughts into his mind.

Bill is a good musky slave.

Bill loves to be dirty and lustful

Bill is a perv.

Bill will let go and let his kinks decide.

Bill will obey Master Khorax.

Bill is a good boy.

Bill loves leather, and grease, and cigars.

The thoughts came quicker and faster as Master Khorax quickened his pace, The skunk's gut pressed up against Bill's smaller, but hard cock with each thrust, trapping him in a cycle of pleasure. They soon drowned out all other thinking before, as always, his backside filled with hot, thick skunk seed. Bill's thoughts continued to race with the new programming. The haze of his previous life fading into the background.

He turned to look at the full length closet mirror next to the bed at his own image. His russet fur was matted down and shining with at least one day's worth of old sweat. Covered in tattoos, both tribal and obscene, he barely matched his previous image from weeks ago. His nose held a large barbell, and his throat was clasped with a thick, black leather collar. His harness showed a bit of wear from use, but he didn't mind. It was what he wore at all times. As he leaned back and relaxed, he realized he still needed to piss, but enjoyed the feeling of holding on for now. Perhaps he'll go here. Perhaps he'll get up. His mind danced as Master called him out of bed.

Bill has always lived in the trailer with Master Khorax.

Bill is a dirty, greasy cat.

Bill is a good boy.

Bill will always be a good boy.

With a smile, Bill got out of bed and lit the first cigar of the day. Today, he will be a good boy.