H̰̻̩̹̼̓̎A̜̪͔̠͚̱̎͋̃͗ͨȐ̼̭̻͙͍ͮ̓ͅͅD̜̦̰̈́͒ͤW̘͙̳͖͎͎̟̝͛̿̅̃A̙̗̼ͧ̌̎ͩͮ͋ͪ̔R͔͕̟̭͙̙̰̯ͪͯ̂ͬ̑̓E̮̥͚̣̖̼ͭͤ͗̌̾̍̾

by Charn, for Circuit
(C) Charn 2014

Jerald rubbed at his lips, frowning. He had only been walking this route home for a month or so, but he was positive that that warehouse hadn’t been there before. It certainly wasn’t a new construction, not with all the boarded up windows. The dullish grey cinder block facade was cracked, and the long wooden sign above the doors had been haphazardly painted over. The paint itself had begun to peel, dark splotches, pieces of lettering beginning to peek through. 

“PELICAN...” What a terrible name for a business. He said it again, drawing out each syllable, brow furrowed.

No, this building had certainly not been here last week, he was sure of it. In fact, he had been in the coffee shop across the street. He had enjoyed watching the squirrels bouncing around the grassy lot. This building had come to be in less than a week, and then, apparently, fallen into disrepair.

Which.. as an urban reinvigorator, fit perfectly to the fox’s interests. He stroked along his cheek, his chin, his other cheek, and then strode confidently to the front door. Even if something disastrous had occurred, he was sure that the building had to have someone who could tell him who the owners were, and what they planned on doing with it. 

The door creaked open with a puff of dust and dried paint, and Jerald stepped into an abandoned reception area. Birchwood panelling kept the ceiling from completely caving in, and the large secretary’s desk had been repurposed for a bird’s nest, a gleaming brass service bell peeking out of one side of the sprawling nest, made almost entirely out of, it would seem, leather and latex straps.

“How intriguing.” 

He peeked behind the desk, but there no papers, no cabinets, no drawers to rifle through. Hmm. The human resources office may have some information left. He paused, peering around the room again. The birchwood panelling stared back, dusty but otherwise... unmarred.

“Fantastic.” He muttered. The place appeared to have been abandoned for some time, however... there was not an ounce of graffiti, not a sign of squatters. It was just... dusty.

His eyes settled on the wide double doors that led further into the building. Outside, thunder growled distantly. Fingertips of water tapped against the window. 

“Guess there’s nothing wrong in waiting the storm out... after all, the doors weren’t locked. How was I to know they weren’t open for business!” Jerald said, loudly and clearly. He paused, listening, but there was nothing. He stepped forward, pushing the twin doors open.

He could hear the echo of the doors scraping along the poured concrete floor, resounding through the darkened inner room. He leaned against one to keep it open, and slapped at the wall, feeling for switches. He found them, a whole bank of em, and used his forearm to flip all of them at once.

The room erupted in light and sound - huge halogen lights flickering erratically through the massive showroom. Mechanical scraping from the ceiling smoothly glided into a dull, throbbing pur, and from the center of the massive, plastic-tarp-bundled showroom, a glorious dust twister spun up into the air. Jerald covered his mouth, as the circulation system began to battle a decade’s worth of dust.

The dust-wind siphoned up, stretching to the massive fans imbedded in the ceiling and slurped out of view, leaving Jerald with the peculiar sight of dozens - no hundreds! -of hidden tables. 
“A show room? Still stocked with inventory? This is... preposterous.” He pulled out his cell,unlocking the camera to videotape the bizarre situation. 

He stepped between the first two tables, reaching to pull at one of the plastic tarps laid along it. Underneath it was... bracelets. Some wide, some narrow, some metal, some leather, some a snug, puffy looking plastic. He picked one of them up, making sure to capture it in his video, pondering it. 

“It kind of looks like a-” and then he snickered. It didn’t just look a cock ring, it most certainly WAS. On the inside of it, in very faint lettering, he could read “♂RELIKAN♂”. 

Jerald tipped his head back, and began to laugh. Relikan had been the biggest supplier of.. “adult entertainment toys”, back in the 90s. They had gone worldwide, and shilled their wares from the fancy sex harems in Cairo to the sleazy bookstore off of route 74. Jerald had revelled in each and every one of their products, and then, in the summer of 2000, they had plain ole disappeared. Items had been scooped up from store shelves, with even simple cockrings like the one he was holding in his hand fetching hundreds of dollars. 

And here he was, with an entire table of them. He put his cellphone back into his pocket, and then slipped his briefcase onto the table. Popping it open, he scooped handfuls of the cockrings into it, mashing and squeezing them to fit. 

Somehow, the Relikan warehouse had disappeared, for a dozen years, and now, it was back - and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity escape him. A few moments to prove he was serious to any buyers - if someone demanded he paid for them, he would, gladly - after all, it was a showroom, wasn’t it? What kind of showroom wouldn’t be selling it’s merchandise! 

He pulled the sheet back over the table, and hurried to the next set of tables. The sheets puffed with more dust, but he pulled them off to the side. Collars and leashes jangled, the fox’s tail swishing behind him. He had been juuust getting into the idea of ownership and submission, when RELIKAN had disappeared. It was what he had wanted, and had had to settle for some cheap nylon shit from the pet store instead. But this was ... the motherlode.

Spiked leather, that puffy neoprene that was so big in the late 90s, interlocking plastic plates.. and chrome.

Jerald sighed, softly, reaching to the middle of the top row. There it was. The punisher. 

No. The Punisher.

He reached up, and took it down from the shelf, holding it between his soft, vulpine paws. It was heavy, and round, and chrome. The surface was immaculately polished - even handling it with his unworthy fingers couldn’t change that. It gleamed, shining, dazzlingly silver and pure. Stroking his thumb along the small impression along the top, it clicked between his paws, and suddenly he found himself holding two semicircles of heavy chrome.

Jerald’s tail flitted, back and forth, and his breathing deepened and quickened. He had The Punisher, open in his hands, ready to be latched around some sub. Putting one of these on was no small thing - it only opened Once. It opened, Once, and it closed, Once. If he snapped it back together, now, it would fuse, becoming a solid ring once more, and at that point it could never be used again. Well, not unless someone had a remarkably stretchy head, of course.

He closed his eyes,and lifted the twin weights in his paws, lifting it to his muzzle. He licked, his soft pink tongue tracing along the tangy, bitter metal. Licking over the smooth curves, and then over the parted ridge where it had separated. It tingled fuzzily against his tongue. 

He sighed, and brought the other one closer, kissing, adoring it with his tender tongue. This meant more to him than a lover’s cock (even that handsome lion Steven, rawr), this was purely a religious experience for the lemon curry pelted fox. 

Click.

Goodness. He hadn’t realized he had brought them so close together, but he had felt them lurch, felt his throat gripped by the solid chrome. He whined, feeling the collar, just a little too tight, squeezing against his adam’s apple. Delicious.

His shirt was pinched under it, his collar crushed against his neck,and he hurriedly unbuttoned it. His tie unwrapped, tossed onto the ground, the shirt hunt in all it’s pale pink polyester glory on one of the collar-rack’s hooks. He thought, for a second, and then pulled down his pants, as well. Might as well put them all in one place, rather than having to go hunting through the whole storeroom later, when, he had the feeling, he was going to be sore. 

	He left his socks on - after all, he didn’t know what mold or whatnot had been growing in all this dust, right? They left soft little foxy footprints as he walked through the room, pulling the plastic sheets from one table or another, examining. The deeper into the store room he got, the more extravagant, and exotic, it all became. 

The clamps and pincers were next, and adorned himself with a couple. They had looked like big black thimbles, at first, and when he had squeezed them, small little plastic barbs pushed out of the open end, like some bizarre little carnivorous flower. The thick bushy tail swept nearly to the table’s edge, as he brought it to his left nipple. The snug pink bud seemed to tighten, arching it’s back as it were, before the rubber bud leeched onto it. 

Jerald hissed between his teeth, stroking his finger against his new nipple clamp, feeling the individual barbs grinding and chewing against his nipple. “Superb.” The other nipple was equally snared, and the fox’s cock thickened a little more, already tapping eagerly against his belly, hot and bright pink, slick-tipped and as hard as new chrome collar. 

Some of it had to be the thrill of finding what had to be the world’s biggest stockpile of his favorite sex-toy manufacturer’s products. Some of it had to be the risk of getting caught, naked, wearing a collar that couldn’t be removed, that he couldn’t pay for. Hell, maybe it was a week’s worth of foxy seed pudging out his heavy, tight-sacked foxnuts. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t honestly care. 

The next things he came across were the corsets. These were no frilly victorian era lillies-n-lace deals, these were chest-crushing, gut-choking metal-reinforced  leather aprons.Some had sleeves, others had rings jutting out. He circled around the clothing rack, letting his fingers feel through the textures of the garments. The one that he wound up pulling up was made of that puffy neoprene, a heavy gauge of it, a thick sheath of it that narrowed delightfully in the center. 

He slithered into it, elbowing and fighting his way up into the gripping,stretchy material. It swallowed him, halfway down his chest before his head peeked out of the top. It squeezed and stroked down his torso, and he growled, gritting his teeth as it rubbed, pulling on those nipple buds. They held fast, but it felt like they were biting in. 

“No wonder they’re called kitty-caps. Fuuuuuck.” His cock sluiced precum down into his sheath, as he wiggled and pulled the corset down into place. It wasn’t *quite* snug enough, around the belly, and he had to pat down, feeling for the laces to pull it tighter. 

Fingering around, hugging around himself, he finally found two of hooks. They were just big enough to slip his fingers into, and he hooked them, pulling them back around to the font. The corset squeezed inwards, and he found his spine popping, crackling as his posture corrected. Each breath, now, was a conscious effort, the fox dragging air into his lungs, feeling the body wrap trying to squeeze it back out.

He felt light headed, but he was not about to stop now. He stumbled away from the corsets, to what looked to be... some kind of theater box. He leaned down - carefully bending at the waist, and peered into the two viewers. 

Nothing, darkness. He felt blindly around the side of the box, feeling for the power button. It would be late 90s technology, but, he had heard amazing things about the hypnotic images that were supposedly displayed in these little video boxes.

Click! It turned on, and a video swirled to life inside the box. It was unusual, archaic, just a series of spinning spirals and triangles, black and white with the occasional streak of yellow, and then a flash of bright green.

He gasped! Gasped, and then choked, as he felt something gush, a squirt of some gas shooting up into his nostrils. He jerked back, rubbing at his nose, peering all mistrustful at the steaming nozzle underneath the viewfinder. It had been subtle - he hadn’t even noticed the small tube, but he had pressed his nose right against it. 

He wrinkled his brow, breathing through his nose. The chemical smell clung to him, tickling his sinuses. He was lightheaded, and itchy now, his brain tickling. He could feel a rush of heat soaking down, through his arms and legs, sinking into his fingers and toes. 

He licked at his dry lips, floating past the tricky little popper-viewer. What was next? He wanted more. There was an ocean of sex toys to drown in. 

What was this table? Butt plugs? He cast the inferior ones to the side. Inflatables? Silicone bulbs with lifelike lube secreting pores? Nonsense! He knew the top shelf would have to be the most extreme, and he wanted the most extreme, he had to have the MOST extreme.

It was a peculiar metal, a sheen to it that he had never seen before. The lube pump made it glisten. One end of it was about as big as his hip, the other end basically dick shaped. The narrow end had a screw off cap, with a narrow rubber tube jutting from it. “Well.. there’s no way this end is supposed to go in first...” He turned it around and around. “It’’s kind of shaped like a doggy cock, but..” He bit his lower lip dramatically. “I’ve never tried to take a dog’s cock knot first.” 

This was a day for firsts, though. He leaned over the table, positioning his feet between the discarded lesser butt plugs, and gripped at the narrow end. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his eyes crushed closed as he speared the smooth, broad knot of the pear into his backside. 

“Hnnng. Come on, Jerald...” he had to breath, slow and steady, to keep from passing out. It was so much wider than it had looked! Another case of Fox Dilemma.  FPLOOSQRT!

It wriggled inside, freshly caught, and he grasped at the rubbery pull cord with slick fingers, wrapping it around a finger to keep it from sinking in so far. It was slithering, back and forth, trying to get comfortable no doubt. Jareld panted, eyes lidded contentedly at the feeling of his rear being stretched around the bulky thing in his rear. He was going to have to take more dog cocks knot first, in the future. 

Click.

He barely noticed it, as he carefully stood up, reaching down with slick fingers to wrap around his own cock. 

Click.

He came, immediately, almost. His knot was ragingly hard, and with fingers locking around it, it didn’t take more than a pump or two to get his seed spurting out over the display table, in long watery jets. 

Click.

His ass was singing to him, the bulb inside it stretching him out, feeling tighter and tighter with each little click. No, in fact, it WAS tighter with each click!

Click.

Again! The bulb inside him flared out - he could feel it literally splitting, spreading itself, wings unfolding one click at a time inside him. Better than that, he could feel himself shifting, stretching, molding itself around the toy to fit. 

Click.

He rolled onto the table, gasping for breath. That time it was his collar that had clicked, as a mechanism tripped, ejecting an inner core an inch up above the upper rim of the collar. It had just widened from three inches to four, and breathing had just become that much harder.

Was it going to do that every time? Jerald reached up, feeling the new contours of the collar. Now, not only could he not take it off, but... but it was going to keep track of each time he climaxed? And... lengthen? 

Surely that couldn’t be safe. 
His cock spasmed again, and he took a deep breath, trying not to spurt again. It wasn’t safe, no it wasn’t - nothing about this was safe - but Jerald didn’t stroll into this abandoned warehouse because he wanted to play backgammon with his grandmother, did he?

He got shakily to his feet, grunting, the clicking in his ass an intermittent, startling expansion, every couple of minutes. His nipples burned, rubbing at them through the tight corset making it all the worse.

What was next? Something had to be next.

A large, dark machine, a circular podium with two arms reaching up, eight feet into the air. He slapped the console, activating it from a decade’s hibernation, and hit the red button, and hopped onto the circle. The arms began to spun, as within him, the pear flared again. His shaft slapped against the arms as they spun fast, slowly picking up speed. A Peculiar - but perhaps not peculiar, in this place - humming, gurgling sound bubbled up around him, and then he was being hosed down.

It was black, and sticky, and it clung and dribbled against his flesh. His tail grew heavy with it, the little black gummy droplets sinking down between the hair follicles, leaving a black stain. It drooled over his snout, seeming to automatically slide away from his orifices but otherwise coating over his brow, down over his neck. It sneaked down, under his collar, and fused with his neoprene corset. It goosed up into his backside, following the rubber tube to join with the excruciatingly distended pear within him, and then it began to spread. 

It covered him, smothered him, a thick black rubbery gravy to his hash fries, and in a matter of minutes he was wobbling with the shifting weight of the living latex. He expected it to intrude, to take him over, to penetrate into his pristine unviolated organs, but all it did was coat him. His nostrils remained unstretched, his ear canals unblocked. 

It did seem to react to the corset, though, and suddenly it constricted, squeezing, crushing around the fox’s torso with delightful crackling sounds. He reached behind him, feeling for the small black rings, and the goop on his arms fused with the goop on his back. He felt his arms get pulled, sliding past each other, but pulling them back to his sides did nothing. It was like they were asleep, unresponsive, the muscles pulling but the bulk of his arms doing nothing in response. 

His hands slid back around to his belly, and he blinked down at them. No, that wasn’t right - his thumbs were on backwards. They continued to slide, stretching from his sides, over his belly, with soft popping, crackling sounds. Coiling around his belly, they curled back around behind him. His arms were still behind him, but now they were in front of him, too, and now behind him again? The rubbery goop was doing it, pulling and stretching, twisting them.

It had to be the poppers he had inhaled, earlier. He was tripping his balls off. Yes. And yet, as his arms snaked and crawled over his chest, he was fascinated. His own body, being used as a source of bondage? It was beyond his wildest bondage fantasies, and yet it was happening. 

His hands turned upwards, grinding over his buried nipples, and he peered down at them. Tentatively, he tried to wave his left hand - and his right hand waved back at him, before pressing into his mouth. 

He felt his tongue against his fingers, his latex-sheathed palm, and he wrapped his fingers around it, grabbing a hold of it. It was thick, strangely meaty. Why had he never thought of squeezing and rubbing along his tongue before? His other paw slid up, past his mouth, to wrap over his eyes, spreading slightly to allow him just a sliver of sight. He could wiggle his fingers enough to see more, but he didn’t want to - he rather liked the idea of himself being held captive by his own hands.

The rubber seemed to be sealing at this point, and the fox paused, doing a stretch, squatting, kicking his legs around to keep his legs from fusing together. He had to be able to walk, or else he would not be able to discover any more of the store room’s treasures. 

Jerald was being tormented. He was sure his buttocks had been spread apart, from the inside, the pear inside him having been expanding all through the encounter. He could feel a peculiar tickle of air, kissing against his insides, and he was sure he felt those metal wings jutting firmly against the inner walls of his pelvic bones, lodged soundly against it. It felt fantastic.

He knew he should be screaming in pain, panicking, but pain wasn’t the word he’d use to describe it. It was exhilarating, becoming freed, liberated of the constraints of the body he had had for twenty nine years. Perhaps it was temporary - perhaps permanent - but he wasn’t going to worry about the details, just yet.

His nipples burned, and he was sure he could feel those little CatCaps chewing on them, gnawing and maybe even suckling on them. His breathing came in slow, careful gasps, and now he was breathing entirely through his nose, since his mouth was full of his fist. The rubber there was swelling, bulging out around his fist, a thick rubbery ball that pushed his lower jaw down to almost his chest, his cheeks bulging with the massive gag. His tongue twitched and tickled, being crushed between his fingers as the rubber there squeezed it more and more into paste. 

He could barely see the next machine, but he stumbled up against it. Bending, at the waist, again, he ground his cock against it. It looked like.. gym equipment, honestly, but there was a slick-looking hole, at about waist level. He jammed his cock into it - amazingly, the rubbery sheath that had formed around it skinned back, baring his naked cock to the cool, tight grip of the machine. 

“Hggrllllgllg...” he tried to moan, to drool, as the slick machine wrapped around his cock.

It munched it’s way down, moving approximately one half of an inch, and then squeezing. It was like a... a blood pressure cuff, inflating and squeezing, feeling his shaft pulse, and then sliding down to grasp at more of it.

He wriggled his hips, as the sleeve nudged against his knot. Squeeze. He nearly spurted - but remembered the collar. 

If the collar was going to extend, each time he came, he had to ration out his ejaculations. He had to make sure that he only came when-

It wrapped around his knot, and inflated. The canvassy material, the same material used in seat belts, the reinforced sturdy plastic-nylon stuff, pressed around his cock, locking his knot in and nearly blowing one of the fox’s eyes out of it’s socket with the intense SQUEEZING.

This time, the squeeze didn’t relax, even as his cock throbbed and twitched in it’s grasp.

It pulled, instead, Pulled, slowly, firmly, stretching his cock out of it’s sheath. He couldn’t quite look down, couldn’t quite see it, but he could feel the kiss of air along the root of his cock, feel it scraping exquisitely along the inside of the blood cuff as it pulled and squeezed at him.

His cock flopped out, and the machine lurched, sliding back around it and inflating, locking it again.

It pulled, more insistently this time, and he could feel his tissues stretching, his cock stretching, lengthening. He had never been ashamed of his cock - it had been the perfectly sized cock for a fox his size, and the thickness was pleasantly decadent. He could feel it lengthening, though, tissues crackling, shifting under the intense pressure and stretching.

Hnng.

It flopped out again, and he got a glimpse of it - it looked massive, before the clamp seized it again, grasping and stroking it.

That time, watching his massive shaft getting gobbled up by the machine, the fox blew it. Even as it squeezed, pulling, his cock twitched, muscles and tendons flexing, and more watery semen flexed and gushed from the fox’s cock. He wished, wanted to reach down, to grasp and stroke himself, but, well, that was out of the question. His cock waggled and wobbled, finally jutting out of the far side of the sleeve, and he grunted as something tickled against the tip of it.

His orgasm still oozing his seed from the end, he felt a pencil-shaped... thing.. jammed up into the end. He whined around his mouthful of fist, hips wiggling, as his cock, stretched long and thin, more of a loose wobbly rope than a proper fox shaft, was stretched from the inside out. A long, bump catheter, sounding it’s way up through his rubbery flesh. The tip was narrowed like a pencil, but a few inches in, it stretched to the width of a finger. It scraped along the inside of the fox’s cock, burning along the tortured urethra, as the finger widened to the width of the fox’s former shaft. His cock was being stretched to the thinness of his sheath, just a two foot long bit of sensitive putty. 

SHINK!

The collar jammed up under his jaw, snapping it up against the bulbous gag in his maw. Just one more inch was all it had taken to press up against, and past the fox’s jawline, and with a startled huff through his nostrils, Jareld felt his skull pop right off of his spine.

He stood there a moment, while that sounding catheter snaked deeper and deeper up his cock, his eyes wide behind his rubber-fused fingers.

He wasn’t dead. No, he wasn’t dead, he could definitely feel his pulse, pounding behind his eyes. He was still thinking, still feeling the semen defiantly pushing out past the snake in his sheath.

The machine in front of him hissed, and he felt his shaft released. It dangled down, and he shivered under his rubber suit, as the tip of it scraped along the concrete floor, just skimming it, with something plugging up the end. He stood still, feeling it sway, long and low beneath him, and his heavy, swollen tail wagged. 

His cock brushed back and forth against his inner thighs, as his tail wagged. With each swish, it seemed to pull back, further and further behind, until he felt his shaft connect with his tail. It was magnetic, the way it just ‘clicked’ against his tail, and then static-clung it’s way up along the tail, until his entire shaft was tautly stretched down,around his nuts, along his tail. He groaned, feeling the sound inside his shaft twisting, grinding and stroking and stretching it further, as his tail and cock began to twist, spiralling and braiding together in their rubber sheaths. He could feel the bones in his tail separating from each other, just unlocking, as the meat of his cock was wrapped again in rubber, squeezed and twisted and rolled and twisted some more, the two appendages slowly being twisted into one tightly coiled knot of latex-squeezed flesh, a fleshy Japanese dango. As he stepped forward, his thighs crushed and ground the ‘meat knot’ between them, twisting it one way, and then as he stepped again, back the other way.  It was unbelievably intense and erotic, and Jareld prayed that it wouldn’t make him squirt again. He wasn’t even sure if he could, at this point.

His head remained propped against his extended collar, as he moved to the deepest, darkest corner of the show-room. There were machines he could not begin to fathom around him, the fox unable to even activate some of them in his current state.

There was one, though. It was a ... chair. Just a chair, really, with plate glass squares around it. Jerald's tired, exhausted mind could not think about what it could possibly be used for, so he sat on it. He would activate it later.

It was apparently pressure activated, though - as soon as Jareld sat down on it, those glass plates shifted, sliding and unlocking and grinding against each other, forming a mime box around him. Jareld went to stand up - and realized he couldn’t, with a sharp pain from his groin. Looking down, he saw that his balls were stretched, naked, furry, out away from his body. His scrotum was being pulled by an invisible hand!

No. It was... two of the plate glasses had rather neatly, cleanly come together. There was just the slimmest sliver of a crack between them, and his scrotum had somehow been on the other side of the glass, when they came together, and now they throbbed jauntily from the far side. 

Creeeeak.

That was the sound of his scrotum stretching - the plate glass wasn’t done moving. He felt those two blocks push away from his groin, his nuts being stretched, slowly pushed away from him.

Something pressed against his chest, something he couldn’t see. It was pressing against his chest, though, pushing him back against the chair.

Something else pushed against his shins, and he grunted as his knee caps sundered, popping, his body shifting under the incessant guiding of the heavy glass plates. That was, of course, what was pressing against his chest - and he could feel two more at either side, pressing against his hips and shoulders.

His balls were pulled further away, only there seemed to be a problem, now - there was another piece of glass in the way of where they were being pulled.

Jareld wiggled - he could still do that a little bit, anyways, as the weight on his chest flattened the CatCaps and nipples they chewed on against his torso. A broad, flat plane began to be clearly defined in the fox’s chest, as it was compressed downwards. 

The gag in his mouth was pushed deeper as his elbow was forced into his muzzle, the thick rubber plug slowly stretching his gullet around it, spearing down into his tonsils, and then his throat, being forced to choke on his own arm.

His balls were flattening, as they were both being stretched away from his groin, and crushed slowly between two leaden plates of glass. He could feel them flattening, slowly pancaking - unlike the rest of his body, they were not doing the pleasant crackling, popping sensation as they were breaking apart. No, this was just... raw pressure, aching, the kind of throbbing you feel if you get kicked. 

Wait, his balls hadn’t been covered in the goo!

Jareld flexed his toes, his ears hearing the sound of something go... Plurp.

Another soft shuddering sensation, as Jareld felt his testicles slowly begin to yield. Unlike the rest of his body, which was being quite neatly compacted down, his testicles were actually breaking down! 

He Nnnnngs, unable even to whuffle a breath through his nose as his elbow pressed against his upper fangs. His cock knot was being slowly, but pleasantly, tucked up into the space that the dilated pear bulb had made in his backside, his tail and knot together being crushed and squeezed  and slithered up inside of him.

Something shivered,a wet splurt felt plopping inside his pouch, and then another. His scrotum hadn’t popped, and his nuts were still two big rounded pancakes in them - more or less - but the structures inside, the noodles and shells, were crackling, crumpling, being crushed into a very real paste!

The glass plate pushing down at Jerald's head slowly squished it down into the hoop of his collar, before pushing the collar down into his chest. His torso plate had stopped, and as the one pushing down on his chest came to his shoulders, it stopped as well.

Crlk. Spfffffft. Plat. 

The two plates came to rest against each other, with the fox’s scrotum stretched as big around as a dinner plate, a thin membrane between the two plates. 

Then they began to shift, again, only this time with the fox being pancaked between them. His legs were folded up,folded at mid thigh,his feet nudging against his shoulders, the plate between them sliding out of the way so that the two could be mashed together.

He felt his scrotum slither out, feeling it slither slowly through the impossibly thin crevice between the two plates that had grabbed and stretched it.

His whole body was bent, this time at the middle of his back, folded back down onto itself, and the pool of scrotum was lifted up, slowly being scraped up over the fox’s head, scraped down along his back, a nice, smoooooooooth soft skinned leather. It juuuust perfectly fit around the fox’s folded form, and the poor, compressed, folded, spindled, twisted fox could just barely understand what was going on at this point. 

A glass plate pressed down on him, from above, flattening the new chair cushion down onto the one below it, compressing Jareld down onto all of the other foxes that had found this warehouse over the last ten years, each one folded into a neat little square of lusty fox, each of them now crushed together, in a multi-layered fox baklava. 

The fans up above went silent, and the lights flickered out, and the warehouse slowly faded from view, waiting until another hapless fox would walk nearby.

If there had been anyone around to listen as the warehouse faded from view, they might have just barely heard the maniacal, ghostly laughter of a tiger… though there wasn’t, so sadly, it went unheard.

Or... DID it... somewhere, a tiger maaaay have gotten an email from his friend Jareld, with one heeeck of a  video attached to it! and a subject line that only said

“SEND MOAR FOXES”

“...Ah yes, I was wondering where that place had gotten to!  Hmmm, more foxes… yes I think I can do that.”