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What's a munk boy to do with himself? Especially when he's hovering on the border of so many issues.\n\nBeware, kink awaits.\n\nALSO!\n\nTurns out, this is going to end up the first chapter of a new novel. Leashed\n\nBet you can guess why once you read it. \n\nSo if you want to see that novel next, be sure to click on the arrow for the appropriate pool", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Poor Simon. What's a munk boy to do with himself? Especially when he's hovering on the border of so many issues.

Beware, kink awaits.

ALSO!

Turns out, this is going to end up the first chapter of a new novel. Leashed

Bet you can guess why once you read it.

So if you want to see that novel next, be sure to click on the arrow for the appropriate pool", "writing": "Collared Chapter 47: Simon Sez:\nBy TerraMGP\n\n\tSimon Miller never counted himself very lucky. Hell, it was right there in the name. His parents always claimed they just liked the name. That they never knew where it came from. The fact that there was a wildly popular cartoon franchise about tween idols when they were little kids didn’t even seem to enter into their minds.\n\n\tCould have been worse, though. He could have been named Snakeeyes.\n\n\tOften times Simon found himself thinking about that lack of luck when he had nothing better to do. Like now, in his cubical. Four felt walls just barely big enough to hide behind when sitting. A dock for his work laptop and the cheapest ass monitor the company could reasonably get in bulk providing the only contrast to the equally cheap fluorescents buzzing and blaring overhead.\n\n\tOnce again the brown-haired chipmunk boy found himself leaning too far forwards in his theoretically ergonomic office chair, gnawing at the tip of a stylus he barely ever used while his free paw rolled the scroll wheel on a too tiny, too shitty little mouse. One ear bud filled him with the sounds of people laughing as they went though a D&D game and honestly made the hobby sound epic as hell. The other twitched around waiting to be interrupted. His right foot was cocked up at an angle while the left heel sat on the toes of the right. His forest green Chuck Taylors bending back against his sock heel while the left shoe hung off of his foot and swayed to a tuneless rhythm by his toes.\n\n\t“Hey, Simon” The inevitable interruption came from a stallion leaning on top of his cube wall. Simon instinctively shrank from the voice, then turned to look up at the brown and black furred figure towering over him. “Just thought I’d give you a heads up. Boss wants you to go over the stubs for that catering company again. He said he wants to make sure their work is in order before we get slammed in January with the big accounts.”\n\n\t“Got it, Sir.” Simon muttered, and watched the man go. He knew his name, he thought. One of about a dozen senior people on staff who felt the best idea for a small accounting firm was to dump their grunt work on one of the two interns and hope for the best. Back when he started the young man may have seen this in a different light. ‘All hands on deck’ and so on. Now he knew better. Odds were good that same guy was going to go out and bang a chick he met at a club or whatever the fuck normies did. Why not? He had his CPA and Simon was technically still a year away from his. This internship was way better than some job stocking shelves at Meijer, but it was still putting him at the low end of the totem pole.\n\n\tHe minimized the window for his current task a moment and pulled open the new task from the cloud. Things were probably ‘fine’. Or rather, the company likely used undocumented migrant workers they could easily threaten with deportation and his boss was making sure they were covered. That was another thing cynical little Simon had figured out since he started working. It was always a scam, and people were always in on it. His job, it seemed, was to make sure nothing was so blatant that the IRS would get involved. That’s what they were paid for. That was probably what every firm on the planet was paid for.\n\n\tRight now there were only two very small saving graces in his life. The first being that he at least had to be paid for his overtime. While he imagined most of the people he looked at with Spanish-sounding names were being browbeaten into working extra hours or working under a fake name, an accounting firm had to keep their people as close to the letter of the law as they could. The second was that tomorrow was Thursday, and he had a standing appointment on Thursdays. The one big thing he lived for at this point. The one thing that kept him going on with this dull, mindless trudge.\n\n--------------------\n\n\tIt was eight by the time Simon got home. Part of that was down to a Meijer run. Half an hour to nab pop, paper towels and a few other sundries. Most of it was work, though. Whatever exploitation of poor migrants was going on with the catering company it all looked fine on paper, and that was his only real job. That’s why he got paid the big bucks. That’s why he could afford this ‘wonderful’ walk up. The top half of a two floor house that had been clumsily split in two as a way to rent it out as a theoretical duplex.\n\n\tFirst thing was always first. He walked up to the bars of the large bird cage dominating a good portion of the living room wall.\n\n\t“Hey there, Artemis” Simon pulled the cage door opened and checked on the little faux stone water bowl sitting in the corner of the cage. As was her typical behavior the curious little owl finch hopped her way up to his hand and began to very gently poke at it with her beak tip. He went though the usual routine of ensuring her cage was clean and gave the girl a few strokes along her soft feathered neck. Happy little warbles rewarding him before she inevitably turned her attention back to the seed cake he’d freshly hung up next to her mirror.\n\n\tThe ‘Living room’ in question was one of the two rooms converted from what had once been a bevy of bedrooms and spare rooms set up in the space. As a result it lacked any sort of real ergonomics or flow. Simon had done his best to adapt. Artemis’ enclosure on one wall, a large book shelf mostly filled with a mix of sci-fi and academic nonfiction at the other. Across from said bookshelf the TV was mounted with a shelf for his various consoles and old games. This left the couch sitting smack dab in the middle of the room. It felt off, but it was the best he could do. The center piece was going to be the corner-desk he’d gotten for the sake of holding his sweet computer rig. A glistening case with a custom wrap printed up by his little sister. Painstaking piping and cable management for a clean look. All built around an AMD 5900X and an RTX 2080 Ti. His baby had been such a joy when dragging him all over the streets of Night City, letting him swoop down with mantis blades on anyone unlucky enough to be in his path.\n\n\tLately, though, things had been different. He made his way to that same table only to nab a set of four objects. The first were a set of headphones set along the rim with LEDs, along with a pair of bottles. One large and one small. He scooped all three of those up in one arm, and then came the fourth. A long, firm silicon rubber shaft molded in an absurd shape. Simon sighed as he looked at it. Probably about two inches in diameter. It was covered in knobs and bumps that evoked a sense of chitin, or maybe scales. Whatever it was looked unlike anything an actual person would have between their legs. That‘s why it was, supposedly, a ‘dragon‘ dildo. \n\n\tWith the items in place, Simon began his little ritual. The lights were dimmed and the TV linked to his computer. The beast kicking to life with a flicker of LED light in the now dark corner of the blackened room. Off came both the button up shirt Simon favored and the simple white tee he kept underneath. Then his shorts, before finally he began wiggling out of his tight little briefs leaving him standing there in only socks and shoes. He used a Bluetooth controller to scroll though the play lists from his VCL player until finally reaching the correct one. He didn’t press play though, not quite yet. Simon looked down. \n\n\tHe was already hard. Not that he was particularly impressive. Four inches at best and ‘cut’. Which some girls might like. Really he didn’t know what they liked anymore. He just guessed they would never like him. Which he’d more than come to terms with by this point. He then cracked the lid on the bottle of poppers to get it ready, and flicked open his container of lube, letting some of it slip over the index and middle finger of his left hand. When he’d purchased the dragon toy he imagined it would have been the target of that lube. He told himself he just wasn’t prepared for it. That was too much for a beginner like him. In truth, though, he knew it was just the worry. The idea of what it symbolized. Putting that ‘thing’ into himself was just that little nudge too close to ‘gay’. Even a loser like him couldn’t cross that line.\n\n\tInstead the shaft sat there like an idol on the coffee table while Simon started up the video. A teasing girl’s voice chiming in. “Are you ready little Faggot?” It asked. He nodded as always. Flickering strobes of light filled his vision as he looked at the cute E-girl on screen. Clips from some random person’s Onlyfurs account he was sure. “Just relax, and we’re going to turn you into what you really are. A worthless, hopeless, pathetic little cock addicted slut. Just watch the words on screen and obey. No need to think. Oh, and don’t forget the poppers”\n\n\tSimon bit his lip and looked down at the bottle, his glasses slipping down his face a bit as he did. That was always the worst part. Or at least, the worst part from what he allowed himself. He had no idea if these things were illegal. He’d gotten a gift card to order them. It still felt like he was doing ‘drugs’ though. More than caffeine. The idea sent a shudder down his scrawny, wiry, androgynous-bordering-on-feminine body. He really shouldn’t be doing this. But all the videos seemed to push it, and being told to somehow made it hotter.\n\n\tSoon the track picked up again and those thoughts began to vanish. One paw stroked at his cute little cock while the other nervously pushed his middle finger slowly past that tight virgin pucker. Simon found himself twitching now and then while he stroked and bounced. A cacophony of voices began to tell him things. How hopeless he was. How worthless he was. That he wasn’t a man. That he was disposable, replicable. That he didn’t have limits or rights. That he lived to please a man’s dick. All the while images kept flashing. Images of cute girls being tied up, or used, or hit. Scenes stolen whole cloth from actual porn productions be they things with a budget or just girls on cams. \n\n\tEvery once in a while Simon was aware that he was sniffing in the strange chemicals from the bottle, and he’d feel it hit his head like a truck. Straight laced little Simon coughed and huffed while making the barest hint of an Ahegao face. It felt good. It felt so very good. Like pins being shoved into the very core of his soul. Some horrific need he couldn’t name propelled him to continue bouncing on those digits as he squatted there between couch and table. Allowing himself to be violated by these videos. Participating in his own corruption while his fingers fumbled for that aching button in his ass.\n\n\tHe didn’t cum, though. He didn’t dare. The video didn’t allow it for one. Some had. None of them were in this list, though. This list had been carefully chosen to edge and goon. Something the would-be sissy selected to help keep him horny and eager, something to rob him of even more control.\n\n\tAt some point another girl’s voice came on. Even now the poor boy was dimly aware of it. He almost wished he wasn’t. The idea of being so far gone it all just sank into his brain was so damn hot. He did know he was using two fingers now. He knew he was swatting at his shaft and his overly full balls. He felt some drool soaking in to his chest fur and brushing along his nipples. All of that faded when the poppers hit again. When music rose back up with more shameful humiliation in order to crush him. \n\n\tHe had no control over the ritual. It didn’t stop until the play list was done. Not unless something serious snapped him out of it. He found himself dimly aware of the aches in his hands and how his thighs burned. If Simon had control he might have stopped. Early on he did. But it would be such a good workout to get and keep the scrawny waif body a sissy like him deserved. Women kept telling him how much he craved cock, and the ache of their words spurred him on. A poor little straight boy, trapped in a loop of bobbing on his fingers and jerking his dick while pretty girls rewrote his mind.\n\n\tA simple, near holy experience. Four days a week. All leading up to his ‘church’ on Thursday.\n\n\tThat stray thought amid the sea of sensory overload made his hand drop on instinct. By now it really was too late for him. Thoughts of ‘her’ being enough to almost make him cum.\n\n--------------------\n\n\tSimon‘s standing appointment after work was the one thing he‘d never miss. He‘d all but planned his day around it by this point. It was ritual by now. As ritual as his play lists. He showed up in street clothes while one of the two ‘maids’ working here ushered him in. It was always a different one working the door and he frankly could never remember their names.\n\n\tHe was led to the bar, where the Madame would take his card as payment, and in return hand him a stack of bills. A fraction of his fee. He wondered if some people might consider trying to withhold part of it. But then he didn’t imagine anyone would dare in this club. Especially not if they were anything like him.\n\n\tHe would then be shown into a room. One where Justine would keep him waiting at least five minutes. He wasn’t allowed to strip during that time. Wasn’t allowed anything beyond standing there waiting. Plenty of people would likely complain. To him, it was perfect. A little added spice of denial and anticipation hammering at his head.\n\n\tWhen she did come in, he knew what to do. The wad of bills were put lengthwise in his mouth and he slowly lowered to his knees, arms crossed behind his back. He closed his eyes and looked up, waiting patiently for Mistress to take the offering. A pathetic little fee in exchange for being graced by her presence.\n\n\t“You finally showed up” The bored tone of the goth girl otter rang in his ear. Fingertips in leather opera gloves traced along the nape of his neck. They then grabbed the wad of bills and pulled them free leaving him to look down at the floor and nod meekly.\n\n\tHe wanted to strip. More than anything Simon yearned to start. He longed to be changed like the little faggot doll he was. In truth, sitting here as ‘Simon’ was already churning his gut with anxiety. At least as ‘Simone’ he had a mask to hide behind.\n\n\tMistress took longer than usual to count the money. She then set the stack down next to the throne and slipped into it. She pulled a clove cigarette between those purple painted lips. Lips that matched the long goth-cut purple headfur that was so beautiful Simon didn’t even care if it was a wig. He looked into the one visible blue eye. A sharp orb narrowed in bitter condescension. She was eyeing him up carefully. That look on her face made it feel like Miss Justine could kick his scrawny ass out at any moment.\n\n\t“I’ve been thinking about you” She muttered. The loud flick of a cheap lighter and the smell filled the room, mingling with her perfume.\n\n\t“Thank you, Mistress” Simon whimpered\n\n\t“I didn’t say it was a good thing” Justine snapped. “Have you been working on your voice training, slut? Or training that sad little cunt of yours?”\n\n\t“I’ve been trying, ma’am” Simon tried to say it in the ‘Simone’ voice. What he imagined ‘Simone’ would sound like. In reality it was little more than just tensing up his throat and hoping for the best. Simone was just Mistress’ dolly. Her little pay-to-play dress up toy. She ‘was’ whatever Miss Justine said. That was the point. \n\n\tAnd yet that somehow made it so much harder to work on ‘her’ voice the way he was told. He somehow didn’t know what voice she should have.\n\n\tHe was brought back to awareness by a few heavy, muted snaps. Justine held her hand down by her boot. Simon’s eyes moved along it, moved up her legs again until finally settling on that shining silver caged cock between her legs. It strained against its confines with swollen balls hanging under it. God if only the club would let him, he’d love it if she made him clean and worship those balls. Honor the woman who he yearned to please more than life itself. Feel even a small taste of her utter superiority.\n\n\tSimons’ eyes stayed fixed on that as he crawled closer. When close he leaned back and instinctively opened his mouth. Bitter, toe-curling ashes fell flat on his tongue. The heat of the burning cigarette end mere inches from the sensitive muscle. He cold feel it. He could smell it. It was such an impersonal use of an unimportant little slut like him.\n\n\tJustine rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, whatever.” The words would have fit into the mouth of any bored goth in any 90s or 00s movie. It sent sparks though Simons spine and curled his gut into a tiny knot. “Look, it’s pretty clear things aren’t working the way they are now. I think it’s time for a change.”\n\n\t“A change, Miss?” he stammered the words and his eyes fell on that caged shaft. His own tiny cock twitched at the idea. Justine caught it. The beautiful otter wrinkled her nose and scoffed loudly “No, you don’t get to try that again. You haven’t ‘earned’ a cage yet, cunt.”\n\n\n\t“Yes Ma’am!” He went rigid once more. He could feel his cheeks burning. She’d tried caging him for a while. It was only two weeks. Something about it, it seemed, was unacceptable to her. She wasn’t willing to be keyholder for him. Maybe he was about to find out why.\n\n\tJustine took another five minutes to enjoy her little cigarette. Simon was glad it wasn’t tobacco, at least. The idea of being addicted to something like that was terrifying and he was pretty sure being Miss’ perpetual ashtray would cause it. Though at the same time, he’d do it for her. Justine stood once more and started to walk around him. Her hand tracing his face, his neck. Fingers running though his brown headfur. “I think the problem is you aren’t a Simone. Every outfit I try on you. Every pose, every shameful act. You obey. You submit. But you don’t ‘feel’ it, do you?”\n\n\t“I.. I don’t?” It was news to him. Simon whimpered and tried to look up at him. A small smack on the cheek sent his eyes back down at the floor.\n\n\t“No, you’re not. You’re afraid to get fucked, for one. I’m sure there are plenty of women named Simone who are perfectly bashful and chaste. But you’re not one of them now are you?”\n\n\t“I guess not, ma’am?” He whimpered\n\n\t“You’re a kinky little freak. But you’re scared. You need to be ‘forced’ into it. You need that little pretense. You’re a shy, dorky, sad little loser. Everyone’s second choice. The kind of girl who shops at whatever store your mommy says has the best sales, not the kind to try on all those trendy designer brands. Right?”\n\n\tIt was a bit odd. It was at least partially true of Simon himself. He always tried to look at least acceptable. To know how a man like him would look best and keep himself clean. Deep down, though, he was never the type to be ‘preppy’ or ‘trendy’. He had always been bully bait in high school. Hell ever since school started. This girl that Mistress was describing, well it was going to be ‘her’ no matter what. Simon was her little dolly after all. But somehow it felt like Miss Justine was hitting close to home. Maybe too close.\n\n\tThen, without warning, Simon felt his hair pulled back. No concern for his comfort. No regard for the bushy mop’s roots being tugged or the way he squealed. The first girly noise he’d really made that night. Miss Justine was doing something back there. He couldn’t see. But he heard a tiny bit of sadistic pleasure in her growl. \n\n\tThere was a loud pop and a sadistic snap. Simon puckered on instinct, expecting the waxy smooth brush of lipstick over his lips. Instead what he got was something a bit different. Thinner and tasting oddly of cherries? Or maybe some off brand cherry cola? His glasses were then snatched off and a new set of frames replaced them. He was thankful his prescription wasn’t ‘that’ bad. \n\n\tMiss Justine grabbed hard on to what now felt like a bushy ponytail. Or something similar. He had no idea what it was called but he felt the elastic band with two large plastic balls holding a bundle of his headfur in place. “No, you’re not a Simone. You dress frumpy, you read all the time, you need someone to push you around and keep you from fucking up your sad little dork life. We both know what you really are deep down. I feel almost stupid for not seeing it sooner. You are not a Simone”\n\n\tWith that, his face was turned to the mirror, forced to look at his own reflection. The generically slutty girl that had been plastered over him in other sessions gone. What he saw instead made his heart freeze. His ears drooping even as Miss Justine leaned in and cooed into one of them\n\n\t“You’re a Jeanette”\n\n--------------------\n\n\tThe Nissan was yelling at him again. Naturally it had to happen on a Saturday. Simon didn’t know the first thing about cars. Really all he knew was to check Reddit, and everyone there said to take it in before he’d have to tow it in.\n\n\tSo that’s what he did. He found the closest mechanic with four stars, called to make sure they could and would take him, then drove in early so he would still have time to catch an Uber to class. \n\n\t“Well we gotta take a look at it, but I can tell ya right now it’s probably going to be an issue with the engine.” The large and rather aggressive sounding warthog man said while rubbing some grease off of his paws with a cloth. Admittedly, the man wasn’t actually being aggressive. Some small shred of Simon did worry it was just him being instinctively nervous around an Afrofur. But then he reminded himself that he’d felt this way around plenty of other Eurofur’s who were more ‘real men’. It wasn’t subconscious racism. He was just a wimp. A sad, sexless, spineless wimp.\n\n\tAnd walking around in a garage full of tough looking men wasn’t helping his self esteem.\n\n\tThe man walked Simon from the front desk back into the garage with a small and casual smile. Something that’d probably put less anxious people at ease. “Anything you need out of it I’d say grab now. It might be nothing. But considering the rep these things have I’mma guess it’ll be here overnight. That’s ok, right?”\n\n\t“W-well I guess.” Simon muttered to the man. Looking up at his hulking frame. Far more actual weight lifter than body builder, and he was a touch ashamed he knew that fact. “Yeah I do have to get my laptop bag and a few other things out. I mean I don’t think anyone here will rob me but I need those for work and school. Plus a few other things I might want. Though like, the stuff I leave in there won’t get broken, right?” He whimpered “not that I think your guys are careless or anything!”\n\n\t“Eh, don’t sweat it, kid” the man shrugged “It’s better if you don’t leave anything in the care you’re not prepared to lose when this stuff happens. No offense taken. Hey! Newbie!” The man suddenly turned and whistled. It was an homage to that Scrubs show, or at least that’s what Simon assumed.\n\n\tA few moments later a young fur stepped out from behind one of the other cars. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of headphones around his neck. Face and paws stained and streaked with grease while a tool that Simon was pretty sure to be a torque wrench rested in one paw. Or maybe it was called a ratchet?\n\n\tThose facts all fell away though. All of them shattered in the face of the blonde Otter boy standing there. His arms not exactly bulging, but shown to have more definition than one would expect in the sleeveless shirt, as did his chest. The features were, however, unmistakable. Even without the makeup. Even without the wig and corset and those long leather gloves. He could tell.\n\n\t“Kid” The shop’s boss gestured to Justine, only it wasn’t Justine. God only knew what her , his, real name might be. “Make sure Mister Miller here gets everything he needs out of his car, then run a check on it. Talk to me before you start fixing anything. Got it?” The man’s voice taking on the tone of a scolding teacher with the last sentience as he wagged his massive, calloused finger. “I don’t care how minor it might be. We gotta keep everything itemized and tracked around here. Alright, Justin?”\n\n\tJustine, Justin, nodded. A half hearted little ‘sure thing, Boss’ slipping from his lips as the man walked off. He then turned to Simon. Those eyes. Those cold, ice-blue eyes. They were the same. The gripped the poor munk’s heart in a chilling embrace the way Justine always had. Yet now here ‘he’ was. An epitome of young masculinity. A boy, sure. But so much closer to a ‘real man’ than Simon ever could be. Even as a small blush and a few twinges of embarrassment crept over that muzzle. Cute Was it wrong to call it cute? Obviously it was. Boys were not cute, and he was sure Justin wouldn’t appreciate that right now. Especially not here.\n\n\tConfusion and excitement were causing Simon’s heart to thud nearly out of his chest. He gripped his own elbow the way he so often did on Thursdays. Only it was not Thursday and he was not in the least bit emotionally prepared for this.\n\n\t“So.” Justin’s voice lacked any falsetto. That natural tenor-bordering-on-baritone voice sent another shudder though Simon’s spine. How that voice could become the domineering woman he worshiped was beyond him. Yet in an instant that was what shot though the poor boy’s brain. For a moment the whole world seemed to go fuzzy\n\n\t“You doing ok?” Justin’s words snapped Simon out of it, and he nodded meekly\n\n\t“Good.” Justin nodded. “Like I said just let me know if you have any questions. Though we probably won’t know anything until about closing time today. You’ll get a text when we do. Honestly you’re lucky it’s so slow in December. Otherwise it’d take a couple of days to get to it.”\n\n\t“T-that’s ok” Simon whimpered “I uh, I don’t want to put you guys out or anything.”\n\n\t“It’s your car, Simon” As if any question were left, that sealed it. The otter turned and made his way around to the back of the car, nodding “You’ll need to hurry up if you want to get a ride anywhere soon. Most rideshare guys are slow this time of day.”\n\n\t“Yeah, ok, got it. Thank you” and without even realizing it, without intending it, without even thinking, his whole body was afire. His heart beat like a stereotypical anime schoolgirl in a Shojo. His toes curled in his Chucks. He bit down on his lip and twitched at the sea of emotions flooding him. Any pretense of their equality in his mind shattering as he loosed a tiny involuntary ‘Sir.”\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Collared Chapter 47: Simon Sez:
By TerraMGP

\tSimon Miller never counted himself very lucky. Hell, it was right there in the name. His parents always claimed they just liked the name. That they never knew where it came from. The fact that there was a wildly popular cartoon franchise about tween idols when they were little kids didn’t even seem to enter into their minds.

\tCould have been worse, though. He could have been named Snakeeyes.

\tOften times Simon found himself thinking about that lack of luck when he had nothing better to do. Like now, in his cubical. Four felt walls just barely big enough to hide behind when sitting. A dock for his work laptop and the cheapest ass monitor the company could reasonably get in bulk providing the only contrast to the equally cheap fluorescents buzzing and blaring overhead.

\tOnce again the brown-haired chipmunk boy found himself leaning too far forwards in his theoretically ergonomic office chair, gnawing at the tip of a stylus he barely ever used while his free paw rolled the scroll wheel on a too tiny, too shitty little mouse. One ear bud filled him with the sounds of people laughing as they went though a D&D game and honestly made the hobby sound epic as hell. The other twitched around waiting to be interrupted. His right foot was cocked up at an angle while the left heel sat on the toes of the right. His forest green Chuck Taylors bending back against his sock heel while the left shoe hung off of his foot and swayed to a tuneless rhythm by his toes.

\t“Hey, Simon” The inevitable interruption came from a stallion leaning on top of his cube wall. Simon instinctively shrank from the voice, then turned to look up at the brown and black furred figure towering over him. “Just thought I’d give you a heads up. Boss wants you to go over the stubs for that catering company again. He said he wants to make sure their work is in order before we get slammed in January with the big accounts.”

\t“Got it, Sir.” Simon muttered, and watched the man go. He knew his name, he thought. One of about a dozen senior people on staff who felt the best idea for a small accounting firm was to dump their grunt work on one of the two interns and hope for the best. Back when he started the young man may have seen this in a different light. ‘All hands on deck’ and so on. Now he knew better. Odds were good that same guy was going to go out and bang a chick he met at a club or whatever the fuck normies did. Why not? He had his CPA and Simon was technically still a year away from his. This internship was way better than some job stocking shelves at Meijer, but it was still putting him at the low end of the totem pole.

\tHe minimized the window for his current task a moment and pulled open the new task from the cloud. Things were probably ‘fine’. Or rather, the company likely used undocumented migrant workers they could easily threaten with deportation and his boss was making sure they were covered. That was another thing cynical little Simon had figured out since he started working. It was always a scam, and people were always in on it. His job, it seemed, was to make sure nothing was so blatant that the IRS would get involved. That’s what they were paid for. That was probably what every firm on the planet was paid for.

\tRight now there were only two very small saving graces in his life. The first being that he at least had to be paid for his overtime. While he imagined most of the people he looked at with Spanish-sounding names were being browbeaten into working extra hours or working under a fake name, an accounting firm had to keep their people as close to the letter of the law as they could. The second was that tomorrow was Thursday, and he had a standing appointment on Thursdays. The one big thing he lived for at this point. The one thing that kept him going on with this dull, mindless trudge.

--------------------

\tIt was eight by the time Simon got home. Part of that was down to a Meijer run. Half an hour to nab pop, paper towels and a few other sundries. Most of it was work, though. Whatever exploitation of poor migrants was going on with the catering company it all looked fine on paper, and that was his only real job. That’s why he got paid the big bucks. That’s why he could afford this ‘wonderful’ walk up. The top half of a two floor house that had been clumsily split in two as a way to rent it out as a theoretical duplex.

\tFirst thing was always first. He walked up to the bars of the large bird cage dominating a good portion of the living room wall.

\t“Hey there, Artemis” Simon pulled the cage door opened and checked on the little faux stone water bowl sitting in the corner of the cage. As was her typical behavior the curious little owl finch hopped her way up to his hand and began to very gently poke at it with her beak tip. He went though the usual routine of ensuring her cage was clean and gave the girl a few strokes along her soft feathered neck. Happy little warbles rewarding him before she inevitably turned her attention back to the seed cake he’d freshly hung up next to her mirror.

\tThe ‘Living room’ in question was one of the two rooms converted from what had once been a bevy of bedrooms and spare rooms set up in the space. As a result it lacked any sort of real ergonomics or flow. Simon had done his best to adapt. Artemis’ enclosure on one wall, a large book shelf mostly filled with a mix of sci-fi and academic nonfiction at the other. Across from said bookshelf the TV was mounted with a shelf for his various consoles and old games. This left the couch sitting smack dab in the middle of the room. It felt off, but it was the best he could do. The center piece was going to be the corner-desk he’d gotten for the sake of holding his sweet computer rig. A glistening case with a custom wrap printed up by his little sister. Painstaking piping and cable management for a clean look. All built around an AMD 5900X and an RTX 2080 Ti. His baby had been such a joy when dragging him all over the streets of Night City, letting him swoop down with mantis blades on anyone unlucky enough to be in his path.

\tLately, though, things had been different. He made his way to that same table only to nab a set of four objects. The first were a set of headphones set along the rim with LEDs, along with a pair of bottles. One large and one small. He scooped all three of those up in one arm, and then came the fourth. A long, firm silicon rubber shaft molded in an absurd shape. Simon sighed as he looked at it. Probably about two inches in diameter. It was covered in knobs and bumps that evoked a sense of chitin, or maybe scales. Whatever it was looked unlike anything an actual person would have between their legs. That‘s why it was, supposedly, a ‘dragon‘ dildo.

\tWith the items in place, Simon began his little ritual. The lights were dimmed and the TV linked to his computer. The beast kicking to life with a flicker of LED light in the now dark corner of the blackened room. Off came both the button up shirt Simon favored and the simple white tee he kept underneath. Then his shorts, before finally he began wiggling out of his tight little briefs leaving him standing there in only socks and shoes. He used a Bluetooth controller to scroll though the play lists from his VCL player until finally reaching the correct one. He didn’t press play though, not quite yet. Simon looked down.

\tHe was already hard. Not that he was particularly impressive. Four inches at best and ‘cut’. Which some girls might like. Really he didn’t know what they liked anymore. He just guessed they would never like him. Which he’d more than come to terms with by this point. He then cracked the lid on the bottle of poppers to get it ready, and flicked open his container of lube, letting some of it slip over the index and middle finger of his left hand. When he’d purchased the dragon toy he imagined it would have been the target of that lube. He told himself he just wasn’t prepared for it. That was too much for a beginner like him. In truth, though, he knew it was just the worry. The idea of what it symbolized. Putting that ‘thing’ into himself was just that little nudge too close to ‘gay’. Even a loser like him couldn’t cross that line.

\tInstead the shaft sat there like an idol on the coffee table while Simon started up the video. A teasing girl’s voice chiming in. “Are you ready little Faggot?” It asked. He nodded as always. Flickering strobes of light filled his vision as he looked at the cute E-girl on screen. Clips from some random person’s Onlyfurs account he was sure. “Just relax, and we’re going to turn you into what you really are. A worthless, hopeless, pathetic little cock addicted slut. Just watch the words on screen and obey. No need to think. Oh, and don’t forget the poppers”

\tSimon bit his lip and looked down at the bottle, his glasses slipping down his face a bit as he did. That was always the worst part. Or at least, the worst part from what he allowed himself. He had no idea if these things were illegal. He’d gotten a gift card to order them. It still felt like he was doing ‘drugs’ though. More than caffeine. The idea sent a shudder down his scrawny, wiry, androgynous-bordering-on-feminine body. He really shouldn’t be doing this. But all the videos seemed to push it, and being told to somehow made it hotter.

\tSoon the track picked up again and those thoughts began to vanish. One paw stroked at his cute little cock while the other nervously pushed his middle finger slowly past that tight virgin pucker. Simon found himself twitching now and then while he stroked and bounced. A cacophony of voices began to tell him things. How hopeless he was. How worthless he was. That he wasn’t a man. That he was disposable, replicable. That he didn’t have limits or rights. That he lived to please a man’s dick. All the while images kept flashing. Images of cute girls being tied up, or used, or hit. Scenes stolen whole cloth from actual porn productions be they things with a budget or just girls on cams.

\tEvery once in a while Simon was aware that he was sniffing in the strange chemicals from the bottle, and he’d feel it hit his head like a truck. Straight laced little Simon coughed and huffed while making the barest hint of an Ahegao face. It felt good. It felt so very good. Like pins being shoved into the very core of his soul. Some horrific need he couldn’t name propelled him to continue bouncing on those digits as he squatted there between couch and table. Allowing himself to be violated by these videos. Participating in his own corruption while his fingers fumbled for that aching button in his ass.

\tHe didn’t cum, though. He didn’t dare. The video didn’t allow it for one. Some had. None of them were in this list, though. This list had been carefully chosen to edge and goon. Something the would-be sissy selected to help keep him horny and eager, something to rob him of even more control.

\tAt some point another girl’s voice came on. Even now the poor boy was dimly aware of it. He almost wished he wasn’t. The idea of being so far gone it all just sank into his brain was so damn hot. He did know he was using two fingers now. He knew he was swatting at his shaft and his overly full balls. He felt some drool soaking in to his chest fur and brushing along his nipples. All of that faded when the poppers hit again. When music rose back up with more shameful humiliation in order to crush him.

\tHe had no control over the ritual. It didn’t stop until the play list was done. Not unless something serious snapped him out of it. He found himself dimly aware of the aches in his hands and how his thighs burned. If Simon had control he might have stopped. Early on he did. But it would be such a good workout to get and keep the scrawny waif body a sissy like him deserved. Women kept telling him how much he craved cock, and the ache of their words spurred him on. A poor little straight boy, trapped in a loop of bobbing on his fingers and jerking his dick while pretty girls rewrote his mind.

\tA simple, near holy experience. Four days a week. All leading up to his ‘church’ on Thursday.

\tThat stray thought amid the sea of sensory overload made his hand drop on instinct. By now it really was too late for him. Thoughts of ‘her’ being enough to almost make him cum.

--------------------

\tSimon‘s standing appointment after work was the one thing he‘d never miss. He‘d all but planned his day around it by this point. It was ritual by now. As ritual as his play lists. He showed up in street clothes while one of the two ‘maids’ working here ushered him in. It was always a different one working the door and he frankly could never remember their names.

\tHe was led to the bar, where the Madame would take his card as payment, and in return hand him a stack of bills. A fraction of his fee. He wondered if some people might consider trying to withhold part of it. But then he didn’t imagine anyone would dare in this club. Especially not if they were anything like him.

\tHe would then be shown into a room. One where Justine would keep him waiting at least five minutes. He wasn’t allowed to strip during that time. Wasn’t allowed anything beyond standing there waiting. Plenty of people would likely complain. To him, it was perfect. A little added spice of denial and anticipation hammering at his head.

\tWhen she did come in, he knew what to do. The wad of bills were put lengthwise in his mouth and he slowly lowered to his knees, arms crossed behind his back. He closed his eyes and looked up, waiting patiently for Mistress to take the offering. A pathetic little fee in exchange for being graced by her presence.

\t“You finally showed up” The bored tone of the goth girl otter rang in his ear. Fingertips in leather opera gloves traced along the nape of his neck. They then grabbed the wad of bills and pulled them free leaving him to look down at the floor and nod meekly.

\tHe wanted to strip. More than anything Simon yearned to start. He longed to be changed like the little faggot doll he was. In truth, sitting here as ‘Simon’ was already churning his gut with anxiety. At least as ‘Simone’ he had a mask to hide behind.

\tMistress took longer than usual to count the money. She then set the stack down next to the throne and slipped into it. She pulled a clove cigarette between those purple painted lips. Lips that matched the long goth-cut purple headfur that was so beautiful Simon didn’t even care if it was a wig. He looked into the one visible blue eye. A sharp orb narrowed in bitter condescension. She was eyeing him up carefully. That look on her face made it feel like Miss Justine could kick his scrawny ass out at any moment.

\t“I’ve been thinking about you” She muttered. The loud flick of a cheap lighter and the smell filled the room, mingling with her perfume.

\t“Thank you, Mistress” Simon whimpered

\t“I didn’t say it was a good thing” Justine snapped. “Have you been working on your voice training, slut? Or training that sad little cunt of yours?”

\t“I’ve been trying, ma’am” Simon tried to say it in the ‘Simone’ voice. What he imagined ‘Simone’ would sound like. In reality it was little more than just tensing up his throat and hoping for the best. Simone was just Mistress’ dolly. Her little pay-to-play dress up toy. She ‘was’ whatever Miss Justine said. That was the point.

\tAnd yet that somehow made it so much harder to work on ‘her’ voice the way he was told. He somehow didn’t know what voice she should have.

\tHe was brought back to awareness by a few heavy, muted snaps. Justine held her hand down by her boot. Simon’s eyes moved along it, moved up her legs again until finally settling on that shining silver caged cock between her legs. It strained against its confines with swollen balls hanging under it. God if only the club would let him, he’d love it if she made him clean and worship those balls. Honor the woman who he yearned to please more than life itself. Feel even a small taste of her utter superiority.

\tSimons’ eyes stayed fixed on that as he crawled closer. When close he leaned back and instinctively opened his mouth. Bitter, toe-curling ashes fell flat on his tongue. The heat of the burning cigarette end mere inches from the sensitive muscle. He cold feel it. He could smell it. It was such an impersonal use of an unimportant little slut like him.

\tJustine rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, whatever.” The words would have fit into the mouth of any bored goth in any 90s or 00s movie. It sent sparks though Simons spine and curled his gut into a tiny knot. “Look, it’s pretty clear things aren’t working the way they are now. I think it’s time for a change.”

\t“A change, Miss?” he stammered the words and his eyes fell on that caged shaft. His own tiny cock twitched at the idea. Justine caught it. The beautiful otter wrinkled her nose and scoffed loudly “No, you don’t get to try that again. You haven’t ‘earned’ a cage yet, cunt.”


\t“Yes Ma’am!” He went rigid once more. He could feel his cheeks burning. She’d tried caging him for a while. It was only two weeks. Something about it, it seemed, was unacceptable to her. She wasn’t willing to be keyholder for him. Maybe he was about to find out why.

\tJustine took another five minutes to enjoy her little cigarette. Simon was glad it wasn’t tobacco, at least. The idea of being addicted to something like that was terrifying and he was pretty sure being Miss’ perpetual ashtray would cause it. Though at the same time, he’d do it for her. Justine stood once more and started to walk around him. Her hand tracing his face, his neck. Fingers running though his brown headfur. “I think the problem is you aren’t a Simone. Every outfit I try on you. Every pose, every shameful act. You obey. You submit. But you don’t ‘feel’ it, do you?”

\t“I.. I don’t?” It was news to him. Simon whimpered and tried to look up at him. A small smack on the cheek sent his eyes back down at the floor.

\t“No, you’re not. You’re afraid to get fucked, for one. I’m sure there are plenty of women named Simone who are perfectly bashful and chaste. But you’re not one of them now are you?”

\t“I guess not, ma’am?” He whimpered

\t“You’re a kinky little freak. But you’re scared. You need to be ‘forced’ into it. You need that little pretense. You’re a shy, dorky, sad little loser. Everyone’s second choice. The kind of girl who shops at whatever store your mommy says has the best sales, not the kind to try on all those trendy designer brands. Right?”

\tIt was a bit odd. It was at least partially true of Simon himself. He always tried to look at least acceptable. To know how a man like him would look best and keep himself clean. Deep down, though, he was never the type to be ‘preppy’ or ‘trendy’. He had always been bully bait in high school. Hell ever since school started. This girl that Mistress was describing, well it was going to be ‘her’ no matter what. Simon was her little dolly after all. But somehow it felt like Miss Justine was hitting close to home. Maybe too close.

\tThen, without warning, Simon felt his hair pulled back. No concern for his comfort. No regard for the bushy mop’s roots being tugged or the way he squealed. The first girly noise he’d really made that night. Miss Justine was doing something back there. He couldn’t see. But he heard a tiny bit of sadistic pleasure in her growl.

\tThere was a loud pop and a sadistic snap. Simon puckered on instinct, expecting the waxy smooth brush of lipstick over his lips. Instead what he got was something a bit different. Thinner and tasting oddly of cherries? Or maybe some off brand cherry cola? His glasses were then snatched off and a new set of frames replaced them. He was thankful his prescription wasn’t ‘that’ bad.

\tMiss Justine grabbed hard on to what now felt like a bushy ponytail. Or something similar. He had no idea what it was called but he felt the elastic band with two large plastic balls holding a bundle of his headfur in place. “No, you’re not a Simone. You dress frumpy, you read all the time, you need someone to push you around and keep you from fucking up your sad little dork life. We both know what you really are deep down. I feel almost stupid for not seeing it sooner. You are not a Simone”

\tWith that, his face was turned to the mirror, forced to look at his own reflection. The generically slutty girl that had been plastered over him in other sessions gone. What he saw instead made his heart freeze. His ears drooping even as Miss Justine leaned in and cooed into one of them

\t“You’re a Jeanette”

--------------------

\tThe Nissan was yelling at him again. Naturally it had to happen on a Saturday. Simon didn’t know the first thing about cars. Really all he knew was to check Reddit, and everyone there said to take it in before he’d have to tow it in.

\tSo that’s what he did. He found the closest mechanic with four stars, called to make sure they could and would take him, then drove in early so he would still have time to catch an Uber to class.

\t“Well we gotta take a look at it, but I can tell ya right now it’s probably going to be an issue with the engine.” The large and rather aggressive sounding warthog man said while rubbing some grease off of his paws with a cloth. Admittedly, the man wasn’t actually being aggressive. Some small shred of Simon did worry it was just him being instinctively nervous around an Afrofur. But then he reminded himself that he’d felt this way around plenty of other Eurofur’s who were more ‘real men’. It wasn’t subconscious racism. He was just a wimp. A sad, sexless, spineless wimp.

\tAnd walking around in a garage full of tough looking men wasn’t helping his self esteem.

\tThe man walked Simon from the front desk back into the garage with a small and casual smile. Something that’d probably put less anxious people at ease. “Anything you need out of it I’d say grab now. It might be nothing. But considering the rep these things have I’mma guess it’ll be here overnight. That’s ok, right?”

\t“W-well I guess.” Simon muttered to the man. Looking up at his hulking frame. Far more actual weight lifter than body builder, and he was a touch ashamed he knew that fact. “Yeah I do have to get my laptop bag and a few other things out. I mean I don’t think anyone here will rob me but I need those for work and school. Plus a few other things I might want. Though like, the stuff I leave in there won’t get broken, right?” He whimpered “not that I think your guys are careless or anything!”

\t“Eh, don’t sweat it, kid” the man shrugged “It’s better if you don’t leave anything in the care you’re not prepared to lose when this stuff happens. No offense taken. Hey! Newbie!” The man suddenly turned and whistled. It was an homage to that Scrubs show, or at least that’s what Simon assumed.

\tA few moments later a young fur stepped out from behind one of the other cars. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of headphones around his neck. Face and paws stained and streaked with grease while a tool that Simon was pretty sure to be a torque wrench rested in one paw. Or maybe it was called a ratchet?

\tThose facts all fell away though. All of them shattered in the face of the blonde Otter boy standing there. His arms not exactly bulging, but shown to have more definition than one would expect in the sleeveless shirt, as did his chest. The features were, however, unmistakable. Even without the makeup. Even without the wig and corset and those long leather gloves. He could tell.

\t“Kid” The shop’s boss gestured to Justine, only it wasn’t Justine. God only knew what her , his, real name might be. “Make sure Mister Miller here gets everything he needs out of his car, then run a check on it. Talk to me before you start fixing anything. Got it?” The man’s voice taking on the tone of a scolding teacher with the last sentience as he wagged his massive, calloused finger. “I don’t care how minor it might be. We gotta keep everything itemized and tracked around here. Alright, Justin?”

\tJustine, Justin, nodded. A half hearted little ‘sure thing, Boss’ slipping from his lips as the man walked off. He then turned to Simon. Those eyes. Those cold, ice-blue eyes. They were the same. The gripped the poor munk’s heart in a chilling embrace the way Justine always had. Yet now here ‘he’ was. An epitome of young masculinity. A boy, sure. But so much closer to a ‘real man’ than Simon ever could be. Even as a small blush and a few twinges of embarrassment crept over that muzzle. Cute Was it wrong to call it cute? Obviously it was. Boys were not cute, and he was sure Justin wouldn’t appreciate that right now. Especially not here.

\tConfusion and excitement were causing Simon’s heart to thud nearly out of his chest. He gripped his own elbow the way he so often did on Thursdays. Only it was not Thursday and he was not in the least bit emotionally prepared for this.

\t“So.” Justin’s voice lacked any falsetto. That natural tenor-bordering-on-baritone voice sent another shudder though Simon’s spine. How that voice could become the domineering woman he worshiped was beyond him. Yet in an instant that was what shot though the poor boy’s brain. For a moment the whole world seemed to go fuzzy

\t“You doing ok?” Justin’s words snapped Simon out of it, and he nodded meekly

\t“Good.” Justin nodded. “Like I said just let me know if you have any questions. Though we probably won’t know anything until about closing time today. You’ll get a text when we do. Honestly you’re lucky it’s so slow in December. Otherwise it’d take a couple of days to get to it.”

\t“T-that’s ok” Simon whimpered “I uh, I don’t want to put you guys out or anything.”

\t“It’s your car, Simon” As if any question were left, that sealed it. The otter turned and made his way around to the back of the car, nodding “You’ll need to hurry up if you want to get a ride anywhere soon. Most rideshare guys are slow this time of day.”

\t“Yeah, ok, got it. Thank you” and without even realizing it, without intending it, without even thinking, his whole body was afire. His heart beat like a stereotypical anime schoolgirl in a Shojo. His toes curled in his Chucks. He bit down on his lip and twitched at the sea of emotions flooding him. Any pretense of their equality in his mind shattering as he loosed a tiny involuntary ‘Sir.”

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