Mitch and the Fursuit

As Mitch picked up the package from his doorstep on a Friday afternoon, he was already trying to lower his expectations. Two weeks ago he had found a secondhand Fursuit available online for a mere $200 and made an impulse by that he was now beginning to believe would only be disappointing. Sure, the website had included plenty of photos and they all looked fine, but it’s not like there was any guarantee that they were representative, and the site itself had seemed rather shady. The general sparse format made it look like an amateur had cobbled it together a good seven years ago, and the lack of any information about the owner should have been a red flag. But hey, at least something had arrived; considering the decision he made, he was glad the supplier didn’t just take the money and leave him nothing.
Yet, despite all the very valid possibilities of this being underwhelming, Mitch couldn’t help but feel the thrill of anticipation bubbling up inside of him—if the pictures were to be believed, his first Fursuit would be so soft and plushy, not to mention top quality.
Fighting the rising giddiness he was feeling, Mitch quietly entered his room and shut the door as he prepared for the moment of truth, opening the box to discover…exactly what the pictures had promised. Within the nondescript cardboard box lay a friendly looking fox head grinning up at him, along with speckled paws, a tail and a inviting looking body piece. His heart racing, he quickly put it on, the act coming surprisingly naturally to him despite the fact that this was his first time.
The feeling of wearing it was nothing like he would have expected—his friends were always going on about how hot and stuffy they were, yet he just felt comfortably warm—like when you put on clothes fresh out of the dryer. Then again, it’s not like he was dancing or running or doing anything to make him sweat. Actually, his giddy excitement had quickly faded into quiet calmness—it was dark in the Fursuit, the only light came from the eyeholes and the sounds of the world were slightly muffled by the bulky headpiece. It was serene, and felt like the entire outside world was behind a layer of frosted glass. He sat down and let himself space out for a minute, all burritoed up in the warm, soft suit.
He woke up half an hour later, unable to recall what he had been dreaming of—something about techno music and fog—and took a minute to collect himself. He still had things to do today; there was dinner and laundry folding and drawing. He was hesitant to do any of the tasks, but there would be time later and besides, he could start with the laundry folding and enjoy the cozy embrace of the suit a little while longer. It was so easy—what little cumbersome bulkiness the suit had seemed to slowly disappear and when he sat down to draw, it didn’t seem weird to him that his sketches were turning out better than usual despite the fact that he should have been struggling with the limited vision of the headpiece—It was like the quieting of the suit let him shut out all the distractions of the world and focus more on his art. No, focus wasn’t entirely the best word; it implied an exertion of effort that didn’t happen. True, his mind was entirely occupied by the drawings, but it was more like his hand was on autopilot. Dinner was a similar affair; he just seemed to glide through the steps, everything coming so naturally as his mind just passively took everything in.
It wasn’t until he removed the headpiece to eat that he really became alert again. The lights seemed particularly bright, and he had a hard time enjoying the meal when every little noise was a distraction that took him out of the moment. At least he still had the rest of the suit, which was still warm and comfy—and he had the whole weekend ahead of him to get used to it. Once the meal was over, he slipped the headpiece back on and enjoyed the cozy quietness of the suit for a moment before popping a copy of The Fantastic Mr. Fox into the DVD player and stretching out on the couch. He had never really been a huge fan of the film, but watching it this time was different—was it always this funny, this charming? Maybe he had been in an inopportune mood when he watched it the first time, or something.
As the credits rolled by, Mitch found himself taking extra notice of how comfortable the suit was, how relaxing it warmth was and peaceful it all was. He knew he would fall asleep soon, but the bed was so far away and he was so relaxed he didn’t know if he could bring himself to get up. He briefly tried to mull it over, but he was so tired and his thoughts were fading before he could finish them, so he simply laid back and let sleep overtake him.
In Mitch’s dream, he was naked in a mossy forest. The sun shone down through the fern leaves and a brook babbled in the distance. He took it all in, feeling a breeze on his face and listening for any animals, which seemed strangely absent. There were no squirrels, no birds, not even any insects nearby—he was truly alone and it all felt strangely melancholy. Then again, it was probably for the best—he was a pretty shy person by nature and without clothes, he probably would have actively avoided anyone anyways. Contemplating this, he took a few steps towards the sound of the brook and was taken aback at how aroused he was by the feeling of the moss squish between his toes. Out of nowhere, he felt an urgent immediate need to satisfy himself, and as he started to masturbate furiously he was shocked by how much better it felt this time: immediate, vivid pleasure coursed throughout his body as he closed his eyes to focus solely on the sensation—his surroundings, his goals, his identity were all gone, replaced with a single-minded white-hot need that completely dominated his mind. He could not think, he was incapable of thinking and as he opened his eyes and saw his arms covered in red and black speckled fur, and felt his tail writhing in pleasure it just seemed like the most natural thing in the world when his threw his muzzle back and let out a cry of burning joy as thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock.
Mitch shot up out of bed like a rocked, drenched in sweat and shocked at what how real the dream had felt. Fucking hell, maybe it was time to take a break from the suit if it was going to dominate his thoughts like this. At any rate, he needed a shower and reached up to pull off the headpiece when…
"You don’t want to do that Mitch…"
What in the name of blue and purple fuck?! That voice had just come from inside his own head!
"It’s okay, calm down, I’m the suit"
As the voice spoke again, the rising panic within Mitch rapidly began settling down into peacefulness, which his mind tried to fight frantically. He tried going through his options while he felt his mind shift from fear to unease to confusion.
"Stop fighting it. You enjoyed me so much yesterday, and it’s only going to get better if you let me in to your mind."
This time the words felt like they were being whispered right into the core of his very being.
"Endless bliss, pleasure unlike anything a human can feel, all you have to do is give in. Let me take control."
The same all-consuming arousal from the dream now flooded his body, overwhelming what remained of his resistance. He couldn’t fight it, he loved the warm, cozy pleasure the suit gave him, the placid thoughtlessness, and he was already unsure of why he had ever been afraid of such a future in the first place.
“Ok”
It felt like warm latex was being poured into his mind, his consciousness wrapped snuggly in the Fursuit’s control. He felt the suit’s mind mixing with his own—creating a wonderful sense of togetherness and belonging as he took in the new sensations of their body. Their suitskin was now their new skin, they could now see with the suit’s eyes, eat with the suit’s mouth and enjoy themselves with the suit’s new cock.

2 Weeks Later
Mitch hated work these days. It wasn’t just the glare of the lights or the distracting noises, it was lonely. He missed hearing their thoughts, the warmth and quietness of their second skin, the way he could just let the suit take over. Without it, he felt so unsure of himself, so vulnerable. Thank goodness the day was almost over and they could be re-united, like the should be.