FSE

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This story was written for Serling as his Patreon commission for August. It contains transformation/goo-play involving consenting adults. :3

A Relaxing Day at Work

As Serling tapped away at his keyboard, glancing between the two monitors upon his desk while transferring data from one to the other, he couldn't help but smile. Normally work could be somewhat stressful, the monotony of his data entry position meaning that mistakes could happen if even for a moment an eye was taken off the ball. Today however, for whatever reason, the coyote felt on top of the world. The data just seemed to flow from his fingertips and into the keyboard as though he barely had to actually type at all, and though Serling felt wholly relaxed and calm he was absolutely convinced that at the end of the day there would be zero typography errors detected, just as had been the case during his last few checks.

He chuckled to himself, under his breath of course to avoid disturbing those in the cubicles around him, as he wondered if perhaps it was thanks to the massage he'd had the day before. Normally he only got massaged at the start of a weekend, worried that attending work the very next day would somewhat spoil the lingering restfulness and the thoroughly peaceful state into which a massage inevitably placed him. Yesterday evening though, sufficiently rested and relaxed by his weekly massage and then simply chilling out at home, he had been called up to fill in for someone unexpectedly off sick. And, for whatever reason had possessed him at the moment, Serling had said yes.

Thus he was here, and quite honestly shocked by just how restful and at peace he felt. Indeed in the last few hours Serling had found himself considering whether he should perhaps move his weekly massage to the end of his days off rather than just prior to them, because if a massage prior to a day's work resulted in this feeling as its outcome... well, he certainly wouldn't complain about that becoming a more regular part of his routine.

While the morning wore on however, the coyote did slowly begin to realise that there was a slight problem with his otherwise rather relaxed and comfortable situation. He was chilled out, yes. He was cool, calm and collected. But the more time that passed and the more numbers that Serling mindlessly typed into his screen, the coyote found himself growing ever more relaxed. Relaxed to the point where if he stopped typing while waiting for a new page of data to load, his mind began to wander. Not towards post-work activities or any of the normal random thoughts which might pass through his mind at such times, but instead towards a near complete absence of such thoughts. It was like he was falling asleep, only he had a memory of the entire act as it happened. Like his brain wasn't shutting off exactly, but was most definitely reducing its functionality to a more base, blank state. It didn't feel disconcerting though, no matter how much a part of Serling felt that perhaps it should have. It didn't worry or scare him. In actual fact, it made the coyote feel all the more at peace.

"Oh god... c'mon..."

Under his breath, as quietly as possible in the muted atmosphere of the office, Serling groaned as he realised that he had been sitting still and inactive for almost three minutes by the time he pulled himself free from this latest stupor of contentment. His body was slumped in his chair, and as he tried to pull himself upright he found himself frustratingly unwilling to do so. He felt almost numbed by his own relaxation, unwilling not purposefully but almost naturally so to begin moving, acting, doing anything other than relaxing more than was already the case. Serling wanted to be frustrated by all this. He wanted to be anxious, worried by what was happening. But even that was an extreme effort just to achieve in the mildest of terms, and it was only that realisation which allowed him to experience such nervousness at all.

"C'mon. This is dumb. Y-you can't be too relaxed to work. Short of smoking something that's just not a thing."

Again Serling murmured to himself in frustration, and with an immense effort dragged himself up into a sitting position. He lifted his hands from where they had fallen gently to rest upon the arms of his desk-chair and placed them back upon the keyboard. He forced his eyes to focus, to make sense of the numbers of the left-hand monitor so that he could type them out and transfer them to the right-hand one. And of course it was only then, as he forced his eyes to begin working fully and completely once more, that he recognised something rather more worrying and unexpected than anything which had presented itself thus far.

His fingers, resting gently upon the keyboard, were glistening. It wasn't that the fur upon them looked damp, but more as though it looked... smudged. He raised one hand, trembling with the effort it took to take that action alone in his near paralysing state of calm, and placed it upon the other. His eyes widened as he heard a soft sound emanate from the contact, a gentle, rather soft and soothing squish noise. He pulled the hand away again, and sure enough there arose several thin strings of glistening, gooey liquid. Liquid formed from his once soft and luxurious fur, now melting, dissolving into ooze in a way that was far from unfamiliar to the coyote, but still extremely unexpected right here and now.

Slowly, which to the coyote's horror was absolutely as fast as he could manage, Serling rose from his chair. He placed his hands in his pockets, looking down at the length of his arms and thankfully seeing that the wetness had yet to spread far enough to dampen the majority of his shirt-sleeves in a way that was at all noticeable. His legs felt shaky beneath him, not weak or lacking in the strength to lift himself, just... soft. Malleable. He fought back a whimper of dismay as within one of his trousers' pockets he felt his phone, but realised that even if he was able to get somewhere private and call someone... who would he call? He could guess at what was happening here, but what good did it do him to know that something which should have happened at the massage parlour was happening right here, right now? What good would it do for the staff at the parlour to know that, similarly? After all, much as they had gone above and beyond to aid him in the past when their treatments and techniques had gone awry, that had always been on their property. In their sphere of influence.

He stumbled down the corridor which contained his and countless other cubicles, catching a reflection of himself in someone else's computer monitor as he wandered past and seeing that despite his growing and now more manifest nervousness he was still smiling, looking wholly and completely chilled out.

He looked ahead, trying to see if there was a bathroom, a spare office, hell, even a janitor's closet where he might be able to hide away and perhaps wait out whatever was going on. Even now though the corridor stretching out ahead of him seemed impossibly, unnecessarily long. His chilled out sense of self just wanted to lie down right there and then on the carpet of the office floor. So what if he liquefied? So what if he dripped through the carpet and was absorbed by the office itself? If that would give him time and space to relax without thinking about all of this, without worrying about numbers and appeasing his bosses and all that dumb stuff, maybe that wouldn't be so bad after all.

Fighting that urge, fighting the desire to give in to his own disturbingly soothing and compelling complacency, Serling staggered onward. Beyond the rows upon rows of cubicles, beyond the narrow corridor that seemed to stretch out to infinity. He pulled a hand from his pocket to steady himself as he rounded a corner, feeling it squelch loudly against the wall and leaving a glistening hand-print of his own oozy substance behind as he passed it by. He fought so hard to remain coherent and conscious, to be aware of every step, to remain focused on his goal. But it was so hard. It was so hard to care when he felt so calm and chilled. He stumbled out of view of the main office floor, and slowly, meanderingly as his mind and heart continued to wander to thoughts of greater relaxation and importance, continued his search for somewhere he could rest without the ongoing disturbance of his own brain.

*********

"Serling?"

Erica dashed into view of the coyote's cubicle, eyes wide and hands trembling as they gripped at the edge of the plywood wall. She stamped one hoofed foot in dismay however when she saw that the cubicle was empty. Stepping inside, she looked around in concern, checking under the desk and even going so far as to touch the fabric of his desk-chair's seat to ensure that it wasn't saturated with sticky wetness that might well have been the coyote himself. She sighed in relief as she felt it, dry to the touch, but that breath caught in her throat a moment later as she saw a glistening wetness upon the coyote's keyboard, resting in front of a screen that hadn't even been turned off and with documentation upon it yet to be worked upon or saved.

The mare stomped one hoof against the ground and lifted her phone back to her ear, scowling as she murmured into it as quietly and yet frustratedly as she could manage.

"Dammit, Dave. He's not here. But, he was. And he's already started to liquefy. I can see it on his keyboard. How the hell did you let this happen?!"

She frowned as from over the phone another voice murmured, not nearly so angry as her, more worried and apologetic in his tone. His sorrow did little to ease the female equine's frustrations though, indeed she rolled her eyes and shook her head as she stepped out from the cubicle once more, trying to disguise her anguish as a couple of other employees peered out at her from their own little workstations. They soon got back to work though, not wishing to draw their boss's attention for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"It's bad enough you told me about Serling in the first place when you learned he worked here. Do you have any idea how inappropriate it is for me to be hearing about how one of my employees spends their personal time? But now this? I swear, if you weren't my brother I'd be calling whatever parent company owns your spa and doing everything in my power to have you shut down. I don't care if it was an accident, if the wrong chemicals were used. The number of stories you've told me about what Serling alone gets up to there... it sounds like these accidents happen far too often for you to be running a solvent and profitable business..."

Erica stormed along the corridor between the various cubicles, hissing to her brother under her breath as he continued to apologise. Deep down of course she knew it wasn't directly his fault, that it had been a different masseur who had been responsible for whatever had led to Serling's current situation, but they weren't on the phone with her right now. They weren't making her go out of her way to fix a problem that should in no way have been her concern, but now was because it not only concerned one of her employees, but one of her brother's clients too.

She paused, freezing in place as she reached the end of the corridor and prepared to turn down the adjoining hallway. Upon the wall, glistening and still relatively fresh looking in its wetness, was a hand-print. Her heart-rate quickened.

"Dave? I... I think I've got his trail."

She looked along the hallway, and sure enough along one wall there were a series of hand-shaped markings getting increasingly more runny and slick as they went along. The horse followed them to their conclusion, a doorway which led to... well, if she was honest she wasn't quite sure what was in this particular little closet. All that she knew in that moment was that the door was ajar, and that all over the handle was a thick layer of goopy, glistening greyish-silver ooze.

"Hold on Dave. I... I think I've found him."

Carefully, as calmly as she could, Erica knocked upon the closet door. She paused, but after five, then ten seconds there was still only silence. She knocked again.

"Serling? Serling? It's Erica... uh...Ms Havermeyer. I... I know Dave. He said you might be having a... a problem?"

From inside the closet, there came a sound. Not so much a word, definitely not a cry. More a sort of... bubbling.

Erica opened the door, her eyes widening.

"Oh my god."

She raised the phone back to her ear once more, frustration and dismay rising all over again.

"Dave. Oh my god, you did this to him?!"

Serling's head and shoulders protruded from a large, wheel-mounted mop bucket in this janitorial supply closet. Or rather, what remained of his head and shoulders, all plastered down and smoothed out by the liquefying nature of his body. His remaining solid form jiggled slightly as Erica stepped forward, a floorboard creaking below her feet and causing the bucket to shake slightly, the mostly liquid content quivering like jelly. Within the liquid Erica could see the male's phone floating, a number half dialled upon its touchpad. She could see his clothes lying upon the bottom of the bucket, all except for his shirt which was still draped over what remained of his solid form, albeit now darkened and saturated by the male's own moisture.

Despite his obviously dire situation though, Serling didn't look upset or scared or in any way concerned by what was happening to him. In truth, he looked happy. His eyes were glazed over. His cheeks, however dripping and gooey, had a slight rosy redness beneath them. He looked like a man sitting in the corner of a bar at the end of a long night out with friends, contentedly buzzed and happy to wait and just chill out while his friends got another round in at the bar.

"Yes. Yes, of course I'll look after him. I'll wheel him through to my office and... I dunno, I guess just leave him there until you can come and collect him?"

Erica blushed as Serling blinked and turned his head upward slightly, regarding her as though he'd only just recognised that she was there. Slowly, methodically his muzzle opened in a dripping, sloppy 'O', and a soft, utterly incoherent gurgling noise emerged from within. It was such a funny, undeniably cute sound. Erica couldn't help but giggle at it, despite her lack of amusement with the situation so far.

"Oh, Serling. I'm sorry my dumb brother's even dumber colleague put you through this."

She took a step back as she slipped her phone into one of the pockets of her pant-suit, leaning out of the closet and peering around to ensure that no-one was coming before stepping back in, moving closer to Serling than she had before.

"But... you know I can't wheel you through the office like this, right?"

She looked down at him, the coyote's face still looking so relaxed, so placid as it peered blankly, happily up at her. Considering what she was about to do, Erica couldn't help but smirk at the ridiculousness of this entire situation.

"I hope Dave was right about this part."

Her hand reached out, trembling for a moment before it pressed down against the top of the coyote's head. She gasped, in horror for a moment, then in relief as just like her brother had said it would she watched the coyote's head not sink down into the oozy form of the rest of his body, but simply fall apart into the same more slick, liquid state the rest of him already occupied. His shoulders gave way similarly quickly, and soon the male's shirt was sinking its way to the bottom of the bucket just like the rest of his saturated attire.

Carefully, making sure not to overturn the bucket as she prised it free from the rather cluttered closet, Erica began to wheel the now disguised and unrecognisable coyote back to her office.

Serling himself meanwhile couldn't have cared less. As he felt the hand press down upon his face, breaking what little surface tension had been holding that last part of himself together, all his remaining worries and nerves had melted away like his features. He couldn't worry any more. He couldn't even think about worrying. All he could do was exist. All he could do was be, calm, carefree and utterly relaxed.

By Jeeves

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