The Fur Hospital

by Fur Bull

A Beginning

Where to begin? I remain enveloped in a thick cocoon of fur, totally wrapped, suspended in the centre of a web (not of my making); fur pressed to every square inch of my skin. The hood and the ear muffs deaden my other senses. I hang here, waiting for her to return. My life has changed forever.

I will begin with Joanna and the Salon.

Skiing in the Alps in late January is wonderful. No school holidays, wonderful snow and delicious cold. This year was no exception, at the end of my first week I was feeling relaxed and fit. There was a fearsome freeze in progress with temperatures more reminiscent of the Rockies or New England than Switzerland, but that was fine. I always got a frisson watching the glamorous glitterati on parade at the Après Ski vying for attention with their fabulous fox furs, marvelous minks and seductive sables. I can’t remember when I first realized that I had a special feeling for furs but I know that it went right back to my childhood; perhaps it was snuggling into my mother’s full length mink when she was dressed up to go out, becoming intoxicated by the feel and smell of that wonderful fur. I do know that I loved to try it on whenever I had the opportunity (I preferred it inside out), although this was pretty rare. Growing up in England, especially in a period of mild winters when the anti-fur campaigns were in the ascendancy, gave little opportunity for indulging this passion for fur. I used to have fantasies about being dressed in multiple layers of thick fur and strapped to a chair in a refrigerated room. When puberty, with its whirlwind of hormonal changes arrived, the shape of my fantasies altered. I loved “normal” sex (whatever that is) but I was haunted by fantasies of the fur-clad feminine form and the subtle art of ligotage. (I never used to restrain my fantasies!) Anyway, here I was in a glorious snow-bound mid-winter ski resort watching the parade from a table outside the bar and freezing my bollocks off. She was late this afternoon.

I had seen her on my first day. It had been quite a disappointing start until then. I had spotted a few fur parkas and bomber jackets on the slopes but nothing spectacular was attached to them so I enjoyed the piste. It was when I was sipping my mulled wine and enjoying the last few minutes of sunlight when she strolled past. The skirts of her coat almost brushed the snow, swinging seductively with her stride. It was lynx. The skirts parted every few steps to show a flash of leg. The boots were at least knee length and very dark, I was dying to see if they were fur or leather. The coat had enormous sleeves and a wide shawl collar that framed a perfect honey-coloured face crowned by long jet black hair capped by a lynx toque. She was awesome. Every day she passed by at the same time, a different outfit on display. Leather trousers, fur boots and blue-red fox hooded parka one day; mink cape topping a long slashed mink skirt another day. I was spending much of my day speculating what outfit I would see today. Today, the weather had closed in and become much colder; there was no skiing that day and, as I said, she was late. I was on the point of retreating to the fire inside the bar to thaw out when she appeared. It was the lynx again tonight, this time topped by a Russian style hat and some dark fur wrapped around her neck. She was silhouetted by the reddening sun. For the first time, her gaze swung towards me, lips curved in a faint smile; her eyes were almond-coloured and flecked with green. I had time to notice that before her gaze struck me with an almost physical force. My heart pumped in my chest as a sense of helplessness and desire washed over me, my face must have been broadcasting it despite the temperature.

“It’s a little cold for sight-seeing don’t you think?” Her voice carried a faint hint of the West of Ireland.

“That depends on the sight.” I managed to stammer as I fumbled my way to my feet.

“You’re too kind, sir.” (A hint of laughter in that reply.) “Is it safe to take you inside, I wonder?”

“I’m quite safe.” I assured her quickly.

Again that hint of laughter: “That’s not quite what I meant but never mind, I’ve decided to risk you. Let’s go in. I’m Joanna.” I introduced myself and she laughed, more freely this time: “Well, that’s nice and short at least, I don’t think I’ll forget it!”

With that, we entered the bar. It was quiet that afternoon; a fire blazed in the centre; we sat on a low sofa, ordered iced vodka at the same moment and laughed again. Time to take stock. She was looking at a fit male of average height in his mid-thirties. I was looking at all my dreams come true? As Joanna warmed up she loosened the lynx coat and, removing the fur hat, shook out her long inky black hair. A wide sable choker encased her throat and she wore a pale angora cowl-necked sweater under the lynx. The skirt was mink, flaring out from her narrow waist to mid calf, slashed appealingly. The boots were furred and knee length with turned down tops lined with thick fox fur. We talked but I can’t remember what about. I was drunk on infatuation. Later, as I was helping Joanna on with her coat, the soft thick fur brushed against my face and hands and I caught her eye. She gave me a long penetrating look and, eventually, said: “I have a fur Salon. I have watched you watching me every day; it’s been fun dressing up for you. Come to the Salon tonight around 8pm, I have a few friends due there. I know that you will enjoy it.” With that, she pulled out a chinchilla scarf from a pocket and wrapped it gently around my neck. The touch of the fur electrified me. She gave a mischievous grin. “A bientot, mon ami.”

It was a bit sad and pathetic really. With my lifelong infatuation, I had never owned or possessed any fur. I did not want to remove the chinchilla scarf, the memory of Joanna wrapping it around my neck filled my mind; the touch and the scent of the fur filled my senses. I could hardly wait to see Joanna again.


A Stage Further

8pm. Outside the Salon. In my eagerness, I had forgotten my hat and was rapidly numbing from the head down. Hunching my face as far into the chinchilla scarf as I could, I forward and rang the bell. Joanna opened the door and her eyes widened: “Come in, you idiot. You’ve got no hat and it must be at least minus 15C out there tonight!” I stepped in to the small hallway, shivering violently now and blinking furiously. “I’m pleased to see you too,” I said. There was a low hum of voices from within but it was not that warm. Joanna looked snug enough in a long mink dress off one shoulder, short ankle boots trimmed with fox and the longest arctic fox boa you could imagine wrapped around her neck and dropping off the bare shoulder to the floor. Elbow-length soft leather gloves were trimmed with ermine and her head was bare. “Hmm, I think that we had better get you warmed up, don’t you?” Joanna said, “That silly little scarf is hardly up to the job. Come on through and meet the others while I see what I can sort out.”

The sight that greeted me in the main salon was out of this world. Around a dozen of the most beautiful women that I had ever seen were scattered in groups around a softly-lit room. The room was furnished with comfortable sofas and chairs scattered with fur throws and cushions; a small low fire burned in an ornate fireplace. The women, blond, brunette, redheads, represented every racial group in the World. They were dripping in furs of every description. I tried not to stare but it was impossible for me. Some of them wore thick, full-length furs over exotic lingerie, others more conventional, but always sensational, angora, velvet or leather topped with fur accessories – hats, boas, muffs, collars and cuffs, fur boots varying from ankle to thigh-length. I was feeling light-headed and somewhat dizzy. I took a long sip from the drink that Joanna had placed in my hand: it was hot, spicy and alcoholic with a peculiar sweet but pleasing undertone that I could not identify; despite the drink I was still shivering violently.

I lifted my gaze again and there was Joanna. Staring directly into my eyes, she undid my top coat (a padded ski jacket) and pushed it back off my shoulders; I felt other hands behind me removing it. “And your sweater”: she said, smiling sweetly. I scarcely demurred, despite the deepening cold in my body. “Now, close your eyes and relax”. I felt something incredibly soft and luxurious snuggling around my torso but leaving my arms bare.. I heard and felt a zip closing the front and, for a moment my neck was bare as the chinchilla was removed, closing a sumptuous fur collar around my neck. A hat, exquisite to the touch, was placed on my head. “You can open your eyes now”, said that seductive voice. I looked. I was clad in a soft leather waistcoat lined and trimmed with thick sable with a high polo collar; I was wearing a sable hat and, as I was just drinking it all in, a full-length, Russian-style mink coat was being pulled over my arms and settled around my body. I felt incredible.

Joanna smiled secretly and turned to face the room; however, I knew that her eyes had taken in the effect the furs were having on me, in every part of my body! “Now”, she said “you must meet my team”. As if on cue, all eyes in the room turned in my direction and I drank in the warmth of their gaze and their company. Within 5 minutes I had stopped shivering and within 10 minutes I was warm and happier than I had ever been in my life. 2more of those amazing mulled drinks and I was feeling even more light-headed, however, and beginning to feel disjointed and unplugged from normal time. My head was singing and my vision beginning to cone in. I felt unsteady, surrounded by concerned and friendly faces. An alternating buzz of conversation. Suddenly, there were only 2 or 3 people left; then I am outside in the cold…..more fur wrapped round my neck…strong arms supporting me, no vision…snatches of sound – “strong and just bright enough”, “fur control”……….”the clinic”. Time stopped, blackness, blankness.



A few vague memories of warmth, softness and comfort. A glass of water held to my lips, lips brushing my neck. More oblivion. Hearing comes first; a soft creaking of bedsprings. I was aware of fur under me and on top, pinning me down, legs spread out, something tugging on my left wrist. Eyes opened. I was now fully awake. Joanna was straddled across my torso; with a look of almost childlike concentration she was attaching my left wrist to the bedpost. I was spread-eagled on a four-posted bed of fur, my wrists and ankles enclosed by sturdy fur-lined cuffs, roped securely from D-rings to bedposts. Joanna wore a loose long fur robe over fur-trimmed exotic lingerie. I opened my mouth, but, before I could say anything, Joanna murmered :” Not a word of I will gag you. You can struggle as much as you like, though. You will have to trust me; after all, I’ve trussed you,” she grinned. Well, what could I do? Covered in the fur of my dreams with the woman of my dreams and the biggest erection of my life – what would you have done? With her hands in 2 thick fur mittens, Joanna started to give me a long slow effleurage, long sweeping strokes from my hands to my feet, around my body, head and neck; she was avoiding my inner thighs and groin but increasingly teasing my nipples. I was lost in unimaginable intensity of feeling, my head pounding. I gasp with astonishment as the fur is thrust between my legs for a moment and then, a pause. Those magical hands have gone and I am desperate to feel them again, arching my body like an animal. Then I am pinned down again; Joanna has turned around, the skirts of her fur bundled up around my face; I feel those hands touching me on my swollen member, attaching something around the base of my erection and around the root of my scrotum – it feels tight, frightening and wonderful. Now Joanna is sitting on my face, gently but urgently circling her labia around my mouth; as I start to probe with my tongue, I feel fur massaging my groin, inner thigh, scrotum and shaft. I want to scream but my mouth is too busy with the sweet moistness of my beloved; she urges me on until, with a deep shudder, she cums – it lasts a long, long time. A moment later, a hot, wet towel wipes my face; the weight is off me and my body longs for it to return. Glancing down, I see a small fur and leather device trapping my erection. Then, she is back. She kneels on either side of my body with her fur pinning me again; she gives me a deep, prolonged kiss on the lips, stroking my neck with her fur mittens all the time. Next, she takes a long fox boa and winds it around my neck and mouth 3 times; now she is furring my scrotum again, stroking my shaft and glans, I am lost in the fur and the restraint and the overwhelming and unfulfilled desire to cum. A moment later and I am deep inside Joanna as she circles on top of me; I realise that she is one of those blessed women gifted with the ability of voluntary control. I am now writhing in my restraints every movement enhancing the contact of the furs. She cums again and again with low, throaty animal noises, gradually settling and collapsing on top of me for a few minutes of rest.

I am still imprisoned in the gates of Hell. She is looking down at me with a serious expression. I am still spread-eagled and helpless. “I have to get some things. I will not be long. You will have a little to time to reflect before your next stage but I do not want you calling out, so…” She gently pushes a fur-wrapped bull gag into my mouth and buckles it around my head. The boa is more loosely wrapped around my neck and a second fur blanket pulled up to my chin. In clear sight, she undresses completely and, after a quick shower, dresses in a fur-lined leather jump suit, tightly-fitting topped with a fur hat and finished with short fur-trimmed boots. The next 30 mins were extraordinary; a luxuriated in the furs, alternately fighting and then revelling in my bondage. My mind was filled with Joanna; I ached to cum. She returned with a large suitcase. Without saying a word, she pulled back the top fur and unloosened the boa, removing the gag and, slowly untied the ropes, leaving the cuffs attached. I reached down to remove the last restriction but she said “Wait, you have a decision. You have a few minutes to sit down and have something to eat and drink. If you remove the cock and ball restraint without my permission, you will never see me again. Do what I say and your life has changed forever.” She said this with a total absence of humour but a hint of sparkle in her eyes. I allowed her to dress me in the full-length mink instead of a robe and we drank water, green tea and champagne. We ate scrambled eggs and mushrooms with pumpkin seeds. The whole time I was conscious of my ever-present erection. We talked of everything except what we had just experienced together. Finally she directed me: “Ask me to tie you up again. Tell me to wrap you in fur and restrain you. Beg me to pleasure you with fur.” Without hesitation, I did as she asked; and, as I spoke the words, I felt that another layer had peeled away and I gazed with love and adoration at my Fur Mistress, my Joanna. She smiled then and lifted a finger to her lips.

Leading me to the bed, she turned me round gently and wrapped a long strip of doubled fur around my wrists, looped through itself before wrapping it around 3 times fairly loosely and then cinching it firmly between my wrists. Pushing me back onto the fur cover of the bed, still in my mink, she attached fur thigh cuffs. Loops of rope pulled ankles to thighs, ankles to ankles, and finally wrists to ankles. I was gagged and collared. I relished it all. Slipping out of the jump suit, Jo pulled on a very thick pair of slit fox fur knickers and a fur-lined soft leather basque. A full length hooded lynx topped the ensemble before she settled herself down on top of me, her back to my face, skirts pinning me to the bed, soft fur massaging my genitals for several minutes of increasing intensity and rising passion then, swivelling on me quickly, she reached down and let me loose from the deadly, delightful device. Thrusting between the thick furs of her knickers, screaming soundlessly into the gag, I was transported into ecstasy and oblivion.