Sofia Gomez at a Furry Convention

(AN: Not my favorite story--a funny idea, until it wasn't. In an ideal world I'd research these zoomer celebs instead of blindly one-shotting stories about them: Sofia Gomez does a ton of nerd-jerkoff cosplay shit and would probably have no issues with going to a furry convention. Oh well, it's not as though my portrayal of her is in any way realistic.

The furry convention portrayed in this story is also unrealistic in that it's full of heterosexual men and takes actual efforts to stop minors from attending. - Juliette)

The front door went

crash

. You heard it through three layers of walls. Sofia Gomez was in the building.

Morgan Dieffenbacker's entire body stress-tensed as she heard her boss walking down the hall.

You work as Sofia Gomez's booking agent

? Her friends all told her.

Oh my God, that must be a dream!

Yeah, no shit. The kind of dream where you're giving a school recital in your underwear while a bull shark chomps on your face.

Sofia Gomez was a vile person: a

Mean Girls

-esque high school bully fused at the upper basal ganglia with Tony Montana. Had Sofia gone insane with fame, drugs, and dick? Or had she been

born

a 9.1 on the Bitchter Scale? Truly, a mystery for the ages.

Morgan overheard Sofia's coke-fried chatter as she strutted down the hall. Bragging about the parties she'd been to; the rich and famous men who'd hit on her (and been rejected, always rejected--Sofia was as pure as the driven snow); the hearts she'd broken.

The bitch empress half-walked, half-jiggled into view--huge birthing hips, slutty makeup, gigantic braless banana-tits jolting and slinging inside a too-tight crop top--followed by two tattooed black men.

"...and this is the chick who books me for events," Sofia gestured at her. "Morgan Shittenfucker or something."

"Dieffenbacker." Morgan blushed under her scissored bangs.

"Whatever. What kind of retarded name is that, anyway?"

Sofia rudely grabbed two donuts from the box in front of Morgan, and stuffed them into her mouth. "Mmmffff! How many calories are in these?"

"Miss Gomez," Morgan assayed a professional tone as crumbs sprayed across her desk. "Can we please review next week's schedule?"

She handed Sofia the schedule. As Tiktok's queen perused it, both guys took advantage of the situation to stare down the front of her crop top.

May 1st

>11:00 - Photoshoot with Terry Richardson

>15:00 - Assorted press and interview junket

>19:00 - Casting meeting with Elite Model Management

>21:00 -

The Late Late Show

with Taylor Tomlinson

May 2nd

>9:30 - Charity Fundraiser for St Sophia's Children's Hospital

>11:30 - Matinee Gala for Judd Foundation

>12:30 - Dance Rehearsals

>14:30 - In-Store Appearance at Tiffany & Co

>18:00 - Grand Opening of POWERSL4VE Nightclub

"Cancel the charity fundraiser," Sofia said. "Like fuck I'm waking up for a 9:30am event. Also, hospitals are soooo depressing. What are they raising funds for?"

"Children dying of leukemia."

"Well, I'm dying of who-cares-ia. Book me for cool events only. No hospitals. Nothing lame. Quit getting loser juice over my brand."

Her eyes slid off the schedule, and onto Morgan's body. "Also, your strap's showing. No, don't fix it.

Let me

."

Giggling nastily, Sofia climbed onto Morgan's lap, wrapping both arms around her body like she was a living stripper pole. Her blue-nailed fingers tucked the errant bra strap back under a satin blouse...and then stayed, and began exploring her body.

Morgan quivered in anger as her boss palmed handfuls of her flesh.

Sofia Gomez was a #MeToo case waiting to happen. She had no ability to control her hands when she was even slightly drunk or high--and she was always trashed sixteen steps beyond

slightly

.

"Miss Gomez,

please stop

. This is highly inappropriate!"

Sofia leaned in further. Gigantic breasts engulfed Morgan's skull like a pair of speedbags. An ocean of warm, white titflesh swallowed half her face.

"You're kinda cute, with that hair," Sofia giggle-whispered in her ear. "I keep telling you, ditch your boyfriend and go clubbing with me. I know a dyke bar where the bathrooms have

harnesses

."

Morgan shuddered in rage as she was fondled. She could handle a shitty boss--she'd worked as a coffee bitch for Scott Rudin once--but she hadn't signed up for sexual harassment and groping. The two black guys just laughed at her predicament. No help from that corner.

She angrily snapped a pencil in half under her desk as the pawing hands started wandering lower.

"Hey, does that hair shade come out of a bottle?" Sofia said. "Let's find out..."

With Sofia's hands reaching for her belt, Morgan hit her limit.

"STOP! TOUCHING! ME!" She jerked upright, seized Sofia by the shoulders, and shoved her hard into the wall.

Thud!

Sofia hit it, staggered forward, then shakily stood up. For a moment, she look stunned. Lost for words.

Consequences? You mean actions can have consequences?

Then she balled her fists, and stomped the ground like a petulant toddler.

Stamp! Stamp!

"FINE! YOU'RE FIRED, YOU PRUDE BITCH! See what I get for trying to be

nice

to someone!"

She swung and flounced her big ass, heading into a nearby lounge area.

"My friends and I will be in a business meeting for the next, oh, two hours. Fix next week's schedule, clean out your desk, and then

fuck off!

"

Seconds later, the door closed behind her. Morgan heard crude laughter, and the sound pants being unzipped in the room beyond.

* * *

Morgan ground her teeth with rage as she heard Sofia sucking their cocks.

Her head swirled with violent fantasies. Sofia, decapitated.

Too painless.

Sofia, torn apart by horses.

Still too painless.

Sofia, staked over an anthill with honey smeared over her crotch.

Getting there, but what about the nerve endings in her upper body?

Sofia Gomez deserved a fate worse than death.

She deserved to suffer as nobody had ever suffered before. She deserved the most hellish torment ever devised by the inhuman mind.

This is my last day on the job.

Morgan cracked her knuckles.

How badly can I fuck with her?

Then she had an idea of such depravity that a smile slit her face apart like a wound.

Oh...very badly.

She phoned POWERSL4VE, and informed them at Sofia Gomez would no longer be attending the club opening. Shame!

"...but...but...we contracted Miss Gomez for an appearance! We stand to lose millions! We will hold you responsible! We will--"

"Bye!" Morgan chirped brightly and hung up.

Her boss--former boss--now had the evening of May the 2nd free.

I can book her for anything I want.

Morgan rubbed her hands together, mind whirring.

The pilled-up slut never looks at her schedule and her driver doesn't ask questions. By the time she realizes she's at the wrong place, it'll be too late.

Morgan reached into her purse, and retrieved an advertisement that had been placed into her mailbox this morning.

>

YIFFCON 2025!

>

Get weady to owo and murr at the yiffiest, scritchiest, floofiest, SPOOGIEST fuwwy convention in the twi-state awea! 18+ only!

>

Guests of honor TBD! Pwease contact us with inquiwies of intewest!

Through the door, she listened to Sofia's "business meeting". Obscene lewd sex-noises sweated through the walls. Moans, grunts, screams, and panting. The moist, slippery drumbeat of flesh demolishing flesh. Already, they'd progressed from oral to heavy-duty deep-dicking. Sofia's voice shrilled out urgently as her pussy was gaped like bubble-gum. "Uhh! Uhh! Uhhh! That's iitttt! Haahhhh-der!"

The squealing, bellowing voice of her former boss ripped the air like a chainsaw. Morgan's lips curved out wickedly.

"You want to be booked for cool events only, huh bitch?"

She dialled the number on the flyer, just as her ex-boss brayed out an orgasm.

"I've got your cool event

right here

."

* * *

On the 2nd of May, Sofia was driving to what she believed was the grand opening of a nightclub. She was gabbing to a friend on the phone, trying to disguise the sniffles in her left nostril.

"...and then my bitch of a booking assistant shoves me into a wall, just because I told her she was pretty! Can you believe that shit?"

Leaning back, she kicked her feet up onto the front headrests, in fascinating breach of every road safety law ever conceived. Her driver grimaced as Sofia's white Skechers appeared next to his shoulders, but said nothing.

"So anyway, I need a new booking assistant, stat. Didn't you say you had a sister? Is she looking to intern somewhere? More importantly, is she hot? Send me her photos, like, right now."

She ended the call, just as she got an email from her management company. Estée Lauder Cosmetics had just signed her to be the face of a major new cosmetics launch.

Sofia fist-pumped. "Booya! Guess which bitch just made a million dollars for half an hour's work! This bitch!"

(Actually half a mil after her management company took their end of a fifty-fifty split, but her broke-dick driver wouldn't know that.)

As the car slowed in front of a convention hall, Sofia frowned, looking looking.

Her Skecher lightly kicked the driver in the side of the head. "Hey, what's the deal? Why are we stopping here?"

He looked confused. "This is your six PM booking, Miss Gomez."

Sofia's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

This doesn't look like a nightclub.

They'd pulled up at a squat, nondescript convention hall, two stories high. There were no lights, no LEDs. The hand-painted banner over the door read YIFFCON 2025. That meant nothing to her.

She tried to be optimistic.

They must be so exclusive they don't need to advertise. But where's the guest carpet? Where's the bouncer?

She got out of the car, taking a closer look. Beside the door was a huge pull-up banner of an anthropomorphic cartoon fox. That alone wouldn't have been suspicious. Animals were common enough nightclub decor...

...Except the fox had exaggerated bedroom eyes, was sensually twirled around a stripper pole, and the artist had put rather

unnecessary

emphasis on its bulging crotch.

A crowd of people were flowing through the door. They did not look like the type of people who normally go to upscale nightclubs. Or any nightclubs. Or even leave their parents' basements.

In fact, they looked like...

No. No.

Sofia's eyes flew open wide at the massive amounts of faux fur on display. She wouldn't allow herself to think that thought. It might make it true. And it definitely wasn't, thank God. She was surrounded by a sea of normal people, god damn it. Normal people who just happened to all be wearing wearing paw gloves, fursuit heads, and fake tails for

some normal person reason.

With a wicked smile, her driver rang the convention center, and let whoever managed this flustercuck of an event know that a VIP had arrived.

Then he began driving away.

A fat balding forty year old man hurried out the door to meet Sofia on the sidewalk. He looked like the

Simpsons

Comic Book Guy combined with an an off-duty Unix sysadmin. A guy who caps off a long day at the office with a nice relaxing internet flamewar about the merits of Vim vs Emacs.

"Sofia!" he squealed, rubbing his chubby hands together eagerly. She saw with horror that he was wearing

a dog collar.

"I'm Tony, but call me DragonBlade82!"

She tried to say something. A pathetic gurgle left her throat.

"Welcome to Yiffcon!" He grabbed her arm, and began ushering her inside. "I'll be your host for the next six hours."

I have to be here for six hours?

The idea filled Sofia with horror.

No. Hell no.

She turned, ready to throw herself back into the car.

...it was already vanishing down the road.

She screamed in horror. "AAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"Glad you're trying to learn the Yiffcon howl," DragonBlade82 said. "But it's really more of an 'ARRROOOOO!'"

* * *

DragonBlade82 ushered Sofia through the main concourse. It was packed with furries; all of them mingling, talking, flirting, yipping. Sofia didn't know which disturbed her more: the people wearing fursuits, or the people

not

wearing fursuits.

The thing was, they usually weren't wearing much else.

"I gotta say," DragonBlade82, "It's great to see a mainstream celebrity coming out as a furry, ya know? Between you and Wes Anderson, I think media perception is really starting to shift..."

Sofia's eyes darted around the convention hall, witnessing horrors beyond the mind of God.

Why are those two making animal noises as they kiss? Why is that man wearing a t-shirt that says 'yip if you like vulpine bussy'? Why does that dude's fursuit have a zipper on its crotch? Why am I asking questions I definitely don't want answered?

DragonBlade82 noticed her distress.

"A lot of people have...misconceptions about the furry fandom." He puffed out his chest pompously. "They think we're a bunch of disgusting perverts who fuck while dressed up as animals. This couldn't be further from the truth!"

He extended a chubby arm benevolently over his kingdom of fur.

"We are a community of

artists

and

dreamers

! There's nothing sexual about it! Oh, sure, maybe there are a

few

furs here and there who get a bit carried away with the lifestyle, but they do

not

define us. Don't believe the media. We really are the most normal group of people you could ever hope to--"

BOOM! A door was flung open, and a shirtless man charged through.

He wore an adult diaper and a horse mask with a large purple dildo glued to its forehead, like a unicorn's horn.

"SUP BROODMARES, YOUR STUD HAS ARRIVED!" he yelled at the hall. "Call me Don Corleone, 'coz YOU'RE GONNA WAKE UP WITH A HORSE'S HEAD IN YOUR BED!"

He charged screaming down the hall, face-mounted dildo flip-flopping from side to side, and was lost to view admit

yips

and

arrrooos

from the crowd.

Sofia crossed her arms and glared.

"Well, anime has perverts too!" DragonBlade82 sulked petulantly.

* * *

At a nametag station, he introduced her to his partners in crime.

"Sofia, this is DarkLordSloth. Our space coordinator."

"Sup," the guy was drooling out of both sides of his mouth.

DragonBlade82 clapped the other guy on the shoulder. "...And this is KitsuneFennec. Head of Yiffcon security."

"I still think we should call it 'the Yiffcon Pawlice," KitsuneFennec said.

Sofia regarded the dubious pair. DarkLordSloth was a massively tall beanpole who was now leaning into her space, awkwardly breathing on her boobs. KitsuneFennec was the least intimidating security guard she'd ever seen. A 5'2 twink with oversized pink paw gloves around his skinny wrists, he looked like he'd struggle to restrain a twelve year old girl on a sugar rush.

Sofia wanted to escape. Wanted to run and hide.

But

they wouldn't let her

.

DragonBlade82, KitsuneFennec, and DarkLordSloth surrounded her like a fucking entourage, giving her a guided tour of the convention hall and its horrors. All were clearly under the impression she was just delighted to be here.

"Here's the Dealer's Den!" KitsuneFennec said, pointing.

"And here's the Artist Alley," DarkLordSloth said, gesturing.

Over and over, Sofia was recognized and assailed by squealing fans. Over and over, she had to pose for photos with furries, who promptly announced their plans to post the photos on social media. "It's so brave you're coming out as furry!" A hysteric, frizzy-haired woman said. Another fur was holding her on a leash. "We're the most oppressed minority in America."

Sofia's mouth kept opening...and finding no words to say.

"Sofia, did you bring any costuming?" DarkLordSloth asked her.

"No," she admitted. She glanced down at herself. She had her hair in anime twintails, a crop top sports bra that did not fit her and was not meant to, and octopus leggings. The kind you can rip off at a moment's notice, and which don't stain. Her usual clubbing attire.

What should I have brought? A rope to hang myself?

"It's okay," KitsuneFennec said. "I think we have some spare stuff in a box over here. What's your fursona?"

"I don't know what that word means," she asked, as a box of costume parts and accessories was thrust into her face.

Collars. Tails. Masks. Bunny ears.

She rifled through the inventory, trying not to imagine the outrages these pieces of felt and fur had been subjected to prior to ending up in the box. Her hands closed on cat ears on a headband. Sure. Why not. Cat ears were fairly normcore. She slid it over her black twintailed hair. And felt...strangely different.

Imagine becoming an animal was this easy...

And then...her mind shifted.

As a little girl, she'd had a pet cat called Sylvester. Her mom had picked the name. She'd always found it incredibly stupid.

But Sylvester had not agreed.

He didn't know he had a name at all, let alone an uncool one. He existed beyond such concerns.

Above

such concerns. That was the essence of being an animal. People can cage you, trap you, kill you...but they can't make you theirs. You will always be yourself.

The cat ears felt like a crown on Sofia's head. They felt like the sundering of chains. They felt like

another way.

The three guys babbled in admiration. "Holy crap, you're rocking that. Do a cat scratch!"

With unaccustomed shyness, Sofia raised her hand, and curled it into a paw, and scratched the air. "Rawr..." she murmured, burning with shame.

This pathetic display caused all three of them to cheer. A rush of confidence swept through her. This was a place where you could be your most embarrassing self, and not get judged for it...a place to actually become like Sylvester...

She couldn't believe she was thinking this.

What's wrong with me? These people are losers. Nerds. The fact that they're breathing my air should be a felony. I AM NOT LIKE THEM.

Sofia glanced across the convention hall. There was some PDA and necking happening, but on the whole, far less debauchery than she'd expected.

"Not gonna lie," she said. "I thought a furry convention would have more...sex."

DragonBlade82 coughed. "Yes, and that's

exactly

the kind of offensive anti-furry stereotype I'm seeking to overcome..."

"You're not allowed to get your dick out on the convention floor because it's a public space," KitsuneFennec said flatly.

"Yeah, it's bullshit, man," DarkLordSloth sounded disgusted at this rampant anti-furry oppression. "If you want in on the furpiles and scritching, ya gotta go upstairs, where it's a private area."

DragonBlade82 glared at them. "Thanks guys. Thanks a fucking pantload. Really putting the fandom in a good light here."

Sofia marked the stairway leading upstairs like it led to the Chernobyl 4 reactor.

Do not go.

She shuddered, imagining what lay behind those double doors.

Just then, the doors swung open--emitting a blast of neon light like infectious pus--and a couple left. They were panting and covered in fuck-sweat. A guy, and two girls. One of the girls was on a leash, on her hands and knees. She seemed to have a tail jutting out of her asshole, held inside by a buttplug. The second woman had a handbag, and bite marks covering her body like stigmata.

"I need a shower," the standing woman griped, putting the handbag on the floor. Bottles clinked inside. She staggered in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

As soon as she was gone, Sofia covertly rifled through her handbag. It was filled with alcohol sample bottles.

Grey Goose.

Soft winter wheat and Gensac springwater, distilled down to the purest poison.