Was that a hand sticking out of that dumpster?

I was on my way back from work, driving through my suburban neighborhood, and wondering how to finish my costume for tomorrow's convention—when I saw it in a parking lot on the other side of the street. A dumpster, full of trash all the way to the top, with with what looked like a hand, limply hanging over the edge.

It took a few moments for what I'd seen to register. Once it did, I slammed on the brakes, which was met by honking as the cars behind me were forced to switch to the other lane. As soon as it was safe, I made a u-turn, drove into the parking lot, and stopped my car.

My heart pounded, but as I got out of the car and stepped closer, I saw that it wasn't a human hand. It was black and furry instead. So, whew, I hadn't found a murder victim. I grabbed the edge of the dumpster and pulled myself up, and saw that the furred hand was sticking out of a black garbage bag through a rip in the plastic.

With my nose scrunched against the smell, I quickly untied the bag: then, by contrast, my eyes widened. What I'd found wasn't as grotesque as a dead body, but it was far more confusing.

What spilled out of the bag, and what now lay in a heap atop the assorted refuse, was a full-body vixen fursuit. It looked to be in one piece, and heavily padded with feminine curves, and quite plush... and overall, seemed immensely expensive. Who in the hell would throw this away?

Clearly not someone in their right mind, that was who.

My arms were shaking from holding myself up, so I let myself fall back to the ground. Quickly, I repositioned my car so that the trunk was backed against the dumpster; then I opened the trunk and stood on my bumper. This gave me the height I needed to look, and reach, over the rim of the dumpster from a better vantage point.

Of course I was taking it. At the very least I'd be able to sell it, probably for over a grand. It was like finding a pile of free money in the trash, except without any chance that the mob might kill you over it.

As I leaned in closer toward my prize, with one hand squeezing my nose, I noticed that the suit was open: the zipper was on its front. I frowned—this would make it take longer to clean, but really I'd probably have needed to clean inside and out anyway.

Inside the empty costume lay a few articles: heels, a purse, and most of all a revealing magenta dress, large enough to fit the voluptuous fursuit's proportions. It was low-cut with a deep v-neckline, and while the skirt was technically long enough to cover the legs, it had deep slits that would display the suit's thick thighs with every swishing step. The dress was backless too; about the only thing it would consistently cover was the zipper on the abdomen.

Well, not justthe abdomen. As I kept looking, I saw that the suit had nipples, just visible under the fur—and a slit between the legs. In fact, as I poked my hand around down there, I couldn't help but blush, because this suit was anatomically correct, at least as much as any anthropomorphic vixen could be. Looking further into the suit's inside, I saw a pair of black panties to cover up any indecency on the bottom, but no bra. If anyone wanted to wear the fursuit in public, they'd be relying solely on the dress.


Maybe it had been thrown away out of embarrassment. Whatever. I wasn't gonna wear it, but that wouldn't stop me from taking it. And the clothes, too, to sell as a matched set.

I reached down and lifted it up, or at least tried to, but I stopped as my back twinged. This empty thing was way heavier than it had any right to be. What the hell was it padded with, anyway?

With a grunt of annoyance, I bundled the thing back up into the ripped plastic bag and tied it up again. Now it was a bit easier to carry, and with both hands I managed to heft it over the rim of the dumpster—but then I lost my balance and dropped it onto the parking lot. I winced, but it was probably fine—at least, I hoped so—so I grabbed it again and heaved it into my trunk, before slamming the door shut.

Despite the ache in my muscles, I walked back to the driver's side door with a spring in my step. A few hours washing the suit, and a few more finding someone to buy it, and I'd be up a couple thousand dollars. It was like winning a lottery I hadn't even needed to sign up for!

–

This thing was heavy.

The dress and panties had gone into my apartment's washer—on delicate, so as not to damage them—but the suit was too big for a machine wash, and I would have handwashed it even if it hadn't been. But handwashing it meant lifting it, manipulating it, and just a lot of moving around. And this thing was heavy.

Not just heavy, but cumbersome too. The padding inside didn't just add weight, it made the suit quite inflexible. I could bend it at its joints, and flex it a bit everywhere else, but it would be much easier if I could figure out how to take the stupid stuff out. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any such way short of damaging the suit, and I definitely wasn't interested in doing that—I had no confidence in my ability to fix it. I just had to be careful, and not soak it through.

I heaved the thing into my bath, got a brush and some soap and water, and started on its legs first. The orange-brown fur didn't look too dirty—which made sense if this thing had been in a trash bag—but who knew where the fursuit had been before that? And besides, the feet were covered in black fur, so I couldn't really see whether they were messy. God forbid it had fleas or something, and there was still the smell to consider.

I scrubbed vigorously for minutes, and was rewarded as my brush came back with dirt on it, while the legs and feet glistened with moisture. But that was just the top: I lifted one leg and scrubbed along its underside, and then the other, for minutes more. I toweled both sides off with similar effort, and already my efforts were being rewarded. The fur had been kind of tangled and unkempt before, and now it seemed to shimmer under the light.

Then again, 'already' might have been the wrong word. Just the legs had taken over ten minutes, and already I was feeling the burn.

With a grunt, I turned her over—I almost didn't notice that I was thinking of her as a her now—and went at the tail with similar vigor. This was fluffier and dirtier than the legs had been: in particular, it had a white tuft of hair at the end surrounded by a black ring, and this tuft really showed the grime. I had to clean my brush twice in the process, but eventually it was done, and looked good as new.

Next, came... well, there was no reason to be squeamish about it. It wasn't as though it was a real vagina, or a real asshole. Nevertheless, after flipping her over yet again, I couldn't help but hesitate before poking my brush inside her. Both of her holes were fairly tight, and I needed to switch to a smaller brush to really get inside.

For a moment, as I shoved the brush roughly in and out, I thought I felt the suit shiver, and I froze—but then realized the one shivering was me. Not just from exertion, but from the lewdness of what I was doing. Quickly, with burning cheeks, I finished with both of her holes and did a cursory sweep of her outer nether regions, perhaps cleaning them less thoroughly than the rest of her. Not that they looked any worse for it, once I'd dried them off.

This general theme continued as I continued up the body. Scrub vigorously, dry vigorously, clean my brush intermittently, and flip the body over at regular intervals. There were only a few variations on this theme. I zipped up the front zipper once I reached it, to avoid getting the inside wet, The breasts I hesitated on like I had the vagina, but they didn't feel quite as taboo as before, so I went at them nevertheless.

The biggest change was in my energy. This had taken an hour and I wasn't quite done with the outside. Maybe this was why someone had thrown it away: too much work for upkeep. Too heavy to wear without wearing yourself out, quite probably. But I'd started, and by God, I was going to finish.

Finally, I reached the head, and did extra careful work here, because the head and face were the most carefully constructed parts of the suit. The mouth, when closed, suggested a multi-purpose smirk, one which could probably be used to emote in a variety of ways by a skilled suiter. However, it could also be opened with a rig on the inside that went in the wearer's mouth. A tongue was inside too, one which also seemed to connect to the human.

Meanwhile, the blue eyes had motorized eyelids over them, allowing them to wink and blink, but I couldn't see what mechanism controlled them. Atop her head was a red-haired wig that didn't seem to come off—nothing did with this stupid costume—so I sat the costume up, and washed and brushed her hair in place as if she were a real girl.

At last I finished, just as the washer dinged to signal it was done. With a groan I stood up, chucked the clothes in the dryer, and stretched a few times. Then I knelt back upon my bathroom mat, and I opened the suit up to start on the inside.

I predicted at the start that this would take longer than the outside, and I was right. The only upside was that I didn't have to flip the suit over every so often—I couldn't, in fact, considering how the only opening was on the front, so that had to stay face-up. However, I also couldn't see what I was doing very well inside the costume, especially when cleaning the insides of the limbs and head, and my movements were tight and constricted by the suit.

Finally, a good twenty minutes after the dryer's finishing bell, she was done.

“Agh,” I grunted, as I finally stood straight again. My back wasn't happy with me, and was registering complaints in the form of shooting pains. My arms were cramping, and my knees hurt from the kneeling, even with the soft bathroom mat beneath them. “You're lucky you're worth all this trouble, Vicky.”

The name kinda came out of nowhere, but I guess if I was gonna spend my Friday night doing manual labor on a fursuit, she might as well have a name. An obvious name, sure, but I was dog tired. I had just enough energy to carry Vicky out of the bath, and I laid her out to dry in a corner of my bedroom. Then I washed my dirty hands, microwaved something quick to eat for dinner, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed. I didn't even take her clothes from the dryer.

Vicky's eyes seemed to watch me as I tucked myself under the covers, switched off the lamp, and shut my own eyes. It didn't take long to fall asleep.

–

I wasn't a heavy sleeper by nature. So, despite my exhaustion, I wasn't that surprised to wake up in the middle of the night, even if I wasn't sure why for a moment.

Then I turned on my bedside lamp, and I saw that Vicky was sitting up against the wall, staring at me.

I squinted, blinking several times. Hadn't I laid her out on her back, on the floor? I searched my memory, but fatigue had blurred it, and I couldn't be sure. In any case, I was pretty sure she'd dry more fully lying on her back: that way, her zipper could be fully open and expose her interior to airflow.

With an unhappy grunt, I got out of bed, trudged over to Vicky, and took her under her shoulders. Gently, as if tucking her into bed, I lowered her back onto the floor. Her red hair splayed out underneath her head, and her eyes looked up unblinkingly at me, as if staring through me.

“Probably couldn't sell you,” I mumbled. “Who's gonna buy a suit I got from the trash? And you're really heavy, too... probably hard to wear.”

I glanced down at her open front, and for a moment I considered the fact that I hadn't tested this theory. I hadn't tried wearing her. And there was a con tomorrow, and my planned costume wasn't really ready, whereas I'd spent a day getting this one into prime condition....

I chuckled at the thought. I wasn't gonna crossdress in public, and if worst came to worst, I'd just go as myself. It wasn't illegal to show up at a convention out of costume, was it?

Even so... maybe one day. Or maybe just for fun, just to try it, in the safety of my apartment.... “Maybe I'll keep you,” I murmured, rubbing her face with my hand. “Yeah, I think I'll keep you instead, Vicky.”

The window drapes blew at a sudden gust of wind—like Vicky's sitting position, I wasn't sure if I'd opened them before going to sleep. Somehow, the wind sounded like a whispered voice: “Thank you.”

I frowned: if I was hearing things, I definitely needed sleep. “G'night, Vicky,” I yawned, and fell back into bed and asleep. I didn't even turn off the light.

–
The next time I woke up, Vicky was standing.

It took me a moment to process this, but when I did, I let out a yelp of “Christ!”, and sat up quickly in bed.

Vicky leaned forward over the foot of the bed, resting her hands on her knees. “Hi there, Owner,” she whispered, in a sensual sounding voice. “What's your name?” It couldn't help but sound that way, with the way her breasts were pressed together between her arms.

Her full breasts—for as I looked closer, it was clearer than before that the fursuit wasn't floppy and empty like it had been before. Now the arms, legs, and torso had much more definition, much more thickness, like someone was in there.

She blinked coquettishly, and I realized she'd asked a question. “John,” I said, rubbing my eyes, hoping this apparation would disappear. The alternative was that an intruder had broken into my home and, rather than stealing anything, decided to play dress-up in my room. “Listen, who the hell are you?”

She laughed quietly. “I'm Vicky, remember? You named me.”

“No, I mean—fine, fine, how did you get in my apartment?”

“You brought me home with you.” Vicky—whoever was inside her—tilted her head to the side. “Poor John, you must be half asleep.”

“That's not—you know what I—”

Her laugh was a little louder this time, cutting me short. “It's okay, Owner,” she said, and she lifted her knee onto the bed. “If you want, you can just treat this as a really good dream.”

I couldn't do anything but sit still and watch as she crawled onto the bed and toward me. Her legs rested on either side of mine, pinning them under the covers. Her light-silver zipper glinted in the lamplight. “I'm really grateful you went to all the trouble to clean me up,” she said, and put her finger on my cheek, letting it slide up to my temple as her palm touched my skin. “I thought I was going to be mad at you for dropping me from that dumpster, and then you did something so nice....”

The suit had definitely been empty at the dumpster: whoever was inside now wouldn't know about that mistake. Was she saying... was she pretending to be what I thought she was pretending to be? “What were you doing in the dumpster?” I stammered, humoring her for whatever reason.

“Oh, it was awful—” Vicky's breath caught, and she looked down at my chest as she sniffed. “My last owner, she didn't have time to care for me anymore... she didn't even bother to find me a good home. Just dumped me in the trash, like some cheap, lifeless costume.” She let out a few sobs, her eyes closed, and wiped away imaginary tears.

“But then you rescued me,” she continued, a new eagerness in her voice. “You saved me, and you pampered me, and you said you wanted to keep me....” She breathed in again, almost sobbing with joy. “Oh, I think I'd do anything for you now, John.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said, and then she leaned in and kissed me, passionately. Her fake tongue grabbed my real one and forced it to play, and her breasts pressed against my bare chest under the sheets. One of her hands slipped beneath my neck, holding me in, and I couldn't help but close my eyes and wrap my arms around her before I knew what I was doing. She was plush and soft, and warm.

She pulled away, her hand still under my neck. “Please,” she whispered. “Let me belong to you. I think you'd love being inside me.”

I squinted. “I don't know who you are. Look, this is kind of fast—”

“But don't most owners want to put their costumes on first thing? Especially one as gorgeous as me,” she said, unsubtly lifting and groping at one breast with her free hand.

“You're not a costume. You're a person wearing a costume, who for some reason is trying to convince me you're a costume.”

She gasped, and pulled her hand away from my neck to place it over her mouth. “The idea! You're my owner, I would never let anyone else—”


After a few seconds, her shoulders relaxed. “It's okay,” she said, “you don't understand yet. But if you think there's someone else inside me, then open me up and find out.”

Her hand went down and poked at her zipper, as if I needed another visual cue. With a sharp motion I reached out, grabbed the tab, and pulled down.

Vicky winked, and then immediately deflated and slouched onto me, covering my face.

“What?” I mumbled into the fur. I shoved her off of my torso, back onto the bed—she was now bent backward unnaturally at the waist—and felt around inside her body cavity. But there was no one. There was clearly no one. “Vicky?” I called out, to no reply.

I needed a reality check. With terse motions I jumped out of bed, marched to my bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face, gasping at the feeling. But it left me more awake, and more ready to deal with... whatever the hell this was. I walked back into my room and saw Vicky again.

She was lying in the corner, zipper open. Right where she'd been when I fell asleep, like she'd never moved.

Maybe she hadn't moved. In fact, as I tried to calm my pounding heartbeat, that was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. She couldn't have ever moved of her own volition, because she was a costume, and costumes didn't do that outside of the kind of trashy fetish stories I stopped reading when I reached college.

No, the better explanation was that I was dog-tired, and went to sleep thinking of her after a disruption to my schedule, and was having weird nightmares and/or wet dreams. So I told myself.

It helped, after I manually slowed my breathing, and I climbed back into bed. But Vicky was still bothering me, so—after a minute or so of enduring her lifeless eyes—I took a spare pillow and rested it over her face. This helped much more.

With the light off, and my head facing firmly away from the fursuit, I managed to get to sleep.

–

The third time was the charm.

I woke up, and Vicky was exactly where I'd left her, pillow and all. There was light coming in through the curtains, and when I checked my phone, I saw that the time was eight in the morning. A halfway reasonable time to wake up.

Of course it had been just a bunch of dreams. It couldn't be otherwise, I told myself. In a week, I'd either be laughing at this memory, or I'd have forgotten it entirely. I forced a laugh now, just for practice, as I got out of bed and did my morning routine.

After a shower and a quick breakfast, it was eight thirty. The convention started at ten o'clock. It would take some time to drive there and find parking—call it half an hour to be safe. That meant an hour to finish my cosplay hanging in the closet—the one I'd been hoping to finish last night, before being interrupted.

Or, there was another costume I could try.

I shook myself, my dreams coming back to me. That was what Vicky wanted—what I'd dreamed her to want. Was it what I wanted, though? To wear some strange costume I'd found while dumpster diving; to crossdress in public, feeling the secret thrill of no one recognizing me?

“Stop that,” I said, looking down as my penis perked up. Okay, so part of me was on board with the idea, clearly—but it was a terrible idea nonetheless, full of risks and unknowns and way outside my comfort zone. Which was why I absolutely wouldn't be taking Vicky to the convention.

Of course, there wasn't any harm in trying her on in here. It would take five minutes, tops. And, well... I didn't think I could really restrain myself.

With a little giggle of nervousness, I pulled Vicky out from the corner, and lifted her onto the bed. I'd gotten better at handling her limp weight, so this wasn't as hard as last night, even with muscles that still felt the previous day's strain.

I thought of taking a moment to get dressed first, at least in boxers, but quickly shook my head—that would take longer, and I was short on time. So instead, I rolled over onto Vicky's front, letting myself sink into her thick padding, and stuck my legs through the zipper hole, and into the costume's legs.

“I knew it!”

Before I could react to the voice, Vicky's arms squeezed around me in a tight hug—one which bound my arms and left no opportunity to move. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” said the voice that I recognized from my dreams of the previous night. “I promise you, Owner, you won't regret this at all!”

I regretted all of this. Because as I fruitlessly kicked my legs, unable to get them free, I couldn't help but feel like an idiot, to have so quickly discounted last night's events. To pretend, against all evidence, that they were a dream.

This was real.