FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Waking up in a different room at the same hotel you're staying at is an odd experience it turns out. Everything, down to the curtains, bedsheets, carpet, and TV remote look exactly the same. The main difference is I'm curled up on a reclining chair with a beer-stained bath towel draped over me instead of nice comfy sheets and there are clothes strewn around the floor that aren't mine. It reminds me of the bouts of sleepwalking I suffered from when I was younger, causing me often to roam into my older sister's room and stay there for the night which left me confused and without my bearings when I awoke in the morning. I'm a little older now and being blackout drunk isn't as cute as a sleepwalking raccoon kit. Three of the friends I had made the night before were asleep on the beds. Passed out would be a better word; one big cat's limbs are sprawled in several directions and another is completely wrapped in a sad ball of sheets with a single fuzzy brown tail poking out from a fold in the side. It lies dead across the comforter. I didn't look a sight any better than them. A small mirror on the desk pointing directly at me presents a lovely view of a disheveled raccoon; my jersey is hanging off one arm and I had been using a pair of goalie pants as a pillow.

Getting driven out via a huge bus to compete in our regions hockey finals was super exciting at first. It made the local paper and our coach forced us to practice nearly every day for two weeks straight to prepare. We had our eyes on the state finals and nothing could get our hopes down. There was even talks about making it to the national championships, that is, until we realized maybe being the reigning champions of a small mountain district didn't mean jack to the inner city teams we were put up against. My team got rained down on hard, and everyone slumped tiredly off the ice after the last game bell rang, the scoreboard showing we hadn't scored a single point. The winners were graceful in their victory at least, and invited some of us to sit in the lobby and share booze one of their teammates had presumably stolen.

The other team's mercilessness left me with an ugly bruise I can feel under my fur down my left side, but worse than that I have a fantastic headache from last night's celebration of losing. Sitting in the hotel lobby with this far superior team, I felt embarrassed to say I've never taken more than as much as a sip of beer in the past so I just made it a rule of thumb to gulp down whatever they gave me without complaining, and it's coming back to haunt me now. The paper thin curtains over a large window behind me brought in just enough light to make it worse and the low whine of cars driving down the street our room overlooks rings in my ears. At least I still have my briefs on, which is a nice change from my sleep walking days. As I slip off the chair, gently as to not awaken the others, I stumbled onto another one of my new hockey buddies in a state that made my tufted black cheeks burn red.

The other team had a chestnut colored horse they nicknamed the "Striker" who made sure that we knew the meaning behind it. Twice during the game, he caught me off-guard with puck, trying to sneak past their defenses in by the wall, and each time his brawny shoulder came thundering in at full speed. Before I knew it I was two feet off the ground with my face squished up against the hard glass, followed then by the quickly approaching ice. He made the crowd roar with approval and he paused to raise his heavy arms and wave his hockey stick like a gladiator while I was on the ice with the wind knocked from my lungs. Like the others, he too is totally unconscious and splayed out on the only couch in the room, just off to the left from where I slept. It is hilariously too small for him. His huge, powerful legs protrude for miles off one end, and a thick arm hangs dead over the other one toward his head. In the middle of his face, a streak of white blaze cuts down from his forehead to the end of his nose, His massive nostrils rhythmically rise and fall with his chest. He still has on the undershirt from last night, which is tight and expertly shows his chest and abdominal muscles underneath, though he had seemingly kicked off his hockey pants during the night, which now lay crumpled on the floor at the end of the couch. It doesn't strike me as strange. It is in the middle of summer and the hotel's AC isn't very spectacular so it can stay uncomfortably warm through the night. What is strange, however, is that his jock strap has completely failed at its designated job, and his package is flopped out over the top, half-erect and hanging limply over the edge of the couch. It is quite an astounding sight; even partially sheathed it still easily trumps my own length when hard, and it had to be thicker around than my arm. My arms aren't in any way big, coach has been trying to bulk me up, but I guess raccoons just aren't meant to get muscular. Even so it remains a bold fact that peaks my interest. Mid-way down the shaft is a blotch of pink surrounded by a sea of visibly squishy brown skin that, as it got to the base, turned course and blurred into the brown coat which covered the rest of his body. Just below his penis is basically a set of two softballs. They are massive things; I can feel the weight of them just by looking from a distance. They made their own slight indent in the couch and are gently tucked under his thigh. I am beginning to wonder how he manages to fit all of in in the jock strap before each game in the first place.

It feels surreal standing so close; I've fooled around with a guy on another team before but never anyone this size; never a horse. I can even see the tiny soft darker hairs, more like fuzz, almost invisible to the eye, covering his huge balls. This is definitely something else. Without really even trying, blood begins to rush to my nether regions and a wave of sly craftiness comes over me. He has no idea he was exposed, and the suspense of someone possibly waking up and seeing me just standing here staring only makes it hotter. More than anything, I just want to touch and see what it feels like. I've seen pictures on the internet but you can never really know something until you experience it firsthand, like how people talk about the Grand Canyon. Somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I am seriously considering attempting it, trying to tell myself there's no way he'd wake up or just a small grope wouldn't even matter. I've been paralyzed to the spot for nearly a minute, unable to make a decision. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to turn and walk out. Forget everything you saw and meet up with the team down at the continental breakfast to partake in the sulking mood. But another part asks: when will you ever get a chance like this again?

An idea springs to my head. I can't muster up the courage to do anything here while he's asleep with three of his teammates in the room, but nothing is stopping me from taking a picture and having a bit of fun with it in my room later. I dig around in my clothes looking for my phone, making sure not to make a whole lot of noise. They don't smell too great after all the exertion through the game last night, so a shower would probably do me good as well. I vaguely remember having my phone on with me last night, but it is hard to tell. All my memories are in a cloudy haze and just thinking about last night makes my head start to pound. Both of our teams were using the same hotel and when we got back after the game, we hung out in the lobby for a while. They didn't seem to mind talking and sitting around with the losing team which I guess is nice of them. After the coach and most of the others left to take a shower and sleep, one of their guys, a tall and built tiger, opened a duffel bag to reveal booze he had triumphantly acquired after the game. Anything past that might as well have been a dream. I wore my gear after the game and they don't have any pockets so I probably lost my phone at some point in my stupor, I just hope someone turned it into the front desk. Defeated, I snatch my pants from the headrest of the couch. My phone launches out from a fold in the fabric and crashes against the wall, hard enough that the plastic door holding the battery explodes from the phone. The crash makes a loud thud against the thin wall and my whole body cringes at the sound, desperately hoping it doesn't wake someone up. Slowly turning, I peek out with one eye and the horse begins to move and stir. Chilly adrenaline is suddenly pumping through my body, making my ringed tail silently shudder in the air. He shifts more onto his back and makes a snort but the chestnut thankfully doesn't wake up. I quickly try to put the phone back together, fumbling around with the battery. I should get it over with before I make any more mistakes but my paws won't do what I tell them; my heart is racing and my arms are shivering in a cold sweat but I finally manage to rebuild it after half a minute of clumsily groping around.

His package is still out and half-mast, hanging limply over his thigh. The size of it makes me giddy just seeing it again. It's going to be at least a week before I'll be able to think of anything other than pretty blotches of pink on flaccid horse cocks, and imagining putting my mouth on them. I click the plastic door for the battery back into the phone and flip it open. The logo flashes over the screen for a second and then I open the camera application. Hmm. Should I just get a shot from the side? Or stand by his hooves and get one vertically? I guess there's no reason I can't do one of each. I hold up my phone and point the camera right at his crotch. The shitty camera isn't very good quality but it will have to do. Nothing will ever compare to seeing it in person. As I center the frame on his thick penis and press the camera button with a digit, I register the huge mistake I'm making but I'm unable to stop the motion in time. I keep the sound on my phone off pretty much all the time. Teachers hate it when they go off in class and I found myself turning the sound off so often I just keep it off and make sure to listen for vibrations. Turning the phone completely off, or letting the battery fall out for that matter, resets everything and I have to turn it on silent again when it reboots. In the tense situation, this completely escapes from my mind. I realize what I've done as I press the button but it's far too late now. CA-CHINCH. The shutter sound jarringly erupts from the phone just a foot from the horse's body. Dark brown eyes immediately shoot open and look straight at me as he lifts himself on a powerful arm. Watching him come to life in front of my eyes makes me nervously drop the phone onto the carpet. The adrenaline rushes back into my body again, freezing me in place. I can only stand there awkwardly with my paws in the shape of a phone as he curiously looks me up and down, wondering why I was just watching him sleep. "What are you..." the chestnut starts, stopping as he looks down at the phone I just dropped on the floor. It landed on its side, and the act of it hitting the ground makes the camera go off again. The camera shutter sound plays followed by the flash which pathetically illuminates the carpet underneath the couch. It may be just my mind but I would swear it is ten times louder this time. He looks back up at me in confusion, his steely eyes making the hair on the back of my neck stand up in fright. My tail instinctively curls between my legs and I remember that I'm still just in my briefs, reminding me how exposed I am. I'm caught. He moves to shift his legs around so he'll be sitting normally and notices something touching his leg, looking down to see his flaccid member slipped out of his jock strap. It doesn't seem to surprise him, but then I start to see the gears turning in his head as he pieces the situation together. Instead of quickly stuffing it back into the cloth of his underwear, he pauses, then sits regularly on the sofa and lets it hang out in front of me. He calmly puts his hooves down next to my phone as he stretches his arms in a yawn and places them wide across the head of the couch like he's putting his arms around two ladies at the movie theater. Again the couch is too small for him, and the tips of his fingers reach past the edges of either side of the headrest. For some time, he sits there silently whilst pondering to himself.

I wish he would just say something! I feel like I'm standing on a bucket with my head in a noose, waiting, hoping even that he kicks the bucket out from under me to save the embarrassment of trying to explain myself. His junk is still out but I couldn't for the life of me look at it in lust anymore; All I can do is stare at the ground in shame.

Several more silent moments pass by before he finally speaks, "Well, what are you waiting for number thirteen?" the chestnut colored horse asks impatiently. Thirteen is the number on the back of my jersey. It's still crumpled in a ball over by the reclining chair where I slept it so he must be remembering it from the game the night before. Strange he remembers the number but not my name. "SEBASTIAN" is on right there, just above the number. I don't remember his number, except the name "RIKER" in bold, white letters on his team's red jersey.

"I uh, you see I was actually-," I say trying to think of something. I thankfully don't get very far before he interrupts me because I have no real excuse.

"You wanted to see my cock is what you were doing, dipshit," he says unphased.

"I-..."

"Because I don't think that taking a picture like that would be any use as around here to get you anything," he continues, blatantly ignoring me, "considering that everyone on my team already gets to see it after every home game. It's not the secret eighth wonder of the wor-...Hey eyes up here idiot."

Blackmail hadn't even come to my mind. I guess it could theoretically work to make the star player throw a game by threatening to release their nude photos, but everyone already sees everything in the showers so it wouldn't even matter. I'm sure their team already hates him enough standing around in the locker room, destroying their egos with his massive package. As I think on this, my eyes are resting on the region between his legs without really paying any attention. I can't bring myself to say it out loud so I shyly look back up at him nod my head in agreement with my ears low.

"So what are you waiting for coon?" the horse asks, motioning toward his package with an open palm before placing it back up on the headrest. "You wanted to see it and here it is. Go ahead and do what you came here to do, I don't mind, just next time don't creep on me when I'm sleeping like some serial killer."

What just happened? He caught me, dead to rights, but now he's fine with it? It doesn't make any sense; it has to be some trap. Regardless of what I think, I'm still frozen to the spot, filled to my eyeballs with uncertainty. He doesn't like the hesitance, so he quickly becomes frustrated and takes my arm by the wrist, his massive digits almost completely obscuring my small paws, and pulls me down to his crotch, forcing my hand to land on the base of his soft, warm cock. This is all happening way too fast. Just a minute ago he was fast asleep. I should be in the shower right now, imagining this situation with my eyes shut as I jack off under the stream of steamy hot water. But instead, I'm actually here getting an erection through my briefs as I fondle a very much awake horse who probably weighs over two of me put together; His thigh muscle alone is very nearly the same circumference of my waist. He lets go of my wrist, leaving my paw touching his naked groin without help. He's coerced me to break through whatever barrier I was scared of passing, and now that I'm here, all of the hesitation melts away and turns into raw excitement. With my paw actually grasping it I can fully take in how big it actually is. I try to wrap my digits around the flaccid penis but they don't even come near to touching on the other side, forcing me to behold it with both paws. Its warmth radiates into the pads of my paws. I give it a light squeeze on the shaft near the head and he makes a quick snort of approval, a pleasured grin pulling back his lips. With one hand on his cock, I start to gain some courage and touch his balls with the other. They are massive; I can only cup one of them at a time with my palm; The only thing I can compare it to is it's like trying to hold a big meaty water balloon covered in loose skin. They were warm in my hand and as I removed my paw and let them drop back down to the sofa, I could smell his musky scent coming off my palm, beckoning me closer. I don't know how long he is going to be cool with this, or how long the others are going to stay asleep, so I take a chance and move down to my knees in front of him, moving my nose in closer to take a curious sniff between the shaft and the top of his balls. The manliness of his scent nearly makes me tear through my tight briefs from excitement. I can feel blood starting to rush into the shaft in my grasp as it slowly grows and slides more out of his sheath. As his length begins to grow, a small fleshy ring encircling his thick cock unfolds from his sheath. I don't know much about horse so at first I think that this signifies the base, but it continues getting longer and thicker, the ring apparently holding little importance. How can there still be more?

"Okay, hold up. It's time I take a few souvenirs of my own," he says, breaking the short silence. I don't understand so I look up to see what he's talking about but my field of view is blocked by a thick arm moving toward me which then reaches between my ears as he grabs the back of my head. With his other hand he protrudes a phone, a nice one, at least compared to my shitty flip phone. The horse then pulls my head toward him and squishes my nose down hard into the soft brown fleshy area between the top of his balls and the bottom of his shaft, forcing in more of his musky scent, the weight of his almost fully erect horsecock lying heavily across the top of my nose and over my head. I can hear the clicking of a camera which he's holding in his other hand as he repeatedly says, "Good, good." I push my paws against his thigh trying to lift my head up but he's too strong and my mouth is so hard pressed into his lap I can't open jaw to say anything. Attempting to talk only results in unintelligible noises. The camera clicks a few more times and then he loosens his hold, but only by a little.

"Here let's try this pose," he says, almost chuckling to himself. He lets me pull my neck back just a little and moves the head of his penis so it's pressing against my nose and mouth. The head of his cock is so big it covers the entire front of my muzzle effortlessly. I can't do really do anything in spite of it except breath in the hot musky scent of his groin and feel my own erection uncomfortably fight against the fabric of my underwear. It makes me embarrassed that I'm getting off on this but I'd be lying if I hadn't wanted to dive into his crotch when I saw him, maybe less violently though.

"Open." he commands. I dutifully follow the sudden harsh tone of his voice and open my lips just an inch, but he straightaway crams the head of his huge cock into my mouth. I'm immediately fighting for air, pushing on his huge thighs trying to get a breath, but his grip is too strong, and the shaft only disappears into my muzzle another inch, making me gag and convulse. The shaft isn't too bad; I can open my muzzle just enough to fit in his width but the head is a different story. It has to be pushed in, hard, and it locks my tongue at bottom of my mouth in place. This whole time he is taking dozens of pictures. I can only imagine the state I look in, my face scrunched up in terror as I fight for small gasps of air. I desperately try to relax and breathe through my nose but the feeling of his thick cock prodding against the back of my throat forces me into a fit of convulsions as if I'm drowning. He takes more pictures but it isn't enough so he pushed harder on the back of my head, forcing some more into my small muzzle. Amazingly it keeps moving, squeaking down the walls of my cheeks a few more inches. There's no chance it can go any further now. It has completely shut off my last airway and simply sits at the back of my throat like a boulder sealing off the entrance of a cave. All I have to do now is try and hold my breath and hope he has enough pictures. What he's planning on doing with the pictures, I have no idea, and at this point I don't care. I'll let him take a video if it means I can just breathe again. The pink blotch of skin on the upper part of his shaft is just half an inch from the top of my nose, and the fleshy ring is further still. My jaw is open as wide is it can physically go without tearing my muzzle in half, making the side of my mouth burn as they stretch over his thick member. It makes my eyes itch in irritation and I feel a tear run from the corner of my eye and down the fur of my cheek.

Just as my face begins to turn blue from lack of oxygen, he finally lets go of my head and I fall back, coughing and gagging on the ground with strings of saliva bridging from my panting tongue to the tip of his erection. Some amount of precum from his cock dribbles out of the corner of my muzzle. I hadn't been able to notice it before since it was just going straight down my throat, past my tongue, but now I can taste the sweetness of it as it fills my mouth. The back of my throat is sore and the time without air put my head in a blurry daze. The chestnut colored horse gets up from the seat and stands over me, admiring his own length now fully engorged and drooling sticky pre down into my fur. It looked even more intimidating from below. Something about how it casts its own mighty shadow on the wall gives it more of an entity, something to be trifled with. He starts to reach down toward me with a muscly arm with more intention on his mind, but the horse's focus suddenly snaps to the sound of something shifting on the bed, his ears pricked and standing at attention. Lying on the floor by the couch out of view, I recognize the tired and groggy voice as the tiger who sat in the lobby with us the night before. I remember him being there. He's not as tall as Riker, but still an incredible mass of muscle and orange fur. Without really giving any thought to it, and still slightly out of it, I quickly flatten myself to the carpet and scramble under the bed as he begins to speak, hoping he hasn't seen me.

"Oh god my head, why did I even think that would be a good idea. I'm never going to drink that much again. Who did we-... Jesus-Christ Riker, put your fucking cock away, I don't want to see that shit right now. I swear I'm going to throw up. You flaunt it around enough in the locker room as it is," the hungover voice says from the bed. I can hear him throw his sheets back and shake the bed as he start to step over another sleeping teammate.

"Sorry Lyle, I didn't mean to-..." Riker begins to say, taken back.

"Yeah, yeah, morning wood, dreams of big pony tits, I get it. Just put it back in the bag please. If coach catches you showing off again he's going to think we're fags for putting up with it so much. How do you even have that much blood in your body to support that thing? Hey is this your phone?" the tiger asks. The frame of the bed creaks around me as he stands on the bed just a few feet above my head, peering down toward Riker's hooves. From underneath the bed, I can see the horse reach down and pick up my flip phone off the ground.

"Yes, yes it is, thanks," he says. I can hear him start to hit buttons, looking through my phone as if it's actually his. I want to angrily snatch it out of his grasp but I dare not jump out now that I've committed myself here under the bed. It was probably not the best idea; I have no clue how long it will be until the coast is clear and I'm beginning to feel the need to pee. I could probably have pretended to be asleep and curled in a ball to hide my erection but it's too late now. Lyle probably thinks I woke up and left sometime in the night.

I hear the cat hop off the bed and grab a towel off the door, "I call first dibs on the shower, it smells like fucking rodent ass in here. When did the coach say the bus is coming?"

Not a rodent. Look it up, jerk.

"Hmm," Riker is still going through my phone right in front of me. "I think two or three o'clock but you should probably ask him to be sure". Soon enough I hear the bathroom door close just as Riker is evidently finished with whatever he was just doing with my phone. He simply drops it back on the carpet half a foot from my face like a piece of trash. I quickly snatch it up and tuck it into the waistline of my briefs before he feels like taking it again for whatever reason. The adrenaline from hearing the tiger made me lose my erection and now I just really have to pee. I pull myself out from under the bed and Riker helps me up with another extended arm. He's since lost his erection as well and everything is back and orderly tucked into a well-defined bulge in his underwear, as if nothing had ever taken place.

I'm about to scold him for going through my phone but he brashly grabs me on the rear and pinches my ass, pushing me toward my gear on the chair. "Best you get on out of here before the next one gets up, cutie," he says, forcing me to blush. He nods his long and muscular face with the long white blaze toward another teammate passed out in the bed. He's just an indistinguishable ball wrapped up in the blanket but I pick up the scent of a canine underneath. Probably their center, a blindingly quick German shepherd, as I don't remember many other canines on their team. I give up on speaking my mind and comply with Riker's suggestion. He would probably just laugh at me anyways. I quickly put on my sweaty hockey jersey and pants before slipping out the door, finally escaping this strange but confessedly enjoyable morning. On the to my own room to use the toilet and get myself washed up. On the walk through the halls, I look at my phone and see that he had been scrolling through a page that lists my contact info. Good grief, now he has my number. Not really sure if that is a good or bad thing right now, hopefully good. I also check through the pictures, thinking he's probably deleted the photo I took of his naked form in his sleep, but surprisingly it's still there, giving me one more thing to take care of once I get back to the shower in my room.