FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Author's Note:

The sections of this story can be read in any order.

Contents:

Sex.

Work.

Night.

Play.

Bus.

Meeting.

Sex.

It's at times like this - stuffed with two cocks, one in each end - that life seems very much worth living.

The Labrador pounding my ass lifts a paw over my back which is soon met with an enthusiastic high five from the German Shepherd who's lathering the inside of my muzzle with pre-cum.

I would roll my eyes, but I have more pressing issues to attend to, such as working the shaft in my muzzle and clutching the bed to steady myself while the lab roughly ruts into me. I suppose it's not a particularly dignified position to be in, but that's rarely stopped me from doing anything before.

"Fuck, your ass is amazing," says Charlie, tightening his grip on my waist.

I've known Charlie for a couple years, and this isn't the first time I've heard him say something like that, but I'd be lying if I said I don't appreciate it.

"Better than mine?" Mint asks facetiously, pulling on the back of my head so that another inch of his cock fills my muzzle.

It may well not be something I'm proud of, but the two boyfriends bickering is making me even more turned on than I already was. Maybe it wouldn't be the reaction I would choose, but that's just how my brain works I suppose and my drippy, full-mast member pressed up against the bed certainly isn't making any strong arguments otherwise.

"Hmm, I don't know. You can help me double check later. I need you to help me remember what you feel like," responds Charlie, eyes focused on Mint while he's pounding me and idly stroking my tail.

"Oh, come on, you fucked me this morning." Mint retorts, starting a laugh that transforms into a little moan as I lap at his cock. "Don't give me this help me remember crap."

Charlie makes a sound which I can only describe as a delightful combination of a grunt and a laugh. After that there's far less talking.

It's a little overwhelming taking dick from two canines at once, but the three of us soon fall into a shared rhythm. My whole being exists in a near constant state of ecstasy while the two go about pleasuring themselves, pumping and grinding and feeling and grabbing. This is absolute submission. It's fucking amazing. It's everything I needed to help me let go of the stresses of day-to-day life.

The minutes melt away in a hedonistic haze of spit roasting and plenty of my own dribbling pre, before I know it both of the canines on top are eager to switch things up. My guess being they know they won't be able to hold their climax at bay much longer if they keep going.

The unpleasant sensation of no longer being filled with two dicks is only just about bearable as we rearrange ourselves in a flurry of flesh and fur. At least it lets me finally get a word in.

"I wouldn't ask for the head-to-head Mint, you know this ass will come out ahead," I goad. The shep rolls his eyes, but his playful smile betrays him.

"I wouldn't expect you to say anything else Ry, and I don't have a single bad word to say about your top quality rear." He grabs a pawful of said rear and gives it a good squeeze. "But you shouldn't underestimate mine either."

I twist around to look at him, and in the instinctual horny state that we're both in we somehow end up tumbling across the bed, clutching at one another's bodies. At the end of it we're inexplicably making out. He's damn good at it too, if not quite the best kiss I've had today, but on any other day there wouldn't be any competition at all. Just when we're really getting into it Charlie grabs us both by the tails, reminding us there's more than two of us dogs to please this evening.

"How can you say I'm not the best if even you can't resist me?" I ask Mint, mostly in jest. I wink at him and lick my muzzle in an exaggeratedly camp fashion. He narrows his eyes as though annoyed or suspicious but I know him well enough to know he still wants my butt. I twist under him, pushing my ass up against his half hard member.

From there it's not long before he's bumping his knot against my tailhole and I'm making the neighbors feel uncomfortable.

"All right then, fine. I'll settle this debate if I have to," Charlie says in a sigh of mock reluctance, positioning himself behind Mint.

With a little maneuvering, Mint becomes an especially lucky canine as Charlie fits his already stiff cock inside him. I may not be in quite as perfect a position as Mint, but the simple knowledge of exactly what's happening combined with an excess of my recommended daily dosage of cock drives me wild. The three of us quickly devolve into monosyllabic sounds and those basic, effective words all over again.

Charlie is the first to reach his climax, his movements stuttering and masculine groans of pure satisfaction escaping his muzzle at the same time as he releases himself inside of Mint. Mint is amusingly catlike as he purrs away in contented pleasure for a few seconds before his cock reminds him that he has something, someone, better to do.

Fueled by a fresh injection of cum, the slutty shep speeds up his thrusts. I grip tightly onto the bed and let him know how I'm feeling with short, breathy moans. It sounds kind of silly, but it's true: nothing feels as good as getting fucked by a guy who wants your ass bad. So many things make up that fact, it's the feeling of them inside of you, the feeling of them losing control as they get closer and closer to the finish line, the feeling of their fur on yours, the panting, the moaning, the rush of it all. The physical feeling of cock in ass, while pretty damn good, is only a small part of it.

His knot pounds against my hole as his whole body shudders against mine. He nibbles at the tips of my ears and lets out a low, whispered moan through his teeth, tickling the fur inside my ears. Amid his orgasm his slutty nature turns his low-pitched, low-key moan into an exaggerated, higher, louder one. Narrowly and thankfully avoiding knotting, he fills me with spurt after spurt of warm seed. I close my eyes and exist in that moment of bliss for as long as I can hold it.

For the next minute or so we all simply lie together, panting and bathing in the afterglow. Of course, once I've recovered, I'm the one to break the silence.

"So, Charlie, whose butt was better?" I ask as soon as I fully recover my breath, my grin spread ear to ear.

At this point we've disentangled ourselves and Charlie is throwing towels our way.

"Who's butt did he finish in husky boy?" Mint teases, playing idly with my tail as we sit beside each other on the bed.

"Who's butt did you spill your load in sheppy?" I ask. He laughs, causing a domino effect where me and Charlie join in shortly after.

"I'd really rather keep you both guessing," says Charlie.

Ignoring him, Mint continues debating with me: "How can you be so confident that yours is better when you haven't even tried mine yet?"

"Is that a challenge?" I ask.

"I think it is," says Charlie.

"It is," says Mint.

"Accepted."

Work.

The minutes crawl. I've been finding it difficult to motivate myself lately.

My boss walks and I snap to attention, my paws clicking away automatically at the keyboard. I'm definitely doing office admin. Yup. Definitely.

Then she's gone, and I'm right back to clock watching. I definitely shouldn't be doing this, I know that, yet here I am...

Days here are blurring together.

So, I'm not the first person who doesn't enjoy their work, but that doesn't make it any more fun to be here day after day. Is this all there is to life? Work, play, sleep. Work, play, sleep. Work, play, sleep. It's getting repetitive; especially since only the play part is worth the damn oxygen it takes up.

My mind drifts onto my plans for the night, at least there's something to look forward to and daydreaming's far more interesting than staring at the second hand.

...

A colleague approaches me and I snap out of my head to type some more nonsense into a spreadsheet. Unfortunately he doesn't walk on by, he stops and asks: "Could you order us another round of printer ink, darling?"

I smile at him and write an actual note into my computer this time.

He isn't calling me darling as some kind of camp affect. He's a straight, fairly basic weasel in all honesty. He does it because he knows I'm gay and he thinks we have some kind of chemistry. He thinks it's funny, he thinks he's vibing with my 'culture'. Idiot.

Sometimes he tells me about the latest episode of Drag Race, as though it gives him some kind of gay cred. He talks about it to me as though, just because I'm gay, I must be a fan of a show with a lot of fags in it. Every time he has a conversation with me he acts like queer things are all that must matter to me. It's as if I was some kind of floating blob compromised of the word 'gay' written out millions of times, and not a real living, breathing person.

The note on my computer reads: fuck off.

It's not exactly original or witty, but it makes me feel a little better.

"Of course I can, no problem." I say with effortless, entirely false, enthusiasm.

I remember, one time he asked me: are all the guys at drama club gay?

I wanted to hit him. I told him of course not, but he pressed me and found out a couple of them were. His response: _I knew it._Self impressed, ignorant fuck.

Right now I don't feel like hitting him, I'd rather he just go away.

He smiles and nods and thankfully he does just that.

I hate the person I become when I'm here. Quiet, meek and unopinionated. I would say that it's not me at all, but unfortunately I'm not so sure of that.

I act like this every day I go to work. How can I say this isn't me if I'm like this for so long and so often?

I hate it, but I don't change it. Typical me. Typical fucking Ryan.

Then again, if I'm outspoken and bombastic half the time but this no-voice bitch the other half then how exactly do I define typical?

I go back to watching the clock. The minutes really do crawl.

If I keep doing this they'll notice eventually. One day I'll get fired.

The thought fills me with no real emotion at all.

Night.

I'm staring at my ceiling.

It's dark, but my eyes have begun to adjust and I can see the geometry of my room clearly. I can see the lightshade and the cobwebs, the corners, the cracks, the stains.

I can't sleep. Easy sleep is rare for me these days.

These days...

That's not quite right. I can't remember the last time I got to sleep easily.

I worry a lot. I worry about a lot of things. My friends, my family, myself. The rich, the poor, the living, the dead. Money, politics, war, the environment, the world. I worry about pretty much everything.

Most of all I worry about a self obsessed question. Who am I?

It's a question I've been asking as long as I can remember. I've never really had an answer.

I work as an office administrator. I fuck like a sex-crazed slut. Sometimes I'm ecstatic just to be alive. Sometimes I wonder if I might be depressed. Sometimes I go out and laugh and get drunk and party. Sometimes I get into intense conversations about art and existence at drama club.

These are facts about me. They're all distinct and different and true. If you add it all up you get, what? Nothing but a mess. Who really am I? All I know for sure is that I'm not one of those things: I'm all of them. It's not really an answer, or at least not one that's easy to digest.

I'm a Canadian husky who's lived a relatively easy life. What right do I have to feel so lost and so sad? I'm one of the luckiest people alive. My parents are, basically, supportive of me. So are my friends. I'm getting by okay. I'm keeping up my acting... So why am I still so fucking hung up on this simple question?

I keep searching for an answer that I'm not even sure exists.

Sometimes I worry so much that I cry.

How can I fix myself if I don't even know what I want? Questions, questions, fucking questions. It's all I have. It's all that keeps me sane.

I'm being melodramatic, like a character in a Shakespeare comedy. Hysterical and ridiculous, played for laughs not sympathy.

My tired mind blends and blurs the shades of monochrome that have become my world, creating an ethereal effect about my bedroom.

Is any of this even real?

This whole damn universe, it doesn't make any sense.

On the stage, in the center of a narrative, there is cohesion. There is a definite beginning, middle and end and everybody knows it, but in the real world everything is a little more murky. Sure, as far as we can perceive, time is linear, but apart from that there are no guarantees. Nobody really remembers where they start and we don't know when we'll end. The middle is merely a concept. In the real world there are no acts, no plot progression, no neatly tied ribbons. I could die tomorrow and the world wouldn't blink.

When it comes to storytelling I've always found the real world to be a lot more abstract than fairytale. You start confused, you think you're getting the hang of it, then you end up even more confused than you started.

Or maybe that's just me.

Not everything is bleak though, I'm not yet hopeless. I'm still young, I still have time to figure things out, or at least try to.

I don't know if I'm even making sense any more and I can feel my mind drifting into semi-consciousness.

I don't count sheep in my head tonight: I count otters. They're pretty cute ones too.

Play.

"It's your eyes," Charlie says.

"M-my eyes?" I stutter.

He strokes a paw down my cheek before cupping my chin and lifting it up slightly, locking our gazes together.

"They're beautiful."

"I-I..."

"Like a million flowers blooming at once, or a thousand choirs singing in perfect harmony, or a hundred... a hundred... uh, fuck."

He lets go of my chin and shakes his head. I can't help myself from laughing.

"You had to fuck up your lines before I get to my good ones, eh?" I ask, jabbing him lightly on the shoulder.

"It started off so promising too," says Derek, the director.

"Come on, this is our first day without the script, give me a break okay?" Charlie vents, his ears dipping and his tail staying still.

"Fine, you can have a break. Over there," Derek points towards the seating where the rest of the club members are sitting. The room is soon full with the low rumble of laughter. I can't help but join in as I watch my friend slink off to his seat, although I do feel a little bad for it. "Take another read of the script and you can try again later."

"How about me?" I ask, wondering whether I should sit and let somebody else take their turn.

"You started off well, stay up. Anybody else want to try this scene opposite Ryan?"

"No girls," I add as soon as Derek is finished. There's some more laughter and I smirk. They know I'm not really serious.

"Oh, now I definitely want to have a go," says Jenny, blowing a kiss and winking at me. I pretend to catch it midair and I wink right back.

"That's fine with me, you'll break down and melt at my dashing good looks three lines in."

"Alright you two, keep the dirty talk for the bedroom." Derek says in his typically dry tone, although I swear I catch him suppress a smile. "But you don't know the lines Jenny."

"Could I try?" Asks the only otter in the room.

His voice is sophisticated, level, airy. He's the newbie. Apparently he's on holiday from the States and just wanted to check out the local amateur acting scene. It's an odd thing to do but I kind of respect him for it.

"Have you got the script with you?" asks Derek. The otter nods, lifting the paper booklet in his paw a little. "Then go ahead, show us what you've got, uh, Martin was it?

"That's right, but everybody calls me Marty."

It's only when he's standing across from me that I can tell just how cute he is. I wonder why he volunteered so readily. Maybe he just wants to show off his skills away from home, or maybe he saw hot husky and wanted to have a go.

"Nice to meet you Marty," I say, offering a paw. He shakes it and nods, a self-assured grin plastered across his muzzle.

We get into position for the scene, the otter takes another hard look at the script and then, at the director's call, we begin.

"It's your eyes," Marty says. His voice is tender and

bristling with unspoken emotion. He's staring at me intently. His script is by his side, out of sight.

"M-my eyes?" I stutter.

He strokes his free paw down my cheek in slow motion. His fur only just touches mine, sending real jolts of adrenaline through my body. I only just manage to overcome a shiver.

He cups my chin in his paw and lifts it to lock our stares together, his touch flowing from ethereal to firm in an instant.

"They're beautiful." He says, and somehow it sounds like he's talking to me and not my character. Or maybe he's just that good.

"I-I..." I'm not sure if it's me talking or acting either. Either way the lines come out.

"Like a million flowers blooming at once, or a thousand choirs singing in perfect harmony, or a hundred other things I could list off without pausing for breath. They're perfect." Once done speaking he lets go of my chin. Flaps his mouth open and closed uncertainly and then looks at the floor. My eyes stay up and I watch his body lose shape as he melts into himself, the tension in his muscles disappearing along with all that bravado and confidence. It all sloughs away to reveal something far more vulnerable and honest hidden beneath. The subtle physical acting is brilliantly done. His next words are fragility encapsulated and projected at the floor, yet somehow they are full of a sense of hope and sincerity. "You're perfect."

There's a silence between us that maintains itself about the whole room. It seems our fellow actors are as captivated by this mystery otter as I am. Sure, most of us in here can do some damn good scenes, but this Marty just rocks up, takes a few glances at the script and knocks it out of the park... It's impressive if nothing else.

"You know better than anyone that there's no such thing as perfect," it's my turn for a little verbosity. "Hell, you're the one who taught me that." I turn my performance up to match his, my words shedding brittle emotion with every syllable, my eyes glistening as though a single moment away from tearing up.

"I'm not so sure of that anymore." His gaze rises slowly to meet mine once again.

"What exactly made you change your mind?" I weigh my question against him as though the answer will determine everything. Somehow it all feels so real that I start to believe it myself.

There's another deafeningly quiet pause. He's thinking, making sure what he says next is exactly what he means to say. This is no time to mince words.

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's the light of the moon reflecting against your fur, or the fire that lights up your being whenever you're passionate about something, or maybe it's because I've finally let go." He says, unfortunately reminding me that, right now, we're just characters in a scene. "Whatever the answer, tonight I feel like I'm seeing the real world for the first time. And when I look at you and think about you, the only word I have that can even begin to describe you is perfect." More impressive than his words is the language of his body, his every movement speaking volumes.

"Then shut your muzzle and kiss me." I command, as though I'd asked him to drop and give me twenty.

He smiles, and it's a wonderful smile, so full of warmth and joy that I match it reflexively in the instant before he tilts his head and parts his muzzle. I've never been so excited for a stage kiss.

Our muzzles meet. I want so much to turn the act into a reality, the thought of which both mortifies and tantalizes me. I wonder what he's thinking as our paws discover the curvature of each other's bodies, our eyes closed in ecstatic bliss. It's all directed as part of the scene. The tongue, unfortunately, is implied only.

The kiss lasts a fleeting few seconds. Long enough to show we care, not so long that the audience starts to become uncomfortable.

We pull apart in fulfilled sobriety. Paws clutched, we examine the depths of each other's eyes a final time.

"I like the new you," I say.

"I do too." He says.

We hold positions for a few more seconds then stand up straight to signify the completion of the scene.

Applause spreads throughout the room.

Bus.

I feel kind of empty. Why?

I stare out the window. The daylight has gone but the streetlights are brighter than ever.

A few minutes ago I was happy, if I think about it I smile, but something inside my head snags. It's kind of like when some loose thread on your clothing catches on something: everything was going fine and then there's a sudden unpleasant interruption, it's nothing important really, but it's something you have to deal with.

This feeling I'm having now stems from a question at the back of my mind that pops up and bugs me from time to time. Why do Charlie and Mint bother with me? Why do I indulge them? It's not like there's any chance of a long-term relationship. I just have these regular threesomes with a couple in an open relationship, and some occasional one on one encounters too. I guess I'm some kind of sexual deviant, although those words don't resonate with me at all.

It's strange: I enjoy it all while it's happening - the sex is fun, they're both hot, they like my company - but lately I get in this odd mood for a while afterward. This kind of empty feeling mind state. All I end up doing is mulling around the same few impossible points: where is this getting me personally? How is this progressing my life? Is this really what I want to be doing forever?

It's funny: being with the two canines makes me feel sort of isolated. I see how happy they are together and feel like I'm missing something. I don't know that I want to settle down quite yet or anything, I do genuinely enjoy the sex for its own sake, but that sense of fulfillment they seem to have is really attractive to me. When I look at myself half reflected in the window glass, seeing streetlights flash past behind my ghost image, I don't see that same contentment in my eyes. Instead there's something closer to loss.

Maybe I'm being an oversensitive bitch. Then again, maybe I'm just being honest. This fucking day to day, in and out cycle of work and work and play and play and worry and more fucking worry is really starting to get to me. I wish I could go on stage and act and act and act and somehow have it pay. If I could live off art, off something that I actually fucking cared about, then maybe I wouldn't feel this way. Or maybe I wouldn't feel any different. I don't have the answers.

Talk about fucking first world problems. But hey, that's where I live and these are the problems I have. Trivializing them completely would only lead to madness or complacency. Most people seem to choose the latter.

I ball my fists.

Maybe I really have had enough of this cookie cutter life. Maybe it really is time to up and change things. I'm not sure how yet, or what exactly I should do, but this where you have to start I suppose.

My stop is coming up next. I stand up and hit the bell.

Meeting.

"Mint says he'll be here in ten," says Charlie, engrossed in his phone screen. He seems to remember he's actually talking to another person and flicks his eyes up to me. "You looking forward to it?"

"As always. Although I worry if I do this too often you'll both get too enamored with this humble husky and I'll end up ruining your relationship." I say matter-of-factly. He laughs and I break character to laugh with him.

"Mint and I are happy as we are thanks, but that doesn't mean we don't appreciate your company every now and then."

"Oh, I know you do," I say. Charlie just smirks and shakes his head.

We're stood at one side of the drama hall after the session, wasting time while we wait for our ride. Some people have already left while others linger in close-knit groups. Out of those still here Charlie's the only one I'm close to personally. I noticed that the newbie otter is still here too.

Straight after the session ended I almost walked right up to him and started a conversation, but I managed to talk myself out of it. I'm not even really sure why. I'm not an unconfident person, most of the time. Hell, I don't know. I find myself hard to classify. Sometimes I'm brazen and extroverted. Other times I want nothing more than to melt away into the shadows.

I notice the otter, Marty I think his name was, edging closer to us from the corner of my eye. I keep my gaze on Charlie as he once again stares at his phone, I don't want to look over and seem like I'm trying to start a conversation with him. At least I think I don't.

It's all academic though, because Marty continues approaching until it's obvious he's coming to talk to us. I feel the kind of nerves I get just before I'm on the stage for a first performance. It's ridiculous really. I'm just talking to someone, that's all.

"Hey," he says. He's looking straight at me, a suave smile adorning his muzzle.

"Hiya, uh, Marty wasn't it?" He nods in response, leading me on to say more as though I'm the one that started the conversation. "You were really good in practice."

"Oh, I'm sure I did no better than your friend, if he hadn't forgot that line." His tone is crisp and polite and he nods at Charlie to mark out who he's talking about. "And I wasn't as good as you Ryan."

The words break my guard as easily as opening a damn door. I'm not quite sure how to respond. Luckily, Charlie beats me to it.

"I don't know about that, and I don't mean any offense to Ryan." Says Charlie, I roll my eyes but he ignores me and continues. "Hell, you hadn't even seen the script until today, that was damn impressive."

"Thank you." Says Marty with a courteous nod. Charlie sticks his paw out.

"The name's Charlie by the way."

"Lovely to meet you Charlie," says Marty, taking the outstretched paw and shaking it. "And you too, of course, Ryan."

"Absolutely," I agree. "Thanks for jumping in at the last minute, I might have had no volunteers if it wasn't for you."

"Oh, it was my pleasure," he says, and then there's a couple seconds of silence between us. I notice his smile falter for a fraction of a second. "Only..." He catches himself and stops his thought, letting out a short laugh instead.

"Only what?" I ask, intrigued.

"Well, too bad it was just a stage kiss."

At first I must look shocked, but I can't fight off a grin. Charlie laughs and pats me on the shoulder. He's about to say something when his phone starts buzzing, so instead he whispers into my ear: go get 'em. After that he's walking away, answering his phone and chatting.

"Sorry if that was too forward of me," Marty says, avoiding eye contact.

"No, of course not. I love compliments," I say. He laughs, which helps to dissipate any lingering nerves between us. "Plus, I'll be honest, I was thinking the same thing."

He pulls out his phone. "Want to...?" He doesn't say it but the question is clear to me. We exchange mobile numbers as though it's nothing. I have to admit, it sends a jolt of excitement through me, though I stay cool on the exterior.

"How long are you going to be sticking around up here anyway?" I ask.

"Probably only a couple of weeks," he admits. "Unfortunately I'll miss your performance."

"I'll miss yours too," I say without thinking. He smirks.

"Thanks," he says. "You were honestly great though." He pauses, seems to struggle with weighing his following words up then spits them out anyway. "You almost made the material seem good."

A single involuntary laugh escapes my muzzle.

"What, you didn't fall in love with the director's writing?" I ask with a wide-eyed look of mock surprise.

He shakes his head and says: "If you're looking for schlocky, trite love-movie level stuff it's perfect." His civil tone is at odds with his words. The paradoxical effect it creates draws me into him.

"Ha, you don't pull your punches do you? I might not go that harsh on it, but I guess I don't disagree entirely." I say, we share a knowing smile.

"Hey, what do you think about coming back with me tonight?" He asks straight up, no pretense required. "Since I'm not here all too long I may as well not waste any time on this."

"You must be crazy choosing a drama club as your hookup spot."

"I wasn't looking for a hookup until I saw you."

"Talk about schlocky love-movie lines."

"You're only making me want you in my bed even more." He says.

Not much left to the imagination. This otter knows how to get a husky going. And I would say yes, but...

"Please don't think I'm making an excuse, because that sounds damn good to me, but I have plans with Charlie tonight." I explain. "Tomorrow works for me though."

"Tomorrow it is then." He says, his eyes piercing through me as though I had no defenses at all. He takes one of my paws, lifts it up, kisses it and winks at me. Charlie is saying bye a few feet away from us, about to rejoin the conversation. "I'll be in touch."

"I'm looking forward to it." I say. He grins, nods and starts to walk away.

"Hey," I call out. He swivels on the spot.

Instantly I'm nervous. Regardless I push forward. I can't let anxiety rule me or else I'd never get anywhere.

"What is it?"

"I really would love to see how you kiss for real." I say, perhaps slightly awkwardly, hopefully giving off enough conviction to make up for it.

He gives me a look as though he knew I'd say that, takes a step back towards me and tilts his head just slightly. I receive the message and tilt my head the opposite way.

Moments later we're kissing and, fuck, he's good.

Then Charlie is back at my side. He snorts at the sight of us and his eyes soon go back to his mobile.

Then I forget about him and just about everything else apart from Marty. My mind explodes into a bloom of color. It's so rare that you build yourself up for something and then it actually surpasses your expectations, but here I am. I'm left wondering who the hell this guy is, and how I can get more of him in my life.

Once we're done he walks away without another word. Not that he needed to say more. The kiss said it all.