FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

He began writing slowly, laboring over simple words, proceeding clumsily.

"When you are growing a plant, it is best to be most careful early in the plant's life. Little mistakes during early stages of growth impact how healthy the plant becomes - how large it can grow, how effectively it can flower or make produce, what shape it grows into, and whether it can grow to maturity at all."

He shot bolt upright, his fur standing on end - his reaction felt like it happened a split second before he even heard the words from his little brother, "watcha writing? More porn?"

He was of two minds. One mind immediately responded with measured restraint, "no, I don't... I don't write that stuff anymore. I don't want to write that stuff anymore." His other mind was boring a hole into the words on the screen. He just wrote his confession into his first attempt at horticultural writing. He just told the world he-. He forced his mind quiet with static, or it became empty itself. He couldn't actually tell where will began or ended, and what of what occurred in his mind was his own doing. The freedom from the train of thought came with a pain inside his chest like a sewing needle was slowly being pushed through his flesh.

His little brother continued, "you know a long time ago when we were cats on four legs not cats with two legs we would fuck each other all the time you know brothers sisters moms and dads and kids and cousins I learned in science class that we come from- hey! HEY! Stoppit!"

His vision flashed red, he was impulsively furious, and in one fluid motion he got up, sending the chair flying back, and roughly held his brother by the wrists, spun him around, and started marching him to the doorway. As he neared the threshold he could tell how frightened he was making the much younger cat. He started to realize how disproportionate his response was and it broke his heart, like the slow seep of blood from the pinhole earlier stabbed. Yet, he didn't stop himself. He had thrown his little brother to the floor outside the room and slammed the door, then turned and lay with his back against it before he felt like he had any control or agency. He could hear sniffling on the other side.

He had to do something right. This was the time he had to come up with the right thing to do, not the angry thing to do, not the impulsive thing to do, not the easy thing to do - his little brother could destroy him - he could ruin his life with one...

He heard another sniff, but no crying yet - no bawling - no screaming for mom and dad.

"After all... this is my fault," he thought. He turned and ran a finger down the surface of the door down to the doorknob as though he were tracing the spine of a lover. He wrapped his paw around the knob, waited, took a deep breath, turned it, and opened the door. He didn't look at his little brother at all, he just walked back to his desk and sat down. Still not looking he said, "I'm sorry."

His little brother picked himself up and walked slowly into the room again, trudging for attention at first but quickly giving up, sensing something was deeply wrong from the way he was being conspicuously ignored. He climbed up and sat on the edge of his big brother's bed, feet not reaching the floor. "How come you're upset."

He responded without thinking to choose his words, "I don't like that you know these things because of me. I don't like you saying those things. I don't like you being curious. I don't like... I don't like thinking I'm going to get in trouble because of all this."

"Because I saw you jerking off?"

His ears fluttered as they flushed red on the inside, where the fur was too thin to hide his profound embarrassment.

A Few Months Ago:

He spoke aloud to himself as he typed, "The. Little. Cubs. Hands. Felt. So. Perfect. Around. The. Tip. Of. His. Penis..." His pants were unzipped. His cock was out and throbbing - leaking even. He leaned back and his office chair creaked as it settled into a well-abused reclining position. He put both paws on his cock and squeezed, pretended he needed both of them to stroke himself. The illusion took all his creative powers as an author. His mind drifted around the finish line he had imagined for the story - the thing he wanted to capture in words - the essence of what it would be like to have his dick buried inside his little brother - what it would be like to cum like that... now how to get the story there...

He let go of his cock and sat back up, hitting backspace a few times, returning to mumbling aloud, "not... penis... but... ... cock."

He flopped back to the reclined limit of the chair, but this time grabbed himself with only one paw, squeezing the base of his shaft, imagining it as his brother's tight little tailhole. He thought, "my words... words for my cock... my shaft... my fucking... big and imposing and raw... He's a little tyke... he's got little paws, little bean toes, exaggerate the softness, the innocence - take away from the reality of it. It's his member not his cock. It's his prick or his thingie. Mine isn't a 'penis' it's a cock, it's a rod, it's a powerful piston of ass destroying cum gushing..." he realized he was stroking himself - or rather, he on some level knew he was doing at least that much - he just realized it was more emphatic than he had thought it was. He was filling the room with rhythmic sounds - the stready creaking of his chair and a faint whisper of sticky smacking coming from pre and folds of dick skin and his paw and the movement. He was really getting into this story. He was really... really into this-

"What's that? Whatcha doin?"

The legs of his chair seemed to shoot out in front of him and slam him onto the floor. It was really a stupendous freak out. His little brother was unconcerned with the fall. He pointed to the hard cock. "What were you doing?"

"WHAT WAS THAT?" A voice of genuine motherly concern bellowed from down the hall.

"NOTHING. I FELL OVER IN MY CHAIR."

"OKAY."

He was laying on his back on a toppled over chair, his head was throbbing from hitting the floor, and... and his other head was throbbing.

"It's... uh... it's nothing. I was. I was just playing with myself. It's not... it's... I don't know... uh." The whole while he was trying to find a way to take the conversation he was fitting his erection into his pants, which he was trying to zip up. His underwear was still tucked under his balls and he was trying to operate a zipper while in a seated position - though of course laying down. He was sure he'd catch himself, bleed, scream, create an even bigger scene - but all that happened was that he was left with the hard, cold zipper grinding against his ready to cum cock any time he moved in any subtle way.

Both paws were a little wet. Up on the screen was a fictional story of fictional people - a different species - two brothers that didn't exist. But that's not the real truth. The real truth is that it was him and his brother, having sex, in so many hundred few words of leading up and hundred few words of establishing a sexual mood. There wasn't any penetration yet, but the whole... all his ideas of what he wanted to do to his brother in his fantasy was written in between all the lines of text. That's how he saw it, looking up from the floor. "Is it a sex thing?"

"Yeah, uh... kinda... did they talk to you about that in school?"

"Were you jacking off?"

"... ... yeah."

"Oh okay."

"Listen, you're really not supposed to... I mean I'm not supposed to let you see that."

"I know I know don't pull your penis out around anyone don't let strangers touch you bla bla bla."

He wondered if he'd been saved by competent sex ed at his brother's school.

"What are you writing?"

"A story..."

"A story about jacking off?"

He didn't think about what he said, the words just leapt out of his throat, "about... this..."

"Okay!" His little brother walked out.

He thought about how there was no possible way that his brother could have understood what he meant by, "this." As in, he thought, saying new words in the fresh memory, 'oh, it's a story about how you walk in on me jerking off and I coerce you into sucking my dick and then I fuck you until cum runs out of your ass every time you try to take a step away from me.'

He lay there.

He unzipped slowly.

He barely touched himself - he had only just wrapped his paw around his dick and his climax began. He had no need to "jerk" - to mimic thrusting by wobbling his paw up and down - he just did it to ride out the climax. His shirt was soaked. His stomach was soaked. His cock kept pulsing. He had never climaxed that long or that powerfully ever in his life. He lay there, sickened and heartbroken. He looked through the doorway his little brother had left open when he walked away. He didn't care about being seen like this. He had the terrible sense of gravity of his life being over anyway.

His brother leaned into the doorway and smiled slowly and mischievously, then lifted his little paw and waved hello, stifling a giggle at his big brother covered in ropes and puddles of white and clear. It was all very cartoonish and new to the young one. To the older one it felt like the wave was flirtatious. He could swear his little brother was asking for it - approving of what just happened - turned on - precocious - the little brother from the story...

He waved back, a little drop of cum falling from his paw and splattering on his muzzle. He was dying and screaming inside, his heart was pounding, and he was acting like he was looking at a crush seeing this lewd scene.

"Listen." He coughed to clear his throat for a bit. "Listen... uh... this is... can you keep this..."

His little brother pantomimed zipping his lips and throwing away the zipper, then pranced off.

A Few Weeks Ago:

A sheepish knock was barely heard from his bedroom door, late at night.

"What's up?"

The door was slowly opened and his little brother slipped in, carefully and quietly closed the door, then shuffled over to older brother's bed, where older brother was, and he climbed up and sat on top of the covers. The tiniest little tent was in his pajamas. "I'm trying to do the thing, you know, and it's not working." He shamelessly pulled his pajama bottoms down, clearly unaware that there should be any taboo about working out masturbation technique with your family members. He was trying to use a little fist like he saw his big brother doing.

Big brother's heart sank. He imagined jail. He imagined police, being arrested. He thought of his parents wailing, bemoaning, angry at him and his perverted ways. He coughed to clear his throat, "like this," then made a shape with his paw like he had used when he was his little brother's age - or at least when his cock was as small as it was when he first started playing with himself. His little brother tried to match it but clearly wasn't understanding. He couldn't stop himself. He said, "put your paw on the end of your thingie so it's poking you right there between your little beans, in the center of your palm." He hated himself. He hated this so much. These were ideas for his fucking story. What the fuck was he doing... what the fuck...

He pressed his paw to his little brother's paw, his palm to his little brother's back of the paw, his little brother's paw pressed against his little dick. He closed his hand with his fingers extended, guiding his little brother to do the same, the way a chef trying to be fancy might grab and apply a pinch of salt, or how you'd operate a sock puppet. His fingers never touched his brother's dick - just his brother's paw. He assured himself that was a kind of moral victory.

His little brother worked out that this worked very well where a little fist didn't work at all. He began dragging the loose skin of his little cock away and toward himself. He did this while his older brother's paw was still pressed to his. They were playing together. He liked that. It made him feel a rush like he'd never felt and never would feel again. It was his first ever climax. He kept playing because he didn't know to stop.

Older brother withdrew his paw.

Older brother looked across the room at the blank wall and the closed door. He sat there in stillness and his mind began eating him alive from the inside while his little brother masturbated... and masturbated... and masturbated.

The Morning After A Weeks Ago

"Thanks for looking after your brother after he had a nightmare." He looked up from the breakfast he couldn't find the appetite to eat. His mother patted him on the head.

"You know you used to do that with me in the middle of the night. You'd knock on my door, come in, invite yourself into bed, and then say, 'I had a bad dream can I sleep with you,' and then you'd just start sleeping there. I guess he's doing it to you. Hah! I mean, it's a little funny. Thank you, though, for letting him. Tell us if it gets to be a problem. We will talk to him. It's very nice though. I saw you two this morning. I was going to wake you up but when I saw the two of you sleeping so nicely together I just... well I didn't want to wake you."

He smiled and nodded and stuffed cereal in his mouth to keep himself from talking. He wished the little honey wheat rings were poison. He wished he was eating his demise. He wished he could commit suicide by just having a spoonful of enriched breakfast cereal and milk.

Back to the Present Moment:

Big brother kept looking at the words he'd written about plants.

Little brother worried about big brother.

Big brother said things that didn't make sense. "I... I don't know how to do this."

Little brother was silent, because big brother was more sad than he'd ever seen someone. It hurt his heart to be near his big brother.

Big brother's heart hurt too.

They sat that way for a very, very long time.