FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cheeseburger in one hand and a bag of fries in the other, I step out of the musty-smelling elevator and nearly run into a young female Otter. She shrinks back against the wall, pale blue eyes wide as she stares at me out from under a curtain of lank, black-dyed hair. I take a big bite of my burger and she cringes. Smiling to myself, I walk past her, but my smile fades as I near Irra's door. Did he lock it? Did he leave? My first question is answered as I turn the knob and push the door open.

The TV is still on, bluish light flickering across an empty living room, and I take a hesitant step inside, half-expecting him to come leaping out of the corner, golf club in his hands. When nothing happens, I turn and close the door, locking it behind me. I drop my bag of fries on the coffee table and glance at the screen. The Panthers are kicking ass, twenty-seven to three. My kind of game. Nothing like watching one team take a beating from the other. I wonder where my host is? I take a step toward the bedroom, and the sound of running water reaches my ears. Ah, he's in the bathroom.

I knock lightly on the door, then try the knob. It's not locked. I open it a crack.

"Hey, Irra, you want some of these fries? They're still warm." He doesn't respond. "The Rams are getting killed out here - you gonna come out and watch?" Silence. Maybe he's not in there after all. I push the door open and step into the room. The tile on the walls and the tile on the counter and the tile on the floor doesn't match, but the shower is big enough, at least. Water rolls down the inside of the frosted glass doors, making it impossible to tell if he's in there or not, but I sniff the air, catching his dark, musky scent, and my own, and the smell of wet fur, so he was in here, at the very least.

I step toward the shower and shiver as the mist boils over the top of the door and slides along the floor, damp and cold. Why is it cold? Showers are supposed to be hot, the room should be full of steam. I reach out and slide one side of the door open, jumping back as freezing cold water sprays out onto my paws. I hit the shower head, sending the spray onto the opposite wall and step up again, looking in on Irra, crumpled in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees, shivering so hard his wings are shaking. "What the shit?" I ask, tossing the rest of my cheeseburger onto the counter and grabbing for the shower knobs, turning the cold down and the hot on. Irra never moves, not even when I adjust the angle of the shower head to spray right on him.

I glance around, trying to find an empty pill bottle or something, but it doesn't look like he's taken anything. So what's wrong with him? I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and absently lick catsup off my upper lip. This isn't my fault. I didn't cause this. I didn't hurt him. I unfasten my belt and drop it next to the bite of burger, then step inside the shower stall, the hot water beating against the back of my head and running down my wings. Shielded from the spray, Irra finally raises his eyes to me.

"You're lucky I came back," I say, my voice sounding strangely hollow, "or you might have froze to death."

"Leave me alone," he whispers, dropping his eyes back to the floor.

"You know," I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, "if I had known you were going to go all traumatized on me, I wouldn't have come back. I'm really not in the mood for this shit." Irra glares up at me, black eyes glittering with rage.

"You - you stupid, selfish, worthless little prick," he hisses. A wave of anger washes over me, hot and then cold. I bare my fangs and grab him by the arm, jerking him to his hooves and shoving him back against the wall.

"How dare you," I growl. "I spared your life after you were stupid enough to get caught outside the city. I should have killed you."

"I wish you had!" he shouts in my face. "I wish you would! Damn it, worthless prick - stupid ass-fucking bastard--" He beats his fists against my chest until I catch his wrists and pin his arms above his head, holding his body against the wall with my own. He's still so very cold. I let go of his wrists and grab him by the back of the neck, forcing him across the shower stall and into the steaming water. He fights me, but I just wrap my arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides and his wings between us. "You son-of-a-bitch!" he shouts, and then goes limp against me, his body shaking. He's crying. I hold him tight, breathing hard on the side of his neck, my sheath rubbing against his ass. I'm tempted to just shove his face against the wall and fuck him again, but ... I know there's more to this than just getting off in his ass.

After our first encounter, I paid a visit to the library. I couldn't find the really helpful books, because there was no way in hell I was going to ask the cute vixen librarian where the books on anal sex were, but I found enough. I rest my chin on his shoulder and slowly run one hand down his stomach. He tenses as I slide down over his sheath and gently begin to stroke his silky fur. "Stop it," he says, his voice tight and breathless. I slip my hand beneath his balls and roll them against my palm, then return my attention to his sheath. "I said stop it." He sounds almost panicked.

"Relax, old man, I'm not going to hurt you," I tell him, glancing over his shoulder at his cock. The tip is poking out, very dark reddish-purple against his snow white fur. "See, you like this. Just enjoy it." I coax a bit more of his meat out before I let go of him. He grabs for the shower door, but I pull him away, shoving his back against the opposite wall.

"No, no--" He gasps as I grab his hips and take a knee before him, my long tongue snaking out to lap at the glistening head of his cock. He tastes different than I do, sweeter, lighter, not as heavy or rich. I like it. Small, delicate hands grab at my hair and ears, pulling hard enough to hurt, and I growl low in my throat, but I keep licking. His cock is thinner than mine, and I'm a little disappointed. I wanted him to be big. I lick from the top of his sheath up to the tip, my eyes rolling up to look at him as he turns his head away and moans softly in his throat, his hands still clutching at my ears, but no longer pulling.

I slide my hands down the backs of his legs, stopping behind his knees. I pull my hands forward, his knees buckling, and I grab under his thighs as I stand up, lifting him right off his hooves. I pull his legs apart and step in between them, holding him against the wall with my body. He squirms, trying to get away, but I shift my grip on him, until his knees are hooked over the bend of my elbows and my hands are firmly at his hips once more. He goes still, his black bird eyes wide and frightened.

I bow my head and lick at the tip of his cock, my ears brushing against his chest, and he makes a high, desperate sound. I rock my hips, rubbing myself along the crack of his ass, searching. He tips his head back and groans as my cock pushes against his tight opening. I didn't loosen him up or anything. Part of me doesn't care, the same part of me that wants to get this over with before my fries are completely cold, but another part of me wonders what this slender, lithe buck would look like if I didn't hurt him. Slowly, I ease inside, my tongue continuing to caress his cock as he gasps and groans, his hands clutching at the thick fur on my shoulders.

Closing my eyes, I try to remember the details from that dated anatomy text I found, but at the same time, I wonder if the information was crap as well as old. I don't see how a small gland the size of a walnut could make a male scream in pleasure. I mean, I howl when I come, but that's a choice, really. When I'm at home, jerking off or whatever, I don't make any noise. I almost hope it is crap, because if it's true ... my pride is going to take a serious beating if I let this effeminate buck mount me.

I stop licking him and raise my head as I work myself into him in short, controlled thrusts, my eyes locked on his face. Eyes squeezed shut, he draws short, ragged breaths, his expression caught between pain and surprise. I push a little deeper and feel him jerk, his wings spreading against the wall of the shower as he tries to push away from me.

"Stop," he groans, "I don't want--" He cries out as I thrust up into him, feeling the tip of my cock rub against something. Is that it? I thrust again, harder, and he bleats, his face twisted in pain. Damn. I try for a gentler approach, pressing into that spot and then rolling my hips, grinding into him, and he shudders against me, his whole body tightening, his back arching away from the wall. Oh, yeah, that's the spot. I work myself in and out of him, paying special attention to his prostate, until he's let go of my shoulders, his hands scrabbling against the tile wall behind him, each breath a hoarse, wordless shout. Holy hell, he's beautiful. I think I'm going to come just watching him.

I grit my teeth and pull out, holding him another second before I slip my arms out from under first one leg and then the other. He tries to step away from me, but his legs are shaking so badly I have to grab him under one arm just to keep him on his hooves. I pull him close again, our cocks pressed side by side between our bodies as he slowly turns his sharp eyes up to me.

"I want that," I growl, low in my throat. "I want you to make me feel that, and if you don't, if you try to get cute, I'm make you wish you were never born, understood?" He swallows loudly, but nods.