FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Across the Sea

It was dark out by the time I emerged from the basement. Both Two-Lips and the lion were lounging around the room, eyes locking onto me as soon as the tip of my muzzle pierced through the darkness.

"Well?" Two-Lips spat.

"It's done, like I told you," I chuckled, patting the crotch of my trousers, "if there's one thing I learned from the wolves, it's that a good pounding from behind will break even the most fierce of captives."

"He's still going on about th' wolves fucking him," Two-Lips muttered aloud to the lion, who growled with amusement. "By Canis, Marco, ye pine for wolf cock more than yer sister!"

One of Philippe's latest letters made a mention of Sophia's misguided admiration of wolven poetry as a pretext for the Dictator to write a screed about how he would sell her to the cheapest brothel in Lupercal where she could have all the wolven cock she desired. I didn't feel angry at Two-Lips for saying that, he wanted to rile me up but Philippe had no more power over me. Still, it wouldn't do to show my cards all at once, that time would come soon.

"My friend," I patted Two-Lips on the leather shoulder of his armor, "I fuck wolves, they don't fuck me."

Two-Lips slapped my paw away, "Fuck off, ye she-wolf bitch!"

"One day, my friend, you will hit rock bottom and there will be no one to help you up," I peered up to the ceiling, as if I were gazing upon an icon of Canis himself, "this, I swear."

"Figure he's gone barmy," Two-Lips muttered, aloud once again, to the lion.

"Don't care," the lion said, "my turn."

"Right, right," Two-Lips shot a wad of spit onto the ground, "why the hell did I agree to an arm-wrestling match with ye?"

"You thought you could win," the lion's jaws opened, revealing his massive, yellowed fangs, "now you'll have to fuck his bloody ass after I'm done with him."

"Whatever," Two-Lips waved his paw, "I'm gonna take the she-wolf and chop up the slave's boat into kindling."

My ears perked up, "Oh?"

"The fuck d'we need a boat for?" Two-Lips grumbled as the lion began awkwardly positioning himself to climb down the narrow trapdoor. "So ye can escape? I can tell ye, there's nothing to do in Africa but rub yerself thinking about all those things the Dictator will do to yer sister before the sand foxes kill ye or capture ye, and I can tell you this much, they got less love fer red foxes than wolves and tinier pricks, which I know ye'd hate. We're chopping the boat."

The ladder creaked painfully as the lion finally managed to get a good grip on it. He took the first few steps down and it bent as his weight pushed against its spine.

"Never said I had any objection, Two-Lips."

The blood-red fox stared at me, his upper, double-clefted lips twitching slightly, "What the fuck does Tw-!?"

A sharp scream rang out, shortly followed by a crate shattering as something heavy crashed into it. Two-Lips' ear twitched and he ran over to the open trapdoor, peering down.

"Hey! You okay!?"

The trap door revealed nothing but darkness. The ladder had fallen backward and neither Laurent nor the lion could be seen. Raspy gurgling escaped from the room below like a draft sifting in through a crooked door.

I was very tempted to take Two-Lips from behind right then and there. With his ugly face looking away, he didn't look so bad and it would have been fitting showing him who was the real boss here. I'd relish in calling him a horny little vixen as I force my way into his rear. I'd show him who the bitch was.

Instead, I gave him a swift kick in the ass and he disappeared into the trapdoor face-first. There was a sharp crunch as he landed, followed by no more noise, save for the continued gurgling from below, which was getting weaker by the second.

By the time I knelt down to get a better look at the abyss below, the basement had gone silent.

"You alright down there?" I called out.

Only silence. I began to fear that Laurent had gotten himself killed. I didn't like losing soldiers, especially ones that had proven their loyalty.

"I'm in a pit with a dead lion and a fox. I'm alive but I'm not alright,"

Laurent's voice was a relief to hear and I sighed, "Thank Canis! You sure the fox is dead?"

"His skull is spilling out onto the floor and he's not moving."

I laughed, first lightly and then I let loose, almost booming with glee, "I told him he'd hit rock-bottom!"

"Good one, General!" Laurent replied back without so much as a hint of laughter. "Can you help me out now?"

"Yes, of course!" I reached into the abyss with my paw, blindly groping until I felt Laurent's paw grab mine. His other paw shot up and grabbed onto the landing, bloody twine wrapped around his fingers. His tongue was hanging out of his maw as he panted, not caring as a glob of drool escaped onto the ground. At some point

I slapped him on the shoulder, "Welcome to the Republican Army, kit!"

Laurent spat onto the ground and his tongue darted back inside his mouth, "I just oiled a ladder, made a lion slip off it and garroted him when he landed. Then I watched my General, who just sodomized me earlier, throw a fox down inches away from me and I watched his skull shatter like a vase. Both of them were going to rape me until they got bored of me or until I got killed," Laurent paused to swallow and breathe. "It always this much fun?"

"You ever been in battle yet?"

"Nah, I mean, we've exchanged a few arrows with the nomads when they cross from the Free Alphate into Dalmatia, but they always rode away like the craven curs they are. But nah, I've never been in a real fight."

I nudged the young fox in the ribs, "It's the greatest feeling in the world. Better than fucking."

"I'll take your word for it," Laurent shifted around on the floor, "I'm still a little sore, you know?"

"We're going to Africa, right?" I said, "When we get there, I'll take you out for a night on the town! I hear Tunis has damned good ale and the best brothels the colonies have to offer! Everyone loves fennecs, or are you more of a cheetah lover? I hear a lot of those spotted cats have been fleeing North after the hyenas have started expanding. Or, hm, could it be you like hyenas? No judgment here, but I don't think you'll find too many of them in Tunis!"

"I have a vixen waiting for me back home, General," Laurent said calmly, "and we need to leave, now."

"Right," I sniffed, edging towards the door. I peered out the small, square window and saw a few flickering torches dancing in pairs along the island. One pair was crossing the path leading to the beach, where I hoped the boat still laid.

Laurent pressed himself up against the door, grabbing the handle with his paw. He played with the hem of his shirt, trying to make it cover up more of his crotch. Hopefully, we would also find his trousers on the beach as well.

"Keep low and follow me when I give the order," I whispered.

The flames floated away, off to the left and were soon out of sight.

"Now!"

Laurent pulled the door open and I hopped forward into the dim moonlight. The grass was wet with salty dew from the sea, the only moisture this accursed island ever got.

It didn't take long to reach the embankment that led to the beach. I crouched, squinting off into the distance, and was able to make out the slight outline of Laurent's rowboat, still beached on the sand. We were in luck and I prayed to Canis, something I rarely do, that our luck would continue. Once we were down and in the sand, we'd be sitting ducks. The guards were terrible shots, horribly out of practice, but it would only take one lucky arrow to ruin our entire plan.

I tapped the dirt with my paw and pointed towards the boat, nodding at Laurent who returned the gesture. Immediately, I scrambled down the road to the beach, kicking away stray stones that rolled noisily down the hill, until we reached the beach and made a beeline towards the boat."

"Hey!" a voice cried out from the right.

I stared off, wide-eyed towards the source: two pairs of torches hovering over the rim of the overlook. The dull, orange outline of two foxes were only slightly visible and they were looking down on us. One of the torches was placed on the ground, followed by sinew creaking as one of them drew their bowstring.

"Jus' takin' the honored General so we can chop up the boat fer kindlin'!" I called back, attempting my best Two-Lips impression. We were still far away, beyond the limits of their torchlight. Their torches helped illuminate the area around them, but they had a nasty habit of forcing the pupil to narrow and dull foxen night-vision. "Ye understand, yeh?"

I waited for the snap of string, for the thunk of an arrow, for the final, piercing pain in my chest. None of those would come.

"Keep at it!" the guard replied back and his cohort picked up his torch. Off they went, torches dancing in the night.

Not wanting to waste our luck, I padded off towards the boat with Laurent in tow behind. We stopped on opposite ends of the boat, planting our paws on the rim and peering back at the guards.

"Ready?" Laurent asked.

"Yeah."

The bottom of the boat scraped noisily against the sand. By the time it splashed against the water, the guards caught on and began to make a ruckus.

"Stop!"

Arrows thumped into the ground, violently kicking up sand. We hopped into the boat and Laurent grabbed both of the oars and began to row. I kept my head low, hearing small splashes of water as arrows hit the sea.

When we were decently far away, I sat up straight and looked over Laurent, at Hilboun, that damned rock, and the tiny, distant torches, like little fox tails, scrambling around the island. The arrows had ceased and now they would be in a blind panic, thinking about what they're going to tell the next messenger.

"I am Marco, liberator of Carpathia! Hunter of wolves! Slayer of the unjust!" I cried out at the increasingly distant island. "The one and true Dictator of the Fox Republic! Tell Philippe that I'll see him in his nightmares!"

Dramatic as my exit was, I could not say the same for the journey to Africa. I have always despised boats and ships from a young age, growing up in the land-locked open plains of Carpathia helped foster this attitude, and this feeling only grew stronger as I aged.

Options were always available on land. If you wanted food, you hunt. If you wanted a drink, you find a spring. If you needed to shit, you dig a hole and squat.

But once you were on a boat, you had only what you brought with you and we didn't have much of a chance to plan out our supplies. We had a tiny keg of water that we were damned lucky the guards didn't take and two buckets, one for drinking from and one for squatting over.

Most important of all: land doesn't shake, or at least, not constantly. I am not ashamed to admit that the rocking back and forth of the boat was enough to send me lurching over the rim of the boat more than a few times,

I pulled the waste-bucket out from under me and dipped it into the water, washing it until it was relatively clean. Laurent was using the drinking bucket for an unorthodox use: clubbing a fish that caught until it stopped wriggling, which it did rather quickly. Laurent offered up the limp fish, a long and fat gray thing, to me.

"We're not wolves and I'm your General, not your Alpha," I said, waving my paw, "you caught it, you eat it first."

Truthfully, the fish smelled like cesspool and I had little anticipation towards eating it. Laurent on the other hand, had no apprehension and snapped off a chunk of flesh, noisily chewing it in his maw. The fish was bony, despite appearing to be fat at first glance.

Worse than the food though, was the sun. Felis be damned, the sun beat down on us relentlessly and there was nowhere to hide from it. Both of our noses were dried up and burnt, and our salt-stained fur barely concealed a leathery desert beneath it. It was a relief whenever the sun dipped below the horizon, freeing us from the tyranny of the sun.

So oppressive was the sun that after a certain point, we began to use the buckets as makeshift hats when they weren't in use. Laurent drew the short straw and wore the waste-bucket without complaint, like the good soldier he was. The rim of the buckets rested on the bridge of our muzzles, and only the bottom halves of our eyes were visible to the other. We looked damned foolish and I secretly prayed that if a hostile ship, Republican or Alphate, came across us, that their wake would capsize our boat before they were able to catch a glimpse of us.

And the salt! By Canis, the salt! It was nothing at first, merely dusting the tips of my fur, but eventually we had to start digging out clusters of crystals out from our ears with our claws.

"So, I trust that you have a plan once we reach Africa, yes?" I asked, clapping my paw on the back of the bucket to stop it from falling over.

"We'll make landing at Sfox and rendezvous with my local contacts," Laurent passed me the rancid fish and tilted his makeshift hat in order to peer at the sky and the sun, "they run an inn by the bazaar in town: The Silver Hookah. A husband and wife run it, both foxes, and they have two cheetah servants, females both."

Sfox. I had heard only a few things about the place before, that it was the last fox town in Punisia before you reached the wastelands where the nomadic fennecs roamed and accosted anyone who dared venture outside of the colonies. It was a small town, bolstered by the garrison and caravans who ventured from beyond the Sahara that passed through.

It was also the opposite direction from the nearest coastline.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Laurent, but is there not land South of Hilboun? Why are we taking the long route?"

"Because down South has nothing but fennecs and their horses," Laurent coughed, "and not the submissive slaves that you're used to seeing at the taverns. These ones are armed, dangerous, and have a burning hatred of foxes. No, you'd be better off taking your chances with the Republic and at least there, a fox wouldn't stand out in a crowd."

"Point taken," I snapped up a tiny piece of fish and began chewing, mostly bone, "the fennecs, they're that tough, huh?"

"Yeah, I was born in Punisia and my family performed here for a long time before we traveled back to Europe," Laurent gazed wistfully at the Northwestern horizon for a moment before he continued. "Not a day went by without stories of them charging through a border settlement on horseback, stealing whatever they could and demanding ransom for whomever they took. Garrison tried their best to stop them."

"Didn't try well enough, I bet! Let me guess, they armed them with pikes and ordered them to brace for impact?"

"They also gave about half of them crossbows."

"And told them to stand still, fire, and then retreat before impact?"

"Yes."

"Figures!" I laughed until it felt like my stomach was about to spew out what little food was in it. "Who would have thought? That cavalry don't blindly charge into your obvious traps?"

"You'd get along well with the fennecs, General."

"Perhaps I would!"

"Down!" Laurent suddenly shouted and fell to the bottom of the boat, tail and arm leaning limply over the rim and grazing the surface of the sea.

I quickly saw what caused him such alarm: a narrow caravel peering over the horizon flying the blood red flag of the Republic. They were sailing on a coarse that would lead right past us and there was no time to steer out of the way.

They were merchants, no doubt, but it was part of the code of the sea to pick up castaways, especially ones that were worth a ransom. And some folk wonder why I despise the sea and any who dwell afloat it.

I hit the deck as well, which wasn't deep enough to effectively hide myself so I played dead just like Laurent, covering up my snout with my arm and creating a small gap between the side of the boat and my arm to peer through. I couldn't see much, save for the spray of ocean water splashing against my still body, but it was far better than waiting blindly in anticipation for something to happen.

The waves of the ocean began to pick up in strength, rocking the boat up and down across the sea. A wall of light-brown wood floated past us, a good distance away but well within a spyglasses' sight, so I dared not look any closer.

Only when I saw the aft of the ship did I breath a sigh of relief but nothing more. We waited several long minutes before rising from the dead and catching only the tail-end of the ship off and away from us.

Another day had come and gone, and we began to run out of future plans to talk about so we switched to smalltalk, which quickly exhausted itself. It was all fun and well when we were talking about our favorite foods, favorite type of girl (Both of us agreed on vixens.), and most beautiful place we've seen; but by now things were a little desperate.

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?" Laurent asked, his tongue looking like a dried up stick of jerky.

"Some fucking bear..." I trailed off. My throat was raw and sore.

"You ate a bear!?" Laurent exclaimed with a sudden burst of energy.

"No!" I snapped back, which was big mistake as what little food I had eaten rushed to my throat and I was barely able to swallow it. My throat was even worse now, having been scalded by bile, but I kept on. "It was shortly after I had driving the Alpini bandits into the Bayern Wasteland and had returned home to Vulpezzia. Some damned Senator let a bear merchant into the Senator's Club as a guest once and this fucking bear brought some 'human delicacy.' It was sealed up in a metal cylinder with some strange tab on it, you can see those sometimes in old garbage dumps..."

"My weirdest food was in one of those too."

"...and then he snapped it off and by Canis, the smell! We evacuated the Club and it was shut down for a week while it got aired out!" I could smell the rancid scent wafting in my nostrils and the taste stomping across my tongue. I continued, suppressing a gag. "He served a week in prison and got slapped with a lifetime ban from the Club for exposing us to moldy fish! The Senator who invited him shared the sentence as well. The bear argued that it was a human delicacy and that it was supposed to smell like that, even when it was crafted way back when, but it fell on deaf ears. No creature would ever dream of eating that, no one!"

"Humans eat weird things sometimes. They can swallow wine, you know? They don't swish and spit, they actually swallow it!"

"I've seen," my tongue shot as I gagged. A splash of wine would have done wonders right about now. "So what about yours?"

"It was called D...D..." Laurent stammered, trying to pronounce the word. No doubt it was some strange human word, "...Dool, Doal, or Dole. Something like that, the words on it were faded. Came in a metal canister just like yours except I popped it open by choice, found it while I was digging in a field. Stuff inside was black and sweet smelling but with a bit of rancidity. I was young and stupid, so I scooped some up and ate it. Didn't taste bad, tasted like pineapple actually."

"Good Canis! Why would you do that!?"

"Because this was supposed to be about the weirdest thing we've eaten and unlike your story, I actually ate it!"

"If you were there to smell it, you would agree with me that smelling was enough to count it!"

"I'll take your word for it, Gen-"

Laurent flung the bucket off of his head and leaned over the boat, cupping his paw above his brow and peering off towards the horizon.

"Land!" he shouted, tapping the side of he boat with glee.

I scrambled across the boat and clapped my paws atop his shoulder and leaned over. Sure enough, I caught the slightest glimpse of bright, white sands and old, dilapidated shacks dotting the beach.

"I'd reckon we're about an hour North of Sfox, General," Laurent squirmed a little beneath my weight, "we can tread water for a bit, wait for the sun to go down. Might be saf-"

"Gods, no! We're going to land right now!"

I grabbed one of the oars and began paddling. Wordlessly, Laurent grabbed the other and joined me, beating at the water on the opposite side of the boat.

Though we were tired, dried-out, and hungry; we found new energy now that our goal was in sight. No more eating fish, lapping up droplets of water, and squatting over a bucket. By nightfall we'd be sleeping in a real bed and have all the time in the world to enjoy what Sfox had to offer us.

The beach was mostly deserted, the shacks having long since been abandoned. It was far safer to take up residence in the cities when it came to the colonies and this was likely another casualty. When we beached the boat upon the sands, there was only one soul around, an ancient fox whose fur was as white as the sands and his skin was so wrinkled that I could count them through his coat. He was completely naked and wielding a cane that he pointed accusingly at us and began screaming a mythical verse at us in a hodgepodge of Foxen and Fennec that succeeded in making him sound not only completely nonsensical but insane at that.

We both silently resolved to ignore this individual and press on. The last thing either of us needed was to catch insanity from him and after spending so long on the boat, we weren't going to let a minor undesirable ruin our mood.

Stepping forward, we left the boat and then the sand behind. The road was flanked by rocky hills that we scrambled atop to the follow the road South, just in case someone we didn't want to meet were to stumble upon us on the road. From the moderate height, we were able to see groves of olives and grapes dotting the surrounding area, making it almost feel like Italia. A welcome thing to see as we began our short journey to Sfox.

Upon entering Sfox, I found myself acting in a most pretentious manner towards this provincial outpost, much like the Italian foxes of Vulpezzia often expressed themselves towards my own homeland of Carpathia. Recent visitors, such as myself, were forced to walk through the massive slums, which was surrounded by a stake palisade, on the outer rim in order to reach the town proper. Poor foxes, fennecs, and even the occasional cheetah, harassed us, begging us for alms despite us wearing clothes just as modest as theirs; curiously though, a lot of them had shiny, well-groomed fur, possibly from working in the olive oil presses. It was a miserable mess of run-down shanties made from bundles of straw or sticks tied together and plastered with cracked mud, but the stake wall was protection from raiders, so they put up with the conditions.

After passing through the slums, there was a white, stone wall that formed a perimeter around the commerce district and the wealthier houses. The wall was a lot more sturdy than the palisade and the homes beyond were tall and narrow, about three stories high and made of white plaster chiseled to match the patterns on the stone wall; often with small balconies where the more well-off citizens could peer over the wall and gaze upon their lessers. During a raid, the gate leading into this district would be sealed and stories would be told that the noble foxes would place bets on the slum-dwellers they could see and whether they'd survive the raid.

For now though, the city was at peace and the guards, two stone-faced red foxes armed with halberds, didn't so much as give us a glance as we passed through.

The interior of the city was a bit more like home. Foxes as far as the eye could see, save for the occasional fennec offloading crates from the ships or following their noble master close behind, if they were lucky enough to be a personal slave. Almost everyone, male or female, was wearing flowing, white cloth atop their heads to keep the sun off.

The smell was alright. The city was compact and lacked a proper sewer system, so there was a tinge of filth in the air, but the dust brushing along in the air and the salt spraying from the ocean helped keep things relatively clean and pleasant.

We passed through the bazaar, though it was quiet compared to what the stories usually told of it, most likely because the sun was about to set. Merchants were taking down their canvas stalls and packing away their wares, save for the food vendors who were still raring to go and more than willing to shove skewers of grilled fish in the path of my nose in a desperate attempt to make a sale.

Finally, we arrived at The Silver Hookah. It was a two storied affair, white and narrow like the rest of the buildings in town. Carved, open windows revealed a small space inside with only a few patrons sitting at rounds tables sipping at mugs or ale or putting pipes to their lips. Outside, a gangly orange fox wearing a brown cassock was preaching very loudly.

"...And thus, Canis reigned supreme over all of the Gods! Only when this divine truth is the world's law, only when we spread his word across this wretched continent, to have the felines and the degenerate hyenas bow down before his idol and kiss his feet in supplication; only then will the world be at peace!"

His voice was shrill enough to shatter my ears. No wonder the bar wasn't busy, the entertainment was lousy. Still, this was the meeting area and so we passed by him.

"...And what form does his idol take? Only one form and naturally, Canis took the form of a fox!"

"Maybe this guy isn't so bad after all..." I muttered to Laurent, who grunted in reply.

The inside of the bar was warm, which was good as the desert air had begun to grow cool. Smoke wafted through the wide cracks of the floorboards, where I could clearly see several shisha pipes set up in the basement with tired foxes lounging around. A pale, yellow vixen was manning the bar, focused on wiping the stains from a stoneware mug with fanatical devotion. Sweeping the floor was a fox with graying, brown fur that had large bald spots lining his bare arms; something about him struck me as familiar and I stared at him, even trying to catch his scent with my nose to see if I could remember where I had seen him before.

"It's okay!" a soft voice called out from the bar. The yellow vixen placed the mug on the counter and bowed politely. "It's not the mange, my husband was born with bare skin patches."

I peered back at the husband just in time to catch him avert his gaze and continue sweeping silently.

"Don't mind him!" she addressed me before turning her attention to Laurent. "I presume this is your friend, Laurent?"

Laurent sat down on a stool by the bar and swept his tail along the rim of it, "Yes, the one you've been expecting."

She clapped her palms together and stepped away from the bar. Smoothing the sides of her red dress, she barked an order at her husband in a quick, Iberian accent. Her husband replied back with a mutter, his voice sounding very similar to Vito's. My ear twitched, I knew I've heard his voice before but it was just out of my grasp.

We followed the vixen up a flight of stairs and through a narrow, wooden door where two sleeping areas made up of various exotically colored cushions and pillows lining the floorboards, which were lacquered and smooth compared to the rough ones below. Purple, satin curtains blew gently with the breeze from the single, square window on the far side of the room.

"Please, have a seat!" the vixen waved towards the pile of cushions on one end of the room, which Laurent and I quickly collapsed upon. The vixen took a seat on the pile on the opposite side of the room.

"I'm afraid you have me at an advantage," I said.

"Carla," she nodded, "and you must be the famous General Marco of Carpathia?"

"None other."

"My husband and I would be happy to host you while you plan your return to Vulpezzia," her smile was thin and wicked. I could tell that she had plans, big dreams that knowing the Dictator personally would help accomplish. If I was lucky it would only be requesting assistance in purchasing a tavern in Vulpezzia, where they were more likely to prosper. A small, but necessary corruption to keep myself alive.

"And how would this benefit you?" I asked bluntly.

"Oh, trust me, dear General," Carla exposed the tips of her teeth in an eager manner, "I have things that I would request of you in return."

"Lets hear them."

"In due time! Things are more relaxed in the colonies, dear General, we prefer to take things slow," she leaped to her feet and clapped her palms together twice, "in the meantime, it has been a long journey and you could use some pleasure."

"A bath?" I asked, swiping some tiny salt dusting on the fur around my snout.

"Not quite."

The door creaked open and two cheetahs walked in wearing nothing but their spots. They were almost identical in appearance, boasting slim bodies with yellow fur and black markings, but were the complete opposite in demeanor, with one confidently standing up straight while the other was nervously covering up her slit with a paw. Both of them were reeking with feline heat, which smelled pungently sweet, almost sickeningly so, but I had just gone a week without a bath and other species often found foxes to have an overpowering scent, so I wasn't going to criticize them.

"Girls, show the General a good time, won't you?"

"Yes, mistress," the shy one nodded.

Laurent cleared his throat and joined Carla as she left, citing that he had a lady back home waiting for him, not realizing that Carla had specifically just ordered the two cheetahs to attend to me.

The confident cheetah wasted no time in gliding across the room and taking her place by my side, rubbing her head against the side of my muzzle and wrapping her tail around my waist. She purred heavily as I ran my paw through the short, white fur on her chest.

In the meantime, the shy one had crawled up to my feet and I only noticed when I felt her whiskers tickle the tip of my cock; somehow she had managed to take my trousers off without me noticing. She opened her mouth and ran her tongue across my cock, the rough surface of it being surprisingly pleasurable considering the stories I had heard about feline tongues and how they were akin to sand.

I pressed my nose into the confident cheetah's chest, rubbing it up against one of her nipples and inhaling in her sweet, musky scent. Being a different species, her heat should not have done anything for me, but yet it was and my cock was now fully erect and free from its sheath.

"Fuck me first," the confident one whispered.

"No! Master, fuck me first!" the shy one suddenly demanded.

"What would he want with you, you shrinking violent!"

"S-shut up, you slut!"

"Girls, girls!" I chuckled, rubbing the shy one atop the scalp while licking the mouth of the confident one. "There will be plenty of time for both of you!"

I looked at the confident one, with her sharp golden eyes and then to the shy one, who peered up at me with identical, but meek and sad eyes. I had already decided that I wanted the shy one first, something about her face reminded me of Galip.

"Whoever begs the most will get fucked first!"

The confident one joined her companion on her knees and bowed, "Please, Master, I'm a horny slut and can't stand to be a moment without your cock! Please!"

"I-I will do anything, Master!" the shy one blurted down, bowing nervously and nearly hitting her head on the ground. "I will let you do anything you want, I will do anything you wish, I will even renounce Felis if you demand it!"

I chuckled, cupping the short face of the shy one in my palm and forcing her to look up at me.

Without any warning, I pounced atop her and pinned her to the ground. She yelped with fright at first but that quickly vanished in favor of girlish giggles. She pretended to put up a fight while I grabbed her legs and spread them open, revealing the pink slit between her thighs. I gave it a quick prod with my nose, followed by a sniff and then wasted no time in shoving my cock in the folds.

"Ahhh!" she screamed, clenching her thighs. "M-master!"

She groaned with pleasure as I fiercely pounded her. My cock was already beginning to shudder, not because I climaxed quickly but because of all the heavy scents in the room that were almost tailor-made to make someone orgasm quickly.

As a result, my knot had already begun to swell and I gave her one last, big thrust just before it grew too large to penetrate with. The knot sealed up the entrance to her hole, binding us together.

"Felis! This is what foxes can do!?" she gasped.

"Renounce Felis," I whispered, freezing in the act, "like you said you would."

"I-I renounce Felis!"

"You worship Canis now."

"Canis is my God now!"

It was time to make this erotic blasphemy complete, "I am Canis."

"C-Canis!" she gasped. "Fuck me, Canis!"

"Good little whore," I scratched her behind the ear. Adjusting my position, I began to grind my hips against her thighs, "time to complete your baptism..."

My erotic assault grew stronger until the shy one was nearly screaming with pleasure, unable to move or get away. She was my prisoner and there was nothing she could do about it and she loved every second of it. How could she not? Before arriving here, no doubt all she had taken were barbed cheetah cocks, not smooth and tight canine ones. How could she not worship me?

I closed my eye as my cock began to shudder and unleash its seed into her. Warmth washed over me and I howled a little bit, as if I were a wolf. Panting, I leaned back and accidentally banged my head against the confident one, who was right behind me.

I opened my eyes just in time to see sharp claws retract from two paws in front of me and then lunge towards my throat.