FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I honestly thought that the scenes in movies, those portraying newly-famous people instantly assaulted by paparazzi, to be merely narrative shorthand. Surely, I had always figured, this was just an easy way to indicate how famous the character now was, to show the severity of the shift in their role in the world moving forward. Surely, paparazzi wouldn't be allowed to treat people that way, to accost them, to blind them with an onslaught of camera flashes, to pry into their private lives in such a mob like way.

I can't say that I was thrilled to be proven wrong, as I stepped out of the hotel lobby onto the sidewalk, leaving Amy and, though I didn't know it at the time, my old life behind me. The din of the parasitic crowd made my jaw clench, the blinding flashes of their cameras searing my corneas, causing me to flinch, nearly curling into a fetal, defensive position. How? Public figures or not, how are these people allowed to treat anyone in this manner?

To think, I had always considered myself a major proponent of freedom of the press, but perhaps not, if such freedoms afford this!

How could I even answer any of the questions, should I have felt so inclined? They barked their questions over each other like a pack of excited Pomeranians, creating not an environment for cordial journalistic discourse, but merely a cacophony that made me want to come out swinging.

I may have come out swinging in fact, had this persisted much longer. Fortunately, the rabble subsided after a few minutes of my non-response, only a soft muttering among them now filling the air, the strobe-like blasts of light giving way to just the occasional click and flash as they waited with seemingly bated breath for me to do or say... Well, I don't know what they expected, even now.

Taking a breath, I relaxed a little, finally looking some of my "attackers" in the eye, doing my best to look decidedly unamused. I don't think I had to try very hard. They were a motley crew, these parasites... A few of them, mostly the older ones, looked exactly how one would expect trashy tabloid reporters to look, complete with trenchcoats, shabby hats and shifty expressions on their faces.

Still others, the younger, fresher faces in the crowd, looked decidedly professional or at least tastefully-casual, belying the fact that they had yet to realize that they weren't real journalists, nor that there was no need for them to look like such.

It was a young vixen, her burgundy for clashing rather painfully with her royal blue suit/blouse, that at last broke the silence, banding a handheld recorder in my face, her question audible without the other hyenas yapping and drowning her out. "What can you tell us about the nature of your relationship with Miss Rose? Is it serious? Is this the start of a movement to undermine the sexual taboo between our kinds?"

I folded my arms across my chest, my expression growing more sour, a forced, exasperated sigh escaping through my nose. I cast this intense, venomous glare at the rest of them once more, waving my hands in a "get out of my damn way" gesture, though it went ignored for the moment.

"Please, Mr. Walton, can't you tell us anything?"

I would later regret, to a small extent, my response to that. Only a little, though, it would be some time before I did. I took a deep breath, nodding curtly. "Yes, as a matter fact, I can tell you one very important thing." I paused for effect. Everyone huddled closer, recorders and phones in hand, eager for drama to peddle to the masses.

I uncrossed my arms, both middle fingers raised for all to see. "I can tell you that unless you want those phones removed from your colons by someone at the ER, you'll fuck off and leave me alone. Vultures."

This was met by a few indignant gasps and a return of the discordant blare of overlapping, indistinguishable questions. I simply puffed my chest out as much as possible, my fists balled at my side, my jaw set in a determined, angry expression. I began to step forward, my sights set on a nearby parked taxi.

I am not a large, imposing man by human standards. But, sufficiently annoyed, even a noodle like me can be an intimidating prospect to spineless cowards like these people. They moved, oh, they moved rather quickly. The din of incessant yapping faded as I left them behind, opening the door and climbing into the cab.

To the credit of the driver, if he had seen those people mobbing me, or was at all aware of recent events, he was kind enough to keep it to himself. In the silence that was broken only by the soft hum of the taxis electric motor, I listened to my heart pound in my ears. This whole situation just kept finding new ways to become decidedly real, and I had a sinking suspicion that each new way was going to be less pleasant than the last.

In an effort to distract myself, I scrolled through my phone, ignoring the umpteen messages from my three friends. Curiously, I tapped the message from an unknown number, half expecting it to be from another unscrupulous, intrusive worm whom had somehow managed to obtain my number through dubious means.

"Still not done with U!", it read, punctuated with a gaudy heart emoji. That could only come from one person, and it put a big smile on my face. For all of the trouble and stress I was destined to experience in the near future, that night with her had been worth it all.

It was, at the time, the best sex I had ever experienced, the best that I, at the time, thought I would ever experience. But, hadn't it been so much more than just that? We hadn't just shared our bodies, we had shared our souls, entangled with one another in that bed. I had always thought that nothing but metaphor and hapless romantic cliché. It certainly wasn't with Mobians, that was for sure.

Even above and beyond that, I realized as I watched the city roll past me, it had set me away from a dark path I was venturing down, a path that would have, in time, shaped me into something as vile as that mad scientist. I would have become something that would make me hate to look in the mirror in the morning, and she had saved me. Hadn't she?

Was I merely high on the experience? Would my view of the other Mobians in my life be changed? Or, in a couple days, when the intoxicating strawberry scent of her no longer clung to me, and the memories of that heated experience were somewhat removed, would I still disdain my coworkers? Would I be loath to befriend more Mobians even after such a harrowing night?

No, I told myself reassuringly, she had indeed set me straight. I wasn't a monster yet, I just needed a nudge in the right direction... Right?

My apartment looked shabbier than usual, having spent the night in such luxury with that hedgehog goddess. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, plopping onto my worn-out, faux leather couch, turning on the TV.

My damned landlady had been in here without fucking permission again, I noted. The TV had been left on that god-awful drama and gossip channel that I certainly never watched. Once more, my blood boiled slightly, the urge to go confront her nearly propelling me from the couch. No, I reminded myself yet again, I couldn't damage my relationship with her, no matter how disrespectful she may have been of my space and renters' rights. I was never going to find another apartment in the city, even half the size of this shoebox, for such a low price. Give it time, I told myself. I could start my restaurant now, and eventually, it would be successful, and I could tell her to take a hike like I would Andrea tomorrow.

I took a long, thirsty pull from my beer, letting the malty, cool elixir soothe the seething embers of my soul. I glanced toward the TV again, nearly dropping the bottle.

A well-appointed, decidedly pretty blonde human girl sat across a coffee table from a dapper, slightly effeminate young male hedgehog. Up in the corner, a thumbnail featuring a very unflattering picture of my face, oh gods I remembered that picture, too, loomed mockingly.

The caption at the bottom of the screen, as if to rub salt into the wound, read "Boy toy or revolutionary?" I groaned, un-muting the TV.

"So, what do we know about this guy right now?", the dapper hedgehog inquired, a very put-on lilt in his voice.

"Not a lot, but here's what we do know. His name is Daniel Walton, and he evidently works as a chef at Andrea's, a five-star restaurant in the downtown district."

"Oh my", he replied, laying on the theatrics a little thick. "She landed a man who can cook! Lucky!"

The blonde woman's laugh was equally put on, eliciting another groan from me. How did people watch this dreck at all, let alone take it so seriously? "Right? But the real question is, what does this mean? Was it just a fling, I mean, I can't blame her after what happened earlier that day..."

"Oh gods, me neither! Let's show our viewers what we're talking about!"

The picture cut to footage of a well-appointed, large room. Several people sat along one side of a table, facing out towards a large audience. Behind them, on a false wall, hung the United Federation of Nations emblem, a picture of the globe and circled by an ornate garland of olive leaves. Among these people were several somewhat well-known members of the international military and peacekeeping agency, G.U.N., as well as Sonic, Tails and Amy herself. Sonic leaned forward, about to speak into his mic.

"Listen, I've been dealing with this guy a lot longer than any of you. He attacked my home years ago, and I had to stop him by myself! Now, I'm saying this to make a point, everyone. The guy's dangerous, and he's, well, pretty crazy too. But I managed to stop him on my own back then, so with G.U.N.'s help, I know we can stop him in the future. Please, everyone, just live your lives. If you let him keep you in constant fear, he's winning! Come on, everyone, we can handle that talking egg!"

This was met with a rolling wave of laughter from the audience and several members at the table, a goofy smirk crossing Sonic's face as he enjoyed the response.

"Of course,", Amy added, only the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice, "you were only alone the first time, Sonic. It took teamwork after that, from friends like Tails and myself... Just like it'll take teamwork from everyone here to handle him now."

Sonic's smirk intensified as he leaned forward again. "Of course! Some of us will run circles around him and his robots, while others wear really short skirts and distract him with their underwear!"

The laughter in response to this was not only not immediate, but very hesitant and sporadic. Amy looked positively mortified, her face turning beet red, her fingers gripping the tablecloth, several other people at the table looking slack-jawed in Sonic's direction, clearly not sure how to feel about what he just said.

It took a moment for Sonic to realize, of course, that this joke had more than fallen flat. He cleared his throat, trying and failing to salvage the situation. "Err, yeah, she's right, it's a team effort, just like making the world a better place in any other way!"

The hosts of the current show returned, a sour look on the blonde woman's face. "Ouch", the hedgehog interjected. "Someone owes someone an apology for that one..."

"Well, if I was ever going to shatter the final ceiling between humans and Mobians, it'd be after someone it said something like that to me!", The blonde woman replied, her voice dripping with disdain. I couldn't ask or tell how much of that disdain was put on.

I had to admit to myself, though. It was no small wonder that Amy had been in such a foul mood when he met her. She must have been mortified. At the same time, though, I had to slightly sympathize with Sonic. That joke was inappropriate, and he certainly should have thought it through before making it. But, the guy never did strike me as someone cut out for conferences, public relations or anything like that. Could I say that I wouldn't have stuck my foot in my mouth as bad or worse?

Oh gods, I realized, soon enough, I was probably going to find out.

I switched the TV over to WebFlix, figuring that that day, of all days, called for nothing more than binge watching some old cartoons.

---

All things aside, when it comes to my chosen profession, I am a professional. I had every intention of handing Andrea my resignation, but as much as I hated her guts, I wasn't going to walk out that day. No, I would stay on until I had a replacement, because that's just what professionals do. It meant that, for at least a couple more weeks, I would have to tolerate the rampant disrespect and disregard of my coworkers.

At the same time, I figured as I hailed a cab the next morning, I didn't have to be nearly as tolerant of such treatment, given I was on my way out, now did I?

I shifted nervously in the back of the cab, nonetheless, because I was in for one awkward morning regardless. It was a foggy morning, soft halos replacing the usually harsh glow of the streetlights that passed me by.

There was something comforting about mornings like this, at least to me. The imposing, looming canyon walls which the tall buildings usually comprised were softened, the concrete desolation obfuscated a little, granting some mystery to the world such a big city rarely permitted.

The world around me was dead silent as I exited the cab. The day had not yet really begun in this district of the city, a place where the hectic scramble of city life ebbed and flowed like a tide. I took a deep breath of the humid, cool air, glaring up at the sign above Andrea's restaurant. I made a mental note to myself, as I permitted myself the slightest smile, to avoid such cliché signage - that tedious, over-done mix of rustic pretension that marked modern high cuisine.

The silence wasn't broken as I strolled into the kitchen, all activity having clearly ceased the moment my presence was known. Everyone literally froze in place, staring fixedly at me, reminding me of nothing more than house cats confronted by cucumbers. I looked around me, making a point not to lock gazes with any of them, doing my absolute damnedest to look confident and flippant. I know myself on up to know that I failed at the latter.

After what seemed like an eternity, Andrea walked into the kitchen, looking bewildered at everyone else before noticing me. The sour wrist scowl I had ever seen dominate that bitter woman's face met me, her finger-pointing like a dagger to her left. "Walton. Office. Now."

Well, that save me having to convince her to give me a moment of her time, at least. As I walked towards the office, I heard a few hushed snickers, some unintelligible muttering. Let them talk, I told myself, what power did they really have over me now?

Andrea wasn't far behind me, making a point to slam the door, plopping behind her crowded little desk. She pointed at a shabby chair, the sour expression still on her face. "Sit", that said. I complied.

She stared at me for a long moment, a tactic of hers that I'd experienced more than once before. For once, I just smirked slightly, at ease in that chair for the first time ever. So, who was going to speak first? Should I just go ahead and take control of the situation? Should I let her, as usual, vent her spleen before responding? No, not this time.

"So, Andrea, what's it going to be this time? Are you upset that I didn't do the dishwashers job for them again, are you upset that I wasn't two hours early, or have you yet to make up your mind what excuse you'll use to bitch at me this time?"

Her eyes open wide, a gasp leaving her as though I had punched her. Just as quickly as this off-guard expression had appeared, it vanished behind her usual disdainful scowl. I waited, a billion different combinations of rebuttals bubbling up, for her to lash out in retaliation. She didn't, though. Not exactly.

"Mr. Walton, I won't waste my breath correcting you for that little... Outburst. Because, to be honest with you, it doesn't matter." She cleared her throat, clearly fighting the urge to smirk in a self-satisfied way.

"Well, you're right about that..."

That didn't seem to faze her, that smug, crooked smirk growing on her face. "Mr. Walton, you are aware that this is a very respected institution in the city, correct? That I am a respected practitioner of the culinary arts. That people from all over the world, upon visiting the city, go out of their way to experience fine dining in this establishment."

I shrugged, going out of my way to seem as dismissive as possible. In all honesty, Andrea was one hell of a cook. I wouldn't have admitted it at the time, but she was. The food in our restaurant was exquisite, and had I been treated better, I would have been proud to be a part of it.

"I watch the news, Mr. Walton." There it was. I had wondered how her particular consternation over recent events would manifest. This was actually about what I expected. I had fully expected her to use this is the perfect excuse to give me the boot. "What were you thinking?"

I did know how to answer that. That was the type of question people ask when they were actually trying to express their disdain for something, not really expecting a legitimate answer. And yet, she sat there in silence, a look of utter incredulity on her face, demanding an answer. "Uh... That she was a beautiful woman, that she and I both needed each other in that moment and it didn't matter what either of us was?"

She snorted, leaned back in her chair, that familiar bitterness returning to her face. "Don't give me that high-road nonsense. You and I both know better. Our kinds work together, our kinds live together, but our kinds don't do... That..." She did her best to put on the expression of tasting something utterly bitter.

"First time for everything, right?" By the gods, had it come to dealing in clichés like this?

She rubbed her temples dramatically, her eyes closing, an expression of utter exasperation on her face, clearly over-emphasized, clearly to make a point. "Mr. Walton, you were out of line last night, just as you are out of line right now. Your face is all over the news right now, and for all of the wrong reasons."

All of the fires of every hell imaginable would have been insufficient to provoke me to admit that she was right, in my opinion, albeit from a different perspective. This was a silly thing to be on the news for, a silly thing indeed. But she didn't find it silly, now did she? No, she found this is an affront, just as I expected.

"Mr. Walton, your behavior was entirely inappropriate for so many reasons. I can't have that kind of impropriety associated with my establishment. Mr. Walton, you're -"

I finish her sentence, a shit-eating grin on my face. "Fired? No, Andrea, I'm not fired. Because I quit. I had every intention of quitting when I came in here today, or rather, how do we put it in professional terms? Ah yes, to give you my two-weeks' notice." I pause for a moment, gauging the look on her face. It hadn't changed. It would.

"Andrea, a wealthy party has chosen to invest in my culinary skills, and will be financially-aiding mein establishing my own restaurant. As such, I will no longer be needing this job."

A look of disgust crawled across her face, the air thick enough to cut with a knife as she desperately searched for rebuttal that would maintain her control over this conversation. "As hard as that is to believe, Mr. Walton, let's assume that you aren't just trying to save face here. Let me tell you something, young man." She leaned back in her chair, looking somewhat relaxed for the first time since she'd sat down. "I am extremely respected in this city, and as long as that is the case, you will never succeed here."

My brain seemed to hang like an overloaded computer for that moment, part of me wanting to dismiss this, to continue this waltz of verbal warfare, while another half of me had to admit, she had a point. She was an authority in gastric manners here, and if she really wanted to go out of her way to sabotage my success, she probably could!

"You are finished in this industry, Mr. Walton. It's that simple. If you want to establish a restaurant, I hope whoever that was gave you a lot of money, because you'll need to move pretty far away first." I could legitimately hear her purring, so satisfied was she with that statement.

Again, I knew she could actually back these words up, but it was unreasonable! I had to resist, I simply had to! "I don't plan on competing with you, if that's the problem. I've no interest in catering to the nouveau-riche clientele that eat here." Maybe, just maybe, she would consider tormenting me further to be a waste of energy? Of course not...

"I don't give a damn what type of restaurant you plan on opening, you won't be doing it in my city."

I leaned forward in my seat, redirecting the impulse to reach across the desk and smack her to simply balling up and pounding my fists on her desk. "Why must you be such a problem for me, Andrea? I have done nothing but work my ass off for you! Can't you just back the fuck off, get on with your life, and let me get on with mine? What do you want from me?!" I pounded on her desk again, pain surging through my fists, though I didn't care. "Are you really so against my kind that you would bend over backwards to sabotage my success, success that will have no bearing whatsoever on the continued success of your own business? Are you that fucking petty, you fat little bitch?"

I honestly regretted the latter part of that immediately after saying it. Even in the heat of the moment, even as political correctness was rarely a priority on my part, I had crossed the line.

Her eyes shot wide open again, her jaw slack, quivering slightly, her tail swishing, its impacts with the floor loud and pronounced. As inappropriate as a jab at her pudginess us had been on my part, it had successfully struck a nerve. The tiniest inkling of a tear even seemed to glisten in the corner of one of her eyes.

I took a deep breath, leaning back in my chair, shaking my head in exasperation. "Look, we don't like each other, but that was no excuse for that. That was a low blow. I'm sorry, and I do mean that. But, you're not being reasonable with me. You never have been, not a single time in our entire professional relationship..."

Her glance cast downward, her lip quivering, an expression on her face that I had never seen before. In all the time I had known Andrea, I had only seen anger, condescension, smug self-satisfaction and disdain on that face. I had never seen vulnerability. I had never seen a real person behind that mask before. Her large feline ears twitched in dismay, her expressive eyes watering. I really looked at the person, not the embodiment of torment as which I usually identified her, in that moment.

I had always thought of Andrea as kind of ugly, but, I realized that moment, it wasn't anything to do with her aesthetic appearance. Albeit a tad on the pudgy side, she wasn't ugly at all. Her shoulder-length hair, highlighted black and white, her expressive, yellow eyes, her curvy figure... She was actually pretty attractive when conveying an actual emotion.

"The fuck do you know, Daniel." There was a choked tremble to her voice, as of her voice had been drowning in a sea of infinite tears.

"I... Look. I don't know why you hate me, why you hate my kind. Maybe something happened, maybe there's a reason. But if somebody hurt you, they weren't me. Very recently, I learned not to judge Mobians based on how you treat me. Maybe..."

She glanced back up at me, a fire in her eyes. "Maybe what?" She spat those words.

I sputtered, looking for something noble yet not cliché to say to that. I had nothing.

"Maybe you can appeal to my better sensibilities, may be the little tryst you had the other night can stand as an example for how our kind can become united even more? Is that the kind of nonsense you were looking for, Mr. Walton?"

Well, fuck. That was along the lines of what I was looking for, but I had collapsed under the effort of finding a better way to put it, a more poignant and less tired way. I sighed, rubbing my eyes, frustrated. Maybe was time to just cut my losses, tell her that I would remain for two weeks, and just walk out of the office. It was going to be a rough two weeks, but I only had to put up with so much during those two weeks, so surely it wouldn't be that bad.

"Did you even really enjoy it, Mr. Walton? Or were you just so drunk that you didn't care? What if I asked you right now to drop those pants and do to me what you did to her? Now, while you are sober, what would you do?"

I stared at her blankly for a moment, it took a moment for those words to really ring in my head. "I... I wasn't that drunk..."

"Please, I saw the footage. You two were stumbling like idiots out of that bar. Seriously, what if I asked you to do to me what you did to her? Now, with no alcohol in your system. What if I told you that, if you did it, I wouldn't fight you in starting your restaurant. Now that you're nice and sober, I bet you would be repulsed by the idea."

For the second time in less than a few minutes, part of my mind studied her appearance. Again, it confirmed, she wasn't actually ugly by any stretch. She was certainly a less conventional form of attractive, her curvex far more pronounced, a distinct jiggled to her motions, even as she shifted impatiently in her chair. But, I had been with my fair share of "thick" human women, and had rather enjoyed it. Under other circumstances, would I have an issue with taking her to bed? I didn't know, the idea of being intimate with Mobians was still so new... But she wasn't going to win this, that was for damn sure!

"I enjoyed every second of it. Amy was beautiful, she was passionate, she was wonderful. I hope I can experience that again, I hope that others of my kind can experience it! It was wonderful, it was perfect in every way, and this conversation is fucking stupid." Yeah, that'll show her, right?

A sickly smile crossed her face, a sigh escaping while she got to her feet. "Is that so? You stand by that, do you? All right. I'm calling your bluff, Mr. Walton... Fuck me. Here and now. If you show me the kind of passion I would expect from a real lover, then I won't stop you, I won't go out of my way to sabotage you, I will wish you well in your success. Put your money, as they say, where your mouth is."

It honestly took a moment for that to even play itself out in my brain. That was the kind of nonsense one heard in porn movies, but I had thought the same thing about more than one thing Amy said the other night. Maybe art truly imitated life even in that situation? I sputtered for a second, searching for a way to respond to that. "In here, right now? But, everyone's out there, they're going to hear, I mean..."

She cackled, and it was a genuine cackle, real in every way. "The only thing about it that's going to warrant even the raising of a single eyebrow with them is the fact that we are human and Mobian. Don't you know anything about us, Mr. Walton?"

Well, she honestly had me there. It was no secret that Mobians were rather amorous amongst themselves, giving into carnal passions when and where they hit them. Among them, giving into carnal desires in this office wasn't inappropriate. At least, that was the understanding that my kind had regarding Mobians. "I... Amy was an angel. She saw me for me, from the moment I met her. You treat me like garbage... That's hardly a fair comparison."

She licked her lips, her eyes scanning me up and down. "That sounds an awful lot like excuses to me. Put up or shut up, as your kind say."

My mind searched for more rebuttals, more ways to stop this from happening. I may have it last realized that she wasn't physically ugly, but that didn't mean that her soul wasn't! I gave her an imploring look, one that, among my kind, was a call for reason, a call for reevaluating the situation. It said "Really?...".

She walked around the desk, making a show of unbuttoning her blouse, a lacy, black bra containing her very hefty breasts. "Your kind are attracted to massive breasts, right? Like, way more than my own kind are?" She discarded her blouse, reaching behind herself to unclasp, with almost no effort, that bra. Her squishy, large breasts spilled out, jiggling wildly as they found freedom. Even by human standards, they definitely weren't small. But, in spite of her pudgy build, they had quite a nice shape to them, perky, shapely and honestly appealing. The white fur around them only served to accentuate and punctuate her brown, button nipples. As much as I didn't want to admit it, my inability to look away confirmed that I definitely like the sight before me.

She chuckled softly, shimmying her hips as she worked her skirt down, revealing equally-lacy, black panties. "Primal reactions don't lie, Mr. Walton. Maybe I had assumed wrong after all... But actions speak louder than words, don't they?"

She pulled those panties down, ever so slowly. My eyes took in the nude, curvy feline before me. Her hips were far more pronounced than that of Amy, her waist nowhere near as narrow, a slightly pronounced belly where Amy's flat, toned abdomen was. Still, I felt my pants tighten, such squishy, delightfully-curvy imagery playing on primal, ancient impulses over which I had no control. Maybe it wasn't the same kind of sexy, but this was one sexy cat nonetheless. I had never seen it before, but I certainly saw it now...

She clearly read my expression, that familiar, self-satisfied grin on her face. "It looks like somebody really does like Mobians, doesn't it? Well, are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to show me exactly what it was Amy saw in you? Is it true what I hear about you? Is that thing... Enormous?"

Again with that? Well, Amy had certainly been impressed by it, and human women had never been disappointed...

I got to my feet, dropping my pants and a rather clumsy, hurry display, yanking my boxers down shortly thereafter. As had been the case with Amy, that part of my anatomy was already prepared for inspection, standing at attention, stiff and dauntless.

Her eyes fixated on it, her expression impossible to read for a moment. If anyone was going to find an excuse to criticize it, it was going to be her. "Well then, no wonder no one has seen her since you two left that bar. She probably can't walk right now!"

Was that... Was that a compliment? In all my time working for, there hadn't been a kind word out of those lips, and now, at last... A portion of my mind wanted to be disappointed, it hadn't been my cooking, my decorum in the kitchen that had at last warranted it, but merely genetics over which I had no control. Still, the masculine ego within the core of my mind could not help but revel in it. It didn't matter if it wasn't the type of compliment I wanted, I had her right where she wanted me!

She strode over to me, fingertips tracing along my length, sending a shiver through my body. "If all of your kind are like this, maybe Amy is right. Maybe it's high time to get over that last little hangup, wouldn't you say?" She took hold of it, stroking me softly, deliberately, that familiar smirk taking on entirely new context as she looked into my eyes. "But, as they say, it's all about the skill in using it, isn't it? Let's see if you can use that better than you can use a carving knife, Mr. Walton..."

She had to get one last professional day again, didn't she? Fuck it, I'd show her...

She swiveled her plump, delightful posterior in my direction, bending forward, bracing her palms against the window. Her tail raised, revealing that enticing, glistening delightfully-wet womanhood, beckoning me to make my point. Oh, I would make my point all right...

I took hold of her squishy, padded hips, the tip of my manhood sliding against that wellspring of all delights, my breathing already ragged. I took in a deep breath, her exotic scent filling my nose. It was, as I had been told, different than Amy, but pleasant nonetheless. It was like a tropical fruit, but one I couldn't specifically name, intoxicating and exhilarating. Even Mobians I hated were amazing!

With a decided thrust, I plunged into her, feeling her body surround me, taking me in with a tightness that wasn't much less than Amy herself, gripping me, sending mind-blowing pleasure through me instantly. The room echoed with her squealing delight as I stretched her, filled her, claimed her!

Her soft, silky tail wrapped around my waist, tightening, surprisingly strong for such a flimsy appendage, beckoning me to have my way with the boss whom had their way with me in so many other ways. I tightened my grip, my fingers digging into her squishy flesh, pulling back and thrusting back into her with mighty intent. She gasped, cried out, letting out a rolling, feline purr. That primal sound spoke volumes to me, emotions once more conveyed to me in ways that words could not, but not the same emotions Amy had shared with me, not even close!

As if evolution had designed such, every ounce of rage and resentment I had for this chubby little bitch welled up inside me, expressing themselves not in violence, not in verbal assault, but in ancient, powerful gestures that predated such complex emotions. I thrust into her, over and over again, my hips impacting her with loud, wet slaps, her stifled yet powerful moans and gasps punctuating each one.

Her exotic scent intensified, filling the room, the stale mix of old paper and bygone meals being overridden by it, my body heating, complicated emotions giving way to primal urges as I let my hips express my disdain, my frustration, my passion.

Fuck you, you conceited little bitch, my hips proclaimed. Today, it is I who will evoke feelings from you, it is I who will make you weep, if not in sorrow, then in ecstasy!

My eyes soaked in the sight before me as my body did what countless millennia of natural selection had shaped it to do, her pudgy form jiggling in so many rhythmic, musical ways, her breasts bobbing and swaying, her eyes clenched shut, her mouth agape as countless, ancient cries of affirmation bellowed from her.

The wet slapping of our impacts became punctuated by the drip drip of her lewd, forbidden juices spattering upon the tile floor, the blinds obfuscating the window rattling. Do you like that, you conceited little bitch? My hips implored, yes, yes, I love it, her cries pronounced!

Without even thinking, one of my palms released her hip, only to smack her ample butt cheek rather hard, causing additional jiggle to resonate across her body, a heightened squeal to escaping her, my reddened palm print gradually resolving on that squishy flesh. Again, I smacked it, once more with my other hand, my frustration made manifest in my claiming of her, my demeaning of her, my primal self fully realized. I could never have allowed myself to lose such control with Amy, that Angel, that compassionate goddess, but with Andrea? There was no question, this argument, this ancient rivalry would be settled with flesh.

Even now, removed from that passion, a passion of hatred and desire both, I don't know exactly which of the many facets of this encounter was driving me to climax so quickly. But, before I did, the last semblance of rationality in me at the moment would get one last iota of revenge.

As I achieved the fastest speed my hips could achieve, the fastest speed her tight, plump little body could tolerate, reached forward, yanking on the string of those blinds. They raised, for all the might of her weight against them, her palms pressing against them, they raised.

Her breasts slapped against the window, her ecstasy-riddled face displayed, and all in the kitchen be held. They stopped in their place, once more on behalf of my actions, taking in the site before them. I looked each and everyone in the eye as I tightened my grip on her hips, as I grinned, as I had my way with she whom had her emotional way with me so many times. Behold, my actions said, behold all of you, she who would torment me, she who would stand in my way. Do I not make her mine, do I not strip her bare before you? Do I not do as I please, do I not triumph in the end?

I can't be sure that such a display said all of that to them, but that is what I tried to say, that is what my hips declared, that is what her face proclaimed as her tongue lulled from her mouth, as her eyes clenched tighter shut, as her ears twitched wildly, as her cries echoed through the glass, across the kitchen, resonating in the steel pots and porcelain dishes.

A couple observers didn't know what to make of the situation, a look of utter incredulity on their faces, while the rest simply smiled, enjoying the show. Had this been a kitchen full of humans, such expressions would not have met us. Maybe it was true, what they said about Mobians and their blasé nature regarding sex. Blasé didn't mean indifference, though! Regardless their obvious reaction.

There I stood, claiming her, laying her bare before them all, at long last asserting my authority, authority greater than that to which I was entitled by my position in that forsaken place. I took hold of one of her legs, hiking it up, giving everyone an excellent view as I penetrated her without mercy, even her pudgy form showing a distinct bulge as I filled her to the brim.

I wanted, so badly, to taunt her verbally, to tell her that this was what she deserved, something like that...

My body said it better.

I could not maintain this much longer, a passion unique to this situation surging so greatly within me. She, like Amy before her, was so tight, so warm, so carnally delightful, my vindication was so great, the utter wrongness, by my sensibilities as a human, so great as the entire kitchen watched with rapt attention. "Beg... Beg me to do it, you mean little bitch..." Finally, I had found the wherewithal to say something, something...

For a moment, I was met only with the continued organic, wet slapping, the dripping of her lewd juices, her purring, her gasping, her assertive moaning. At last, she responded. "Do it! Do it you fucking human! Do it, do it and go!"

I did it, all right... I think, though I would never admit so to Amy, that I came harder in Andrea that I did for her. I let out a primal howl, a howl that I didn't think my kind could produce as I thrust into her, pressing against her, her ample breasts smashing against that window as I released at last! I burst inside her with the fierceness of a raging volcano, my grip on her tightening to the point where it surely hurt.

A more pronounced, heavy spatter of fluids hitting the floor filled the room as I flutter, more than her tiny body could take, our mixed juices, the fluids of our passion coding those old, worn tiles. Once more, I slammed a palm across her butt cheeks, one more passionate, self-assured grin greeting the audience across the window.

At last, I released her, pulling out, panting, laying against the desk as she, in turn, continued to lean against the window, panting, moaning, our mixed juices continuing to spill from between her legs.

"You... You're a lousy employee, Daniel. Maybe you should change careers... It looks like you're good at something, at least!" One last insult, it would seem. Let her have it, I told myself.

"Like I said... I quit... Andrea."

"Yeah... Yeah... Whatever... Get... Get out of my restaurant." She glared through the glass at her employees before tugging on the string, the blinds sliding down with indignation. She turned to face me, her pudgy body trembling with each labored breath, her face flush, her eyes watery from a mix of resentment and pleasure. "Go start your restaurant, and stay the fuck out of mine."

---

Moments later, as I strolled out of her office, my clothes once more upon my body, albeit disheveled, I made a point to look each and every member of the staff in the eye once more. I grinned, I smirked, I strutted. Most of them wanted to give me a look of disdain, but their expressions belied admiration, and in a few cases, something not unlike jealousy. I had never felt so fulfilled in my life, at least not at that point.