FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Are you staying late?"

Cade glanced at his coworker, half-buried in papers. He saw the assistant professor pull his coat from the stand next to the door and leaned back in his seat.

“For a little while. Yes."

“Okay then, remember to sign off with the front office before you lock up tonight. See you."

“See ya Bob."

The door swung open and shut quickly. Cade looked around. The office had gone dark — the outside lights had lowered due to Bob leaving. It took a moment for the sensors to recognise that someone was still moving around, and as if the machine apologised it summoned fresh luminance from its many bulbs and tubes.

Cade yawned. It was late, and he had intended to drop by Molly's on the way home. He flicked through the stack of papers due for reading and knew, just as the pit in his gut formed, that he wouldn't make it.

Shit.

However, he did have a backup plan. In seconds a message was formulated, and sent to his girlfriend:

Are you busy over the weekend? Would like to spend some quality time with you...

He paused, thinking of what next to say.

Call me if you have any ideas. I've got some, but they're too good to share over the phone.

* * *

Rebecca the border collie squirmed into a clingy single-piece black dress whose gloss cast streaks across its dark surface as light struck. Her laptop sat opposite her, and she sat on the soft bed she had adorned with plush cushions. Her body filled the webcam's viewport from neck to waist, widening to from head-to-thigh once she sat back. In her right hand: her phone, the Snap-X app open and ready to capture the devilish details of her body. It's black and burgundy colour scheme causing the light from the screen to dim, and douse her makeshift studio with moody tones.

The canine lay one leg over the other and prepared. Clothed pictures were one of her regular releases, with nudes and live camming the sole privilege of those willing to fork over large sums for premium-tier access. Tonight would be boring — fancy dress and cute smiles. Low-cut up top and high-cut down below. She double-checked her capture setup and yawned, raising an arm high.

“Ahhh..."

Twisting in the tight black dress, Rebecca gave a sigh. Her form bulged beneath — the result of either a size too small or a meal too large. It mattered little, as getting her fur to behave in close-fitting clothes was hard enough. No-one would care about some weight. And besides, what she wore apart from that always stole the show...

A leather collar circled her neck, tight like a choker. At its centre, a glimmering golden name-tag; 'Becca' embossed on radiant plate. It drew attention away from her dress, her puffy fluffy chest, and even her sweeping cleavage...all to its metal majesty. This one thing, this one element hinting at saucy role-play, was by far the most-requested item in her subscribers' commissions. Collar, and leash. A rose-red strip of leather accompanied its anchor — she clipped the leash to her and held aloft the other end, admiring her pose reflected back at her by the laptop camera feed. She felt her tail wag, a couple of flicks of excitement. Plenty more where that came from, she quipped in thought.

Then, she turned back to her phone, and scrolled through the list of her clientele. Violetta was great and all, but there was a unique quality to what she did on her own. Not just the choice in who to entertain, or who to reveal her body to, but how she did it. Control. Of her schedule. Of her customers. Of her livelihood. And no-one in her shoes could lie and say they wouldn't appreciate that.

There were a couple of live sessions she could initiate, or perhaps a selection of photos for one of her biggest donors. She perused her options, scrolling past multitudes of names with a single flick of her clawed finger.

“Hmmm..." she pondered aloud. “Who to treat?"

Rebecca paused for a moment, and left the bed to check on her laptop. There, an image of some of the girls at Violetta caught her eye. She opened it, and grinned as she saw herself and several others dressed in fabulous outfits and huddled together, arms locked, bright-eyed. Molly Bradshaw among them. The 'new girl'...at least, at the time that photo was taken. It was written all over her. Shy, avoiding direct eye contact with the camera. The tilt of her head just sheepish enough to show she had some holdovers with the level of bare skin (nay, fur!) on display. Now, oh...that was a different story. A different picture — one where she was indistinguishable from the others in terms of daring, and sexiness.

Boy oh boy, her confidence is killer now.

Watch out world, Auntie Antelope is coming for ya!

...

Y'know...

Rebecca chuckled and lay back on the bed, throwing her legs up and cycling them around before resting her paws on the lush bedsheets. She had Molly on her mind, and it was as potent as the drug that infringed on that woman's namesake. A giddy, guttural laugh escaped the lounging collie. She threw open a chat app separate from her sensual moonlighting and searched for Molly's name.

A quick message, one to remind...

Hey girl,

She started, but stopped suddenly. Then, as if inspiration itself had taken hold of her, Rebecca took a picture of her room and recording setup. It soon found itself attached to her message.

You sure you don't wanna try? I could teach you.

You'd be AMAZING!

Several lines of enthusiastic yet ditzy praise launched themselves from Rebecca's imagination. Thinking about Molly, her performances...her beauty...it was too much to waste hard at work for dear Ms. Violet alone — no matter how impressive the club was in size or showmanship.

She wondered if Molly felt the same. Alas, she couldn't read minds.

All she could do was text.

* * *

Amid yellowish street-lights, past the parking lot next to his apartment building, Sammy kicked the stand out from his moped scooter. The small vehicle's engine went silent, only the traffic of the nearby street to echo around him. Dismounting, he tucked the key into the pocket of his raincoat. Then he started walking.

It was a short distance between his parking spot and the entrance to the residential complex he called home. Sammy strode towards it, concealed thanks to the help of the helmet and his baggy clothes. He appreciated the measure of privacy he got from living here — with neighbours uninterested in the goings-on around them. The ignorance of his block let him blend in. Just another hybrid living their life. He was still cautious, however, as evidenced by the loose tracksuit pants hiding bare bunny legs and an outrageous lavender thong...the raincoat pretending to have beneath it something other than tight, form-fitting straps that roped their way across his slender body...or the moped helmet — big and round, a space in the back for his long ears to flow out — and the visor down, hiding his face adorned with vibrant lipstick and eyeshadow.

He wanted to avoid attention.

Or maybe he relished in the hidden thrill of what lay underneath his ordinary appearance?

Sammy didn't question it at this point. He'd been strutting back-and-forth to Violetta for more than a year now. His job keeping its allure throughout. As the rubber paw-boots he used when in the city stomped softly on his journey to the keypad on the complex door, he felt the rush he expected. Firm, flowing tingles of danger, debauchery, and daring.

Once inside, and up the quiet elevator to his floor, Sammy let the sensation fade. His mind turned to rest. And dinner. It was late, after midnight, but places were still open — including some of his favourites.

Now inside his apartment — a compact affair, but something to call his own — the rabbit pulled off his helmet as the door shut. A loud click and beep signalled it's automatic locking, and Sammy's phone vibrated in his pocket with a prompt to confirm. The helmet was placed on the small table by the door, and Sammy rubbed his face, careful to avoid smearing his cosmetics and worsening the clean-up.

As the young hybrid unzipped his coat, baring his snow-white fur to the empty rooms, he looked around. The place was messy. It usually was. A flat panel on the wall in the main room spat out a series of thick black cables that snaked their way to a couple of game consoles and a VR headset. A classic touch to contrast with the more advanced computer systems of the day. His couch and table were in a state — with dirty plates and half-opened boxes of anything and everything strewn around. Walking by the couch while swiping a hoodie off of it, Sammy sighed.

Replacing the hoodie's resting place with the raincoat recently removed, he turned and went to the bathroom. A splash of water helped reduce the make-up, thinning the dyes as they were rinsed from his facial fur. Towelling off, he looked up. Now a mottled off-white rabbit confronted him in the mirror. His wash was far from over.

Once he was completely undressed, Sammy put away his work clothes. The thongs and straps were stuffed into a part of his wardrobe devoted to Violetta; his gaze gracing several familiar pieces of lingerie and skimpy attire. He thought about work. He had a full booking today, plenty of time on-stage and entertaining private parties. A weight appeared in his cheat — a denseness — when he wondered, based on the age of some patrons, if they recognised him?

Nah...that's all part of the mind-games, he told himself. He was far away from his old life. That's what was good about anthromorphing. You had no reason to worry about your human past if you didn't care for it. Even his name — a manipulation of his original — was different enough to avoid correlation. It was better, he was better.

I'm...

He caught himself in the mirror. A smile erupted 'cross his cute face as he saw his naked furry form. The beautiful coat of his that felt so good to caress...he almost wished he could share how good it felt. Scream it to the world. And his figure: appropriate proportioned to excite. He turned, putting his back to the bathroom mirror, and exposed his butt and fluffy puff of a tail. The soft, cushiony peach that bounced when he ever-so-gently shook his hips only made his grin broaden.

He turned on the hot water, and waited for it to emerge from the stream in his shower; he lay the hoodie beside the bathroom door, ready to wear as his only article of clothing once he'd washed. While he waited, Sammy made sure he had completed all the errands he'd set himself before calling it a day. He ran over a mental checklist of to-dos. Only one stood out as incomplete. A small thing, nothing to worry about...but the tedium forced his hand.

Stepping outside the bathroom, he grabbed his phone and fired off a quick text:

Hi Molly! Sammy here.

You left some clothes at work.

I put them in the back office.

In the spare locker.

He pressed send, and put the phone down. Stretching his arms wide, a great yawn escaped the exhausted bunny as he settled in for a lovely soak.

* * *

Deep neon shades of colour washed over the front of the bar where Rylan drank. The horse had little company — those present were but a smattering of humans and hybrids, none in groups larger than two. He sat alone at the bar, taking his time to appreciate the fine alcohol before him. He looked inconspicuous in his street clothes; no hint of his occupation visible.

This wasn't his usual place. In fact, he didn't really have a usual place. His haunts were ever-changing. Moving around, keeping him in new things, new people...

With one motion he downed the remainder of his drink, and signalled the bartender for another. They were happy to oblige, seeing as he tipped well.

Rylan sighed quietly. A small rumble in his chest revealed a stifled cough. He handled this quickly, clearing his throat and apologising to anyone next to him. There was no-one. Oh well, he thought, never hurts to be polite.

He had time to think. Ruminate as he imbibed his precious marinate.

Thinking was something he did often — not on daily matters, as banal as the act of breathing. Nope. Rylan liked to think about his life. His journey to get where he sat now. A decade and a quarter is a long time, longer still if one had transformed their mind and body, and held together their soul with aught else but memories of once-human existence. Still, the hard times were behind him. Manual labour, far into remote forests, and the machismo and discord that occupied the time for that workforce long in the past. He much preferred his new job. It appealed to a showy side of him.

He counted the years with his fingers. Four. Four straight years of performing. Gotta hand it to Vi and the gang, he whispered to his drink, the soft music of the bar muting him to those around, helluva place they _'ve created_.

Rylan was not one of the earliest employees of Violetta. There were others more seasoned in their ranks than he. Mark, Jace, Juni...a few he could think of. Many he worked with now joined when he did — the first major expansion to the club. Boy, he reminisced, we've come a long way from a dingy basement in down-town Pellerville.

And he had nobody but Violet to thank. The boss-lady with an eye for opportunity. Before the hybrids had made their mark in the area, the Plains Cities had been bereft of culture. Now, despite the grumbling of a couple of old grognards — folk who lived before the advent of anthromorphing gene therapy and didn't appreciate the, well, transformative nature of scientific progress — things seemed as normal as they'd ever been.

Maybe they had a point. Back when it was all secrecy and silencing. Took a few trailblazers like the Reimonds to show the world how fast it'd changed.

That was quite before Rylan's time. He was only a kid when the facts went public. He was an adult when he decided to 'take the plunge'. Lived many years independently, getting to know life. He wondered about those born today. Those whose whole lives are lived as hybrids. Do they feel as strange? He used to feel worse, but as time ticked by the strangeness lessened.

Rylan leaned forward on the barstool. He rubbed his face.

Geez, I'm going too deep!

A laugh punctuated his drinking. Another signal to the bartender to repeat his order.

Least I've got folks to talk to.

Not here, unless he sought to strike up a conversation with the nearest booze-hound.

Oh that reminds me...

Thinking of work, Rylan fished around his trouser-pockets for his phone. Molly was on his mind. Not merely the subject of his philosophy — a friend the chat with about their experiences being changed — at the moment he had business on the brain.

He wrote her a message:

Hope you're available next week. It's my turn to need a shift covered.

Shout at the boss if you can't do it. She can find someone else. But you owe me one.

After sending his text and returning to his quiet, contemplative relaxation, Rylan closed his eyes and shifted in his seat. It wasn't just Molly that he'd started thinking about. Once he'd turned his mind to his co-workers he usually couldn't stop it, least not this sloshed. Violet sprang to centre stage. What was holding her back?

What's stopping her changing? Not like it'll affect any relationships...those I know of anyways.

Rylan felt he should talk to her, have her keep him in the loop about her plans. He couldn't help but be concerned...a little...

Maybe she hasn't found the right species.

He pressed hard on the glass and pointed his mind's eye elsewhere. Flitting through a handful of furry faces (and feathery, in the case of the avian Angelica), spinning 'round, his focus a steel ball — shiny, sparkling — as it rolled on the roulette wheel. And wouldn't you know it, it went right back to Vi's friend Molly.

Seems he couldn't keep anyone off his mind for long!

Molly, eh? Fine, let me think.

Nice girl. Girl's the wrong word. Woman. She'd take no shit from me, not now that she's plying her trade to the tune of thousands.

He smiled. Doesn't mean I can't tease her for falling short of my best payouts.

A moment of recollection took him as he pictured one of their behind-the-scenes sparring. The curious yet hesitant human face he met at the door of Violetta had become intense, strong-willed. He saw the real her, and was proud to play a part in expressing that. In his memory they tore at one another with barbs about technique, and then the images sped by until another scene emerged: this time of her sensual showmanship, sometimes even putting him to shame.

What a gal!

Heh, if only she weren't a gal. The large equine nurtured a wry smile, hidden beneath his raised hand.

I should chat with her more, about Violet. I think their friendship stops things getting nasty. He scratched his side. Vi needs someone to walk her through the changes. I already know it's not me.

Why not Molly? She looks like she had her life sorted out. Good work ethic. Good nature. Heard she's shacked up, found a sweet guy...

Huh...

That's something still on my bucket list.

Should it be?

The hybrid felt the drift of his inebriation tug at his heart. Ah, love! Or at least a potent form of lust. Either worked for him. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps not.

“Ugh," he groaned, loud enough to hear himself produce the deep resonance, but soft enough to hide from the rest of the bar.

If he were big on wishes, he'd have a couple he would like to make. Long ears and a cotton-tailed butt plopped in front of his vision. He shook his head and let the mental image break apart. He was a little horny — that slight discomfort as your pants no longer have the space to contain your growing desire. It wracked him, and he looked around. Searching for someone to feed to his monster.

There were a couple of cute guys around. Even a human that gave him pause. But he wasn't in the mood for shacking up with strangers. No, this was distinct. More a pang of loneliness...the briefest of scattered inklings...

He finished his drink, and contemplated another.

* * *

Violet's home wasn't large, or ornate, but it was special. Porcelain decor sat on the old wooden windowsills as the light streamed in, scattered into leaf-patterns by the tree in the nearby city park. A mix of fancy and functional — her two-storey house had been the subject of numerous renovations by its previous owners; and its current, her landlord, kept a careful eye on the state of the old building. Yes. You heard correctly. Landlord. She could afford a place of her own, further out in the country, past the inner city limits, but at the cost of losing centrality. Better to save her money, or invest it in her business, which she knew guaranteed returns.

She had a keen eye for such things. Accounts. Bookkeeping. Whatever you call it, she could handle the heat. The business itself, Violetta, appealed to her not just for its income. The pervert inside her admired another aspect...

And now Molly's awakened her own skeevy side, long hidden away behind numb, adult life.

“Heh, hack-uh..."

A small cough, then a relaxed sigh later, and she was sitting on a desk-chair ready to fall asleep. A smooth shimmering computer screen/panel sat inlaid into the wall opposite her, above the narrow table her arms rested upon. It's brightness tried to fill the room but faltered, not strong enough to hurt the eyes amid the darker surroundings. One e-mail from a mutual friend displayed itself prominently, courtesy of Beatrice (Bea).

Outside of Molly, her friends hadn't been in touch for some time. Angie was abroad. Bea had taken the initiative to ask how things were. Lines of text glowed:

I heard about Molly. Wow! So new job and new everything...

Vi drifted closer to sleep. Half-reading the faded words.

Can't wait to see what she does next. And you too — you devil!

“You too," she mumbled. A swift yawn and cracking of the neck woke her from her partial slumber.

I don't have her new contact details so pass along my love, Vi. And for God's sake, ask her to send pictures. Not those kind! Pleasant ones. It's not every day a friend chooses gene therapy like that!

Yeah, Vi thought, I'll send along your love. And mine.

She tapped out a message on her keyboard, a flat projection of squares and symbols on the wooden desk — watched keenly by an optical sensor. It wasn't much — a word or two. For Molly. It left out something. Something Vi felt she needed to write, but didn't.

Should I ask her...?

She hesitated before sending. Daring to push herself. Pry open their friendship with a barrage of questions. How it felt. How it changed you. How it...

Nah, she's busy enough as is.

Her finger stabbed 'send' and her body collapsed into sleep.

* * *

Ding!

Ding!

Ding!

“Shaddup — I'm tired!"

Molly rolled over on the couch, torn from sleep and feeling groggy. Against the low light she raised her forearm and covered her eyes, letting out a groan as she straightened her tank-top. A pair of short sweatpants leftover from her workout clad her lower half, a stain or two from the bottle of peach liqueur she lay beside marring its grey-blue fibres.

Her phone wouldn't stop dinging across the last ten minutes. So much for beauty sleep! All she wanted was to nod off on the couch; catch up on some much-needed rest on her days off and adjust her sleep schedule so she wasn't totally fucked by working late. But no, the alerts kept coming — amplified by the Home Assist 'DeviceSync' she forgot to switch off before napping. Loud dings echoed not just from her phone, but the very walls themselves. The computer panel in the hallway lit up with a stack of new messages.

What time is it?

She rose slowly. Carefully. Several joints ached, not from exertion but position. Looking back over the depression left on the couch before it disappeared, she knew she'd fallen asleep in an awkward pose. Not helping her joints, that's for sure.

The hybrid clambered upright and wobbled to the nearest screen. The light poured over her — pale and white, before turning into a sensible orange. When it was done hurting her eyes, the stupid house AI chose to display the time:

Eleven. Earlier than she expected.

Now she turned to the incessant flood of messages. Setting aside the bottle she had been nursing a couple hours before, Molly swiped the screen and tapped at random.

Vi's message popped up first. She smiled.

“Nice of my friends to pay attention," she said, raising her voice. Molly had been an antelope morph for a good while now, and news steadily filtered back to the others — some might say at a glacial pace. She didn't intend to reveal herself slowly, drip-feeding Angie or Bea with exclusive details via dear old Violet...it just happened that way. Her mind skipped over telling them, and who could blame her? She was busy.

But now she could at least answer back. To Violet, she wrote:

Hi Vi,

Bea wants pictures? I'll find some good, clean ones. Don't you worry.

She paused. “Number...and my e-mail address," she mumbled.

Yeah, should I? If I give Bea my details, she'll never leave me alone. Won't get a moment's peace with her habit of sending spam.

She added that remark to her reply, along with a good-natured warning:

Don't you dare tell her! You'll be my proxy to our Britannic friend.

After sending Vi her thoughts, she next came upon Sammy's message.

“Oh shoot."

Leaving the embedded computer momentarily, Molly found her bag and trudged through it, finding several items missing. To the white rabbit, she sent a 'thank you' for his consideration, and made a mental note to pick up what she'd left behind next time in the office.

Next up — Rebecca.

Heh...that girl won't let up...

I dunno...diversifying my smutty portfolio could be worth it.

Undecided, she left that message unanswered. Better to keep the idea in the back pocket if she ever needed it. No point stretching herself thin. She was hot property, and sole property of Violetta for now. When, or if, the money dried up, maybe then she'd think about it.

Though, Molly knew Rebecca only pushed her so the collie could feel validated splitting her attention between the club and online. I've seen you skip sessions, the antelope remarked to herself, hoping no-one noticed your absence. Cheeky cheeky!

After tutting she moved onto the next message.

“Rylan, huh?"

She read the equine's entreaty. So, he wants a shift or two covered? Swiping open her calendar, she checked dates. Biting her lip, Molly hemmed and hawed over making a final decision. Perhaps she could take a dance, or two or three. But she had Monday off, and the weekend loomed large in her thoughts. Be a shame to lose that much free time when she could be with Cade.

And speaking of—

Seeing that Cade had texted her, she quickly read what she had been sent, and decided to reply to her colleague with a non-committal question:

So is this an offer, or an order?

Appending a smirking emoji to her one-sentence response, she fired off the last of her correspondence and left the computer screen, mail app vanishing as the screen turned black.

Now to attend to Cade...

Instead of tapping away with her hard fingertips in the hopes of formulating a fitting message, she flicked open her phone and strolled back to the couch, the dial-tone ringing as she walked and sang to herself acapella bars of a tune she liked.

The receiver clicked into being, and she heard his voice on the far end.

“Hey Molly."

“Hey."

“What's up?"

“Not much, not much. I got your text. Quality time, huh? Can't bear us being apart?"

“Heh," went the crackling voice in her ear, “I was thinking we go out, find a nice place to eat. Haven't done that recently."

“Whereabouts?"

“Oh, well...I was hoping you'd have some recommendations. I got us lost last time."

“You did, didn't you? Hah! I could look up a few places, but that's not what you wanted to say to me, was it? Asking for a restaurant suggestions...and I quote: 'too good to share over the phone'. Whatever could that mean, hun?"

“Still not sure if I should say anything."

“Oh, is anyone else around on campus?"

“No, uh, no...ah, just me being paranoid."

“Of what? Phone sex with your hot girlfriend?"

“Now I didn't say anything about that in particular, did I..."

Molly laughed. “So my guess is wrong?"

“Mmm...gotta long way to go before you can read my mind, Molls. A weekend of romantic eating out awaits you, nothing crude."

“Pffaw!" she snorted, “rephrase that honey, or I might get the wrong idea."

She paused for Cade to recognise what she hinted at. When a small chuckle came from his end she knew she'd successfully teased.

“Oh you," he said. “Filthy, filthy mind."

“Says the guy dating a stripper."

“Ah but I knew you before I knew your job — my intentions remain honourable and unblemished by your profession."

“Fuckin' hell, no idea it was Dr. Dictionary's turn to answer the phone."

Cade chuckled again. “Are you blaming me for upping my vocabulary — seeing as your the bookworm with the property to back that claim up — rich coming from you is all I'm saying."

Molly glanced across the room at her vast collection of hard- and soft-bound books on their respective shelves. Remnants for her academic days, but still treasured possessions. “Well," she said, “I suppose I did make you unpack them when we first met, only fair you get to use the words in 'em."

“Yeah but I've run out now. Gonna resort to grunting and banging sticks together for the rest of the call."

“Oh, some caveman role-play...I'm game," she jabbed, reminiscing about her show with Emily that Cade had the good fortune to witness. “Seems I've found a kink of yours, can't think of what brought it to the surface..."

“You still have the costume?"

A devilish smirk crossed Molly's snout. “Given up playing the innocent fool?"

“My paranoia's calmed down. Place is empty. I can spare a few rude words."

“Really?" Molly leaned forward on the couch, placing a finger against her lower lip — as if salivating at the prospect of bearing her heart to him. “Well Cade, tomorrow you can wine and dine me — if you can wrangle reservations at such short notice — then, it's my turn."

She paused, then grinned (though Cade couldn't see, somehow he knew). “The rest of the weekend, you're in for a world of hurt...every minute you aren't fucking my brains out I'll be working you until you do — got it?"

She continued: “...and when I say fuck, I mean fuck. I want you drained of every fuckin' ounce of effort you can possibly give. I want you pinned beneath me and worshipping my body like a god-damned queen! I want you inside me, screaming for me to stop because it feels so good you might have a heart attack! I want to fuck you day and night, until you can't walk any more — got it! "

“Yes ma'am. Got some words of my own to share, but they'll have to wait until I see you in person."

Molly lay down on the couch and sighed. “Get here soon, you can start tonight...if you can make it here soon." She raised her leg, dangling it at an angle, running her hand along her furred thigh — the sting of her heat still rising from below. I need this. I need you, Cade.

A note of worry crossed her mind. One of a medical nature. You know, if this keeps burning, I should move my first yearly check-up to sooner. Much sooner.

Cade's speech disrupted her train of thought. “I've got some stuff to take care of, but if I'm very lucky it's possible I'll see you tonight. You still have that bottle of Plains Peach we got a while back?"

Molly looked over at the small side table in the next room she had left the liqueur bottle on. Its contents only reached about two inches from the base, mostly empty from her drinking that night. She felt sheepish, and all Cade heard was a hesitant:

“Uhhh...oops."