FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Looking good, there, lion!"

"Yeah, work those hips, kitty!"

"I gotta spot behind this wall I'm building with your name on it, pussy! Just say the word!"

I'm burning from my muzzle to my ears by the time I duck in the front door. It feels like a water bottle is stuffed in my pants. The construction workers outside know it, too. Somehow, they always know. It's like they can smell a gay guy a block away...and now they're all over my office.

Renovations, the company calls them. An updated style for the 21st century. All I know is that it means I have to stay productive while musky manly men with backs and pecs like table tops swagger about the place in their tight jeans, their thick workman's gloves, their heavy stomping boots, and those goddamned form-fitting tee shirts that show off the sweat stains like jewelry.

I take a moment in the washroom to cool down. It's August in spades out there. That doesn't help matters. The construction crew has no shame in stripping down as much as they can get away with, and in some cases a little more. Abs and an ass built by deadlifts seem to be job requirements for this bunch.

By now, every other guy I work with has slipped at least one of the studs a fifty for a quick blowjob or a nice long make out in a storage room. I tell myself I'm different because I'm more professional. I give my mane a quick brush up in the washroom. The lion in the suit and tie who stares out of the mirror doesn't look convinced.

Maybe I'm just intimidated. These aren't the sort of guys you'd ever want to date. Their mouths are about as foul as their manners. Not to mention how they seem to think BO is a stand-in for cologne. I've never taken so many showers after work.

One of them - a beaver with shoulders as wide as the doorway and a man paunch sticking out the bottom of his oil-stained wifebeater - lumbers in to fill his water canteen. I duck out before he can make assumptions.

I reach my office a properly poised lion. My co-worker is ignoring his ringing phone. He's busy flirting with the smirking sleeveless bobcat electrician. The hunky cat has to keep reaching up into the ceiling to work on the lighting, making his shirt ride up to reveal his taught eight pack.

Things get easier once my door closes. Blessed air conditioning. I loosen my tie a bit while my computer boots up. There's a muffled thump from the wall behind me. I jump. Then the moans start.

Screw this. I lean over my keyboard to type a quick e-mail: Lack of professionalism leading to a suboptimally productive work environment, blah blah blah. Therefore, I will be switching to a virtual platform from my home office until such time as renovations are complete. Regards, Virgil Manerd. Add company signature.

I should have done this a week ago, I think, heading through progressively steamier cubicles back to the main elevator. Who knows? If I can maintain or even improve my personal productivity metrics, I might even be able to swing...

"Hold the door."

When a voice that deep and firm commands, you don't think. You just do what it says.

He steps into the elevator without a thank you or even a nod for the courtesy. He doesn't press a button, so I assume he must be going to the ground floor, too. I already know his name.

Torque Horseman. The foreman in charge of the entire project. He fills the tiny box of the elevator so I have to press myself into one of the corners or I'll risk touching him.

Torque is wrought iron swathed in Roman marble. He has the same presence as a classical sculpture. I glance up, noticing how the tips of his ears touch the ceiling of the elevator.

I don't know horse breeds. Maybe Appaloosa. Short wheat blonde mane that ends just under his golden hard hat. Soft grey hide, littered with large white spots. Grey-blue eyes that stare ahead as he waits. His muzzle is shorter and thicker than most horses I've seen. Almost bovine, I think. Heavy muscular equine lips, shut in a firm and expressionless line. A neatly cropped goatee and chin strap beneath them. He has his fingerless black working gloves on, hands resting on the sides of his tool belt. One thick finger gently taps.

Torque's shirt seems his one concession to modesty. A simple v-neck tee shirt with his company's name and logo across the back of it. I can read it like a billboard. I can't imagine how shirts stay on a chest that MASSIVE.

No shoes, of course. His dinner plate hooves serve him better. Between those hooves and the belt, though, there isn't much. A pair of denim shorts so high cut that I can see bare flesh across his enormous ass cheeks.

I don't dare say a word. I'm a spider in the corner, shaking in his tiny web. Rumors around the office say that Torque stood hoof-to-toe with Mr. Terrance himself to negotiate the contractor fees. I believe those rumors now.

Torque's as sweat-soaked as the rest of them. At his size, in such a confined space, that musk of his is as strong as my lavender scented candles at home. I watch the numbers tick by above the door. 15...14...13...

A vibration touches my footpaws through my dress shoes. We both look up when the lights flicker.

The elevator halts with a jerk. All but one light dies. Modern buildings have a sort of subtle hum or whisper to them from all the tiny electrical devices they use for things like climate control, air circulation. No such sounds exist in the elevator. Only the creak of our feet on the floor.

"Aw, fuck!" Torque spits.

He rams a huge thumb into the emergency call button three times. We can hear some sort of tone, and the button flashes. It occurs to me I've never thought about what happens after you press that button.

Torque huffs. He grabs at his tool belt, then grunts and delivers another masterful f-bomb. He half turns toward me.

"Got a phone on ya, sweet pea?"

"I-"

"Well don't just stand there. Call someone!"

His voice bounces off the elevator walls. I fumble for my phone in the dim light.

"H-hello? Yes. This is Virgil Manerd from accounting. I'm stuck in an elevator between the 13th and 12th floors with Mr. Horseman," I say. "Oh! Oh thank goodness. Yes, that was us, hah hah! ...what? You...you can't be serious. THIRTY TO NINETY MINUTES? NO I WILL MOST CERTAINLY NOT REMAIN CALM! We don't even have CLIMATE CONTROL in here! Do you understand? The elevator is DEAD! We're sitting in the fucking DARK!

I should say you WILL be here as soon as possible and I want your badge number! This is unbelievable! What? I don't care what your name is, George, you-... no, don't bother staying on the line. Just get us OUT OF HERE!"

I almost throw my phone. I feel like I've been told I'm going scuba diving only to be stuffed into a shark cage and hauled over the side. That shark is a full quarter ton of sweaty, stinking gay stallion.

I glance up at Torque's face. He looks more amused than annoyed.

"What?" I snap.

"Nothin. Just glad I had a big breakfast. Heh heh heh," he quips.

I run both hands through my mane. It's starting to cling to itself in the mounting humidity. "I'm glad you find this so funny."

"Don't worry your fancy pants ass about it, sweet pea. Us blues'll get you out of your little crisis like we always do," Torque says.

"Blues?"

Torque plants a thumb against his massive chest. "Blue collar." He makes a dismissive sort of tossing gesture toward me. "White collar."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Excuse me, but just what are you implying?"

"I'm not implying shit, sweet pea. I'm tellin ya how it is. You think you're special 'cause you get to sit up in your cooshy office all day wanking numbers around?"

I want to be shocked. I should be enraged. I should fucking report this asshole. Record him with my phone. There's just one problem. And it's growing harder.

"Don't think I ain't noticed you turning your nose up at us every day."

I finally manage to put some heat into my voice. "Well MAYBE I just don't find you attractive! Maybe I just want to do my fucking JOB!"

Torque's laugh is deafening.

"Your job." Scorn oozes from his lips like syrup. "What exactly is it you do here that's so important, hunh?"

"I'll have you know I'm a senior accountant," I say.

"Uh hunh. That supposed to impress me?"

"I suppose you think what you do is so much better?"

Torque's smile fades. He takes a step toward me. I backpedal hard up against the wall. It only now occurs to me just how strong the giant horse probably is. The traitor between my legs is not helping things by getting so enthusiastic at that idea.

He raises both arms upward. My gulp is so loud it echoes. And I thought they were big before. God fuck me they're fucking freaks of nature - as big around as a fire extinguisher, easy. Bicep peaks as high as my office computer monitor.

"You see these arms, boy?" Torque asks me. "Answer me!" he barks when I don't say anything.

"Y-yes!" I squeak.

"I build this fucking city with these arms, boy. These fucking hands made the goddamned office where you WORK!"

Torque has to lower his arms or I'll pass out. And not just because the memory of them is going to make me cum for a solid week. His pits are exposed. Hours of back breaking physical labor in August heat are now POURING out of them like fog machines. Sure, he shaves them. Big fat help that is.

"What...what do you want?" I pant.

Torque lowers his arms. He plants his huge hand on the wall right by my head to lean closer. His breath tickles my lion whiskers. I can smell the light mint of the breath freshener he uses.

"Stop acting so high n' mighty. You think I don't know you're hard right now?" he whickers.

"Ffffffffuuuuccckkk."

I squint my eyes shut. I gasp when I feel the warm delicious edge of his broad muzzle rubbing slow and hard up my neck to sniff at my mane.

"Virgil, was it? Mmmm. Cute name."

"T-Torque. Please," I whisper.

"Please what? Who the fuck's gonna say anything, sweet pea?"

"My boss will-"

"Your boss is a ball-less fat fuck who gave me anything I asked for just for the chance to cop a feel, Virgil."

Oh my God. He's a complete power top. He's a fucking alpha stud stallion. He's the one. He's the man I've been holding out for. I know it, now. That's what's been bothering me. I didn't want just any stud on the crew. I wanted its leader. I wanted the unattainable prize.

Torque steps back with a sly smile. I'm dizzy. Whether from the stale air flooded in horse pheromones or the lack of blood to my brain, I can't tell.

Torque grips the flap of his toolbelt. The belt falls to the floor with a rattling thud. He pushes it behind him with one hoof. The whole time he's staring at me. Waiting. I watch him take his time undoing his work gloves. He pauses, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Leave them on," I whisper.

He winks, reaches up to slip off his hard hat. Tosses it aside. We only have half a fucking hour. Why is he taking his time?

"Getting so hot in here, sweet pea."

Torque peels his shirt off. My mind shreds itself into confetti tossed around my empty skull.

There's just enough lighting to play across that body. That completely... SUMPTUOUS... boooooooddddyyyy.

His core is a complete barrel, with love handles squishing out the sides like wings. He has a six pack, but it's squat and thick like a stack of car tires. The artificial moonlight from the lone working ceiling panel highlights the soft huggable curves of his unthinkable lats.

I watch the hefty mass of striated sweat and skin that is his chest. I wonder what color his nipples are. The bulging flesh crashes up against the sea wall of his collarbones which protect the brutish thickness of that curving equine neck. I can barely tell where his neck ends and his traps begin.

That leaves his arms. At the slightest pressure, those biceps are silent living explosions bloating out his hide. Even in this light I can see the veins. They fork over the twin heads, joining other veins that criss cross forearms so thick they literally bunch up against the bottom of his biceps.

In short, he's an absolute feast. I lunge for him. He stops my momentum with a few fingers, then shoves me hard back to the wall.

"Pay up, first."

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mutter and fumble for my wallet.

He snaps his fingers. Holds his hand out, palm up.

"All of it."

"I have $500 in cash," I tell him.

Torque leans down into my personal space. Body pressing mine to the wall. I can't move no matter which way I slide. His eyes hold mine. His breath touches my tongue.

"You think I'm worth half a fuckin grand, shrimp? Feel that bulge. Feel the power of this body. You want it, you give me whatever I ask for."

He flexes his hardening cock against me. A hungry snake in his short shorts.

He slides my wallet from my palm right into his own back pocket.

"That's a good pussy. This is MY wallet, now. You don't call the bank. You don't call anyone. I won't like it if I can't spend. That understood, pussy?"

The heat from his balls is like two electric massage pads, burning through the denim of his shorts and my cotton pants.

"Yes, sir," I whisper. I'd have given him my whole house if he'd asked.

The power of his kiss knocks my head against the carpeted wall. I raise my hands on instinct. They come to rest on the two huge hot plates of his chest. I'm gone. Nothing matters any more.

He's not gentle. That fat slimy horse tongue invades my throat until my moans turn to gags. I feel his lips work. There's a disgusting moist slick sound. Warm spit passes from his mouth into mine in an egg sized lump.

He grabs me under the chin to tilt my head back. I'm forced to swallow it while his tongue reams me out from mouth roof to tonsils.

My fingers sink into the sweat on his chest. I start to rub it around like oil.

"Fuck yeah, pussy. Get in there."

He releases my mouth so I can dive to his chest. Into the kind of musky, sweaty, bulging, rolling, rippling HEAVEN most guys only dream of.

Call me a hypocrite. Call me a slut. I don't care. I'm rolling my tongue between pecs so thick I can't reach the sternum. His sweat is acidic, sharply salty, as strong as sriracha sauce.

"Damn, pussy. Heh heh. I knew you were secretly hungry for it but most guys just want a good fuck n' suck," he mutters.

I latch onto one of those nipples that pokes directly down toward the floor, shoved out of its usual alignment by the sheer mass of his chest muscles. The grip on the back of my head tells me he loves it.

I'm a good slut pussy, cleaning the sweat from both his nipples. Smearing more of it along his chunky roided out abdominals. Then getting down there to roll and slurp those abs clean, too. They're like big living speed bumps for my tongue. It's like licking ice cream too fast and going numb to the flavor. But I can't stop. His sweat cools on my mouth like lipstick.

He smirks, both of us panting in the twilight. Those arms rise again in another flex. He doesn't have to say a word.

Cleaning those bloated, enormous, sweaty arms is a religious experience. My sense of myself fades away until all I am is a moaning mouth, a pair of lips and a tongue that exist to suck, kiss, and lick. I travel from left to right along the huge curve of his flexed bicep. I feel like a tiny spacecraft taking photographs of Jupiter. My tongue finds one of his thick veins and presses in hard.

"Nnnnnff!"

He chuckles and pumps his arm for me. Fuck I want to fucking crawl all over it. I have to clutch at it to keep from collapsing. He holds me up easily. Even flexes a little so my feet leave the floor for a moment.

I leave one bicep behind for the other one. For some reason, keeping the worship symmetrical seems important. He hasn't even touched himself, but he's a grunting, snorting, chuffling stallion for me and I can smell the salty tang of his pre in the air amid all the rest of his stink.

I drag my fangs in a long and gentle 'bite' against the heavy downward swell of his tricep. Then I turn toward that armpit. I pause.

He lowers one of his flexed arms but raises the other higher. His mouth finds my ear. Thick lips smearing against the tuft of fur at its base.

"Don't hold out on me, you nasty ass little muscle whore."

He knows I want him to get rougher and he does. His fingers in that leather glove grab my mane and push me up into the source of his sweat and musk.

My nostrils suck in the heat of him. He keeps his pits shaved, but even so, it's like a rag of chloroform in there. My eyes water. I squeeze them shut against the tears and inhale.

We're both moaning. I'm guessing he doesn't get a lot of guys willing to do this. This is confirmed when his back thuds against the wall. I'm making HIM weak in the knees. That makes me smirk in pride.

I reach down along his abs to the top of his pants. We work together to undo them. My hand dives inside the open flap, down into his silken thong - which feels absolutely soaked, whether with sweat or pre I can't tell - and grab hold of the base of his monster.

"Not yet, pussy," he huffs.

His arm swings down like a drawbridge.

"First you worship these PITS."

My hands fly up to grab onto the rippling sweaty thickness of his shoulder. I try licking the softly wrinkled skin of his armpit. I shudder and nearly gag. It's fucking disgusting. But clean. It's pure sweat and skin.

He curls his arm. His bicep grows against my head, driving my face into the sticky, slick slime of his under arm.

"That's it. Clean it, you little corporate whore. Taste a real man for the first time in your fucking life."

I can sense him stroking himself HARD to the domination. All I can do is obey, my body utterly WRITHING within the pin. I don't even know what to hold onto any more.

He raises his arm again. I gasp. Our mouths crush together again. This time he holds me hard against himself. Our cocks touch for the first time while he does me the favor of cleaning my mouth.

His hands are all over me. I want it. I fucking WANT IT. Claim me you huge stallion BRUTE!! Claim me with your hands. Your stench. Your sweat. Your MUSCLES.

He pulls away. When I mewl in protest, he shoves my face back, then sneers at me and flexes his other arm. My grin at him is open mouthed, tongue lolling.

More prepared, now, I fucking crush my face into his other pit. I rut into it like a PIG.

"Nnnngfff hhhffff oh fuck pussy look at you GO!" he hisses.

I push my ass out at him and he slaps it for me. I moan. The arm descends. Trapping me in a living hell of horse stench and muscled flesh.

Spank. Spank.

"Harder, bitch. Make my pit GLEAM!" SPANK!

I nearly cum. I clamp down on internal muscles, if you can call them that. I don't want this to end.

He releases me and I drop to my knees. The world spins for a few moments. Torque has enough experience to wait until I'm ready for more. Of course he does. How many sluts like me has he had? Dozens? Hundreds?

I'm just another in a long chain of lovers to him. It doesn't matter.

I raise my eyes to see him stripping the rest of the way. I want to mention how much time might have passed. But I don't. It would break the spell. Besides, there's a sort of thrill, thinking we have to be fast or risk discovery.

Torque looms over me. Arms folded. The dim light accentuates the size of his arousal. Two hands full massive, with a sagging swollen shaved nutsack that falls halfway to his knees. Poor thing must be cramped as hell in those tight short shorts.

I remember what he said about blue collar workers earlier.

"This is-"

"Where you fucking belong," Torque finishes with a wink.

"....oooooooh. More. Give me more, Sir. Please."

"First thing's first, you little white collar bitch."

He stomps slowly in a circle. His black banner of a tail is tied into a tight bun above his rump - probably for safety reasons. It leaves that fantastic bloated horse ass fully exposed.

His fingerless gloved hand slaps his right cheek and pulls, parting it enough to tease a shadow of his pucker. He's just as clean if not more back there as his pits.

"Kiss my fucking ass and apologize for holding out on me and my boys."

My face burns, but I scoot closer, walking on my knees. I close my eyes and press my nose and mouth to his tender firm ass curve. Smooch.

"I'm so sorry, Sir." Smooch. "I'm sorry for not putting out as I should for real men like you."

"Heh. You call that ass kissing? You brown nose better than that in a board meeting, I bet."

He gives his hips a sway. His huge bodybuilder's ass dances inches from my eyes.

"The more I like what you do, the more I'll tell you what you REALLY are," he murmurs. "How 'bout it, pussy?"

Maybe it's his smell getting to me. Or his huge body. Or just the unashamed ATTITUDE, but I fucking snap.

My muzzle goes in. In between his squishing slowly twerking ass cheeks. Into the sweaty smooth depths of him. My fangs come out and clamp onto the inverted donut of his anus.

"NNNGGGHHH!!!!! AttaBITCH!"

My hands SLAP onto his cheeks. Grab them. Claws extend.

"Oh yeah, hungry little PUSSY aren't you."

My saliva runs down my own chin. I use it to wash him out completely. Rolling, slurping, biting, kissing. My claws drag against his cheeks. He relaxes his pucker so I can push inside. Delicious.

He reaches back to pull me out by my mane. Points to his ass cheeks. I grip one of them between both hands and get to work. I have a lot to clean. And I'm fucking purring. Leaking all over the carpeted floor of the elevator along with Torque.

"You're such a real man," I whisper.

Torque chuckles. "Bitch, do you even know what a real man IS?"

"Mmmmh, tell me, Sir," I say while I switch to his other ass cheek.

"Real men get their hands dirty. Real men WORK for a living. You sit at a desk. You might as well be a woman with a dick."

"Oh my god," I hiss.

"Speaking of dick," he whickers.

I'm already on my knees, so when he turns around, his flare gently smack-smear-rubs itself like a nuzzling cat against my face. Up one cheek, across my lips, down the other.

His crotch musk holds me like a snare. I glance up at him for permission. He has this brutish semi-grin on his plump lips. I smile back. I love that I can make such a huge horse so happy.

"Nnnggh... show me what a fucking slut you REALLY are, pussy. No more holding back."

I don't care if I'm caught blowing him. I don't care if I'm fired for it or who sees me. I NEED THIS COCK.

It rattles passed my teeth and instantly gags in the back of my throat. I pull off at once, coughing. Blushing. Torque just laughs.

"Used to smaller guys, hunh?" he brags.

I let out this feral snarl and go for his nuts instead. Those huge bloated heavy veined low-hanging candies. They're the size of fucking GRAPE FRUITS.

My face is screwed up tight in a harsh scrunch. Partly because this close, his smell is absolutely overwhelming. Partly because this is so hot it can't possibly be real. I have my mouth being stretched until it screams by the warm sweaty balls of a groaning beast of a stallion. I'm rolling and slurping and French kissing his nutsack until it drips with my saliva.

He stomps forward to sandwich my head between the carpeted wall of the elevator and his crotch. I never....NEVER...want to leave. I'm an absolute wretch, in tears from the gagging hot musk of him.

His rising groans are the waves of an ocean. I roll my open maw aaaaallllll up that long...throbbing... SHAFT. That freakish fuckpole that he somehow keeps stuffed in clothes.

When I get to his flare again, there's a little gummy of pre waiting for me. I suck it from the tip with the daintiest of feline lips. Then I start to wash. Lubing that monster up. Squirting and squelching my spit and stroking it all over his penis with both hands. I NEED both hands just to grip it all.

He's starting to drool, dribble, squirt. It spurts across the base of my neck and drips against my cheeks.

I smother that juicy fucking thick flare just past my fangs and stuff the tip of my tongue directly against his cum slit.

His fist grabs the top of my head. Hard.

"AHHH!!! AHHH FUCK!"

I don't let up. I try to worm my tongue inside his cock. It doesn't last long before he pumps out so much pre it oozes out the corners of my mouth.

I can picture him, teeth bare, eyes shut, head back. Riding my face. I slide my tongue under his head. Open my jaws wide. Giddyup, you beautiful brute.

Torque lets me have it. My face is nothing but a hole for him to stuff with his almighty stallion dick. If he weren't holding me by the mane, he'd buck me across the elevator into the wall with the force of it.

His hips are as relentless as one of those hydraulic hammers they break up concrete with. His cock punches in and out of my open mouth. I can hardly taste it. It shoves my tongue down hard and hammers against the inside walls of my cheeks. I try to relax my throat for him, but the gags come anyway.

My world becomes a sauna of horse stink and sweat, moans and dull fleshy slaps. His balls hammer my chin. I can't even stroke myself off. I need all my concentration to hold on for this ride.

It doesn't seem to matter to my dick, though. I can feel it like an electric rod between my thighs.

"Grrrff...HHHRRRRFFF...HRAAAA!!"

He rams into me like he's been fantasizing about the little hard-to-get lion bitch for weeks. Gouts of pre burst into my mouth, around my lips, down over my chest.

I scream as I cum. It shoots out of me so hard I can feel a faint vibration through my loins.

Moments later, Torque follows. He choses that moment to let go of me.

As a cub, I once went down a water slide I wasn't prepared for. The impact at the end slammed into my face and left me reeling, coughing, soaked and crying.

I am that cub again. How the stallion cums so much without it being audible is beyond me. Well, maybe because his absolute ROAR of a neigh drowns out everything else.

My throat is plugged. It gushes out of my lips faster than I could ever swallow it. My tongue, my fangs, my cheeks - EVERYTHING is coated in it. More horse cum sprays against my face. My shirt sticks to my heaving chest, the warmth of his spunk a pleasant weight slicking down the cloth. All of this happens in a few seconds.

I fall half onto my side, gasping. My world spins. There's a faint ringing in my ears.

Wait, that's my phone. I sweep a hand out to try and find it. I hold it to my ear in shaking fingers.

"H...hello?"

"So sorry for the wait, Mr. Manerd. We're working on it now. We should have you out in a few moments."

"Thank you."

I end the call. A big hand wrapped in a fingerless leather construction glove reaches down to me. Surprised, I accept it and rise to my feet.

I blink when I'm pulled into a warm and sweaty hug that's all muscle and feel a tender kiss to the top of my head.

"Hell of a mouth you've got there, pussy."

I blush.

"Gimme your phone."

I look up. "What? Why?"

Torque smirks down at me.

"You want my number, or don'tchya?"