FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In the city, the stars are never visible.

Between all the high-rising skyscrapers and stone hives fighting among one another for reign, all that can be seen at night is dark off-blue sky, devoid of the little pinpoints of light that are rumored to exist in less-populated areas. During the day, it seems that more people pack the streets and sidewalks here than there are skies over empty land - or, for a more down-to-earth comparison, more people than there are windows on the buildings, buildings in the city.

And yet, at night, whoever is caught outside somehow becomes the loneliest person in all the world, with only steel-and-cement monoliths and the sickening yellow-orange light given off by streetlamps as their companions. Perhaps it's the crime that keeps people in their homes, what with the horrid things that come to be reported, as well as the greater majority of these that stay hidden like those who commit them, and silent like their victims. Maybe it's because there's nothing to do on the streets at night, and anyone who had plans to go anywhere after hours was already on their way once the sun dipped below the horizon - because God only knows how many bars and clubs draw in the masses at night, with their windows and signs blazing as bright as suns all their own to replace the one that the passing of hours had hidden. Perhaps it happens because the people of the city are so dedicated to their routines and schedules that they can't miss so much as ten minutes of sleep to be outside.

Whatever the reason, one living, breathing person is rarely caught within five or so blocks of another at night, apart from the bums and hobos that simply have nowhere else to be. One reason stands as the usual explanation for those who do manage to find themselves outside of their homes past evening:

They are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A certain skunk who walked on the sidewalk, head lowered, paws shoved into the pockets of his jacket, happened to have a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had moved to this city a little over a week ago, and didn't fully know his way around yet - so, he often found himself on the wrong side of the city, sometimes in the morning, making him late to work; sometimes in the afternoon, causing him to get home much later than he'd like to have; and sometimes at night, allowing him less time to sleep once he did find his way back to where he wanted to be.

His name was Krauser, and he had always been bad at navigating. He thought that his middle school building had been too large, with all of its four hallways; and then, his high school was even worse, with the packed hallways and two or three hundred rooms spread out over two floors, arranged so that he still had to consult a map to find his way around his senior year; and then, God, college. He had dealt with all that, though, and had overcome it - and he knew that he had to, and eventually would, overcome this labyrinth of a city, too.

He just wouldn't do it tonight.

Krauser could remember that his apartment stood vaguely near the river, which was... vaguely in this direction, vaguely over there somewhere maybe. Rivers had the tendency to infuse the air with a certain kind of scent, and he felt fairly certain that he could smell that kind of scent - underneath the musty remnants of the smells of all the people that had passed by here along the course of the day, the tang of car exhaust and tire rubber, the odor of piles on piles of neglected trash pushed back in the alleys between buildings... well, overall, he couldn't tell. This felt right, though, and having no sort of smartphone or any device like that on him, he had to go by what he thought instead of what a bright screen told him. Such a shame that what he thought was right usually turned out to be wrong.

No cars were coming from either direction of the street, so he hurried across to the other side. Right now, it was somewhere between eleven and midnight, and on a Tuesday... he considered, for a quick moment, staying up all night and just going to bed at his normal time tomorrow night instead of getting three or four hours when he got home tonight and then having to go to work exhausted, irritable, and sore. He has done it before, so why not again?

He wished he lived in his old town, where the grocery store was down the street, the library near that, and a few restaurants by there - thanks to him living in a house very close to that kind of center, off the highway. Here in the city, nothing seemed to be in the same area, because everything was so close together: he could turn left expecting to find a McDonald's and instead end up at a sex shop... and then the same again, although the other way around. It was a bad idea moving here in the first place, as he could now see, but he didn't have the money to move away.

Damn it all. Life seemed to be difficult like that often, didn't it? To get money, a job is needed; for a job, college is almost always needed; and for college, money is needed. Krauser found that the same applied here: he needed money to leave this city, although to get money he had to work a job in the city, and he first moved her specifically for that job. It's always been money, money, money in his life, or time, or patience, or skill. It's never something he actually has in abundance, or even at all.

And, to top it all off, he's lost in the city with no map, no friends or family nearby, no transportation other than his own two feet. He's tired, he's hungry, he's sore, and he knows he will feel all of these so much stronger at work tomorrow.

Frustrated, he turned in to whichever alley he was about to pass by and leaned against the wall, then slid down to the ground. Sure, it smelled like sour garbage due to the four dumpsters he could see from where he sat, but that didn't really bother him at the moment. Just like him to decide to walk to the bookstore when he got home from work, expecting to be able to make it back in time to eat dinner at a somewhat-reasonable hour, at least. Probably would have gone better if he actually knew where the bookstore was, wouldn't it? And - couldn't he have waited until a weekend to decide to go out aimlessly gallivanting? Then, it wouldn't really matter when he got home, and he wouldn't be as pissed about it as he currently was.

After a while of sitting and fuming, he stood back up and continued down the alley, not really caring where he ended up anymore. Since trying to get home seemed to bring him farther away, maybe trying to get even more lost would do the trick. At this point, he was willing to try anything. Hell, he'd even do a stranger, if they knew how to get him to his house.

A noise coming from behind one of the dumpsters startled him, but he ignored it. Probably just a feral cat or raccoon or something like that, looking for food. There were lots of things like that in the city here, and not always feral... in fact, usually not. Everyone wanted to come to the big city, but what for? It's not beautiful, it's not glorious, it's not calming or relaxing in any way whatsoever, it's hardly ever rewarding, and it sure as hell isn't healthy, to the mind or the body. Stress and exhaustion hung in the air thicker than the air itself, it seemed.

At the end of each day, Krauser both wanted and needed a break, some time to himself. Maybe it came with a book on the couch until bedtime, or violent video games (past bedtime, usually), or a movie or one of his TV shows... or, sometimes, a few sessions of lying back in his bed naked with a paw wrapped around a certain part of him. That worked too - and better than everything else, even though the relief and euphoria it brought had a tendency to be short-lived. Still, though, it was a release from the trials of the day... and quite a welcome one, at that.

Thinking about all this put him in the mood to do it again, so he moved his paws in his pockets in front of him and walked a little faster, even though he knew all too well that nobody lingered around to see him. It's been too long since he's had a good, rough lay, hasn't it? Not since at least a week or two since he moved... God. Having someone else's paw get him off instead of his own felt so much better...

A warm bed, a warm body, a warm paw... or a warm mouth. That's what sounded good to him right now, far better than who-knows-how-many more hours of plodding aimlessly around through alleys and streets. If only, if only.

The alley put him out at another street, so he just cut directly across and into the next alley. This time, he felt certain that he was approaching the river - the air got a little cooler and a little more moisture-heavy. Maybe he just needed to sit down and cool off a bit, let his mind level out so he could think straight. Right now, the only upside he could think of was that he knew he was in the right city...

He slowed his walking pace but didn't stop, keeping his eyes angled to the ground. Very quickly his thoughts went back to comforting things: home, bed, food, sleep, companionship... really, his life wasn't at all bad. That was just how he chose to look at it. He knew for a fact that he got more money, more free time, and more sex than any of the friends he hung out with when he was in school, so there was that.

Something a few feet ahead of him made a noise, which caused him to look up. It was a little hard to see in the alley, due to the near-lack of any light from streetlamps or windows, but there was certainly something there, close to the ground, somewhat obscured by another dumpster. Probably just another hobo, the skunk figured, and went on. A hobo, or a sleeping - or dead - feral cat or something, maybe just a rat stirring around underneath piles of garbage -

• or, maybe, it was a feral otter, and a damn big one at that. Krauser got a much better look at it after stepping forward a few paces, and from here... good lord. At least five feet in length, excluding the tail - with that, it came to a considerable amount longer than six, taller than most of Krauser's otter friends. This one also appeared to be a male, judging by its proportions. It looked up at him, unmoving and, apparently, unafraid of the strange skunk.

"Well, aren't you cute." Krauser kneeled down a short distance away and smiled, already feeling his mood brighten. One good thing about the city was that all the ferals were used to people, and never fled unless actually provoked, unlike those back home that disappeared if they so much as smelled someone strange. "The river's a nice place to live, isn't it? Well, actually - I'm sure it's not... all that trash, and pollution, and noise..."

The otter blinked and angled its muzzle up a little, uncomprehending. Its little black nose twitched a few times - getting my scent, Krauser realized. Trying to figure out if it's met me before. Cautiously, it placed a stubby little leg forward, the paw of which looked as large as Krauser's own.

"Jesus. You really are a beast, aren't you? I wouldn't be too surprised if you turned out to weigh more than me."

It took another step forward, coming partially into the range of a streetlight near the mouth of the alley; here, Krauser could see that its fur was a smooth slate-grey instead of the standard brown, and its eyes shone a bright turquoise-blue. These eyes continued to look up at the skunk, calm and maybe a little interested, and the otter opened its mouth and gave a little mew.

"Aw." Sure, he felt weird talking to a creature who couldn't understand him, but didn't everybody do that? This massive otter paid more attention to him than anyone else in the city, at least. Smiling, Krauser put out a paw and waited.

The otter gave no hesitation in padding forward the three or four steps it took to close the distance, and soon Krauser could feel its wet nose pressing against the pads of his fingers and tickling a little in sniffing. When it was done here, it once more turned its eyes up to the skunk and held his gaze for a while, then came forward a little further...

...and pressed its nose against the front of Krauser's pants, still sniffing. Well, okay. One thing that took some getting used to when it came to ferals was their lack of shame.

"Whoa, whoa - hey," barked Krauser, tipping over backwards in surprise. Still, though, the otter came forward, even past Krauser's resistance of pushing a paw against its head. "Don't you have some lady otter to go back to? Someone you can sniff and nuzzle all you want?"

Of course, all he got in response was silence, and more nuzzling. Yes, it felt good, but... it was wrong, wasn't it? Once when he was in high school, Krauser spent the night at the house of a friend who had a big, beautiful male german shepherd for a pet... being the average horny high-schooler, and especially after learned that the dog wasn't fixed, Krauser's curiosity got the best of him.

Whenever someone asked him about his first time being fucked, he chose not to share that story.

Okay, yes, his night with that shepherd was fun. Very fun. Enough so for him to have a sleepover at that friend's house at least twice every month, in the time that he could between school. He had almost - almost - been caught by his friend's father once, but wasn't. Still, though, that had been enough of a scare so as to keep him from doing it again.

It's not that this didn't interest or excite him - in fact, it did, very much. Without really thinking about it, he let a paw wander down near this curious otter's muzzle and undid the button of his fly. Since then, it had only been that one dog, that sex-as-all-hell feral shepherd that he still fantasized about every now and then - so, he couldn't help but wonder: what would an otter's tongue feel like in comparison to that dog, or any other of Krauser's partners? The cool, wet nose pressed into his thick bellyfur, and hot breaths worked their way down under the loosened waistband of his pants. Just then, it felt right to unzip his fly the rest of the way - an action that the otter pulled its head back to watch - and then reach that paw down, to scratch behind the ear of this adorable creature that had just so happened to seduce him -

• but got a sharp growl and a painful little nip on the side of his finger, the surprise of which caused him to jump. Okay, this otter clearly enjoyed being in control of things. Maybe... this really wasn't that great of an idea, Krauser though, and shifted to get up. However, he found that the otter had the weight of all its body on one of his legs and his tail, and only got a little aggravated at its plaything's attempt at escape. It held Krauser's pants open with a sharp-clawed paw and nuzzled and sniffed at the skunk's bits even though he was nowhere near as hard as he was a few minutes ago, thanks to the shock, the discomfort, and the slight nervousness and intimidation. The otter didn't seem to mind too much, though, and quickly set to assessing the taste of its prey.

Of course, Krauser's mind was set down a different path at this, but he still tried to keep one eye open and angled down at the otter, looking for a good chance to run away - and effort that got progressively weaker as that tongue worked at him and eased him back into a more comfortable state of mind.

He thought back to those many nights at his friend's house with that german shepherd, these memories being of the few that remained from so long ago simply because he wanted them to. The feeling of that dog's tongue, broad and flat and warm and moist and wonderful, paralleled with this otter's - except, this time, it's a little smaller, a bit rougher. Not that it wasn't any less pleasant. Forgetting the incident of a few moments ago, Krauser slid his pants down his legs a few inches further and angled his cock up with a forefinger and thumb. The otter followed this motion and placed a lick right on the slit of his head, which made him buck a little and then earn another deep growl.

He started to slowly stroke his length, but the otter's short forearm came down and pressed with a weight to keep him from doing so. As if he wasn't feeling impatient enough...! Krauser breathed a deep sigh and set his mind to other things. Maybe if he shoved his own disinterest long enough, this creature would get bored with him and scamper off.

...But, that's not quite the way otters work, is it? Especially not feral otters. This one, having finished its licking, drew itself up, got over Krauser, worked its own cock between his legs underneath his sack... and made him arch his back and buck upward with a fierce thrust.

Sure, being a feral, this otter's cock wasn't nearly as thick or as long as it could have been, but... not to say it wasn't. Krauser felt a jolt of pain shoot through him, as he had the first time someone (that shepherd) had pushed into him. With this, he realized what he was doing: here he was, on his back, lifting his legs up just enough so that this otter, this random feral creature, could fuck him. Who knew where else this otter had stuck that cock of his - who knew in what other orifices of what other animals it had plunged into.

...Honestly, though, the thought of this hot member that pushed into the skunk's tailhole slipping in and out of some she-otter was, to Krauser, pretty damn hot. Despite himself and what his mind shouted for him to do, he spread his legs further apart and pressed against the otter atop him, whose sharp little claws dug into the skin of his chest through his fur and shirt. Yes, it hurt, but it was a nice pain, one that caused him to bite into his lip and hold back a gentle moan.

Of course, the otter rather enjoyed this, too. It had its head pressed down on Krauser's chest and tail wrapped tightly around one of his legs, and gave a short high-pitched snort each time it thrust into him. This was not so unlike the two (or three or four... or six or seven times) that Krauser let his friend's shepherd mount him - except, all those times, it was a thicker (and knotted) cock that drove into him, and he was considerably more comfortable and sure of himself, and was also pretty damn worked up - enough so to forget that it was the middle of the night and he was supposed to be quiet because there were other people in the house trying to sleep. Tonight, he found no need to keep his voice down, because, for one, if these were residential high-rises that towered above him on both sides, the people living in them had probably long since gotten used to the sound of sex from the alleys - and because this wasn't quite that euphoric. Throughout this incident, he had been reminded of a certain ex of his who shared the same selfish eagerness and annoying pushy dominance as this otter. The comparison was completed with the sex that almost failed to satisfy.

Almost.

Krauser lifted his hips up again and forced the otter to hilt inside him and then hold there until he lowered himself. Already he could feel a slick, warm wetness around his tailhole, and also thought he felt a similar wetness dribbling down his bellyfur and sticking to his shirt. Was he a slut for letting a friend's dog fuck him? No; he was simply a horny, curious teenager. How about if he did the same with some random feral otter whose path had intersected his? Maybe. Although, this time, he didn't lead the animal to do what it did, apart from not pulling away forcefully enough and not fully giving into his regret after opening his pants. Actually, did this count as rape...?

Back in high school, his more delinquency-prone friends had made many jokes revolving around the pretense of 'it's not rape if you like it'... and, God, he was far from not enjoying this. He found that it felt like any other partner of his, if he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, and let the rubbing of the otter's belly against his cock warm him even further.

It wasn't long before this otter made the last of its thrusts and pulled back to slip out of Krauser; with this, he heard a few drops of liquidy cum spatter out onto the concrete ground. Spurred on by the hot tingling left rumbling through his body and aided by his thoughts of a certain german shepherd, Krauser soon found himself bucking into his paw and shooting his own load out over his chest... and, just too late, he thought of pulling his shirt up out of the way, and cursed under his breath.

Panting, he lay there and rested a moment before he pulled himself back together. Surprisingly, the otter had waited for him, and now looked up as he pulled his pants back up his legs and re-fastened his fly.

"I've had better," quipped the skunk, unsure as to what to say and, now, even more at a loss as to where to go. "...Um. Thanks? Do I pay you now? ...You can go."

The otter blinked its bright turquoise eyes, tilted its head, gave a short bark, and then was gone back down the alley, its grey fur serving well to hide it among the shadows. Krauser tried to wipe some of his cum off his shirt, sighed, and turned back toward the street.