FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Maxwell scrolled down a page of Craigslist casual encounters with a smug smile. He sat pretty on his bed, nude and finely moist with sweat from a recent jog. He curled a leg up under himself and interlaced his fingers and toes. "All these desperate, sad men looking for a supple boy to fuck," said the chipmunk to himself. "Whose life shall I immeasurably improve?"

He tired quickly of the plight of midlife crisis-suffering husbands. They were often good fucks, being such boy-hungry fags in disguise, but Maxwell didn't want too much of a good thing. He kept reading out of boredom, and soon he started seeing the peculiar offers which the eager boy hunters and college-age pussy destroyers pushed to the later pages. This was where the obscure shit could be arranged. Drug orgies, fly-by-night sperm donors, cuddle party invitations and other such deviant things. Maxwell ogled the headers with shame and amusement.

Maxwell was suckered in by an all-caps title. It promised limited fame and fortune as an amateur porn star. Sleep with exotic partners, it said in caps-lock screed. The chipmunk licked his conspicuous incisors and hummed thoughtfully. Am I really going to reply to this? he thought, closing his eyes and tunelessly humming longer. Ultimately he did reply and in flowery script, abusing adjectives with which he painted himself as the greatest of amateur porn stars despite his inexperience.

The chipmunk expected no reply what with the advertisement being a week old. In the realm of casual encounters, a week dilated into a decade. But against all odds, a reply came within the hour. It too was in capital letters and in the message was a time and address to come perform. There was no need to audition, they said.

It didn't strike Maxwell as at all prudent to investigate this employer or their address. He took for granted that his safety was assured and his partner would be a desirable young man like himself. He also assumed that his pay would be a fat bankroll.

Wide-hipped Maxwell found the address and stepped out of his car. The street lights filled in for the waning sun. Immediately he walked off the cracked pavement and into a gravel lot leading up to a two-story building. He entered in the side as the email instructed. Inside, he saw from the wide-open floor plan that it was probably once used for storage. Now it was a makeshift smut studio with a crappy sound stage and house lamps hastily converted into stage lights with white paper cones. Maxwell neatly turned around to head home when someone called to him. "There you are! You must be Maxwell."

Maxwell spun back around on his heel and smiled thinly. He got a look at what he assumed to be his partner whom was also a wide-hipped and handsome thing. Maxwell guessed he was a foxcoon for the markings and the shape of his body.

"Yes I am," the chipmunk calmly answered. He offered his paw and the foxcoon shook it. "And you must be the talent."

The fox smiled coyly but said nothing on the matter. "Come on over here, and get your clothes off. They told me we had to get filming immediately. The publisher's lined up," he explained as Maxwell did away with his clothing, "so we need to film this, cut it, and get it off for distribution. I imagine you're familiar, right?"

"Oh, of course I'm familiar," Maxwell insisted with self-satisfaction. "Fuck one pretty hole and you've fucked them all, am I right?"

The foxcoon grinned and nodded. "I like that attitude! Yeah, you definitely seem like the shameless type... I remember when I used to be the star of these movies. Okay, go ahead and lie back on the bed for me."

"Like this?" asked Maxwell, lying and smiling coquettishly at the fox. His uncut member hung slack for the time being.

"Just like that, yes. You're perfect," the fox effused. He came near with chains taken from an opened prop crate. Maxwell blinked and shirked away but was not quick enough to escape. The foxcoon lashed his wrists to the headboard, and though he wasn't in discomfort, neither could he get loose.

"Ah, bondage?" Maxwell chuckled, wondering if he wasn't on the set of a soon-to-be snuff film. "Well, if that's what we're filming, I'm a good sport."

"This is a bondage film, yeah," the foxcoon grinned. "Now pose! Try to look--," he smacked his lips and pondered, gazing at the ceiling, "look helpless!" he gushed, then started snapping photos. He must have taken twenty of them as Maxwell pouted and smiled; curled upon himself and splayed his body. "Great, great, at least one of these should work as the cover."

"Now the chains can come off?" Maxwell asked.

"Oh, no," the fox gravely said. "It's a bondage film. The chains don't come off until she does."

"She?" asked Maxwell plaintively.

But the foxcoon was off on his way. And when he came back, he had some type of luxury Pokeball in his paw. Suddenly Maxwell realized the kind of film he was about to partake in: Pokesploitation, an avenue of smut in line with bestiality.

The fox tossed the Pokeball and summoned forth a beast Maxwell barely recalled to be a Swampert. She stood squat and regarded Maxwell from the tops of her eyes, but had she stood upright, she would have been less than a foot shorter than he. The vaguely amphibian thing was special among her species due to her odd coloration. Instead of blue with black, her body was a plum shade and her fins were a darker purple still.

"A-a-and action," the foxcoon said from behind the camera.

Maxwell mugged the camera dumbly before he looked at the advancing Pokemon. He smiled nervously and blushed too.

The Swampert neared in a deft, fluid hybrid of bipedal and quadrupedal locomotion. Her brief movement on all-fours gave the camera a glance at her swollen vulva and subtle anal vent. She mounted the bed then climbed over top of Maxwell. In spite of his greater height, she had much more bulk and her body eclipsed him.

A deep rumble escaped the Pokemon. It was a sound of lust but Maxwell didn't know. His smile widened to show teeth and he balled his useless paws into fists. "Oh-ho, you're, uh--," he whispered, smelling the beast's heady musk. "You smell... N-nice?"

The Swampert smiled at Maxwell's shaky compliment. The expression looked peculiar and monstrous on an unblinking, wide face like hers. She nuzzled his face which he found pleasant enough, then did the same down his toned body. Suddenly she wrapped her spacious maw around his cock and balls in one gulp and the chipmunk legitimately squeaked. His grin vanished, replaced by something desperate and shocked. Under the pink and purple Swampert's harsh suckles and tongue-lashes, Maxwell grew erect whether or not he really wanted to fuck the animal. His moans were sincere but so was the quaver in them.

Maxwell's swelling cock swabbed the back of the Swampert's maw. She batted it around with her tongue as often as she nursed with all her might. The chipmunk rolled his eyes back and crooned. "Ooh... Oh, fuck, why do you have to be so good at that?"

The Pokemon draped herself flush on the bed and plunged more of Maxwell's hapless groin into her mouth. Everything she wrapped her lips around was quickly caked with saliva. Maxwell grimaced and curled his toes, and though he squirmed and writhed, he couldn't escape. "Fffuck, oh, fuck me," he grunted. "Stop, sta-a-ap, you're sucking too hard...!" he cried.

She relented, but loathsomely. Her tailfin swayed as she climbed over her cute, prostrate partner again. The foxcoon zoomed in close on the genitals as she braced her mitts on Maxwell's shoulders. She loomed above him and blotted out the lamp light. Maxwell smiled queasily. "Gentle... Please?"

No such luck for Maxwell. The Swampert smashed her vulva down on Maxwell's aching crank. The chipmunk yowled and shuddered. He clenched his rear and balled up his toes and fingers. He couldn't even aimlessly curse. The pleasure was too much for him to earnestly complain about his situation. Even if he didn't quite want it, his body certainly did.

While growling in pleasure at the disproportionately great size of Maxwell's penis, the lady Pokemon started to bounce. Finesse was not in her vocabulary. Every movement was a matter of smashing her cunt down on him as hard and often as possible. His meat bulged thick and veiny and shot its pre deep into her vaginal passage. Likewise, she imparted her dense musk as she rode his uncut flesh. He would stink of the Swampert's box for weeks.

"Ah, mmh, ease up a little," Maxwell pleaded. But she did no such thing. Over and over she slammed against his loins. The seal within her tight pussy was a great one and her cuntlips emitted a suckle every time she bobbed. In a show of pleasure, her tongue hung out of her maw, slack upon Maxwell's face.

"I can't hold out," the chipmunk defeatedly said. His climax was reluctant but staggering. He dumped his fat nuts into the Swampert with a genuine yowl of pleasure. A thin veneer of cum escaped the Pokemon's snatch and ran down the chipmunk's cock.

That release deep inside of her was just what the Swampert needed. She fucked for pleasure as many Pokemon did, but the biological imperative was to be seeded. Her womb knew not that Maxwell was an incompatible partner; it knew only that it loved the feeling. Her body quaked and legs became weak as she rode and rode, bucking on Maxwell's increasingly tender flesh to which he grimaced amusingly and bit his bottom lip.

As the chipmunk hissed and groaned for her to stop, she bounced up to her own climax at long last. She impaled herself just once more then fell flat. Maxwell was winded by the sudden weight and he breathed uneasily beneath her muscular body. She cared not for his welfare as she squirted her honey over Maxwell's loins. The completeness of the coating matched her earlier saliva.

"Cut!" the foxcoon said. "You were amazing, buddy! People love that non-consent angle, especially when the Pokemon's the aggressor. Great acting."

"Yes, acting," Maxwell haughtily puffed.