FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Ooh, look at this one! ‘To: Emmy Junior.’ I wonder what this could be?” Charlie said theatrically, picking up a neatly wrapped present. On her knees beside the Christmas tree (a Fraser fir), the bronze-and-silver fox squirrel made a show of inspecting the package.

It was Christmas Eve.

The living room was a kaleidoscope of festive, colored lights. A record of old-timey swing music played in the background, the vinyl player hissing and popping. And the wood pellet stove was going strong, warming the air, which smelled of pine, peppermint, and gingerbread.

“EJ! Look it!”

The young squirrel kit, on the floor beside his mother, made grabby paws.

“Can you guess who it’s from, EJ?”

EJ barked, little bushy tail fluffing about.

“That’s right! From gramma and grampa squirrel. Here, I’ll help you.” Charlie gave him the present and unwrapped it while he got distracted by the shiny green bow. “Is it a train set? It is! Heh. Woowwww! Just what you wanted.”

EJ chittered obliviously, sticking the bow on his cheek.

Charlie removed it and continued, “Between this and the race cars daddy got you, you’re gonna be a regular speed demon. Now, be sure to say thank you to my folks! Look, EJ … see, wave at the camera. No, over there. Yup. Say ‘thank you’! ‘Thank you’! You can do it.”

EJ, not yet a year old, couldn’t speak yet and made a grunting noise.

“Heh, close enough.” Charlie beamed, picking up her son and hugging him close. She kissed his face while he wriggled in her grasp. “Merry Christmas, sweetie!” Kiss, kiss, kiss! “You getting this, Emmy?” she asked her older mate. “Come closer!”

“I’m close enough,” Emerson said from the couch. The gold-and-cream harvest mouse was sitting, leaning forward, holding a smartphone in ‘landscape’ orientation. Live streaming the moment for Charlie’s family up in Ontario.

Charlie put EJ down and placed a single finger to her muzzle, squinting as if in ‘deep thought.’ “Orrrr … maybe you’re just afraid you’ll lose control under the mistletoe!”

“Charlie … ”

Her parents were hearing all this! Not that they were prudes. By all accounts, they were just as uninhibited as she was. (Fox squirrels were the ‘party squirrels’ of the squirrel world.) But he couldn’t let that go unanswered.

“We don’t even have mistletoe.”

“Then what’s that?” the squirrel demanded, pointing to a leafy vine.

“Holly,” was his deadpan response.

“Same difference!” Charlie insisted.

Before Emerson could respond, tinny voices came through a phone speaker.

“EJ! Merry Christmas, honey! Oh, he’s so cute!”

“When you get the train running, you’ll have to send a video,” Charlie’s dad insisted. “It’s a replica of—”

“Charlie, when you are going to come back and visit?” her mother asked.

“I will, dad. And when we have the money, ma!” Farming wasn’t exactly a lucrative profession. “Besides, Emmy doesn’t have a passport.”

“We don’t mind if you come without him!”

Emerson made a face.

Charlie flashed her mate an apologetic, bucktoothed smile.

Her parents treated her relationship with Emerson as a ‘flight of fancy’ from which their middle daughter would eventually come back from. It wasn’t so much that Emerson was a mouse. One of her sisters had mated a beaver. They could handle something like that.

But … an American?

Really?

Charlie had originally come to Indiana to help her childless aunt and uncle on their farm. It just so happened that they were Emerson’s neighbors. And, well, one thing led to another … and here they were.

Which reminded the squirrel, “Auntie and uncle are expecting us for lunch tomorrow. Then Akira and Roanoke are joining us here for supper.” Charlie’s otter friend and her mouse mate.

“Yeah, I know,” Emerson replied.

“I said we’d do desserts.”

“Tell Aunt Bonnie I said hello!” Charlie’s father said, of his sister.

“You can always call her and tell her yourself, Howie,” Charlie’s mother said.

“I will! It doesn’t hurt to throw in an extra ‘hello’!”

“I suppose, but—”

“Charlie, where’s the girl?”

“Her name’s Azalea, dad,” Charlie reminded.

Emerson whipped his ropy tail in Charlie’s direction, trying to quietly get her attention.

The squirrel raised a brow. “Mm?”

His tail pointed to the baby mouse, the second of their twins, who was crawling toward a light-up Christmas display.

“Whoa, nelly!” Charlie exclaimed. Leaping up and bounding with effortless squirrel agility, she crossed the room in a split second. Much faster than Emerson could’ve managed (on account of her being nine years younger than him, and squirrels being more agile to begin with). She scooped up the little mouse, who squeaked and writhed in protest.

“Now, now, you don’t need to mess with lights. Besides! It’s your turn to get your presents! Aren’t you excited? What do you think you got? Hmm? Mm?” Charlie nuzzled her daughter.

Azlea scowled.

“Your muzzle will freeze like that!” Charlie warned, booping the girl’s pink, sniffy nose.

“What’s goin’ on? Charlie? Are you still there?” her mother asked over the phone.

Emerson turned the device to follow the scene.

“Just stopping an accident before it happened, ma.” Dropping to her knees on the floor, Charlie set Azalea by her brother, who was frustratingly trying to open the train box. “We’ll do that in a minute, EJ. Calm down. I mean it! Hey. Come ‘ere!” Scooping up the boy with one arm, Charlie grabbed Azalea with the other. “Now, Zee! Have you been nice or naughty this year?”

Azalea, resembling Emerson, gurgled innocently, flashing a blue-eyed grin, her little ropy tail curling aside

“I’m not buying it, missy!” Charlie planted a kiss between the girl’s ears before releasing her. “But you can have your gift anyway. Now, let’s see! Oh, I wonder what it could be!”

An hour later, the gifts were opened (all except the ones ‘Santa’ would leave tonight) and Charlie had said goodbye to her parents and put the twins to bed.

But the squirrel wasn’t tired yet.

“Emmyyyyyy.”

“Mm?”

“Hey, Emmy, aren’t I pretty?” Charlie asked, doing a pirouette in front of the Christmas tree, her bushy tail swirling. She had red and green tinsel wrapped around her. And little else.

Nothing else, actually.

“How much eggnog did you have?” he wondered with a smile. Resting on the couch with a book Charlie had gotten him. He was already two chapters into it.

“It’s Christmas!” She stopped spinning to suck on a candy cane, lips smacking.

“Christmas Eve,” he corrected, putting the book aside. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to get much further with it. Besides, his mate didn’t have any clothes on. Kind of distracting, really. Not that he was complaining! “How many glasses? Was it spiked?”

“No! For your information, I didn’t have glasses. I had mugs. And only three.”

“Only,” he echoed dryly.

“It’s not as much as it sounds.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, cause a third of each mug was, like … mmm, whipped cream, marshmallows, and chocolate syrup.” She crunched on her candy cane, growing impatient. More. Sugar. Now! “So, it was more like two servings of eggnog, really.”

“I see … ” Rodents didn’t need plain alcohol to get crazy. Enough sugar would do it! “You should pace yourself.”

“Psh! I can handle it. I can handle anything. I pushed two kits outta my vagina,” she reminded proudly.

“Pups.”

“Kits!”

“And I know you did.”

“Mm, yeah you do.” A smirk. “Cause you put ‘em there.” Having demolished her festive candy, she turned her appetite on her mate. Advancing toward him with a slinky saunter. “I thought maaaaaybe you might give me another one for Christmas?”

“You’re not in heat,” he murmured, eyes drifting across her body.

And even if she were, they’d talked about this. They could barely handle two pups, let alone afford them. A third? A fourth? No way. Emerson knew Charlie desired a large family (‘can’t have a family farm without the family!’), but … well …

“I’m not? Then why are your chestnuts roasting,” she responded, straddling his lap and reaching down to unbutton his pants.

“Eek! Ha, Charlie. That … , heh, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“You never answered my question, Emmy.”

The mouse blinked, trying to remember what it was. “Oh. Um. You’re cute as a button.”

“Noooo. I asked if I was pretty!”

“Cute is better than pretty.”

“It is?”

“Mmhmm.”

“How come?”

“It’s more authentic.”

“More fuckable, you mean.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“You didn’t have to. You’re such a lewdster, Emmy.”

The mouse rolled his eyes. “Who’s the one trying to get in my pants?”

“Who’s the one who’s gonna let me?”

Emerson opened his mouth and shut it. She had him there.

“Now, let’s unwrap my gift,” Charlie cooed with a grin, stripping Emerson of his hoodie. Fondling his cream-colored chest. “Mmm … you got a good farmboy chest, you know that?”

“Yours isn’t so bad, either,” Emerson replied, playing with her breasts.

Chittering happily (she loved when he played with her boobs), she undid his belt and opened his pants. “Do we have a Santa hat?”

“Um … I don’t think so? Why?”

“Cause I’m gonna be Mrs. Claus, and you’ll be Santa.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup!”

Teasing one of her nipples, he said, “Let me guess: you’re gonna sit on my lap and let me ‘deck your halls’.”

Charlie giggled. “If you insist!”

Emerson squirmed beneath her as he worked his pants (and underwear) off. But he still felt obliged to mention, “All that sugar … you’re gonna crash after we finish, you know.”

“Me? Never.”

“You will.”

“Nah.”

“Yes-huh. You won’t make it to bed,” he predicted, kissing and nipping at her neck. “And I can’t carry you.” She weighed more than him. His back was weak, and he’d slip a disc if he tried to pick her up.

“Then we’ll sleep on the couch! Ah, like … mmm … ” She craned her neck, twisting her head about as he nuzzled up to her chin. “Dozing off in front of the tree and the fire? Oh, no. What a romantic predicament!”

“Did that a few weeks ago,” he murred, kissing the corners of her lips, “and you kicked me to the floor in the middle of the night.” Unlike Emerson (who woke up at the drop of a pin), Charlie was a very deep, active sleeper. Prone to sleepwalking and talking. And, uh, other things …

“I won’t do that this time,” she breathed on his lips.

“How can I be sure?”

“Cause it’s Christmas,” she murmured, capturing his muzzle with hers. Pressing, twisting. They kissed. Buckteeth clicking together, whiskers tangling and twitching. “Be … be a good mouse-o,” she panted on his cheek, arms going around his neck. “Show me your Yuletide spirit.”

“And here I thought you were after my Yule log.”

“Heh! You are a lewdster.”

“Me? You started this.”

“Help me finish?” she cooed, grinding her loins to his lap. “Pleeease?”

“Ah … ah, well, since you asked nicely.”

The mouse worked his stiff, thick erection into the squirrel’s wet pussy, and she let gravity do the rest, sinking to a full, balls-deep hilt.

“Mmm, yes … oh, you’re so fluffy,” he sighed, fingers combing through her cinnamon-sugar fur. Squirrels, unlike mice, got ‘winter coats,’ and her pelt was noticeably thicker than it had been a few months ago.

“How soft am I?” Charlie pressed, swooshing and flagging her blanket-like tail. Tinsel was still caught up in it. “Am I like that marshmallow song?”

“Marshmallow—"

“You know the one.” She proceeded to sing loudly and off-key, “‘I’m a marshmallow squirrel in the winter! It’s the time for play, it’s a whipped cream day! And the sun is red like a pumpkin head’!”

Emerson’s whiskers twitched in confusion. “What?”

“It’s a song! Look it up!”

“I believe you,” was his hurried response, groping her plush ass.

“I think maybe you don’t!”

“I’m kinda busy getting fucked right now, Charlie.” The squirrel got sidetracked so easily. “I’ll, uh, do a deep dive into Christmas tunes some other time.” A shivering pause, grinding up against her body. Then, with a blink, he added, “Just to be clear, we’re not doing food play tonight, okay?”

“Did I say we were?” She shimmied and rolled her hips.

Emerson moaned.

Charlie scrunched her muzzle. Hmm. Now that he mentioned it, though! “Heeyyyyy, Emmy, not even with—”

“No.”

“Aw! Naughty mouse.” She danced her claws up his spine. “Getting me all excited about sucking chocolate off your dick.”

Emerson imagined this and said, “Maybe, uh … maybe tomorrow? We can do that?”

“You promise, daddy?” she drawled teasingly.

He blushed as she called him that. “Yes. Anything. Just … just start bouncing, squirrelly! Please.” She was too heavy for him to buck up against, meaning she was in complete control of his stimulation. He was throbbing inside her but was being denied the sweet, slick friction needed to intensify his pleasure.

He wanted it.

Needed it.

Needed her.

Charlie began to roll and rock her hips again, this time lifting, separating from his thighs to slide her sex over his cock. Leaving just his tip inside her, she then dropped back down.

“Mmf!”

She did it again. Again. A little faster each time.

“How am I doing?” she asked.

“Ah! Yeah. It’s … uh-huh,” he mumbled, blue eyes fluttering.

“Heh. You’re so thick. Filling me, making me … mmm, making me yours,” she babbled, working herself up more and more. As she rode him, she was rubbing her clit. Her free paw draped around his neck, paw playing in his head-fur. “You’re not as fluffy as me, mouse-o. But … mm. Mmm. I still love you,” she breathed.

“Gee, t-thanks,” he said between moans. His ropy tail whipped behind him.

“Do you love me?”

“Of course.”

“Say it! Or I stop bouncing.”

“I love you, Charlie.”

“It’s cause I’m the prettiest, aren’t I?”

“Ask me in spring when you’re shedding everywhere, and … ah, and I keep finding your fur in my food.”

“You’re always thinking ahead, Emmy. Mmh. Mm! Live … in the … moment.” Her hips were motoring now, audibly crashing against him once a second, if not faster. She grabbed his shoulders and used them as leverage to ride even harder. “Gimme a white Christmas!”

Was there a holiday pun they hadn’t used tonight? He didn’t have time to contemplate it.

Charlie was about to get her wish.

A warm, wonderful rush built up deep inside Emerson’s twitchy, mousey body, electrifying his entire being. Everything tingled. He was so close! On the edge! Oh, just a few … more … yes!

He squeaked!

And came.

Hard.

Shivering and shuddering, shooting ropes of winter-white seed into his mate, gaping in helpless pleasure. “Oh! Ohh … ”

Charlie, her own excitement tripled by his, eventually joined him. Grinding downward, she forced him to a hilt and barked out. Unintelligible squirrel growls as her sex shuddered, dripping wet, wracked with powerful, milking spasms, getting everything she wanted from the mouse.

“Ah, ah! Yes!” Charlie panted.

Emerson put his nose on her shoulder, nuzzling gently.

“Mouse-o,” she breathed, already yawning. Her fingers splayed on his back.

“Merry Christmas, squirrelly.”

“Mm … you, too … mm-hmm … ” Charlie, finally ‘crashing’ from her sugar high, wobbled like a prize fighter atop him.

Emerson tightened his hold of her.

Nothing more needed to be said that they hadn’t already shown each other.

A minute later, loins parted, they were both horizontal. Laid out on the couch, side by side. Cuddling softly, their eyes heavy with cozy fatigue.

Beside them, the Christmas tree sparkled like a rainbow, open gifts strewn about on the floor beneath. A fire danced in the fireplace. Outside the windows, a silvery crescent moon hung in the chilly country air, having been peeping in jealousy this whole time.

A few rooms over, the twins were sound asleep in their cribs, while their parents had visions of chocolate syrup and marshmallows dancing in their heads.

Soon enough, not a creature was stirring on the farm.

Not even a mouse.