FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The radio crackled as Xavia turned the dials, catching snips of broadcasts that rode the radioactive air.

"... incoming rad storm later today..."

"... bridge into the city finally collapsed, so your commute just got a hell of a..."

"... are saying they suffered a 'synth uprising,' letting dozens, possibly hundreds, of these rogue robots out into the wild..." She stopped moving the dial for a moment. The female reporter continued, "Reports are inconclusive, but some are saying this may actually be the end of the Institute."

She scoffed and cranked the dial.

"Serves 'em right," she muttered.

Xavia caught a murmur of familiar sound and turned it back, finding the sweet spot. She broke into a grin as she heard the lyrics to her favorite song. Right near the beginning, too!

"Man she's anything but calm,

"A regular pint-sized atom bomb!"

She cranked the volume dial and started to sing along almost immediately, on instinct.

"She's just the way I want her to be,

"A million times hotter than TNT!"

In another life, she thought, she might have been a dancer. But she was happy with how she had things now. Her life wasn't bad, all things considered.

She stood and hit the button to lift the shutters over the drive-in windows, looking out over the bleak browns and greys of the wasteland, stretched out as far as she could see, out past the wall of corrugated steel and reclaimed wood that circled the old diner. She breathed in; she could almost smell the radiation. Plus, it wasn't a half bad view. At least the sky was nice. But then maybe the song was just getting to her, making her more optimistic and cheery than usual.

Screw it. Today was a naked day. She hadn't had business in at least a day, and she didn't expect anyone to visit her stretch of road anytime soon. She stripped down, pulling her tight shirt off over her head, ruffling her brown two side buzz cut, and opened all the windows, feeling the breeze on her tanned skin. The shirt had the logo of a pre-war band, and the fabric was comfortably clingy. She ditched the green cargo shorts, shoving them down and kicking them off, keeping the tennis shoes. Last to come off was the makeshift bra—made from the elastic band of a different pair of shorts. She never wore panties.

She tossed the clothes up the stairs into her bedroom and strode over to her chair, brushing it off and flopping into it. The song continued, already on the third verse, as she reached between her legs.

"Atom bomb baby, boy she can start,

"One of those chain reactions in my heart,

"A big explosion, big and loud,

"Mushrooms me right up on a cloud,"

She bit her lip and took a second to run her fingers through the nest of thick brown curls on her crotch, never once shaved. Just how she liked it. Her fingers moved down, a full-body shudder shivering through her, but she quickly skipped her clit—not there yet. Not yet. Jussst...

Two fingers, pointer and middle, slid over her lips and slipped between them, rubbing slow. But slow wasn't enough. Faster. She sucked a breath between her teeth.

"Atom bomb baby, little atom bomb,

"I want her in my wigwam..."

"Ugh," she scoffed, cringing at the line. Her least favorite lyric. Could they really not find something better to rhyme? It actually turned her off a bit, and she had to focus to keep the warmth between her legs, fingers slowing off.

"She's just the way I want her to be,

"A million times hotter than TNT!"

Aaannnnd, she was back. She rubbed faster, getting wetter. A soft smile crossed her face and came to stay. She propped her legs up on the counter--somehow, wearing nothing but shoes made it hotter, and she got a good look at her hairy thighs.

"Atom bomb baby, sweet as a plumb,

"Carries more wallop than uranium,

"When she kisses, there's no hitch,"

"Zero power, she turns on a switch,"

She moaned and lamented the loss of her vibrator--dead for two days now, though it felt like a week. She was working on building another battery for it. The song picked up again and she felt her mood lift with it, lying back and just enjoying the music.

But it ended too fast, crescendoing, trailing off, and leaving her wanting as a jaunty jazz number kicked on. She groaned, tried to enjoy the music the way she had with Atom Bomb Baby, but it wasn't enough. She lifted a foot and tried to turn the radio off with a shoe, but only succeeded in almost kicking it off the counter. She growled and moved her feet off the counter, sitting up, and switching it off with her clean hand.

She leaned back again, listening to the sounds of the wasteland, the gentle breeze across the dusty landscape and the occasional crackle of her Gieger counter. She needed more, so her mind instinctively cued up her go-to fantasy: raider gangrape. Or gangbang, at least. Not her proudest fantasm, but she'd bet half her caps it was a relatively common one, even among the "civil" folk in the Wasteland. And it was one she went back to a lot.

Sometimes, she imagined the raiders catching her out and about, bending her over a rock. But of course, in the fantasy, it was never really non-consensual. Otherwise it wouldn't have been a fantasy.

There was one variant of the fantasy she'd liked enough to write down, one about her coming up with a new formula for an "Ultra-Buffout", which she took when the raider gang crossed her path, only to find it was less of a combat enhancer and more of a powerful aphrodisiac, rendering her damn near immobile with lust. The raiders had stepped up to take her caps and gear, but then she'd reached for the nearest one's pants and things got going.

She imagined their cocks in her throat, a punk raider gal's bush in her face as she straddled Xavia's head. Her fingers slipped inside and went deep, moaning as she relished the stretch, but it wasn't enough. She needed more. She imagined choking on their dicks, others moving in and out of her pussy and ass, strong hands all over her. But it wasn't enough. More...

She went to a darker fantasy, one she wouldn't even admit to a gang of raiders. Deathclaws. The most feared, powerful, terrifying predators of the wastes were her secret fetish. She imagined stumbling across one. With the raiders, she usually had to give them an edge in the fantasy—imagine them catching her when she was low on chems and stims, or sneaking up on her while she was asleep out in the wasteland somewhere. But up against just one deathclaw, she could have all the ammo and enhancers she could carry and the best she could do was run.

But she didn't. In this fantasy, she found one—or, one found her. She'd tried to run, taken every chem she could grab from her bag, but it was on her with two steps of its huge clawed feet. And as it pinned her to the soft earth, she'd realize it wasn't intending to crush or eat her when she saw the enormous, throbbing, glowing green thing between its legs. Sometimes she imagined herself as any other survivor of the wasteland, and she'd have a normal reaction to this: panic, struggle. But this time she spread her legs for the thing.

It recognized her willing submission, grabbed her and lifted her in one huge claw, lowering her toward the glowing reptilian cock. It was at least a foot—no, a few inches more, counting the tip—and so thick, thicker than her wrist. The shaft was ridged and there was a bulging knot at the base. The tip met her pussy and she moaned; she'd have to use three fingers—no, four—to simulate its girth. She imagined it was warm.

The intercom buzzed loudly and she jumped, nearly falling out of her chair. She looked up at the monitor hanging from the ceiling. There was a girl outside the gate, long hair falling over her face, dragging the limp form of a guy.

"Shit," Xavia hissed, scrambling to her feet and wiping her hand on her thigh. "Shiiit, shit!"

"Hey, are you a doctor??" the survivor yelled into the intercom, her voice mixed with static.

Xavia wasn't a doctor, really—at least not that kind of doctor—but she had a reputation as both a healer and a dealer. She jammed the intercom button.

"Yeah," she groaned, not even bothering to hide the frustration in her voice. "Leave your guns and I'll open the door."

She started for the stairs.

"What?!" the girl shrieked, causing the speaker to crackle. "Leave our guns?? Are you crazy?!"

Xavia growled and doubled back, pushed the button so hard she was half afraid she'd break it.

"Leave. Your guns," she said.

She didn't bother waiting to see if the girl did as she asked—there was usually some deliberation, even in emergency scenarios. So she had a few seconds to grab her clothes. Shit, where did she throw them?? She found her old raider harness. Good enough. It was tight and skimpy, but it was something, at least.

"Hey!" the girl was shouting when she got back down. "Are you gonna open the door??"

She hit the lock button and the light on the panel switched to green. The girl stumbled inside, dragging her—friend? Boyfriend? Husband?—with her. Xavia hit the button again and the gate swung closed.

The body could do a lot with adrenaline, but it seemed like the girl had already burned through most of hers, and was taking a long time to drag the unconscious guy in. Xavia sighed heavily, downed a buffout, and opened the door. The buffout would help if this was all a ruse and moved to attack, especially since they'd have to do it with concealed weapons. The camera and intercom system at the gate wasn't a flawless way to make people ditch their weapons, but at the very least it meant no one could stroll in with a grenade launcher.

Besides, she knew how to get a good enough read on potential customers by now. Even through the staticky speaker and crappy camera, she could tell these two were just survivors down on their luck. But she kept one hand on her pistol anyway. She met the girl halfway between the gate and the diner and held out a stimpack.

"Oh!" the girl gasped, snatching the stimpack. "Thank you!"

Xavia watched as the girl stuck the thing into her companion's shoulder. He didn't move, and for a second she thought he was dead, but as the girl fell onto her ass in the dirt next to him, Xavia saw him breathing slowly.

The girl was wearing the clothes of a scavenger, but not one with any experience, all mismatched armor in poor condition. The guy's getup wasn't much better, and most of what had been there seemed to have been destroyed, his shirt in bloody tatters, showing glimpses of his toned chest. At least the lack of armor would make him lighter, easier to carry.

She took the guy under the arms and dragged him back toward the diner. She made good time, and the girl pushed herself to her feet.

"Wow," the girl said. "You're strong."

"Yep," Xavia said. She didn't mention the buffout.

"So, you're Dr. X?" the girl asked, watching her set the guy on the floor.

"Yep."

"Uhh... what do we owe you?" the girl asked nervously. "I only have 83 caps."

Xavia let out a long sigh through her nose. That wasn't nearly enough to even just replace the single stimpak.

"That'll do," she said. She just wanted them to leave.

The girl handed over the caps, but looked like she was giving away her life's savings.

"Keep half," Xavia said, handing back 42 caps.

"Oh," the girl said, brightening. "Thank you."

Xavia shrugged, pocketing the caps.

"Yeah," came the voice of the guy, and she looked to see him sitting up, pushing a mop of brown hair out of his face. "Thanks, Doc."

Now that she saw the resemblance, she guessed they might be brother and sister.

"Who the hell attacked you anyw—"

She stopped mid-sentence, because she'd turned to see the slashes in the guy's shirt, and the three red scores that the stimpack hadn't managed to heal, very distinctly lacerations.

"Not exactly a 'who', more a 'what'," the guy said with a rasp, rising to his feet.

The girl chuckled half heartedly. But Xavia's panic was rising.

"A deathclaw?" she blurted, her voice rising an octave higher than she thought it could.

"Yeah," the guy chuckled. "I'm surprised we're still alive too."

Xavia slammed the door button.

"Get. Out," she said, pointing toward the gate.

"Wait, what—" the girl started.

"It has your scent, you idiots," she hissed. "If it tracks you here, it'll wreck my place! Get out."

"But you've got a wall!" the guy protested. "And auto turrets!"

"Auto turrets with 5.56 ammo that won't do more than tickle it," Xavia spat. "And a scrap wall it'll go through like it's made of pre-war paper."

"But where do we—" the guy said.

"Not my problem," Xavia said. She dug a hand into her pocket and pulled out every cap she'd taken, as well as a handful of lint. "Take your caps and get out."

They hesitated.

"B-but," the girl stammered, "even if the turrets don't damage it, they might still scare it off! You could at least—"

She grabbed her pistol and pointed it at the girl's head.

"Out. Now."

"Please," the guy said, "we have nowhere else to go!"

"If we just—"

Xavia silenced the girl mid-comment, holding up a hand. She heard it. A distant thud. Then another. Then another. Growing louder.

"Shit!" she whispered. "It's coming."