FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 3.

20:55, Wednesday, the 3rd of February, 2029.

-----

It was fascinating, really, just how quickly the night devolved. It had started out almost like a kid's sleepover, with snacks and junk food and whatever looked fun on Netflix. Only after an hour, maybe even less, did it start.

A bleary-eyed, half-melted poodle raised a jumper-clad forelimb and pointed a shaky claw at a small bowl of tonsil-boiling hot sauce. The kind you saw on challenge videos. The kind pasty Irish boys like myself did not dare touch.

"I dare you to eat that,” she said.

I stilled, looking up from my phone. I had been watching something on TikTok. I forgot what it was the second I looked up. “Eat what? You’re daring me?”

She made a long, strained “yee” noise that had her vocal cords slipping back into an oddly doggish whine, followed by a loud yawn. “Funny.”

…Funny was right.

I rolled forward, snatched it up, tilted the ceramic bowl against the light so it caught and flashed just right, then dabbed my fingers into it. Cold and slimy, but when I lifted it to my lips, it flared to life, spreading heat and pain and something vaguely barbecue.

I coughed instantly, the intensity and the sound of my own voice jolting me awake. “Ffffucking hell,” I groaned, finishing it off before slamming the bowl onto the table. “Bad. Bad. Bad dog!”

It woke her up too, her body rocking with each little laugh. “I am a very good dog.”

“Monster,” I muttered, wiping at my tongue with my sleeve. “Poison.” Then, harder than I meant to, I poked her in the ribs, secretly glad for the lack of a bosom. “You do one. That was actually disgusting.”

“Do one what?”

Good question. I looked at the table, at all the remaining food and drink, then at the TV, then around the living room. Nothing explicit. Nothing especially useful or torturous. “Do… a…” I had not done dares in forever. Since the start of high school, I realised, turning and squinting dramatically at her.

She raised a non-existent brow.

“Put.” My mind blue-screened.

Snort. She covered her muzzle with a paw.

“Put your foot in your mouth.”

She lowered the paw, then looked at it and flexed her claws.

“Your foot,” I clarified, pointing at a hind paw. “That one. Put it in your mouth.”

“But I walk on these,” she whined.

“Charlotte, you made me lick one.”

“Yeah,” she slurred. “Because you liked it.” Still, complaints aside, she leaned back an inch, raised a dainty black paw to her muzzle, and promptly plopped it inside. It took some manoeuvring. Her hind legs bunched tightly, rump stretching the black shirts she was always wearing. Her lips, black and shiny, pulled wide, and even then she maintained an unimpressed look.

“Pfff.” I laughed, surprised she'd actually done it.

“Eugh.” She spat the paw out, tongue lolling. “Is there even a reason to do these, or are we just slaves?” Bat bat. She smacked loose fur from her pink-and-blue tongue. “Like truths or something?”

I took one of the many loose shots and downed it, wincing at the strength behind it. “Ugh. Yeah. You’re meant to pick either truth or dare, and if you don’t do either, then you take a drink.”

Her nose twitched as she considered this, then with a floppy nod of her head, she agreed. “Truth.”

I waited.

“Yeah… your turn,” I clarified. “You ask me. Truth or dare and- Just ask.”

Another nod, more flopping of her long ears. “You… like it here?”

Easy enough. Not even worth questioning. “Yeah. It’s cool.”

Nod nod.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

I thought about it. There was so much I could ask someone who was both fabulously rich and not even a human being. So much internal questioning, and instead I went with, "Are you really into those Victorian dudes on Netflix?” I'd been wondering it for a minute, but there was no way to ask without sounding weird.

She, even tipsy and half-dead, had the decency to hesitate. “…Yeah.”

I made to ask more before realising I'd used up my question.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you like… me?”

So quiet.

“Yes.”

“…How?”

My stomach twisted, and I shook my head. “My turn.” Her nose wrinkled. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare then.”

Using a burger as a timer, I chewed, thought on what to do, passed her the fries, and came up with, “Walk on two legs.”

She blinked, a chip sticking out of her mouth. “Walk?” At my nod, she slurped the cooling fry and continued. “On two legs?” She looked down at herself as if checking how her limbs worked, then got on all fours, still on the sofa. Then, eyes on me, she stood up.

Barely. Not right. A forepaw braced against the sofa cushion the entire time.

But really.

Not too bad.

She looked ridiculous and wobbled with each step, but she did better than I would have expected from a four-legged creature.

Until she fell, right onto the floor, her head almost going through the table. I scrambled, grabbing her sides and lifting her back up. The sudden startle cut through some of the buzz. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Ugh. Head,” she groaned, lolling to one side, pressing herself closer to my chest. “Truth or dare.”

“What? No, just one sec.”

“Pick.” She did not move, apparently comfortable sprawled over me. “Or drink.”

I didn’t dare drink again. The shift in movement had already made my head spin, the room tilting just enough to feel dangerous. “Fine. Dare to even it. Pick something good.” Warm and soft as she was, I nudged her away, letting her fall back into the couch cushions with a muffled huff.

“Dare you to… be… mine." She squinted at me, as if the word were floating just out of reach. “…Pillow.”

…

…She was comfy and soft, I thought. Comfy and soft and cosy, like a space heater humming through winter. And besides, I reasoned, we were both tipsy, so it wasn’t strange. I could always blame it on the dri-

She looked up at me then, eyes sharp and glinting, not nearly as glassy as I had convinced myself they were. Not quite as gone. And neither was I, I realised at the same time she did, her brows drawing together.

She knew.

“You’re soft,” I said, staring past her at the television, at pompous men in overdone wigs declaiming to empty rooms. “…and warm.”

“I am.” She shifted, rubbing her back against my chest in a slow, deliberate drag. “Truth,” Charlotte whispered, not waiting for me to offer it.

So many options.

So, so many.

“When you said you liked the, uh, Victorian dudes. What did you mean…?”

She giggled, the sound bright and wicked.

“Oh, Maxi. You know…”

I scrunched my face, trying not to let her get to me. “I don’t.”

Wiggle.

I twitched.

She laughed, open and delighted.

“Like that,” she said simply, and I was grateful she couldn’t see my face or how hot it felt. Lonely, desperate, late at night and still buzzed. “Oh!”

“Don’t…”

“Maaax.”

“Please…”

“Just this once.” She leaned her head back, resting curls and scalp against my shoulder, her cheek brushing mine in a way that made my breath hitch. “Your turn.”

“Dare.” I froze. “Tru-”

“Too late. Hold me closer. Properly.”

I didn't even try to argue. Slowly, as if careful movements might steady my pulse, I slid my arms around her middle, fingers pressing in like she had asked.

And really, what was I doing, acting like there was some invisible audience judging me? Jack didn’t have cameras. No one was watching. No one but us.

One hand spread against her suddenly tense stomach. The other still held the bottle, lifting it to my lips, savouring the burn. Charlotte reached out, and, without asking, I tilted it toward her muzzle, angling it carefully and letting her gulp greedily before pulling it back.

Her cheek brushed mine again. Her body swayed, pressed. Warmth and weight and a living body against my own. My mind, frazzled and fading at the edges, slipped into the rhythm of it. She was almost grinding, and the friction made me wince.

Harder than I meant to, I dug my fingers into her sides, and she made a small, startled sound and froze. Beneath my hands, I felt more muscle than I might’ve expected. All her lounging and sharp orders had made me forget she had once been a show dog, that there was strength.

I kept going, not quite meaning to, but unable to stop, my fingers dragging over the fabric of her jumper, which suddenly felt suffocating. Without thinking, I reached for the zipper, then caught myself, eyes widening at just how easy it would have been.

My heartbeat roared in my ears. “…Truth or dare,” I whispered, barely recognising my own voice, and prayed she would let me continue.

“Dare.”

I wet my lips, waited, bit down on them, then, almost shaking, said, “L-Let me unzip your jumper.”

She made a quiet sound but did not speak.

Then she nodded.

Too quickly, before I lost my nerve, I pinched the metal zipper and lifted it carefully, my other hand brushing up her stomach, then the thick fur of her chest. Flat and unfamiliar and strangely intimate. I went lower, toward her belly and the curve of her hips. Less fur there. Thin, dark skin under my fingers.

So strange. So warm. Almost hot.

Then.

Ah.

My fingertips brushed against soft, small nipples.

I’d forgotten she had them.

She squeaked and nearly pulled away, before catching herself, shifting instead, leaning back further and pressing me into the cushions. Easier access.

After a breath that felt robbed from my lungs, I moved my hands again. I undid the jumper completely, then, with both hands, traced up and down her tensed stomach, counting the rows of dark teats beneath my palms. There was more fat to them than I had expected, more to hold.

Two.

Four.

Six.

Eight.

…

…Nine?

That didn’t sound right to my mixer-clouded mind. I started again.

Two, four, six, eight, nine.

Again. Two, four, six, eight, nine.

Her breathing had grown low and laboured, each inhale shuddering. Her hind legs twitched. Her tail flicked wildly with every pass, stiff and jerking to the side.

Two, four, six, eight, nine.

“Nine?” I asked softly, almost to the ceiling, almost to myself.

She answered between breaths, panting, “Y-Yeah.”

I cupped each pair once more, just to be sure, before, brain running on something close to instinct, my hand slipped down into the tight shorts she was always wearing.

Too much.

“E-Easy, Max,” Charlotte said, sitting up. It was less a readjustment and more a firm reset, like she was placing the pieces back where they belonged.

I blinked, chest burning, suddenly and painfully aware of what I was doing, where I was, and who I was with.

“Sorry,” I muttered, dragging my hand back up to her waist and holding there, too shaken to move it anywhere else. Wetness, faint but present, stuck to my fingertips. “Sorry,” I said again, softer this time.

“I-It’s alright, you’re fine,” she cooed, brushing her face against mine, ears dragging slowly along my neckline. The touch was gentle, oddly forgiving. “Just… slow down a bit…? We’re playing a game, right?”

She pulled away from my lap and settled beside me instead, head resting on my shoulder. The space she left behind felt colder than it should have.

I shifted, angling myself to cover my lap. “Dare,” I said quickly.

“Tell me what you were about to do.”

“That’s…” I adjusted my leg again, heat prickling under my skin. “Not a dare.”

“It is,” she insisted, her voice softer now. “G-Go on.”

Groaning, I dragged a hand down my face, feeling just how hot it was from drink and humiliation. “Fuck, Charlotte…” Her side pressed closer, deliberate, unrelenting. “What do you think I was going to do?”

Cheek rub. Cheek rub. “I dunno,” she slurred lightly. “Say it out loud for me, Maxi baby.”

“No.” Taking advantage of the lull, I drained the last of the flat rum and coke, then tipped a half-empty bottle toward her, letting her have another mouthful of the cheap rum. “Your turn.”

“Truth.”

Another sip, just enough to steady myself. I leaned in, using my height to rest my head gently atop hers, sliding my left arm around her side and letting my palm settle against the cushion beyond her. She didn’t pull away.

"Have you ever… done anything like this?” The words felt heavy and clumsy, but I forced them out.

She hesitated. The paw resting on my leg pressed in, claws pricking just enough to let slip the tension. Instead of answering, she took the punishment, shoulders slumping slightly. “Have youuu…” she began, stretching the word, either for effect or breath or just because it sounded funny to her, “done… thought about me?”

“You’re the only other-”

“Why’d you peek in the shower?”

I exhaled and let her have it. Just once.

“Because,” I said, reaching back to something that felt strangely distant now, “you were right in front of me and your tail lifted. I wasn’t trying to. It just… it just happened.”

"Ohh," she hummed, considering. “...I thought you might’ve been into dogs.”

A thin pulse of cold slithered down my spine.

“Well, I’m not.” If I’d been clearer-headed, I might have crossed my arms or turned away. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was, next to the dog. “Accident.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

I turned to face her but got caught.

Her tongue slid up along my jaw, wet and warm, carrying the faint taste of everything we’d drunk. A quiet sound escaped her. Her paw moved slowly from my thigh to the side of my too-hot jacket.

I shivered at the unexpected contact. Warm. Damp. Weirdly affectionate. Without quite thinking, or perhaps thinking too much, I slid my arm up around her shoulders, held her close, and bit her.

Somewhere in my memory was the idea that dogs, or was it wolves? That they communicated with their mouths. That they nipped the scruff when they wanted to be understood or when mating. So I did. I put intention into it, teeth pressing into the meat at the nape of her neck.

She squeaked, breath catching as if air had suddenly become precious.

I eased up, trailing smaller bites along her neck, her jaw, then a brief, possessive nip at her ear. She felt small under me despite her strength, soft and suddenly mine.

She smelt like closeness and liquor and something alive, and all I could think was how badly I wanted to stay near her.

It took effort not to let my hands wander.

“D-Dare,” she stammered.

Permission.

“Lay back.” I did not wait. As she shifted, angling herself onto the cushions, I followed, bracing my hands on either side of her, fingers digging into the fabric. My shadow fell over her. Light caught in her scarlet eyes, making them glow faintly in the dim room.

Silence settled between us.

She licked her lips. Her ears twitched. Her whiskers trembled.

Then we moved at once, like it was a dance long rehearsed. Our lips met, clumsy and urgent, teeth clicking together in a way that would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t felt so electric.

She didn’t quite know what to do. She moved too fast, tongue darting out uncertainly. Her paws batted at my chest, claws catching with every swipe.

I held myself up with one arm and steadied her side with the other, holding her.

Bat. Bat. Her paw smacked my chest.

With a faint huff of amusement, I caught her wrist and guided it up to my shoulder. Her claws sank in immediately.

I winced and broke the kiss, almost laughing at the small, frustrated whine she let out. A string of saliva caught the light between us. I groaned softly, wiped it away, and cradled her face in my hand, fur warm against my palm.

She pouted, brow furrowing.

“What?” I asked, tilting my head, my thumb brushing her cheek. “Play the game, right, Char-”

She lunged upward, mouth open, but I pulled back at the last second, leaving her to snap at empty air.

“Kiss now,” she growled, low and needy.

“Nah.” I leaned down and nipped her cheek just hard enough to quiet her. Then, as if I meant to continue, I moved toward her snout. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, but instead I caught her cheek lightly between my teeth before moving on. Jaw. Neck. Lower.

She whined, claws flexing, but I ignored the protest. I nibbled along her collarbone, my hand slipping beneath her jumper, fingers sinking into the softness of her chest fur. My knees shifted between her spread hind legs.

I couldn’t quite kiss her chest through the thick curls, but I could press careful kisses along the thin skin of her stomach, letting my lips linger over each delicate nipple, slow and deliberate.

Charlotte groaned, a full-bodied sound that made my trousers feel painfully tight all at once.

Her species, her breed, the fur and the claws – all of it blurred because of that one sound. It was soft, rich, and undeniably feminine.

Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes looked down at me, watching how gently, how carefully, I suckled each generous teat. “E-Eager puppy,” Charlotte whispered, her paw sliding from my shoulder to my throat, nails scraping lightly over skin. I refused to give her the satisfaction of hearing what it did to me, biting back the grunt that tried to escape as I moved to the next pair, my hand tightening around her furry waist. “Momma’s got you.”

“Shush.” Even red-faced and painfully hard, I kept going until I reached the last pair, my grip shifting from her hips to the waistband of her shorts, tugging at them with careful intent.

Then I stopped.

I looked up at her instead, searching her muzzle for permission. She bit her lip, her gaze flicking up and away before she gave a small, almost shy nod.

With both hands, I eased the shorts down, shuffling back on my knees just enough to work them from her haunches, down her legs, past trembling paws, and onto the floor.

When I sat up again, I found myself staring.

Splayed and nude and visibly anxious.

Huh.

So different.

Her womanhood was nothing like what I was used to. Moist and soft and already inviting, but external in a way that made my breath catch. No slit, no familiar shape. Something entirely new. Dark and stark and glistening, shaped almost like a spade. Pliant. Triangular. Not human. I had known that, obviously, but knowing and seeing were very different things.

“Max?” she asked softly, almost pleading. “You can keep going.”

I could. That was right.

She had let me. Open, legs spread, tail angled stiffly out of the way as best it could be.

My hand moved without conscious thought, sliding from between the line of her small breasts, down over her stomach, between her thighs, and lower still. I circled her without touching at first, testing the heat that radiated from her sex. Her hindlegs moved just as slowly, wrapping around my waist as much as her canid body allowed.

One finger traced upward, spreading her meaty vulva gently before slipping inside. Her spine bowed, eyes widening, and maw parting in an expression I couldn’t quite name.

I shivered at the thought of how she would feel around me. Soft. Moist. Tight.

My finger pressed deeper, sinking into velvety warmth, feeling the slick heat against my skin, the subtle ridges along her passage.

She arched, maw open in a loud, startled gasp.

I explored her with that single digit, careful and curious, learning the give of her body before adding another to stretch her slightly, a thin string of fluid connecting my fingers as I withdrew them a fraction.

So soft. So undeniably female. Alive and trembling beneath me. The scent rising from her was thick and heady and made my head spin.

…Screw it.

I pulled my hand away and lowered my mouth to her, lips brushing her intimately, the taste hitting me instantly as my tongue parted her – not great, never, but the sounds she made.

It had been months since I had been with a woman, and Charlotte was so… so… herself. The panting, the soft, helpless gasps, the claws catching on my jacket. I shrugged it off without thinking. Her hind legs tightened around me as if she feared I might disappear.

The drink, the shame, the confusion – all of it collapsed in the face of that raw want.

A forepaw found my cheek and tilted my face upward. Her expression had softened into something flushed and vulnerable, cheeks so warm I could almost see it through the dark fur. “D-Dare you to finish me,” she breathed, “and I’ll do it to you.”

Long tongue.

Long muzzle.

I gripped her waist, nudging her higher for better access, and returned to her with renewed focus. My tongue traced along her lips, getting her ready before pressing my tongue inside, dragging along every soft, sensitive bump.

I was not very experienced. One or two girlfriends who had been patient with my clumsiness. But Charlotte didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to crave the attention more than technique.

Whether it was the lingering buzz or the intensity of my focus, she unravelled quickly. In less than a minute she was writhing, her body moving restlessly beneath me.

I had to steady her hips and hold her in place so I could keep my angle. Adjusting slightly, I found a sensitive spot and circled it once, twice, again, before shifting upward to a tender nub near the top of her. I pressed my lips around it, suckling gently as warmth slicked against and then down my chin.

My legs shifted. My free hand fumbled at my belt.

I had no intention of stopping.

I couldn’t tell who was more affected anymore.

But she had the edge.

Her mouth hung open, tongue lolling, breath coming in loud, ragged pants. I forced myself to pause for a heartbeat, just to steady my own racing pulse, watching her as she gasped and groaned.

“M-Max…” Her claws dug into my scalp, nearly pulling me away, eyes locking with mine. She looked torn between tears and something overwhelming and fragile.

So open. So unguarded.

Her muzzle scrunched. She bit down on her own tongue.

The tightness around my tongue surged suddenly, then pulsed, squeezing and releasing as she came, loud and unrestrained. Her climax spilt against my mouth as a near howl tore from her throat. She kicked and panted and yelped, tail thrashing wildly.

And because I wanted to see just how far she would go, because I wanted to feel every shudder she had left, I kept going. Gentle nibbles, slow presses, and deliberate drags against the entirety of her spade that drew out tremors in her body, ignoring the claws scraping my skin and the way she flailed beneath me.

She took it like a champ, at least until, with an almost pained groan, she collapsed back against the cushions, eyes low and squinting.

Exhausted, I realised. Nerves crept back in now that the high was fading. Nervous and selfish and still unbearably pent up.

She’d return the favour, right?

Right?

But what if she was sore?

No. That didn’t matter.

Mouth.

But…

My hands stayed planted at her waist, thumbs tracing slow, restless circles against her heated skin. She was still flushed, still breathing hard enough to rock her body gently. And she was watching me. Not dazed. Not distant.

Watching.

My mouth tingled, still wet. I wiped at it, leaving a shining trail of my knuckles.

“…You remember what you said, right? ” I asked, softer, unable to hide how tightly wound I still was.

Charlotte’s whiskers twitched faintly. She tilted her head just enough to peer up at me through her lashes.

“Mm,” she hummed. “I say a lot of things when I’m feeling really good.”

“It was one thing,” I muttered, leaning closer without consciously meaning to, my palms sliding up over her stomach. “You were very specific.”

“Oh?” Her mouth curved slowly. “Remind me, Maxi.”

God.

She was making me work for it.

“You said if I finished you,” I replied, heat climbing my throat again, trying and failing to keep the need from my voice, “you’d do the same.”

She studied me for a long, heavy second. My fingers tightened at her sides before I forced them to relax. She shifted upright, pressing her front to my chest, her muzzle tucking into the crook of my neck. Almost tender. Almost like an embrace shared between something steadier than… whatever we were.

“You really want me,” she said simply. “Me and my paws and teeth.” Her tongue flicked out, shallow and teasing, leaving warm trails along my jaw and lips.

“I do,” I breathed. The honesty shocked me. Or maybe it was the hunger in it. Dog, cat, dragon, gryphon – it didn’t matter. As long as she was her. “That’s kind of why I just did… that.”

She lifted a paw and rested it lightly against my chest.

“You know who you’re asking,” she said quietly.

I frowned faintly. “Charlotte.”

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Not just Charlotte.”

I let out a shaky half-laugh and resisted the urge to reach for another drink. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“Do you?” she pressed, sharper now. “You’re asking me. Me.”

Her.

“Yeah. You.”

Her ears flicked again, pleased, almost proud.

“…And if I said no?” she asked, though her tail still swayed lazily and her legs remained open and relaxed beneath me. “If I just wanted to get off nice and easy on you?”

In my state, I honestly couldn’t judge how serious she was.

But the thought of her saying no after all that made my stomach drop.

“Then… I'd deal,” I said, though my thumb still betrayed me, circling her waist. “I’d hate it. But I’d deal. I’m not- I’d never make you.”

Silence lingered.

Then her claws dragged lightly over my shirt, testing the fabric, testing me.

“You’re desperate,” she murmured. “And drunk.” Despite it, her breath still carried the sharp warmth of spirits.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice hitching. “Little bit.”

“A little?”

“A lot of little bits."

That drew a soft chuff of laughter from her.

“And you want me to do it,” she continued, watching my face carefully. “Not just anyone.”

“Yeah,” I said again, quieter this time. “You.” For what felt the tenth time.

“Y-You want me and my fur and me.” Her voice dipped lower, eyes wide and sharp and almost manic now, claws flexing. “What do you prefer, my tiny dog teats or fat human tits? Aren’t mine better?”

My pulse thundered in my ears.

So sudden that I found myself frozen. Even as mentally drained as I was, the intensity struck me.

“You rub my belly all calm,” she went on, breath hot against my face, “but you’re also feeling me up. Go too, or just low enough?” A faint laugh slipped out of her. “No one would know at the park. I keep my mouth shut, and I’m just another dog. Think about that?”

“N-Not really,” I slurred, though the words felt weak. I almost leaned back, but her paw slid down and pressed against the hard outline in my trousers. I flinched. “You’re kind of fucked up, you know that?” The accusation lacked heat.

Her pads were soft. She was close. I did not push her away.

She only laughed and returned to licking, slow and deliberate. “You could.” Another swipe along my lips before her tongue slipped into my mouth.

Her eyes shut as our tongues met, wet and warm and too good. My thoughts scattered instantly. She could say whatever messed-up thing she wanted as long as she kept touching me.

I didn’t care a bit.

Her paw kneaded through the fabric of my trousers, steady pressure that made my breath stutter, while her tongue pressed mine down and dragged along my teeth until I felt ready to jump out of my skin.

The quiet murmurs vibrating from her throat into my mouth were too much.

I pulled back, breaking the thin string of saliva between us, and hurriedly kicked off my trousers. My boxers followed after only a moment’s hesitation.

My cock sprang free, hard and throbbing, a bead of pre already shining at the tip. Charlotte’s gaze locked onto it immediately. She leaned forward and dragged her tongue over it with quick, eager precision.

I gasped, fingers moving, threading deep into the thick curls of her dark coat.

Don’t push her head, I reminded myself as she went in again, dragging hard along my length, sending bolts of pleasure up my spine. Don’t ever push her down. I had known that for years. Been told it more than once.

But the way she hummed around me, the faint giggle in her throat, and her tongue dragging from base to tip while her breath washed hot against my skin made restraint feel like an impossibility.

Her breath was warm, and I wondered how her mouth would feel around me.

She had laid down with her chest across my lap, paws dangling off either side of my thighs, tongue still warm and insistent.

Then she stopped.

Charlotte leaned to one side, pressing the side of her snout against me, looking up through her lashes. A paw came up, resting lightly at the tip. “What?” she asked, voice almost playful. “You look a little red-faced.”

“No shit,” I panted, eyes squeezing shut as she pressed soft, deliberate kisses along my length. “K-Keep going.”

Her blue-and-pink tongue slid over me again, slow and teasing, and my socked toes curled against the floor. Her tail thumped against the couch cushions in an uneven rhythm before, after what felt like a drawn-out eternity, she opened her maw and took me inside.

For a second.

One perfect, breath-stealing second.

Then she pulled back completely.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said simply, lifting her head, and the sound that almost left me was embarrassingly close to a whine.

She shifted instead, long legs bending awkwardly as she climbed into my lap. Her folds hovered just above me, damp and inviting. She bit her lip, looked down, and lowered herself just enough to make me twitch, just enough to make me feel, before glancing back up, eyes locked onto mine.

“You looked about ready to burst, and I didn’t want to waste it. I mean…” She gave a slow grind, the damp heat brushing against me, the moistness caressing the head. “You’ve already gone this far.”

I had.

My hands gripped the couch cushions hard enough to strain. Don't push, I told myself, teeth grinding with the effort not to lift into her. I knew how good she felt. I already did. But this felt bigger. More final.

There was something important in that hesitation, something my frazzled mind couldn’t quite grasp.

Then she pressed down an inch further, the tip of my cock slipping past meaty folds and entering that searing heat, and every coherent thought I’d ever had dissolved.

I hadn’t even answered her, but she was already moving, forepaws braced against my chest, eyes sharp and gleaming, grin edged with teeth. “Hah,” she grunted, brows knitting. “Not… not as easy as I thought.”

My hands found her hips, steadying her. “Easy,” I said, voice low.

She pouted.

"Just… are you sure?” Even as I asked it, I was begging her to say yes.

The half-open jumper. The dishevelled curls. The faint dripping of eyeliner beneath flushed eyes.

Godly.

She looked at me like I was ridiculous, rolled her eyes, and pushed down harder, sliding past the last of my restraint. Her lips yawned wide around the rest of me, slickness easing the way, though she was tighter than any I’d had before.

Tighter than she seemed ready for, too, judging by the way her muzzle scrunched and her hackles lifted in a flash of instinctive alarm.

“E-Easy,” I repeated, more warning than tease. She shot me a look that bordered on a snap. “Go slow,” I clarified.

I rubbed her hips, fingers trailing down her inhuman hind legs, parting fur gently. She nodded stiffly and adjusted herself. I helped without thinking, guiding her paws to my shoulders, lifting her slightly to find a better angle. My hands then slid back to her withers, fingers pressing into muscle to steady her descent.

This time, I pulled her down slowly.

My eyes closed for half a heartbeat at the sensation. Raw. Sharp. The tight pressure of her around me, the quiet, almost-squelch as I pulled her down, hot and wet and ridged in ways that made heat build in my lower stomach and my breath stutter.

It was undulled by alcohol. The softness of her fur beneath my palms. The weak, involuntary groans escaping her balanced between discomfort and pleasure.

There was only so much I could withstand.

I lifted into her hard as I drew her down, and she clenched harshly around me.

Charlotte yelped, loud and sharp, her teeth bared. “Max,” she snarled. “Easy.” She mimicked my tone almost perfectly. “Go slow.”

“Sorry.” Heat flared across my face as I held her still, letting her breathe through it.

Eventually, her eyes fluttered closed, and she began to rock carefully, building up a rhythm again. Slow rolls of her hips, breath leaving her in trembling huffs. No deep, pounding sex, but instead quiet, careful movements that helped ease that suffocating tightness.

My fingers pressed into her fur, soft as cotton, then lower, squeezing at the meat of her legs, the solid weight of her haunches. Again. Both sides. Memorising the feel, enjoying the squish.

“It’d be bigger,” she grunted, claws digging into my shoulders, “if I didn’t have that stupid diet.” She ground down harder, ridges inside her tightening around me until a groan tore from my throat. “You’re allowed to make noises, Max.”

I buried my face into the fluff of her chest instead of answering.

“Pussy.” She rose higher than before and dropped back down with more force, taking more of me, gasping loud and strained. Her claws cut through my shirt, pain and pleasure tangling until I throbbed inside her, already teetering. “Fuck, you-” Another drop. “Y-You feel…” Again. “Really good.”

I held her steady as she bounced, pace quickening, breath breaking into open pants.

“You feel…” My fingers bit into her as her pace quickened and sweat pooled on my temple. The bounce, the way she’d relaxed but still felt so snug. “You feel so different.”

She shifted her movement, grinding forward and back instead, wet heat pressing against me, indecent, lewd sounds filling the space between us. The drag of her fur against my thighs, the slide of skin, the tight ridges inside her. I just couldn’t put it into words.

“Different?” she asked, her voice fraying into a half-whine.

“Better,” I corrected, squeezing her haunches before thrusting upward. I braced for protest.

None came.

So I did it again. Harder. Deeper. Finally able to slip fully inside of her.

“S-Shit, Charlotte, you’re amazing.” My hand slid behind her, fingers gripping around the base of her tail and tugging lightly. She yelped, then melted into a breathy whine that sent a shiver up my spine. I straightened, one hand on her leg, the other guiding her by the tail, drawing her down and forward, grinding myself along every sensitive, soft spot.

The sounds she made, the audible slaps between us, nearly broke me on the spot.

My right hand moved up to the small of her back, pressing her tighter against me as I drove upward, chin brushing her shoulder. Any restraint I might've had fell away. I moved harder, faster, hips burning with the effort to stay deep inside her, chasing that edge with reckless focus.

She stopped trying to control the pace, letting me take it, her body yielding beneath my grip.

“M-Max,” she gasped, voice ragged and loud. “You- Shit!” Her claws dug in again. I could hear the strain in her breathing. I did not slow down.

Had to finish. Had to.

“Seriously!” she grunted. “S-Slow down, I’m gonna- Come. Fucking arsehole!"

Her words broke apart into a long, strained howl as her body clenched around me again.

“I've got you,” I said, pressing my cheek to her. “Nice and easy, baby.”

Not for the pooch, that is, as she began to squirm. Not to escape – she had teeth and claws; she could have snapped at me and told me to stop at any time. No, she was writhing, panting, making noises I'd never heard from woman nor dog, tightening and squeezing, and moaning low and loud and long.

For the second time, with a loud, choking sound deep in her throat, she came, hind legs bouncing, slamming into my thighs, following the pleasure, claws leaving sharp, scathing gashes in my back and shoulders. “I hate you!” She snarled, slowing, but, sadly for her, I wasn't done. “F-Fugh. You – fucking stop!”

I stopped immediately, breathing heavily, heart dropping.

I made to apologise, but she shook her head, clawed me further and snarled out, “I didn't say stop!”

I continued, chuckling low, breathing hard. “I'm not stopping,” I said, sweat heavy on my forehead. “If you want off.” I paused to bite at her neck. “Get off.”

"H-Hate-" a loud, almost pained half-scream escaped her as I hurried up, her still squeezing, oversensitive cunt milking. “Hate you. F-Filthy dog fucker.” That almost got me, so I bit harder, just to shut her up.

Finally, pressing as deep as I could, as hard as I could, I thrust once more into her, her words and sounds and warm, inviting passage too much.

I came, balls tightening, vision white, cock throbbing deep, groin aching with the force as I spilled inside of her, moaning through the jumper in my teeth. Both hands, for leverage, reached over to her ridiculous ears and, clenching tight, pulled them down.

Her head tipped back, and she screamed so loudly I almost froze, but the feeling, the sudden continued orgasm, kept me going. She howled, full-bodied, high-pitched, voice cracking, sobbing, spurting against my crotch as I continued to fill her. “O-Oh god,” she cried, followed by a dry, scratchy sound, claws leaving deeper, sharper furrows, shirt ruined.

Still, I held her, pressing deeper, pushing the seed as far up into her fertile, welcoming body as I was able, species forgotten while she babbled incoherently, head tipped back like she was praying. Her ears were soft and long, and I used the drag of it to feed her deeper onto me, even with no more inches to give her spread lips.

My hips continued rolling, giving her so much that, even while still surrounded by her, fluids began to leak onto me while she continued to gasp, breathing hard and panting.

I let go of her and released her neck, fur damp, my breaths coming in hard gulps. My hands shook, soaked with sweat, from where I held her, and the shirt was ruined. I didn't even want to look at the sofa, and my head was aching, I was nauseous, and my stomach was in agony.

Charlotte's claws released, and I nearly yelped. Blood felt hot on my skin.

“...I'm crying,” she admitted quietly. “Ugh. My eyes.”

I didn't say anything, still busy with breathing.

“I am so… so hurt.” She tried to get up, but her hind legs were completely useless. “Scooped,” she grunted. “Scooped out. Fuck, I hate you. Hate you. Never again.”

My vision darkened at the edges, white dots glinting. “Your idea,” I managed, just barely. “Was fine with mouth.” Breathing was hard. Too hard. Agonisingly hard. “I feel sick.”

“Orgasm hurt,” she grumbled. “You KEPT moving!”

“Charlotte felt good,” I replied uselessly. “Need cum in Charlotte.”

“Very classy.”

“Yeah.”

“...Tissue, please. A-And can you lay me down?”

I, with shaking, numb arms, lifted her up and laid her down on the couch, her body falling limp and boneless, drooping over the cushions. I sat up, tried to get up, fell back, legs quaking, choosing instead to snatch napkins from the table.

"Ew," she grumbled, eyes on her sex. “Slimy. Slimy slimy.” I, with a paper napkin, dabbed uselessly at her, soaking up some of the mixed fluids. "You– uh." She sat up and batted me away with a limp paw before leaning down and lapping at herself with a tongue.

I couldn't, in the afterglow, decide whether or not it was hot or not.

All I could do was use the napkin as best I could on myself before slipping my boxers back on, ignoring my trousers, and falling down beside her, exhaling.

She finished and shuffled back further, lying beside me, both our eyes on the ceiling.

…

“...So how was dog pussy?”

“Ugh,” I groaned audibly. “Please don't say it like that.”

She giggled drunkenly. “How else?”

“Dunno. Brain not good.”

“Your brain is never not… not good.”

She was warm, and I rolled over to hold her, like a giant hot water bottle. Her tail flicked, catching my leg, wrapping around it. “I like you,” I said, getting a happy little chuff for my efforts. She didn't respond, and it didn't matter.

Sleep and darkness came, and I welcomed it, fading away.

#

13:51, Thursday, the 4th of February, 2029.

I woke to fur and the smell of overcooked grease, sweat, and spilled liquor. Every muscle stung like I’d run ten miles without stretching, aching in places I didn’t know could ache. My mouth was dry, my nose burning in that familiar way it only did after far too much to drink.

I tried to sit up, but my arms were numb, pinned against something warm and fluffy. My fingers sank into deep, thick curls. Sweat and- Christ, why was I so sweaty?

I blinked, rubbing the crust from my eyes.

Midday, judging by the dull light slipping through the blinds. The TV had shut itself off. The room looked fucking atrocious.

My memory was blank.

Had I-

I turned my head. Charlotte was passed out beside me, maw open, tongue lolling. Her jumper unzipped. Her shorts.

Were.

Off.

Huh.

“Charlotte,” I croaked. Her eyes blinked open immediately, bleary and sore. “Up. Get up. I need aspirin or something. And put your pants on, please.” I did not want a repeat of the shower incident.

She squinted at the ceiling. Her eyeliner had bled into dark teal streaks. Had she spilt a drink on her face? God, I hoped not.

“My head,” she whined, pawing at her muzzle. She tried to rise, but her bowed hind legs buckled. “My legs.”

I awkwardly helped her up.

“How do my legs still hurt? This-" She grunted. “All your fault.”

“Eh?”

“I swear,” she said, suddenly flustered, “I am not that easy.” I just stared at her. “You’re not getting anything more without a date and roses. Sweet Christ.”

My back throbbed. When I reached to touch it, I nearly yelled. Pain. Dry blood.

“What the fuck?” I stared at my fingers. Fresh scab. Red smeared across my skin. “D-Did you scratch me?”

“Yeah…” she muttered. “Ugh.”

“Why?”

Fragments surfaced. Dares. Truths. Too many whisky sours. Nothing solid.

She looked at me through tired, half-lidded eyes. “Consider it a compliment, Maxi. I’m usually more careful with my nails.” A long yawn. “I am sorry, though. Next time take it easier on me.” A small, smug smirk. “If there is a next time. I meant it! Date and roses before you get more.”

That felt wrong. Cold. Slimy. Not good.

“Next time what?” I asked quietly.

No shorts.

No trousers on me. Sweaty. Gross. Smelling like something I didn’t want to name.

She laughed softly, suddenly bashful, leaning into me. “Don’t make me say it.”

No shorts.

“W-We didn’t.”

Another small chuckle. “I’m pretty sure we did. I’m still sore.”

It hit me.

Not all at once. Not clean.

A slow, nauseating crawl.

No shorts.

No trousers.

Her legs hurt. My back torn up. The sofa was stained. The smell.

My heart began to pound, dull and heavy in my ears.

“Still sore,” she’d said.

Still sore.

I looked at her properly then. At the smudged eyeliner. The tired eyes. The faint stiffness in the way she shifted her weight. The way she didn’t quite sit comfortably.

My stomach flipped.

Fragments flickered.

She’d been on my lap.

Her voice, sharp and breathless.

Claws.

Heat.

°^®$¢¢✓

_;&-+.

|•^^✓[]

: £4&!

Bhk

Cg`||√®✓=

✓=✓✓[

¥¢^%™=

&-+°^®$¢¢✓

_;&-+.

|•^^✓[]

:£4&!]#[

Bhk

Cg`||√®✓=

✓=✓✓[

¥¢^%™=

&-+

///////????????

I vomited.

Got up, made it three steps, and vomited into a crumpled takeaway bag.

Disgusting. Wretched. What the hell had I done?

Dog.

Animal.

Not right. Not godly.

Sin. Horror.

“M-Max?!” Charlotte yelped, hurrying over. “Are you alright? Do you need water?”

“Get the fuck away from me.” I shoved her back. Looked down at her properly. Wet nose. Whiskers. Fur. Teeth. Paws. Tail.

A poodle.

Wide-eyed, like I’d just offered her a treat.

“What the hell?” She caught herself before slipping, claws dragging over the carpet. “What’s your problem?”

I couldn’t undo it. Couldn’t go back.

I’d slept with a dog because I’d been lonely and drunk and she’d been ‘female enough’. The guilt tangled with the hangover until I felt sick all over again. Female enough. If a cow could talk and I was lonely enough again, would that have been fine too?

Christ.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her, to the poor, confused Charlotte staring at me like I’d lost my mind. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Hurt leaked into her voice. “You’re sorry for what? That-"

It clicked.

“Oh.” The hurt snapped into anger. “...I see.”

“No.” I shook my head, backing away. “No, that was wrong. We shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have. That can’t happen again. I-I’m sorry.”

Her voice turned solid. Iron straight through it. “That was my first time, Max.” A pause. Whiskers twitching. Tail swishing tight and anxious. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

My stomach dropped.

“S-Sorry. I-”

Something in her face shifted. The pain smoothed into something darker. Controlled.

“No.”

“…No?”

She lowered herself and moved closer. “Remember when you said you’d deal if I said no to finishing you? Since you were begging?”

Vaguely. I stayed quiet.

“What if,” she continued softly, “I said no to you saying no more?”

Quiet.

The ostentatious clock on the wall chimed three times. Nearly lunch.

“Excuse me?”

"Oh, not like that, silly thing.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was thin. Brittle. “I’m just saying that now I know how much you want me, I might want more of that.”

Withered at the edges.

“And if you decide you don’t want to cuddle on the sofa or have drinks, I could always let slip just how much you like me.”

“What?”

“I could tell my father,” she said lightly, too lightly. “Your employer, remember? I could mention how attentive his assistant is. How… hands-on."

My throat tightened.

She took a slow step closer, claws ticking against the wood before sinking into the rug. Her legs still trembled slightly, but her eyes were steadier.

“Or I could post something sweet and vague,” she continued. “Nothing obscene. Just suggestive. A late-night photo.”

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in. The cuts on my back throbbed horribly.

“I could even call your mum.” A tilt of her head. “She thinks I’m adorable.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Who’s joking?”

She stopped in front of me. Up close, I could see the streaked eyeliner and the exhaustion in the corners of her eyes. Hurt remained heavy.

“You do not get to wake up, shove me away, and decide I’m a mistake,” she said quietly. “You don’t get to use me and then rediscover your morals.”

“I didn’t use you,” I snapped immediately and defensively.

Her ears flicked back.

“Didn’t you?”

The clock ticked. Loud. Accusing.

“You wanted it,” I muttered, hating the cowardice in the words.

“And so did you,” she shot back. “You were the one begging.”

Silence.

“I’m not threatening you,” she said after a moment, though her tail moved slowly and deliberately behind her. “I’m simply… reminding you that you don’t get to walk away clean.”

“I’m not clean,” I said, voice cracking. “That’s the point.”

She stared at me.

“I didn’t wake up ashamed,” she continued, softer now, and that softness stung. “I woke up sore. There’s a difference.”

I looked at the floor, too weak to meet her eyes.

“You’re acting like I tricked you,” she said. “Like I forced you. You held me. You told me not to stop. You came inside me.”

Each word landed. Precise. Surgical.

“And now you’re looking at me like I’m something dirty.”

I dragged a hand down my face. My skin felt wrong. My body felt wrong. Every scratch on my back burnt.

“I’m not disgusted with you,” I said hoarsely. “I’m disgusted with myself."

“That’s worse,” she replied.

“It’s not-" I snapped, only to immediately falter. “It’s horrible. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I don’t know what that means about me.”

“That you wanted me.”

“That I forgot what you are.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her expression changed.

Something quieter, wounded.

“I told you what I was,” she said. “You said you knew.”

“I thought I did.”

“And now?”

I couldn’t answer.

The silence stretched like too-long shadows.

“I don’t need to ruin you,” she said finally, voice low and composed. “But if you decide I’m just some drunk mistake, I will not let you pretend you didn’t choose me. I’ll tell the world that you did.”

My pulse hammered.

“You wouldn’t,” I said, but it came out thin.

Her tail swayed once.

“Try me.”

My head pounded so hard it blurred my vision. The room smelt like sweat and sex and regret, so I grabbed my coat from the floor and…

“Running?” she asked.

“I need air.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I can’t sit here,” I snapped. “I can’t look at this couch and not feel sick.”

Her ears dipped, just slightly.

“I didn’t trick you,” she said.

I moved past her. She didn’t stop me. The hallway felt too bright. Too clean. Too normal for what I’d done.

By the time I reached my shitty little car, my hands were shaking. Unlocking it, I sat behind the wheel and stared at myself in the rearview mirror.

Hungover. Pale. Scratches down my neck.

Dog fucker.

The engine started louder than it should have.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I just drove.