FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The TV showed the Indianapolis skyline. Part of it, anyway. "It's quarter 'til eight, and, yes, this is a live look downtown from the roof of the station!" exclaimed 'Fib the Morning Mouse,' Channel 13's 'sunrise' meteorologist. "What view?" quipped a curvy, honey-brown jersey cow, one of the news' co-anchors. (The other, a coyote named JR, was looking down at his tablet.) "Ha, ha. You're right, Opal." Fib nimbly darted to the side of the screen as the studio camera switched to him, a general weather 'outlook' filling the background. "A dense fog advisory is in effect until mid-morning. Drive slowly, folks! Visibility will be an issue, but skies should clear by lunchtime." The graphics changed behind him. "It's been a wet week! Many counties have issued travel advisories due to flood waters, especially in rural areas." The said counties were highlighted in red on a state outline. "That flood watch goes 'til Sunday." The 'outlook' changed to a color-coded weather map, and the dapper harvest mouse used his uniquely prehensile, ropy tail as a pointer. "Now, this afternoon, we'll have more rain. Nothing as steady as yesterday. Just hit and miss showers. A few rumbles of thunder? Harmless, not severe." The map became animated, showing movement and the passage of time. "Moving to FutureTrak 13, and, oh, boy. It's only the first week of March, but can we officially say 'hashtag Winter is Over?' Cause we have record highs for you tomorrow. Anywhere from seventy-five to eighty degrees depending on your location in the viewing area! Wow! "Will any of it be dry and sunny? Welllll ... tomorrow morning, I'd expect a line of storms to move through the area first. About a forty percent chance. The more severe will be upstream. But once that passes? The rest of the day will be nice! And it will start a trend! Sunday: sunshine and 62. Monday? A fantastic day! Sunshine, blue skies, and low 70's. "And that's my 'Golden Guarantee'!" the golden-yellow rodent said, flashing a warm bucktoothed smile. "Back to you, Opal and JR!" "Thanks, Fib," said Opal, as the camera shifted back to the main desk. JR took over and said, "Gas prices are rising in Central Indiana. For a look at how much, let's go to Sakona on the Scene." As a skunk appeared on location holding a microphone, Petra muted the television (a small eighteen-incher; the 'big screen' was in the living room) and tossed the remote aside. It clattered on the countertop. "What's he got that I don't?" Petra complained. In form-fitting underwear (or 'boyshorts,' as they'd been sold as) and a royal blue 'Indiana Pacers' t-shirt, the scruffy brown rat was leaning against the fridge, arms crossed, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle. Her tail curled aside. She knew Fib personally. They all did. He was mated to Petra's friend and long-time co-worker Meadow (who the rat had an unrequited crush on). The couple, both harvest mice, had been over to this house on multiple occasions, including last weekend. Petra ground her buckteeth together, boggling her dark eyes. It was her 'fault' that Meadow and Fib were a couple. Fib was a patient at the dental practice Petra and Meadow were receptionists at. Had he showed interest in Meadow at the reception desk? Yes. Had the rat nudged Meadow into going out with him? Also, yes. Was it so bad to want your sheltered, introverted friend to have fun? No. It had been a 'hero' move on Petra's part, frankly! How was the rat to know they'd get married? While Petra had meant her initial question rhetorically, her two mates, also in the kitchen for breakfast, answered like contestants on a game show. "What's Fib got? Hmmm ... a bright, happy nature?" Juniper guessed. The slender weasel, in an oversized t-shirt (one of Petra's, in fact) and pink, silky panties, was scrambling eggs at the stove. Eagen, properly dressed (shirt and pants), set a box of cereal on the table and suggested, "Money?" The chipmunk then went to the fridge for some oat milk (having to wait for Petra to move her scaly-tailed ass), pausing to ask the rat, "How much does a weatherman make, anyway?" "Dunno." The rat curtly shut the door for him (with a furless foot-paw) and shuffled to the toaster, placing a pop-tart (brown sugar/cinnamon with icing) into a slot. She pressed the lever and waited, making a suck-jaw face before telling Juniper, "I can be plenty bright." "But can you be happy?" the caf -au-lait mustelid challenged. Her fur was the color of 'coffee and creamer,' with white paws and foot-paws. And a black, sooty tail-tip. Petra forced a bucktoothed smile. "No, no. That's not sincere. That's scary. Look, see ... look at this," Juniper said, flashing a bigger, wider smile back at her. "Yeah?" "Nahhh, that's some sneaky shit," Petra countered. "Like you're gonna con me." "First off, that's racist. Second, what?" "It's the fangs." "Well, they're part of my mouth, so what am I supposed to do about that?" "This here," Eagen said, checking on his phone as he sat at the table, "says 'meteorologists' make an average of 130,000 a year. Daaaaamn." Maybe that wasn't rich-rich, but, "That's more than the three of us make combined! And I always see Fib on ads for stuff, so ... he's gotta be making even more on the side, right? No wonder Meadow only has to work part- time." The girls, not listening to the chipmunk, were now bickering about 'smiles.' "I do, too, have dimples! See?" The weasel flashed yet another grin, pointing at her cheeks. "Where?" "Right here?" Petra squinted. "You're just being obtuse," the weasel accused. "Get that from your 'Word o' the Day' calendar?" "You know full well my daily is 'A Year of Self-Love'." "Must not be workin' since you need me to get you off." "I can get off on my own! It's just ... more fun with company." Eagan, chomping on his cereal, insisted with his mouth full, "I get her off, too!" "Yeah. What he said! It's not all about you, Petra." The rat shrugged and said, "Fine. Smile again. Lemme see." The weasel grinned widely. "Eh, it's no use. How can I notice dimples when you're lookin' like you wanna eat me?" "Maybe I do!" "Maybe you should," the rat goaded with a spark in her eye. Juniper stifled a giggle, pivoting back to the stovetop with a flirty tail swish. "Ohhhh, right, I know what Fib's got!" Eagan said. "He's got Meadow." Petra huffed (though not as loud as the teapot; she poured the steaming water into a mug, dropping a 'green ginger' tea bag into it). "We'd moved on from that ... but thanks, Captain Obvious." Retrieving her pop-tart with the other paw, the brown rat brought her breakfast to the table, plonking into a chair adjacent to the chipmunk. "I knowww he's got her ... " She bit into the rectangular pastry, crumbs tumbling off her whiskers. "I meant why." "We told you why," Eagan answered. "You just don't like the answers." "Ooh!" Juniper said, scraping her eggs onto a big plate. "I got one! Heh! Ha. Hey, Eagan, can I take 'he has a dick' for 1,000?" "Ha, ha!" Eagan made sound effects and exclaimed, "Ding- ding-ding! You've found the Daily Double!" "Yasssss!" The weasel, noodling in place, whisked her tail about. "I can't believe I'm sleepin' with the both o' you," Petra muttered dryly, sipping her tea and taking another (very big) bite of pop tart. The rat glared at the TV. The newscast had segued to sports, now, with Baxter the river otter (a handsome, overconfident dude), who was showing basketball and auto racing highlights. "Aw. You really shouldn't get hung up on this, Petra! It's no reflection on you. Let's be honest: you were never really an option. Meadow's straight as an arrow," Juniper insisted, joining her mates (with her eggs and a glass of chocolate oat milk). "Like, she's never set off my queerdar even once." Petra fondled an unripe banana that was lying on the table (rather suggestively), mumbling, "I'm a dynamo with a strap- on ... " "While I can attest to that ... " The weasel gave the rat a knowing smirk, waggling her fork before digging into those eggs. "If you're into it-and she is-you know nothing can replace the real thing." The bisexual rodent tilted her head and nodded, reluctantly conceding the point. "Don't fight over me, girls. There's enough 'munk buck to go around," Eagan insisted, casually flexing for show before folding his paws behind his stripey head. Juniper giggled. Eagan smiled at her. "Hey, Petra! An idea! Mmf ... so, if you really need to indulge your mouse fetish," Juniper said, shoveling eggs into her maw. "There's a mo-" "I'm a rat," Petra interrupted. "Yeah? And?" the predator echoed, giving her mate a blank look. "Rats don't have mouse fetishes." Eagan told Juniper, in a stage whisper, "Mice and rats are like chipmunks and squirrels. There's a little rivalry going on." "I knowww that," Juniper insisted, rolling her eyes. "But when clothes come off, rivalries are on hold. It's a team sport at that point." "You've never played a sport in your life," Petra insisted. "You're too girly." "You love that I'm girly. Don't deny it." She sucked on her fork, adding, "Come to think of it, that's another fetish!" "Stop calling 'em fetishes," Petra insisted. "Well, what are they?" "I dunno." "Are you embarrassed?" "No!" "So, you admit they're something?" A nonchalant shrug. "How 'bout manias? Fixations? Fanci-" "Just eat your eggs, Slinky. B'fore they get cold." "Sure thing, Petey." The weasel showed her fangs. An annoyed glare. "What'd I say about callin' me that?" "Hey. You break out the S-word, I use your 'favorite' nickname!" It's what her ex, Apollo, used to call her. "Mm." The weasel continued to gobble up her food, talking with her mouth full. "What I'm getting at is: I know a mouse at work, too. She's a cutie." A swig of chocolate milk, smacking her lips. "And queer. And single! Maybe you'd like to meet her? She could ... " Another gesture with her fork. "Scratch your itch." Petra paused before asking, "Are you two both okay with that?" "I mean ... you let me fuck Apollo?" Juniper reminded. Last year, Petra's old rat boyfriend, a hung, ripped hunk (but not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed), had needed somewhere to crash on a cross-country trip. He'd stayed here. Juniper had taken an immediate shine to him, and Petra had allowed her to indulge it. (However, he turned out to be a little too much to handle!) Petra looked to Eagan. "You know I trust you!" Eagan said cheerfully. "Nerd," the rat replied, rather than get mushy. Eagen giggled, getting up and carrying his empty bowl to the sink. He turned on the water to wash it. "If you wanna sit here and pine for someone you can never be with, go ahead." Juniper paused to swig the last of her milk. "I'm just giving you a better option." The rat stared at the table, then looked back up. "Is she ... blonde?" "Blonde?" "Y'know. A harvest mouse," Petra said. That's what Meadow was. Lusciously golden (with a creamy center). "Well, no. She's more, um ... sandy tan? Dusty? With lighter streaks and a white front. She's a spiny pocket mouse!" "Never heard of 'em. Sounds fake." "She's from out West! They have cheek pouches and spines on their back! Wicked cool." "Cheek pouch solidarity!" Eagan declared, raising a fist. "When you say 'spines' ... like porcupine quills?" Petra continued, vetting her prospective date. "I don't wanna get stabbed durin' a canoodle." "Nah, they're flexible. Like hard hairs." "How do you know?" "Cause I asked? And she told me? Also, when you're a waitress in a crowded kitchen, you bump into people a lot. She's never hurt me." "Mm." A pause. "Is she ... girly, too?" "Trust me, you'll be the 'masculine' one," the weasel promised. She wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. The rat pushed her tea mug aside and shrugged. "Dunno ... I'll think about it." Every Saturday, the polycule (and sometimes their friends, like Fib and Meadow last week) would gather to have pizza and play video games. Maybe Juniper could invite her tomorrow? Petra didn't want to appear desperate, though. Knowing this, the weasel suggested, "Text me later? Hmm?" She had a shift at the sports bar starting at 9:30 (They opened at 10.) It was 'tournament season' for college basketball, so the games (and the crowds) would start early today. "Yeah, sure." A brief pause before mumbling, "Thanks, June." "Love you, too," the weasel murmured, rubbing their foot- paws together under the table. An hour later, quarter 'til nine. "What y'all dolled up for, Blondie?" Petra wanted to know, accessing the intercom controls on her computer. She selected the radio station her bosses preferred ('B105.7 - Indy's Best Variety!') and began to stream it over the ceiling speakers. The first song up was 'Band on the Run.' "I'm not dolled up," Meadow insisted, brushing down her pink, feminine skirt, lingering at the printer as she printed off a sign- in sheet. Her top was white with delicate, yellow flower designs on it. Taking the sign-up sheet and tacking it to a billboard on the other side of her desk, she blinked cutely, looking at herself and then to her rat friend. "Am I?" "I mean, this is a dental office, an' you're drawin' attention to everything but your teeth." "I'm just dressed for the weather! When it's warmer, you ... it's ... I mean, it's okay to show more fur. Right?" This was the warmest it had been since last October. Five months! Her whiskers twitched. "You're wearing shorts!" "Hardly the same thing." Petra paused and fiddled with the pens on her desk. Clicking one repeatedly. "Not that I'm complainin'. You wouldn't catch me dead in a dress. But you? You're built for 'em." "Meaning what?" "You got more curves than me. Bigger tits." "Petra!" "You're at least a C, aren't ya? I'm an A." The mouse zipped her lips. The rat chuckled. "Can't a girl appreciate some cleavage?" Meadow twitched and sat in her swivel chair, paws demurely on her lap. "I'm not even showing that much." "Can you see your boob-fur?" "Well ... " Meadow tilted her head down. "A little? The tops." "Can you see that space between 'em?" Meadow blushed before stammering, "Y-you're taller than me. Of course you can see it. I don't take size difference into account when I get dressed." The mouse fidgeted with her top, finally giving up with a squeak. "I just wanted to look nice." "You do." Meadow softened and nodded. "Well ... thanks." The song on the speakers, which was comprised of three distinct medleys, segued to the third. "Mmhmm." Petra leaned back in her chair, folding her paws behind her head. Tail-tapping at the guitar riffs. "Anyway, thought you might have a big night in store with the Fibster?" Because Fib worked very early on weekday mornings, he could only stay up late on Fridays and Saturdays, so Petra knew that's when Meadow normally went out with him. "We're going to the movies and then getting ice cream," Meadow admitted. "Wild times," Petra quipped. "What you gonna see?" "Project Hail Mary." "Dunno what that is." "Mm." "What?" "It's just ... so hard to talk to you about stuff! You're, like ... counterculture or something." Petra laughed. "Cause I don't keep up on movies?" "Just your general vibe. Sometimes, you're like, um ... 'too cool for school,' you know?" Petra stroked her chin. "I am petty cool. Or, as June would say, 'wicked cool'. Us rats have 'bad boy' energy." "Even the girls?" "Especially the girls," Petra replied with a smirk. "Well, uh ... you're the only rat I know," was all Meadow could say to that. "I've known plenny of mice. Most o' you are goody-goods," Petra added. "We're ... we're smaller and less muscular than you. At the bottom of the prey totem pole," Meadow reasoned, holding to her own tail. "It's in our survival instinct to avoid conflict!" "What about them howler mice? The ones that eat scorpions?" "Well, there's exceptions to every rule. But harvest mice-" "Sleep in oversized tulips an' swing from licorice trees with their tails," Petra teased. "An' their address is somewhere on Candy Cane Lane. Right?" Meadow blushed. In truth, Meadow's 'wholesomeness' made her extra hot in Petra's eyes. Just so sweet and soft-spoken. So self- conscious and polite. If she was like this in public, what was she like in bed? Did she get feral and wild? What did she let Fib do to her? She was a total sub, wasn't she? She and Fib were going to fuck like crazy after their date tonight. No way they weren't. As the dominant rat pondered this, her thoughts (and eyes) wandered to Meadow's short, curvy build, and those big, rounded ears ... and the soulful blue eyes? And the tits, of course! Couldn't forget the tits. God, what a (regrettably straight) package. Mmf! Petra huffed, whipping out her phone as the front door opened and their first patient, a beaver, approached. Meadow took care of him. Petra shot off a quick text to Juniper: " ... k, you win, want mouse need mouse ... " Juniper responded almost immediately (as she often did), with: "right-o, babe! Operation Squeak is 'green flag emoji, race car emoji, egg emoji, weasel face emoji.' Petra shot back: "eye roll emoji" Saturday evening. "Pizza, pizza!" Juniper called as she barged through the front door, doing a silly 'pizza' dance while carrying two big cardboard boxes (with a smaller one atop them). Eagan scampered over to help, stripey wire-brush tail flagging. "Did you get breadsticks?" "Uh, do I look like a heathen? Of course I got breadsticks," the weasel confirmed. Once the food was spread out on the living room coffee table, Juniper gestured to the short rodent who was quietly shadowing her. "Oh, guys, this is Rosita! Rosita, this is my mate Eagan-" "Nice to meet you!" the chipmunk greeted with a friendly smile. Rosita waved shyly. "And that's my other mate Petra." The rat, who'd been watching from the open entrance to the short hall (which led to the bedrooms and bathroom), sauntered into the living room like an old-timey lawman. Squinting, paws on hips. Tail hovering like a whip. Rosita's eyes widened a bit, raising her pointy head (the rat was several inches taller). "Hey," Petra said simply. "Oh, uh ... hello! J-juniper's told me all about you," the mouse replied, extending a furless, pink paw to shake. Her whiskers twitched, nose incessantly sniffing. Petra took it (noting that Rosita's skin felt silky soft for a desert critter, let alone a waitress; what kind of moisturizer was she using?). Dressed in a 'crop tank top' that exposed her off-white midriff, the mouse's shirt was paired with ripped 'low rise' denim shorts. Showed off her legs. All the way down to those bare, pink paw-feet. Yeah, okay, she was a certified cutie. June did good. "Well, not ... not all about ... um, I guess," Rosita stammered when Petra didn't say anything. "But, y'know? Heh." The mouse twitched idly. "Yeahhhhh. I told her you only bite ninety percent of the time," Juniper said, giving her mate a cheeky side-grin. "And that you don't have the plague. Currently." "June's a regular court jester," was the rat's dry reply, grabbing for the weasel's ass. Juniper squealed and giggled, noodling away to plonk down onto the couch. She gestured at Rosita and patted the space beside her as she suddenly remembered, "Oh, wait, what about drinks?" "I got 'em!" Eagan said, emerging from the kitchen with soda cans, cooled from being in the fridge. The chipmunk opened one (a 'Dr. Pepper cream soda') and took a sip before rummaging for a breadstick, which he dunked into a cheese cup. "It's my turn to pick the game, remember!" Juniper said, reaching into a pizza box and chomping the end off a slice. Petra groaned. "Don't worry, it'll be fuuun!" Juniper insisted, catching the rat's expression. "That's what you said last time." "Hey, Luigi's Mansion 3 is a stone-cold modern classic! If there was a Gaming Louvre, it would be in it." "It's boring as hell." The rat, biting back a laugh, rolled her eyes and sat down on the other side of Rosita, grabbing some pizza and saying, "You have a character made completely of goo? Game should be X-rated. But no one even fu-" "I think Luigi is a virgin," Eagan said from the recliner. "Luigi, yeah. But Gooigi? No chance," Petra insisted. "Goo is inherently kinky. Always getting' into things." A scoff. "Any hole is a home for goo." Juniper, giggling, handed a pizza slice on a paper plate (plus, a can of soda) to Rosita. The spiny pocket mouse nodded a 'thank you' and began to eat. Ears blushing, she stayed out of the 'debate.' She wouldn't even know what to say! To Rosita, the weasel explained, "Petra chose 'Assassin's Creed' her last turn. Eagan picked 'Star Wars Outlaws'." "I'm ... I don't know much about gaming, honestly," the mouse said between nibbles. "Don't worry, you'll catch on quick!" Petra, while eating, sniffed at Rosita. She smelled super nice. Some kind of citrus? Mixed with flowers? The pocket mouse carefully nibbled on the edges of her pizza slice, occasionally stopping to swipe her whiskers clean. She only got a quarter of the way through the slice before putting it back on her plate. Wiping her paws on some paper towels, she reached for a breadstick. More nibbling. It was impossibly cute. Petra wondered if Rosita actually used her 'cheek pockets' or if they were a vestigial thing (like with Eagan; he sometimes stuffed his cheeks for show, but he never actually needed to). (On a lewder level, the rat imagined that anyone with cheek pouches could easily fit a whole draft horse in there. Or a rhinoceros? Yeah. Fuck. That'd be hot. Unfortunately, Petra didn't know anyone with a mega-dick-who wasn't straight- to put Eagan to the test.) What wasn't vestigial were the 'spines.' Rosita's head-fur, her back (toasty, sandy brown with some faint yellowish streaks)-the fur was 'spiky' there. It gave her a slightly unkempt, punk-like appearance which Petra wholly approved of. (The rat resisted the urge to touch her.) The 'spines' even ran to the tip of her long, ropy mouse tail. Juniper, a pizza crust hanging out of her mouth, bounded off the couch and to the TV, popping a disc into the player beneath it. Returning with a controller in her paws, she shook herself, getting all 'loosey goosey' and crunching down the rest of her crust. "Mmmm-kay," she drawled. "Get ready! It's 'go' time!" "Kirby Star Allies?" Petra groaned as the menu appeared. "Seriously? Isn't this all glitter an' rainbows?" "Thought you liked girly stuff," Juniper teased, choosing her player (naturally, she took 'Pink Kirby' for herself). Keenly aware of Rosita's swiveling ears, Petra chose not to respond (though 'only if I can fuck it' hovered on her tongue- tip). "Eagen and I will be Team One, and you and Rosita can be Team Two," Juniper said. The game had multi-player up to four, but ... well, they only had two controllers. So. "Teams will swap players at each new level. I'll start us out, Eagan." " ... 'kay," the chipmunk yawned, popping up the recliner's footrest and sprawling backward. Rosita held the other controller, biting her lip and looking to Petra. "I've, uh ... you go first, and I'll watch?" The rat took the controller and wriggled into a lazy, comfortable position, propping her foot-paws on the coffee table. This game may not have been her first (or last) choice, but was she going to mail it in? Hardly! Tails were about to be kicked. When Juniper started the level (Level 1 - Donut Dome!), Petra (playing as Blue Iceman) immediately tried attacking Pink Kirby. "We're on a joint mission in this game, Petra. You can't damage me," Juniper said calmly. "Just keepin' ya honest," the rat insisted. A deep beath, wriggling to get more comfortable. "So, where's the enemies, then? Bet I get more kills than you." "You don't have to kill to get points. Use your hearts." Pink Kirby produced a heart and threw it like a dagger at a running toadstool. It flailed and then 'turned good.' "See? I made a friend!" Happy stars swirled and trumpets sounded. "Yay!" "But I have a sizzle sword?" the rat insisted, swinging it (with neon colors and tingly sound effects). "Watch out for the flaming marshmallow! Behind you! He'll make you into a s'more!" the weasel warned. Petra jumped and deflected a fireball back at the marshmallow. "You sure that's not a donut hole?" "What? Psh. He's not a donut. Why would you even think that?" "Cause marshmallows are all ... what's the word ... Eagan?" "Cylindrical," the chipmunk supplied, taking a swig of soda. "Yeah, that. They're not round. This guy? Round as fuck." "Noooo. That's just how marshmallows are shaped in Dreamland. They're special marshmallows!" The rat snorted, deflecting more fireballs. "He's pure white, too. Pastries aren't white." "They are if they've been dunked in powdered sugar," Petra replied smartly. "And he's got chocolate arms and playing with fire? That's s'mores coded." "How do we know it's a boy?" Eagan wondered. "It's naked, but I don't see a-" "Donuts don't have sex. They're made in bakeries," Juniper explained, as if this were both common knowledge and a sane, normal thing to talk about. "But it's giving off 'boy' energy. A girl wouldn't randomly throw fire at you." "Eh," Petra went. She'd known a few crazies. "Alright, but I mean ... they'd say something first, right? Get in your face? This guy's a lurker. Classic malcontent." "Yeah, I'll give ya that." Petra finally destroyed the 'marshmallow/donut.' "The hell was he protectin'?" The rat walked 'Blue Iceman' toward a drawbridge. "That's the graham cracker castle! Where the s'mores live," Juniper said. "Just proves he wasn't a-" "This level is called 'Donut Land,' correct?" "Yeah ... " "So, where the hell are they?" "I'm sure there's donuts, um ... somewhere," Juniper reasoned. "Probably inside the castle?" She hadn't played this in a while, either. And she was being reminded why. "Donuts livin' in the s'mores castle? What kind of gooey lewdness they gettin' up to?" "Maybe they're hostages!" Eagan figured. "Maybe we're supposed to rescue them." "Alright. Let's go inside an' find out. I'll take point." The rat cackled, declaring, "The Jelly Donut king will bleed out grape jelly when I'm through with him!" "Why grape?" Juniper pressed. "Why not strawberry or raspberry?" "Cause it's rated 'E' for 'Everyone'?" "Why would you kill him if we think he might be a hostage?" was Eagan's follow-up. "To put him out of his misery," the rat replied. Juniper tried to wrestle back control of the gameplay by saying, "How 'bout we skip all that ... " "What do you mean?" "The ladder to the next level is right there ... see? Come on, let's go!" "What ... what's the point of havin' all this here, then?" "It's an open world game. Well, sorta. Open world but also mission-based?" Trying to make sense of that, Petra frowned. "I don't wanna leave points on the table. I play to win." "It's not a competition." "That's literally the definition of 'game', Slinky." "We're both working for the forces of good to protect the innocent souls on Planet Popstar," Juniper reminded. "I thought we were in Dreamland." "It's the same thing," the weasel insisted with a paw-wave. "Look, I'm leaving. Let's go." Petra grumbled. "Whatever ... " Pink Kirby floated to the top of ladder. "Come on, slowpoke!" Juniper chided. "I don't think it's fair you can float. What can my guy do? Give people frostbite?" Nonetheless, Blue Iceman climbed the ladder. Once there, Iceman and Kirby went through a door, then jumped on a trampoline to the stars, then teleported to a podium where their scores were tallied. "Why'd we have go through all that? Why not just tally the points at the top of the ladder?" "Cause it's more fun this way!" "Is it?" the rat wondered. Jolly music played and the avatars cheered as the scores were tabulated. "212 to ... 111?!" Petra huffed. "What? See! I was right about leavin' points! If you hadn't talked me into-" "Relax. Points don't matter, remember?" "If they didn't matter, the game wouldn't keep track. Also, why d'you get a 'number one champion' gold medal? Champion o' what? We just started." "That's just how the game works," Juniper insisted as Kirby primped and posed, making 'celebration' sounds and showing off his bling. The rat declared, "I defeated the fuckin' Michelin Man." "He was a marshmallow man," Juniper reminded patiently, "and turning enemies good is worth more points than offing them. I tried to tell you that! You should've stabbed him with your heart." "Then why's the game makin' a big show of givin' me weapons ... like that ultra-mega blizzard sword?" "I don't know ... it's ... uh ... " The weasel was stumped by that one. Instead of admitting it was (perhaps most certainly) an extremely silly game, she took a deep breath and said, "You're overthinking it. It's supposed to be fun! Anyway, our turn is up. Next is Level 2: Honey Hill. Eagan and Rosita!" Rosita gulped, exchanging a worried look with Eagan. Not just overwhelmed by the nonsensical gameplay but at how aggressive Petra and Juniper seemed toward each other! They ... how long had they been mates? "Aw, don't worry," the chipmunk gently reassured the mouse, having seen that look before (on more than one visitor). "That's normal for them. Tame, even. They're crazy about each other!" "Yeah, we're regular honeymooners, aren't we?" Petra said dryly, exchanging a look with Juniper. "Mmmh." Juniper leaned over Rosita's head and exchanged a lingering lip-kiss with the rat, groping her through her shirt, murmuring, "You're such a softie, Petra." "Not in front o' the mouse, June." The rat playfully pushed the weasel away. "You'll damage my reputation." "Heh heh." Rosita swallowed, eyes wide as Petra handed her the first controller. Juniper tossed the other to Eagan. "Let's gooooo!" the chipmunk cheered as they resumed play. Two hours later, as darkness dragged the world deeper into night, Rosita poked her head inside the bedroom. The spiny pocket mouse sniffed the air and looked over her shoulder. Whiskers twitched. Petra towered behind her, arms crossed. Waiting. "Go on ... if ya want," the rat said. The pizza eaten and game finished (she still wasn't sure who'd actually won?), the group had splintered into pairs. "I ... I didn't realize you shared your bed with Eagan?" Rosita said. Juniper was much more openly sexual with the rat than the chipmunk was! But her scent wasn't here. Eagan's was. "Yeah. He an' I were together b'fore we hooked up with June." Rosita slowly ventured inside. Petra, uncrossing her arms, followed and asked, "Can I shut the door?" The implications of the question were obvious, causing the pocket mouse to blush. Ears deeply pink, she cleared her throat. "Um ... s-sure? Yeah. Okay." The rat closed the door behind her. Rosita took a self-guided tour. The walls were a cool, relaxing blue. No curtains on the windows, but the glass was covered in rainbow window cling (to let light in but prevent outside peeping). The mouse stopped at the dresser, looking at a small fleet of model spaceships. "Star Wars?" "Trek. They're Eagan's. He digssssssss nerd stuff." "What, uh ... what does he do?" "For work? Remote tech support. Has a makeshift 'office' in the garage." "He seems really nice ... " "He's a peach," the rat quipped. Rosita went up to a vinyl player, squinting at the record on the turntable. "The Aces?" "Sapphic queens," Petra insisted, of her favorite queer group. She sidled up to the mouse and reached around her, starting the player and dropping the needle on the vinyl. A hiss, crackle, and pop before a song started playing. As Rosita listened (to a song called 'Gold Star Baby') Petra shifted behind the mouse, hugging her (lightly, gently) and sniffing at her head-fur. "Mmm. What's that fragrance? Been drivin' me crazy all night." "Um, uh ... it's c-cactus?" Rosita nodded. "Cactus flower." "Ah. Fancy," the rat mumbled, nibbling on the mouse's nape. Rosita's head lolled aside. "Where I'm from, it's pretty common." "An' where's that?" "Nevada. The, uh ... the town's called 'Caliente?' Um. It's small and sleepy but near a state park, so there's a lot to do. Very, like ... outdoorsy?" A sigh as the rat's nibbles started roving. "A h-high desert climate. Cool winters, blazing hot summers." An errant squeak. "Though I prefer dry heat to the humidity here." Petra eased up on the nibbles, (reluctantly) releasing the mouse so she could explore the rest of the room. Rosita, flushed all over, took a few steps, paused, and flipped through some comic books. Eagan's, no doubt. What in here belonged to Petra? Looking to the wall, she guessed, "You're a fan?" Petra, nodding at the pennants and flags, said, "Pacers an' Fever for life. You into sports?" "Casually? I mean, I get into the community spirit when something big's going on. Like the 500. Or when a team makes a run." "You're into the hoopla. Mm." A nod. "Me, I'm a diehard, live an' die. Mostly die," the rat mused. "But when they finally win a ring, it'll be worth it." "Heh. When's that gonna be?" "When we least expect it." "Is that how it goes?" "Mm-hmm. The best things normally sneak up on ya," the rat said, locking eyes with Rosita. The mouse smiled and blushed, averting her gaze. "So ... what brought you to the good ol' Hoosier State?" the rat asked. "My parents. They came here for dad's work. I tagged along. That was over a decade ago." The mouse didn't give her age, but Petra guessed that put Rosita in her late 20's or early 30's. She, herself, was 37. "I went to college for ... a year? And dropped out. I didn't have the money and didn't want to be saddled with loans." "I get ya. June an' I never went. Eagan did." Rosita, drifting to the center of the room, touched the edge of the bed, drawing invisible patterns on the comforter. "Juniper ... she said you wanted to meet me. That you ... that you like mice." The pocket mouse shyly wondered, "How come?" Petra approached the demure rodent, gently touching her cheek, lifting her chin. Looking into her brown eyes. "What's not to like?" she breathed. "Rats and mice don't, uh, always ... 'mix'." Petra shrugged. "I'm a rule-breaker." "Oh?" "Yeah, I'm scrappy," Petra insisted. "Rough an' tumble. Crude, even. I'm no 'fancy rat'." "Heh. I sorta guessed ... " "Mice can be-you can be-mmm ... delicate? I feel a strong 'urge' when I'm close to you. To both protect you ... an' make you do something a little bad." The rat strummed Rosita's whiskers with her thumb. "Maybe it's 'opposites attract'." "Maybe," Rosita whispered. " ... mm ... and when June said you were subby an' girly? That's-" A huff. "That's how I like my femmes." Rosita, tongue-tied, said nothing at first. When she'd collected herself, she replied, "The way she talks about you-Juniper- made me accept her invitation. Made me curious. Eagan's right. She's crazy about you, and I can ... I can see why: you're strong and unbothered. A fighter. Here I am, anxious and vulnerable, and ... I wish I could be like that." "Guess I'll need to rub off on ya?" "That, uh ... that's a possibility ... " "More than possible, cutie." The rat gently grabbed Rosita's ropy tail and started stroking it. Base to tip. Slowly, sensually. Rosita shivered. While touching her, the bigger rodent admitted, "I get bothered sometimes." A pause. "Like, I work with a mouse, yeah? She's a total treat, but she's straight ... it's got me super frustrated. I'm dyin' for a taste. Mmm ... well. Maybe a few tastes ... " Self-consciously, Rosita replied, "Most mice around here are prettier than me. Harvest mice, deer mice. Even the house mice." She looked at the floor. "All these ... spiny hairs, sticking up ... makes me look like I got perpetual bedhead. The full-body kind." "Nah, they give you personality. Attitude. Mmm ... maybe out West, you'd be a dime a dozen, but here?" Petra nosed one of Rosita's erogenous ears, whispering into it, "You're one of a kind." The pocket mouse shivered, looking back up. "Are ... you sure you're hungry? We ... we just ate." Although coy, she met Petra's eyes, leaning toward the rat. In her orbit. Unable (or unwilling) to resist her gravity. As she pulled the mouse onto the bed, Petra murmured, "Oh, I always leave room for dessert ... " "W-w ... wonder how it's going in there?" Eagan said (of the other bedroom), huffing and puffing, paws on Juniper's head as the weasel swallowed his dick. Over and over. Up and down, bobbing, twisting. "I can't ... ah, ah! Hear any noises ... " He thought he'd heard music, but maybe that was his imagination? They were in Juniper's room, with its pink walls and (what seemed like dozens) of colorful, smiling plushies. Juniper's moaned response was muffled by the thick rodent dick in her mouth, the vibrations making the chipmunk groan. (The translation: 'You prolly can't hear them cause you're louder!') "J-june ... June!" Eagan chipped desperately, proving her unspoken point. "C-careful, I'm! I'm!" The weasel popped off, leaving the chipmunk mere seconds away from losing it. Eagan gaped, eyes squeezing shut, body teetering on the edge of orgasm ... chest heaving, he somehow avoided it. Barely. His glistening shaft was twitching and dribbling, tingling from tip to base. His striped, brown and white head sank down into Juniper's pillows. "Oh, my ... g-gossshhh! Ahh, you're so devious at that ... " "At whaaaat?" Juniper teased, slinky sliding up his body. Naked. Paws landing on his chest, she stilted them against his frame, pushing off him for leverage as she straddled him. "Teasing," Eagan mumbled. "You're much easier to wind up than Petra," she said with a wink, tracing his lips with her clawed fingers. He lightly nibbled her digits with his buckteeth, eventually sucking on her paw. Giggling, showing her fangs, the weasel fully mounted her mate, paw drifting to her clit as she began to ride. Eagan chipped! Naked on the bed, the rat covered the mouse. Earthy brown on desert tan. Maws tilted and meshed, buckteeth clicking together before their tongues danced a wet, heated tango. Rosita gasped when the kiss broke, hugging her new lover, fingers curling in her back-fur. Petra gave her a smoldering look before drifting downward. Mouthing, nibbling on her neck, her shoulders. Her breasts. Suckling on both nipples. Rosita squeaked! The dainty, high-pitched noises fueled Petra's descent, shimmying further south. Kissing that soft, off-white belly, then prying those thighs apart with her furless paws. Pushing the mouse's legs wide. Muzzle diving between them. Rosita sucked air, paws scrabbling for something to hold to. They ended up on Petra's head. The rat hadn't been kidding about dessert. With hungry gusto, Petra dined on 'cactus flower.' Her tongue took deep-dives into the other rodent, scooping, licking, swirling. Jaw fitting right to her sex, allowing her jaw to move. "Mm. Mmm!" Rosita's head pressed back into a pillow, muzzle agape, buckteeth flashing and whiskers stiff. Her breasts heaved as Petra teased and licked at her clit. "Oh ... oh ... " The rat didn't stop until the mouse came. Trembling, eyes shut, the mouse twitched and whimpered. "Ohh!" Petra, whiskers glistening, panted heavily, propping herself up with her elbows and easing forward to cover the mouse again. "Mmm ... good?" she murmured in one of Rosita's dishy ears. "Y-yes ... " "That was just the first," Petra promised, squeezing one of the mouse's boobs. Rosita blushed. Petra grinned. That was unquestionably the biggest perk of playing with girls. Foreplay ended in orgasm? Great! Perfect! She could have more! She wanted more. Sex with a guy? You almost had to ration yourself. They lost it once and their desire typically took a dive. They needed time to recover, and it was hard to keep the mood going during the wait. The best ones pushed through it, but ... then there were guys like Apollo. (Wham-bam-thank you ma'am.) More nature's fault than theirs, but still. "W-what about you?" Rosita asked. "Don't worry about me. I'll get off eventually." Petra reached for the bedside stand, opening a drawer and pulled out a strap on. As if to remind the mouse who was in charge here, she said, "I'm gonna use this on ya." "Um ... s-sure. Mm. Okay ... " Rosita bit her lip as Petra rose up and put the toy around her loins. "How ... how big is it, exactly?" More importantly, "What is it?" "7-incher. Mustelid. Otter." Securing the strap on, Petra opened a tube of lube and applied it to the wobbling dildo. "The 'weasel' option was discontinued, but June's a mustelid? So. Yeah." A pause. "We tried equine, but it turns out even slinkies have their limits." The rat snorted. "You shoulda heard her curse when I rammed that bad boy in!" A smirk, admitting, "But I still have it. In case she 'misbehaves.' Heh heh." "Does she know that?" "Yuuuup," the rat replied with a mischievous wink. Tossing the lube aside, Petra got on her shins and knees between the mouse's legs, reaching down to guide the dildo in. "Lemme know if I'm bein' too rough with ya?" Mice weren't weasels. They weren't as flexible; much more delicate. "M'kay?" "Okay ... I'm r-ready," Rosita stammered, hooking her legs around the rat's waist as she guided the toy into her. Once she'd hilted the phallic toy in the mouse, Petra started moving her hips. Rolling, grinding, crashing their bodies together. She tried to go slow, but she enjoyed the sounds Rosita was making. The way her face contorted. So, she went faster. Faster! Harder! Staring at the ceiling through lidded eyes, Rosita squeaked! Squeaked! Uninterrupted high-pitched notes. Her breasts bouncing with each impact the stronger rodent delivered. Petra grabbed those tits. They were practically begging to be squeezed again! More squeaks! "Mmm, that's it, mousey ... want ratty to make ya cum? Huh? Do ya?" Squeak! "Do ya? Say it." "Y-y ... yes." "Louder." "Yes!" "Squeak for me!" SQUEAK! Rosita had her second orgasm, shaking, paws clenching, clutching at the bedsheets as she gaped and gasped, as her pussy clenched around the toy she'd been stuffed with. "Mmmmm, good girl," Petra cooed, easing up. She remained inside Rosita for another minute before pulling the strap on out of her and casually taking it off, making a show of sucking the juices off the wet, silicone shaft. Rosita watched, huffing, eyes widening. Then the rat inserted the toy into herself, hilting it, leaving it there, and flopping on her side beside the mouse. Rubbing her clit with one paw, the mouse hooked the other around the mouse, pulling their warm, naked bodies together. Fur meshing, lips finding each other again. Trading tawdry kisses before the rat lowered her head and sucked on those delicious tits. Rosita squeaked again, reaching down between the rat's legs and moving the dildo back and forth, in and out. The rat, still touching her clit, moaned with approval. They made out some more, clumsily rubbing, bumping, paw- humping. Anything they could do to help each other out. Until, finally, Petra chirped and squeaked, arching and convulsing as she came around the mouse-guided toy. Hard. Drooling on her pillow, her eyes rolled back and her buckteeth jutted. "Ha ... ahh, ah! AH!" Rosita almost got off a third time just watching Petra orgasm. The rat hugged the mouse, holding her close. "Hahhh ... " Rosita pulled the strap on out of Petra, dropping it on the sheets and gently stroking her body. "Mmmmm ... fuuuuck," Petra drawled. "Kiss me, babe." The mouse pressed her muzzle to the rat's. Petra suckled on her lips. Wet, loud smacks, followed by huffs of air. They laid there a minute, neither speaking. Their ears swiveled at the sound of the shower turning on in the hallway bathroom. "June an' Eagan must've finished 'fore we did," Petra observed. "We can shower when they're done." Rosita nodded, cheeks flushed. "You gettin' shy on me?" the rat cooed. "After all that?" "I can't help it ... " "An' that's why I love mice," Petra said, stealing another kiss. Monday morning, half-past-seven. "I can hear you, Petra," Juniper said evenly, without turning around. At the stove, the weasel was fixing her normal breakfast: eggs. But, today, she was making them 'sunny side up.' "But I was bein' stealthy," the brown rat pouted, breaking her silence. "Says you. Weasels have acute hearing." "Since when?" "Since always!" "Mm. Well. Good thing, I guess. Think of all the trouble you'd be in if I could sneak up on ya?" the rat replied playfully, coming up behind her mate, paws going to her hips. T-shirt and panties. Just like normal. She kissed her nape. "I'd turn those predator/prey tables so fast ... " "Oh? Heh." Juniper giggled excitedly, removing the frying pan from the burner (which she flipped off). Noodling around, she faced the rat and dreamily looked into her eyes. "You're in a good mood." "Same as always," she insisted. "No. You've got your mojo back. After you 'powered up' with that 'cactus flower'." Petra snerked. "Well ... it certainly didn't hurt." Sometimes, you just needed to bang a mouse! "I'm glad you liked her. We'll invite her back sometime," Juniper said, arms slipping around Petra's neck. Their noses touched. Whiskers brushed. "Mmhmm," the rat went, tilting her muzzle. Juniper kissed her. Petra kissed back, shuffling with the weasel across the kitchen. They eventually bumped into the fridge, knocking some magnets to the floor. Juniper twisted aside, panting for breath. "Petra ... " "June," she murmured, slipping a paw beneath the weasel's t- shirt (which was really hers ... again), fondling of Juniper's breasts. She hadn't put a bra on. Before things could go any further, a 'chippy' voice from the doorway: "Oh, boy! Can I help?" Petra looked over her shoulder, smirking at Eagen. "Double team the poor mustelid? At this hour? Her eggs will get cold." "I'll ... I'll reheat them!" Juniper insisted, impulsively raising her arms. Ripping her shirt off. "Hmm." Petra gestured for Eagan, who was already dropping his shorts. "Well, I was gonna have a pop tart for breakfast, myself, but ... " A sloppy, suckling kiss, whispering into one of those cutely acute ears, "A bit o' 'pop goes the weasel' sounds just as good."