FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Fynn cleared his throat and tried to hold himself as though he were still looking out the bus’s window. The hyena had left the ranch so early in the morning that the streetlights were still on; the first three stops closer to the outskirts of town had been empty as well, though the fourth had borne a single passenger who, for whatever reason, had taken the far seat directly across the aisle from where he sat.

And as she had swept along, the somewhat older bat striding with such purpose and confidence that it seemed as though she were floating, Fynn had been unable to look away – both from her presence and from her clothing, smooth soft sweats flowing along the angles of her legs, woven poncho draped over her shoulders and hanging around her neck… with, very obviously, nothing underneath. She had lifted a hand to steady herself along the back of the seat in front of her, paying seemingly no mind to how this lifted her poncho up and away from her bare chest. Mostly flat belly, pouched over a little bit with her age also showing in the silvering of her otherwise black fur and slightly wrinkling skin, and then even flatter chest, not the slightest hint of breast lifting out where her nipples should be.

Until, that was, Fynn had let his eyes drift up towards her lifted underarm. Her tall ears brushing against the roof of the bus, the leaf of her nose, the quick, sharp eyes flicking this way and that, the slightly hunched posture from bent legs; I guess, the hyena found himself thinking, regular bats have their boobs in – their pits? Not quite nestled among tufted fur, trimmed but certainly not shaved bushing out right from underneath the crook of her arm, but visible along her side just underneath, breast and nipple poking tauntingly out from the fur surrounding it. The bat had sidled her way into her seat, sat down, then brushed her poncho further down along herself.

That had been two stops ago, and still nobody else had entered the bus. Fynn glanced over at her again, wondering if he might be able to catch another glimpse before either of them left, then back out the window again. Then back to her again, and out the window, and-

And his ear flicked, heart skipping a beat a moment after he realized the two had just made eye contact. Fynn swallowed, fingers digging into his knees; he took in a breath, held it, sighed back out, and then slowly, nonchalantly, swung his gaze back over towards where the bat sat… and sure enough saw her facing him, one arm lifted up over the back of her seat with her poncho spread, wings folded, sharp eyes appraising him.

She looked up towards the front of the bus, then back towards Fynn again. And then with that lifted arm she crooked a finger, and with a quick nod beckoned him over. Fynn moved before he could have a chance to think twice, nearly stumbling over where he had shoved his bag underneath the seat, then almost tripping again on his way into the aisle; the cushion creaked as he settled in respectable distance away from her, only for that arm to come forward and drape around his shoulders.

Her poncho held in the heat of her body, and her scent as well: she smelled faintly of wet stone and rich moss, as though she had just spent the night out camping in the woods. Fynn swallowed, unsure what to do or say; I suppose I could start with ‘hello’. Actually, I’m – not even sure this is a woman. I guess I’ve just… never really seen a bat up close before, and I – she – he? – she…

“Honey,” she purred, her voice low and soft, “didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to stare?”

Once again his ears perked. Long, dangerous talons tapped in at his shoulder; he hoped that she would not be able to tell how his pants were growing steadily tighter. “Um – sorry, I just – I…”

“You could have at least said something, you know.” Her other hand came over and brushed across his; Fynn jerked it away, but the bat continued forward to take his wrist in her long fingers. Her touch was surprisingly cool, given the humid heat that wafted out from beneath her wing. “There’s no such thing as a bad question. ‘Ma’am,’ you could try, ‘may I touch them, please?’”

“Um-” Now that he was right next to her, he found that the hardest thing in the world might have been to turn his head and actually look at her. “I wasn’t-”

But she continued for him, shifting her grip to his wrist, bringing him up… sliding his spread paw underneath the front of her poncho. There he felt that soft belly, loose skin and faint muscle; thick fur thinning out around her wrinkles, tightening the further up her body she led him; and then the flat chest indeed, the shape of her sternum, the spread of muscles and bone underneath, yet not the slightest hint of breast.

Only then did Fynn realize that she had let go of his wrist, and now he led his own exploration. His embarrassment nearly led him to yank his paw away again, but as though sensing his trepidation the bat returned to his guidance, a soft smirk lifting the corners of her lips.

“Not there, dear,” she cooed, and started to drag his fingers around to her side. The further she went, the warmer, the wetter, the air became; Fynn’s fingers dug directly up into that thick puff of fur underneath her arm, dank with sweat, before the bat guided him further down. His fingerpads brushed across her bare nipple, and she gasped softly; then he spread his fingers, slid across it more softly, nudged it in between, rubbed… and that wing tightened around his shoulders to pull him in closer.

“Right… there…”

She lifted her arm around him, and already the hyena knew what she expected. His own arm still reaching across her body, now he nuzzled down to bury himself beneath her lifted poncho, lungs filling with her scent; he had to scoot back a little bit to reach, running his pursed lips across her fur, trying to find the spot on this side of her body – and then finally coming to his target, where she twitched and sighed again. With her nipple right here on the side of her chest, slightly down beneath her lifted arm, when he pursed his lips forward and sucked it gently into his maw, his nose nestled up into the curled puff of fur just beneath her arm; he sucked, swallowed, sighed, then drew in another breath, rich and salty with the aroma of her sweat.

“There you go, sweetheart…” she purred, once more settling her arm around him. Fynn shivered, his eyes fluttering shut, his tail swaying, as she cloaked him beneath her wing and poncho both, drawing him closer, holding him against her as he rubbed one nipple and suckled at the other. “Come on. Don’t be shy. Why don’t you… let mommy…”

Fynn jumped and sucked in a gasp, nostrils tingling with the spice of her sweat, when her hand draped across his inner thigh. On instinct he spread his legs and scooted closer, then straightened up a bit; lips pursed, tongue swirling around and around, he nudged forward to allow her easier access to the fly of his pants, then sighed a soft moan out when she popped the button and pulled the zipper. Lanky fingers scooped inside, felt his growing bulge, squeezed, massaged, stroked through the fabric; he ran the edges of his teeth alongside her nipple, drew back to catch his breath, then dove in again, pressing the flat of his tongue up against her, circling around, sucking his own drool back into his mouth, nose lifting up underneath her arm.

“Good boy… sit back and… relax…”

The angle proved to be a little bit awkward, his muzzle shoved up beneath her arm while she reached over with her other, but with his eyes closed Fynn could at least ignore how it looked. Those fingers wrapped around his hard cock and slowly yet deftly pumped him, teasing at the rim of his foreskin, rolling it back, squeezing along him, then sliding forward again, for her to gently pinch the wrinkled overhang between her knuckles. Again and again she did so, sliding the supple skin across his sensitive head; his eyes rolled up beneath closed eyelids, the hyena lost somewhere in bliss with his nose in her armpit, his mouth around her breast, and his shaft in her hand, hips rocking with her steady stroking.

“You’re doing well,” she went on, wing tightening around him. The bus slowed at another stop, brakes hissing, door following a moment later; Fynn squirmed to lift his head up, but instead the bat just once again squeezed him down into place. “No, no. Don’t worry, dear. Nobody can see. Just keep on going… just… keep on…”

And then in another moment the bus shifted back into motion, just as the bat continued stroking. Back and forth, following the movement of his hips, fingers pressing down into his own bush and then lifting up again, skin rolling; before long Fynn drifted off from his suckling and instead just kept his lips braced on her breast and his nose buried in her sweat-damp fur, panting, grunting, moaning gently.

“Feels good?”

“Mm…” He swallowed, then flicked his tongue across her nipple again. “Uh huh…”

“You wanna cum for me?”

His heart fluttered. Once more he pressed his lips in around her, resuming the initial soft swirls of his tongue across her nipple. “Mhmm…”

“Wanna cum for mommy? I can feel it coming. Let me know when. Not too loud, now…”

But there was nearly nothing he could do. The rest of the bus forgotten – he had no idea how many passengers, if any, had come on at that last stop – Fynn thrust up into her hand, pulled away from her breast, and now fully buried his snout into the thick, curled, slick fur underneath her arm, drawing her scent in through nostrils and mouth both, sighing back out so that his breath wafted around him. He pursed his lips, drew that wiry fur into his maw, slurped and ran his tongue through the coils so that the saltiness of sweat spread within his mouth; he moaned out, then did so again, each one coming tenser, tighter, more urgent-

-until he tightened his arm around the bat’s body, his fingers still squeezing around her opposite breast. “Ah-” He swallowed, shivered, tensed up as much as he could. “Hah-”

“There you go,” she cooed. A few more quick, fervent strokes, following the pace of his bucks, pressing down into his hips – and then she drew all the way up, rolling his foreskin across her fingers, bunching it up so that the wrinkles overlapped into his overhang, and finally pinched those folds together to keep them shut. “There you go. Good boy. Good boy. Let it all go… let me see how much you’ve got, dear…”

Fynn dug his muzzle as firmly as he could underneath her arm, breathing so deep that his head swam with her scent – and bucked, and bucked again, and jerked, the thick, slick heat of his load squirting out around him, caught and held in place where she had pinched his foreskin shut. Again and again he unloaded, filling his own hood further to where he could feel the skin peeling away from her head underneath, all the while the bat continued to gently rub his sensitive skin against itself between her fingers.

“Ooh,” she purred; with great effort Fynn pulled himself out from underneath her arm, the fur of his muzzle dank and matted, his vision foggy, his head still swimming. He swallowed and could still taste her. “That was a good one. Are you feeling okay?”

Vaguely Fynn nodded. “Uh huh…”

“Good. Good boy. I’ve got four more stops, which should be just enough time…”

Blearily he blinked, and looked up at her. Still she kept his slowly softening cock pinched in place. “Uuh?”

The bat chuckled, shifted to exchange the pinch to her other hand already draped around his shoulder, and then with her freed hand once again grasped his wrist. Dazed, exhausted, deeply satisfied, Fynn just let her guide him in towards her body again – and then froze when she dropped him to her lap, where he could feel down one leg of her pants the twitching bulge of what to have been her own length.

“Be a dear and return the favor, would you?”