FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Arnika stretched her arms up and rolled her head along the shoulders, working out the last few kinks in her muscles from her vigorous morning regimen. The last kinks? Yeah, right, she thought with a smirk, then reached down to scratch through a persistent itchy spot within the bare fur along her breasts; the fox’s claws scraped, scratched, and knocked along the semi-solid, flaky crusts that had developed there, so many different loads from so many different animals, across so many different days, well worn into her pelt so that she could barely turn her body without feeling some of this second skin crack. At this rate I’m picking up at least two new ones on the daily. Oh, well; can’t ever say I lead a boring life.

Her legs were still a bit wobbly from her morning routine; she stretched one out where she sat along the bed, stretching her toes out, pushing until the muscles trembled… and then noticed a few bits of hay caught between her pawpads, and reached down to pick those out. As she did so she caught a whiff of her own scent once again, by this point so deeply embroiled within everything else that it was actually a surprise, and took a moment to enjoy it: she kept a note on her phone of when the last time she bathed was, and just two weeks ago had finally broken her record of the longest time gone without.

This kind of counts as something else entirely, though… Arnika straightened up, stretched her arms over her head again, and then for good measure stretched her other leg out and reached for that footpaw as well, the vixen’s thick, plump black-fleshed spade squishing wetly into the mattress underneath her, where her constant arousal had already slicked the fabric over in a coating of sticky warmth. The sticky moisture endlessly dribbling out of her today smelled more of horse than anything else, a rich, pleasant, familiar aroma; the last thing she had done before turning in for bed the previous night was receive a full load of it about her face and shoulders, which had contributed to most of the crust that she now felt tickling at her chin.

There was just something about those stoic, powerful beasts out in the stables, just a quick jaunt along the pathway outside the house here. Upon her first arrival at the ranch earlier in the month Arnika had neglected to pack any clothing, and so far she had never once wished she had done otherwise: there was a strange, enticing exhiliration in waking up, throwing the covers back, and then just stepping out into the pleasant warmth of midmorning, in feeling the rays of the sun trickling through her bare fur, and the soft breeze curling its fingers across her cum-crusted breasts, her scratched and scarred hips, in between her legs where it tingled at the fat flesh of her hanging sex, which by now more often stuck to one leg or the other with its coating of slime than hung free and jiggled with her step.

But last night’s visit to the horse stables had done remarkably little to quench her thirst, which of course had done nothing but grow in the weeks since she had arranged with the ranch’s owners for her visit. Arnika had gone out of her way to wear as much of that stallions’ seed in her fur as she could, even keeping the blankets halfway down her body when she slept to allow it to dry into her pelt; then earlier this morning when she had walked that familiar path, the excitement and anticipation still just as sharp, just as intoxicating as her first time ever doing something like this, she had felt that dried crust crack and snap and flake, revealing new spots in her fur to fill in across the course of this day as well.

Already she felt heavier, for more than just the constant wombful of feral seed she made sure to carry inside of her. At the actual end of the night, in the span of time between the horses and her bed, she had hopped a few fences and made her way over to the pigsty, and waited there for one of the boars to notice her presence. Plenty of eye candy to keep me occupied, she thought now while she worked, recalling the way she had worked her entire paw into her spade again and again while watching the boars’ huge balls sagging across their hindlegs, not even needing to spit on her fingers first for the way the previous stallion’s load had dribbled out of her. Surely enough, one of the boars soon smelled her, came on over, and then it was little issue for her to drop to all fours and hike her tail again, letting his impressive weight squish her into the grass while he pounded her fast and hard and deep, and then-

-deposited his cum plug inside… s_uch a great fucking idea. Go get nice and filled up, have one of the pigs glue the other animals’ mess in place…_ Where normally she made sure to push it all out over a bowl or bucket so she could then recycle the day-old, discolored mess within with her fur, well mixed with her own slickness and juices, last night’s had unfortunately dissolved when she was in the stables this morning; I got too excited. Normally I bring a bucket in for the horses anyway...

Nose digging straight into unwashed stallion sheath, lungs filling with the rich, acrid-sweet grassy scent, lips smearing with thick, gunky sludge, she had felt the gummy plug stir within her walls, then shift, slip, and finally roll free, and even squeezing as much as she could, there was little she could do to keep the flow in. The scent had assaulted her nostrils even where she had buried her muzzle a good two inches inside of dense, velvety-wet sheath folds, but at least this allowed her the silver lining of being able to fill herself back up once she had worked the stallion to his full arousal-

And then a ping from one of her devices brought her back to the present, full fist shoved past the wrist inside her plump, stinking spade, discolored juices oozing out and coating her fur in what she knew from experience would soon become another crusty, flaky skin just like the one spattered across her breasts. The vixen blinked, shivered, and slopped that paw out of herself, thick ropes hanging between knuckles and spade, and looked across her setup: laptop pushed off to one corner of the bed, a few cameras on tripods and resting on the nearby desk all pointed towards her naked body, standing microphone hovering a short distance away.

She licked her lips, swallowed, and lifted her paw up towards her muzzle, spreading her fingers to inspect the sheen of clinging slime that hung between. She felt as though she had just plunged her fist into a bucket of lube left to warm in the sun for four days – and when she brought that mess to her nose and took a sniff, it made even her wrinkle her nose and chuckle. Horse for sure, she thought, with some of the boar’s as well, and then a bit of whatever was left over from the day before… and that delicious, spicy fishy stink as well, that’s all me… she clamped that paw around her nose and took a whiff deep enough that her head spun, then idly wiped it off on her leg and turned back to getting everything set up.

Already she missed the sensation of the stallion’s full flare punching out inside of her, tugging at the inner walls of her womb and sex, then flopping free when she gave the slightest push and tug. I really gotta see about ordering that toy, she thought, scooting over to open a new browser window on her laptop. Use it as a plug when I can’t get a boar to glue me shut. Just shove it on in there and fall asleep with it in… ah, but, then that misses out on the best part: the fucking stink…

Every now and then when she curled a lip or squinted in working through her setup – despite how long she had been doing it, a few parts of this whole streaming thing still evaded her every now and then; not that she was bad with technology, but rather more the interfaces and user systems could just be so senselessly obfuscated – Arnika caught another lungful of that same rich, cool acrid punch that she had dug out from in between the stallion’s sheath wrinkles. All across her shoulders, her chest, her belly, and particularly her thighs and between her legs, the various coatings of feral emissions had tinted her normally snow-white fur to a dull, muted, discolored yellowish-brown, faintly glutinous orange in some spots, thicker syrup-tan in others; meanwhile all about her muzzle, her lips, her nostrils, the white fur had smeared to a thick, chunky brownish-black, peeling off in thick, translucent flakes the same way the buildup along the horses’ sheaths did after a week or so left untended.

On the days she did not have any streams scheduled – it could be hard to balance her main passion and income from these live, adult features, either on her own or beneath, behind, in front of, whatever, any of the various animals available to collaborate with her on this ranch, alongside her other, tamer streams where she played games like any other – she quite enjoyed dragging a bucket or four out into the stables, setting a pillow down in one of the stalls, and focusing on the equines’ undercarriage, both for her own sake and for theirs. Careful tending with lip and tongue and nose, following the beast’s natural cycles in stirring, dropping, and then sheathing again, peeling the built-up gunk free between her lips and pushing it into the back corner of her mouth, suckling across it, feeling the crusted edges gradually congeal and hydrate into a thick, sticky, slimy goo, still adding to it as she continued swirling her tongue in between folds, nudging it into the little nozzle space between the horse’s urethra and the blunted end of its head, digging out whatever had gathered there… about half of it went straight into her mouth, and she made sure to smear the other half between her legs as well.

“There we… go…”

One last check from all her cameras, flicking through the view feeds, ensuring the microphone was running, and then Arnika sat up again… and once more had to lean precariously to one side so that she could peel the squishy, slimy mass of her spade from the soaked bedsheets underneath her. Those, too, had gone without washing since her arrival: sometimes when she climbed in after a full day she could hear them crackle and snap like a thin riverbank of shale.

Arnika tilted her head, scrunched her lip up against her nose to once more refresh the thick, tacky aroma of horse sheath in her lungs, then sprawled back and ran that paw right down between her legs again. The longer she had spent on the ranch, the more constant her arousal had become until, by this point, it felt as though she were always in heat: the vixen spread her fingers around the huge mass of her sex, her paw far from able to cup the entirety of her volume in her paw, and then quite easily plunged all four fingers into the silky velvet slickness inside. Another sweet, electric shiver rocketed up her back; she bit her lip, took in a breath – I suppose after getting all this set up, she thought, I deserve a bit of a break – and then dug in deeper, burying to the knuckles, then slid back out again, only to squelch in one more time…

But just before she could slip into a steady rhythm, her ears perked and flicked to the side, to the familiar tip-tapping of bare feral dog claws along the wooden floor further down the hall. Already knowing what to expect, the vixen turned her body and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then scooted forward far enough that the hefty meaty of her spade sagged down and off that edge; she smirked, shifted a little bit, slid her paw into the damp, humid, sticky span between sex and bedsheet, and peeled herself forward so that the rest of her mass could easily hang down.

With her other paw she reached for her phone, then tapped the screen to unlock it. A quick whistle and then that tapping picked up in pace; “Here, boy. C’mere.”

The German shepherd mix turned the corner into the bedroom, ears perked, tail wagging, heavy sheath and full balls jiggling underneath him, and without needing any further instruction he closed the distance to his owner, hopped up – Arnika gasped as his blunted claws caught her legs – and began vigorously, blindly thrusting into the air right in front of her.

“Good boy,” she cooed, holding her phone off to one side so that she could continue looking through her missed messages. Without looking she ran her other across the feral’s shoulders, up along his back, and then from there across the side of his barrel chest and underneath, feeling his ribs, his muscles, his belly… the hot, slick, wet warmth of his tapered tip as it shot forward from within his sheath, trying to find its mark, then finally settling when she rolled her fingers around it. “That’s a good boy. Keep going. I’ve got plans with Mulligan tonight, and I can’t have you interrupting my shoot again… not that it’s not fun, it’s just that it gets a little too complicated for the stream, and…”

And she trailed off as the whole of his length emerged across her fingerpads, smearing the already caked, gunky skin in fresh, salty wetness. Already Arnika’s mouth watered, her nose tingling with the faint familiar scent: like that classic wet dog smell, she thought, nostrils flaring as she drew it in, with a little bit of an extra metallic bite to it… she cupped her paw around him, squeezed forefinger to thumb and brought her other fingers around, and for a while just let him thrust away at her, the surprisingly firm flesh of his growing cock pressing into her paw, the quick, liquid sprays of his pre jetting directly across her presented spade, her inner thighs, her lower belly.

Then again she purred, “good boy,” and lifted up into the ongoing sprays. She tilted her hips this way and that, slid her paw further back along his sheath until the loose, supple skin folded back further, gripped behind the slight bulge of his unswollen knot, gingerly rubbed there. “Gimme what you got. All over. All over. Ooh, you’ve been staying hydrated, haven’t you?…”

Again she tapped at her phone, swiping to the next screen, and then slid down a little bit further, bracing the middle of her back against the edge of the bed. It was so, so tempting to spread her legs, wrap them around the shepherd mix’s powerful haunches, and yank him into her, where he could thrust and bury himself deep and fill her up with his knot and his seed, but – I want him ON me, Arnika reminded herself. Again she bit her lip, finally closed her phone and rested it face-down on the bed, then tugged behind his knot until she felt him jerk, and buck, and shudder, and arch his back; and then throb, throb, throb, and those quick, focused spurts of his seed sprayed across her waiting chest and belly, for her to then wipe them in. Gradually, bit by bit, she felt the gathered crust there begin to soften underneath the ongoing dousing, the scent of the feral dog’s arousal wafting up around her; she rolled her head back, soaked in the aroma, spread her legs further…

...slid down just a little bit further, nudged his squirting tip right up into the crest of her spade, flicked and wiggled and jiggled it back and forth, teased him just slightly in, and then finally released him, to let his twitching, throbbing, bouncing cock rest along the protruding mass of her sex. I can ball my fist and hold it next to it, she thought, peering underneath as she did so, and my fucking pussy is still a little bit bigger… God, I’m so glad that I left all my clothes at home. Can’t fucking stand trying to mash all of this meat into a pair of pants – God forbid underwear. Although… damn, I really should have brought some and just kept them stuffed inside me…

She reached for her phone again, grimaced, wiped some of the wetness from her fingers, tapped the screen on again.

And let… the animals fuck and fill me up with it still inside… and then taken it out afterwards and… okay. Got that one noted down. Next time the ranch is open…

“Okay. Good boy. That’s a good boy.” Gently she nudged at the shepherd’s shoulder, his back still arched and haunches thrusting down into the air on the downhill of his finish. His tongue lolled out, his tail wagged, his still fully hard cock bounced underneath him; Arnika rolled against one of his legs until he lifted and replaced it, and then the vixen smoothly dropped down to the floor – her dripping sex had oozed its ongoing load into a foggy puddle now soaking into the carpet – and reached over to tilt the good boy’s length towards her breasts. “Come on. I know you’ve still got some left in you…”

A few stray spurts splashed across the screen of her phone, and when she tried to wipe it off on her fur all she succeeded in doing was smear them around. The fox grimaced again, rolled her eyes, sighed – then slid the tip of the feral’s cock between her lips and held it there, so that she could use both paws to wipe her screen clean. Spurt after spraying jet of loose, salty liquid squirted across her tongue, mixing with her saliva, gradually pooling within her mouth; she flicked her tongue gently around that tip, careful not to press too hard – she knew precisely how sensitive her dogs were – and then sighed again, took in another breath of the stink of his cock straight from the source, and leaned in until her lips mashed against the full, firm, fist-sized lump of his knot. From there she drank down the mouthful he had given her, took in another breath through the corners of her opened mouth, suckled and swallowed again, and then pulled herself out from underneath him.

“Okay. Good boy. I gotta go find Mulligan, though. Good job painting me, though; this’ll do a good job of soaking in… and…” And she got lost watching the ongoing bounces of the shepherd’s thick cock, lifting up towards his belly as he squirted the very last of his load across the already soaked edge of the bed, knot receding, shaft gradually drawing back into his sheath. And I should go get a bowl for it, just like the buckets with the horses…

This time when Arnika rose to her footpaws, she was pleased to find that her legs wobbled only a little bit from her morning’s exercises. She had to reach back and lift her midsection up first, after so many times trying to roll forward and just squishing her huge, fat spade into the ground first, and then even so on her way out of the room and down the hall she had to reach down and slip her paw in between hanging sex and moistened thigh, to peel the glistening, slippery wet meat away from crusted fur. Little bits of sludgy, muddy black rubbed off along her yellow-tinted fur; she brought those chunks to her muzzle, sniffed at them, grimaced, tasted them… and still could not tell if that was leftover gunk dug out of the stallion’s sheath and smeared in place, or her own production. She smirked, clutching her phone in her other paw.

All smells the same by now… Arnika bucked her shoulder against the threshold into the living room and held herself there, lifting a leg so that she could scoop her cupped fingers into the crevice between spade and thigh, and dug out a bit more of that built-up greasy gunk. She squished and spread it between her fingers, sniffed again, continued on her way, and had wiped it across her maw like lipstick by the time she had made it into the kitchen, where its rich, acrid, fishy-ammonia scent kept her constant arousal tingling at a pleasant heat.

“Let’s see…”

As she reached up for the cupboards the vixen had to glance over towards the sink, which on her first day here she had noticed stood at just the perfect height where she could come over, stand up on her tiptoes, scoop her spade up from underneath, and plop the slimy wet meat onto the edge, where the pressure of its own weight would peel her lips suitably far enough open that she could then just piss straight into the sink itself. She paused where she stood, considering this now as she could feel the familiar urgency stirring inside of her… but then tilted her head, scoffed, and looked back into the cupboard.

“Good to save that,” she muttered to herself, with another swipe of the back of her paw right across her sex. Thick, sticky ropes of slickness pulled free and dribbled down her fingers; she rested her phone face-down on the counter, to keep from smearing the screen again. “The fans quite like to see some squirting. That’ll be good – for-” Arnika lifted up onto her tiptoes, stuck one leg out, braced a paw against the edge of the counter, reached up further. “-filling the bowl, too – and-”

Between the clattering of dishware up in the cupboard and her own grunts of exertion the vixen did not hear the same tip-tapping of claws across the kitchen’s tile floor. The canine muzzle suddenly lifting up between her partially spread legs, flat snout squishing smoothly into the lips of her spade, sent a twitch of surprise shivering through her body; she gasped, wobbled, and then moved to rest her weight back down, which just squished herself further down onto the feral’s digging snout. The snuffling of eager, hungry breath puffed across her again and again, tickling at constantly sensitive meat, catching in the dripping ropes of mucus and slime and slickness and everything else; then the feral drew back a little bit, lapped at his chops, and continued up to do the same to her as well.

As much as she enjoyed being the one to service the animals, there was just something about sloppy, sticky wet dog tongue between her thighs that ignited her flame like nothing else. Arnika shivered again, back arching, shoulders hunching, and bent forward towards the counter, the plump meat of her sex protruding out and down between her legs; this time she heard the tapping of those toeclaws as the dog padded backwards to maintain a good angle, gladly slopping his tongue across her presented flesh. Then against, and around as well, digging into that same musky, humid, dank crevice along her leg, then lifting up so his nose nudged into the puckered wrinkles of her tailhole and she could feel the shape of his jaw resting within her folds, then down to dig inside, scooping out the curls of slime, bearing the mixed scent and taste of vixen, and stallion, and boar, and dog, out on his own tongue-

Arnika shuddered again, one paw clasping the counter, the other scrabbling for her phone. Shakily she turned it on, swiped to the camera, held it between her legs and angled up, thumb just barely managing to catch the record button.

“Mulligan-” Another gasp, another shiver, and she pushed her hind end back further, spade bouncing, jiggling, shaking with each deep lick inside. “Be – careful, you’re – gonna make me- ah-”

Her legs shook, her tail swished, her spade jiggled… her bladder released, flowing forth in a few quick, messy sprays barely making their way out from within the deep, thick folds of slippery silky meat, then growing and solidifying into an ongoing stream spewing out of her, spraying with each lick, breaking around the mutt’s tongue each time it plunged up into her. Arnika gasped and moaned again and again, struggling to keep her flow in even as she desired to give it all up: with her phone held between her legs, some of that warmth splattered across her paw, and she felt it cut along her legs and dribble down her ankles.

“Ah… you… haah…”

Bit by bit the vixen continued to rest her weight down against the eager mutt’s muzzle, other paw sliding down from the counter to angle the fat meat of her spade back further for him. This change in angle helped to spread her lips further open, allowing her stream to spray more directly into his maw; her ears perked backwards to the sloppy slurping and clacking of his teeth as he drank down her mark, which she knew today would be little more than reprocessed horse piss from her time in the stables this morning and last night both. It could be a bit difficult to get down, but once in her belly, the heat and velvety weight of it just accentuated her arousal from inside; and then afterwards, once it was on the way out…

Shaky-legged, the vixen squeezed a bit harder, pushed out the rest of what she carried within her bladder, then promptly dropped down to her knees and turned around, making sure to rest the bowl on the floor in between the two of them. Mulligan took a pair of half-steps back, broad tongue flicking across his chops to lap up the dribbling yellow; Arnika swallowed, rested her phone against one of the cabinets at what she hoped was a good angle, then leaned in, threw her arms around the dog’s shoulders, opened her maw – and invited him to continue that licking across her face, her lips, her cheeks… the roof of her mouth, the back of her teeth, the root of her tongue.

Hot, thick, humid feral canine breath puffed into her throat, his smooth, tacky saliva easily overpowering her own; and sure enough she could taste her mark within his drool as well, still carrying some of that rich, grassy tang from the horse’s that it used to be. Arnika swallowed, then had to do so again through the stickiness coating her throat; she pushed her tongue forward, swirled it around his, clamped her lips down to suck some of the flavor free from around it, opened her jaws again.

“Good boy…” she panted, still holding her mouth open. From here she lifted up to all fours, one paw bracing against the floor for support, the other remaining on his shoulder. “Good boy. That’s a… good boy… c’mon, now, why don’t… you…”

And he was just as eager as the shepherd from earlier, responding even before the vixen had slipped her paw down between his hindlegs. Plump, hefty balls spread out across the tile floor, skin and thin fur dampened with her spilled piss; she rolled her fingers underneath them, bounced them into her palm, then continued up and pinched right at the lip of his sheath, and that was all he needed in order to get going.

The dog’s breaths within Arnika’s mouth became quick and urgent, and she nearly fell forward as his hind end hoisted up so that he could thrust into her paw. “Good boy,” she murmured again, turning her paw so that his cock slid out within her fingers; “good boy…” and then once she felt him slip fully out of his sheath, slippery wet slickness spurting free, she drew back, turned herself around, lifted her tail-

-and then gasped, grunted, gasped again… moaned when he finally found his mark, forepaws clamping around the already scarred slashes along her hips, full length sinking deep. Every time he thrust forward into her Arnika heard the wet, sloppy squelch of her spade sucking around him, his sheath mashing into her, those hefty balls swinging underneath to briefly stick to her piss-soaked meat. She craned her head back, closed her eyes, and let her body rock beneath his urgent, aggressive motion, the dog’s muzzle pressing underneath one arm where he kept his head bent; grunting, moaning, Arnika reached shakily out for her phone and placed it in what was certainly a better spot, eyeing it as long as she could before the pleasure won out again.

The rich, powerful intimacy, the aggressive shared pleasure, the pure, raw, power of Mulligan’s feral figure ramming in against her, the contours of his cock swelling within the walls of her spade, the bulge of his knot teasing at her lips, slipping in, then sliding back out again and again… one of her knees bumped against the rim of the bowl, with a thick, wet slosh of whatever it had caught slopping across her fur a moment later. Good, she thought, I’m actually getting something… and then once more her mind went blank beneath the onslaught of sensation, reprocessed equine piss sizzling across her tongue, her lungs full of dog breath, her lower abdomen tingling with the feral pounding of the beast on top of and behind her.

Mulligan shifted his grip, adjusted his stance, brought his head around to her other side, and scraped at her hips again in trying to pull himself forward. She loved the sound of his breath in her ear, the feral’s eager, urgent panting and growling tingling at the back of her neck, the sensation of him inside her, the knowledge of this being a feral animal pumping into her, squeezing at her hips, thrusting deep…

...holding her in place, bucking, bucking again – filling her spade as his knot swelled out, giving a few more quick thrusts, locking himself deep, and then faintly, distantly within her well-stretched and well-used walls, spurting his load, spray after spray deep inside. Arnika swallowed, squeezed around him, pushed, then reached underneath to slop four fingers into place alongside him, working the loose, silky lips of her spade back and forth right there at the edge of her own peak.

I… gotta… She glanced over at her phone again and swallowed again, refreshing the taste of dog drool and her own piss in her mouth. I’ll let him… stay for a bit. Until my – knees get sore, from this… damn tile. Get him nice and filled up on water, then wait maybe… thirty minutes… and then we can move into the bedroom since I still gotta hit today’s scheduled stream, and…

And when she dropped her paw back down it clattered against the edge of the bowl again. Dazed, satisfied, still hungry, Arnika’s eyes flashed open; she reached down for it, grabbed it, slid it carefully out from underneath her, and felt her heart skip a beat upon seeing just how much of the loose, foggy, frothy slime that had dribbled out from her coupling with the dog and filled it.

And I’ll upload a special video of pouring this across myself and rubbing it in. Oh – God, it fucking stinks. I might be able to cum just from that… She tugged forward, felt Mulligan shiver and whine on top of her, then pushed back to reseat the lips of her sex around the root of his knot. “Good boy, good boy, keep filling me up…”

God, I fucking love my job.