FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It had become a sort of ritual for me. Every day on my commute home from work I’d stop by the same gas station. It was a large one, often filled with truckers. This particular station was popular for having the best cinnamon buns around and, the first time I stopped by, that was what I came for. That, and a chance to empty my bladder.

There was a big guy already at the urinals when I walked in, a bear by all definitions, and I hadn’t intended to perv on him, but… I mean, his hog was massive. With only two urinals, there was nothing I could do but take the spot next to him and, at that point, I literally couldn’t help but notice what he was packing. I know it was inappropriate but I honestly couldn’t suppress the: “woah!”

By the time I’d pulled my own dick through my fly, it was halfway hard. The big guy, who must have been seven foot and over three-hundred pounds, noticed me noticing. He threw his head back, laughed and patted his belly. He was still pissing and the motion made his mammoth dick bob up and down like crazy, spraying his pee all across the urinal. It was hard not to be jealous of the paint job it was getting.

When his stream reduced to a trickle he grabbed his dick, turned to me and shook off the excess. Droplets of his piss splattered my pants and my own, exposed dick, which was quickly reaching full mast.

“There you go, shrimp. Something to help you work out that little problem of yours.” He nodded toward my erect dick. “I’d have helped you out more if I hadn’t already drained my balls in a couple of other pipsqueaks today.”

With that, he zipped up and left. I took his advice, locking myself in a stall and working out my problem with a furious paw. I had to clean my spunk from the stall door before leaving.

Since then, I had come back every single weekday after work in hopes I’d see that bear again. Ideally on a day where his balls weren’t quite so empty. I’d had no luck on that front, neither the full balls nor seeing the same bear again, but that didn’t mean I’d had no luck at all.

I know, I’m a pervert, but these days I’d come in, head to the restroom and stand there with my dick out for as long as it took for another guy to come in and stand at the other urinal. Sometimes there’d already be somebody and I wouldn’t have to wait at all. Either way, I had become addicted to watching these trucker guys with beer bellies get their cocks out and piss.

I loved sneaking a peek at their dicks, no matter whether they were a dog with a fat sheath but barely a tip to show off, a pig with an average girth and length or a horse with, well, I’m sure you can imagine. I loved seeing dicks of all shapes, species and size, of all curvatures. I loved seeing their golden streams, some forceful, some nervous, all mouthwatering. I started to notice different ways guys would approach going, too: some would simply fish their dick through their fly like I was used to, but some would take out their balls as well, airing the heavy things and inevitably leaving me hard as hell where I stood. Even more wild, the occasional dude would bare his entire ass before taking a leak. It was hard not to whistle then. I enjoyed the show, but lacked their courage, though I had been inspired enough by all the amazing views I’d been given to at least start airing my balls while I stood there. It felt good, powerful even.

That said, I’d gotten skillful at hiding my intentions. I’d always make sure to start peeing when another guy got close so they wouldn’t suspect I was there for any reason other than the usual, and I’d do my absolute best not to make any comments or let my glances or side-eyed staring at their junk become too obvious. Then again, sometimes I wasn’t the one making comments.

Every few days there’d be a guy who’d make small talk with his hog out, I’d get lines like: “There’s no better place to drain the snake than on the road, right?” or even the occasional remark about how long it seemed I’d been going, “Damn, were you saving that up all day?”

I’m sure to these guys it was just dude-chat, but even a little conversation pretty much guaranteed I would be locked in a stall once they were gone and not leave until my balls were a little lighter. One time a middle-aged otter guy actually commented on my dick. He stood by me, whipped out his cock, then stared right at mine as he started pissing. I remember clearly that he whistled, actually whistled, and said: “You’ve not got a shy pecker there, do you, boy?”

Sure enough I was rock hard while peeing, balls out, on full display. I cleared my throat, but still managed to choke on my words. Being commented on like that was a huge turn on, but I was also half terrified he was going to call me out for being the voyeuristic pervert I am and get me barred from the gas stop. Lucky for me, that didn’t happen. Instead, the mature gentleman finished peeing, laughed heartily and patted my butt on the way out, saying: “get on home, boy. I bet there’s somebody you can’t wait to see.”

If only he knew it was him I was stroking my dick to seconds later in the stall.

I’d been at it so long, and so consistently that I had started to notice repeat customers. There was a Rottweiler I’d seen a few times, and a wolf too. Both of the canids’ dicks tended to stay almost entirely concealed in their sheaths, which was a shame, but didn’t stop me imagining what they were hiding, or enjoying the sight of their golden streams. There was a pig I’d seen a few times too, and a bear, though not the bear I had been waiting for.

I enjoyed the repeats, my fantasies about what I’d like to do with them becoming more involved and specific with every visit, but I didn’t think any of them would have been observant or suspicious enough to realize I was the very same mouse who’d been pissing in this gas station day after day, week after week beside them. I thought I’d been the only pervert paying enough attention to other men in the restroom to know who I had and hadn’t seen before. I was wrong.

It was the fourth time the dark-furred wolf had come in that it happened. He was one of my favourite repeats, he must’ve been six three at least, always wore a classic trucker cap and his tee-shirts never quite fit all the way over his big belly, leaving a little extra fur for me to gawk at when he was at the watering hole. His sheath was fat and he was one of the guys who always had his balls out when peeing. He made a real feast for the eyes and always had enough piss to keep me watching and make me thirsty. As he went on and on I would make a point of dragging out my own time at the urinals, unhurriedly shaking off the last drips of my stream until he was done.

The fourth time though, things were different. He came over as usual, stood at the urinal beside mine and fished out his cock and balls. Instead of only a bit of tip peeking out of his sheath, he was already half hard when he began to piss. His left paw held onto his sheath and I could see that he was stroking and squeezing himself as he went. The movements were subtle enough that I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t actively looking, but they were there. My eyes must have gone wide, or maybe my surprise made me turn my head without thinking, I don’t know, but whatever I had done to give myself away, he was onto me.

He craned his neck to stare directly at me. His stream had stopped. He was holding it in.

“You think I don’t notice you in here peeking at my dick every week?” His voice was deep, graveled by a lifetime of cigarettes and alcohol.

My own stream cut short, out of nervousness more than anything. I stammered. “S-sorry dude. I-I wasn’t-”

“No damn way you weren’t,” he said. For a moment I was scared he’d hit me. I’d misjudged that too. “If you like my piss so much then get down and drink it, slut.”

My eyes had definitely gone wide by then. “Wait, r-really?”

“Now, gay boy.”

I looked around, excited, scared and nervous all at once.

“You’re serious.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dumb pisswhore.”

He set a paw on my shoulder and pushed down. I lowered myself to my knees and gingerly pushed my muzzle towards his crotch. He didn’t like waiting. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in, grinding my nose against his sheath, giving me a heady whiff of his musk mixed in with the strong, alluring scent of his piss. I was so stunned I barely knew what to do other than go cross-eyed with lust. He practically had to open my muzzle for me and shove in his half-hard length before opening the floodgates and using me like a living urinal.

His stream was tangy and warm and came faster than expected into my unpracticed muzzle. I swallowed it by the mouthful, but couldn’t help dribbling some of it down my chin as the stuff overflowed my maw. From there it dripped onto my shirt, staining my clothes in the wolf’s piss.

It was all so sudden, unexpected and exciting, but it was over before I knew it. He pulled out and shook the last drips of his pee across my face and muzzle. He was rock hard, and I was about to swallow him down again and try to earn a different liquid treat from his thick wolf cock when, in spite of his hardness, he shoved me back and tucked his dick into his pants. Its outline left an obvious, throbbing bulge.

“Stupid cocksucking mouse. If you’re here again next week you’ll get a full bladder’s worth.” He said it like a threat. I interpreted it as an invitation. I nodded. “No use wasting piss on these old urinals now they’ve got a third one installed.”

With that he walked away, leaving me with my dick out, chin and shirt part-soaked in piss, kneeling on the restroom floor.

Next week couldn’t come soon enough.