FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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A gryphon winds his way down a cobblestone footpath bearing both a green plastic watering can and a bemused frown. The garden belonging to Frysco's apartment complex is a depressing sight even on the most radiant of days. As it is presently, with the sunlight waning and a chill wind encroaching, Frysco can hardly stand to set paw in the dismal place. The gryphon had just returned home from a hectic and draining day of work as well. His wings are sore. His mind is tired and yet he managed to force himself off of the couch in order to tend to his plants. Or, more accurately, he compelled himself to once again putter about above the mound of dirt where he had planted his seeds and act as though he had some idea of what he ought to be doing to give them life.

Frysco has, to his knowledge, never successfully planted and raised a single organism. In fact he has a vague recollection of clawing up his grandmother's garden as a child in an ill-conceived attempt to mimic the pruning he had seen her doing. He and plant life simply do not get along and yet here he is bending over a patch of 'something-somethings' that he planted a week ago. He can't remember what his nana had called them and he definitely can't understand why she thought her grandson would suddenly be interested in taking up gardening as a hobby. Perhaps she was strapped for birthday present ideas. Frysco wouldn't doubt that she had thrown a random selection of her many self-made seed packets into a bag and used her maternal charms to guilt him into overlooking her clearly fudged gift. This was his theory and in any case it worked. Frysco caved and planted the seeds. He had been lucky enough to stumble onto his apartment's terribly unkempt garden not long after receiving his nana's seeds and decided that it would be as good a place as any to plant them.

It surprised Frysco to learn that the apartment building he has lived in for over two years has its own garden. The surprise dwindled as soon as he stepped onto its fast food clutter and its brittle grass. The place is secluded. It probably gets enough sunlight to support plants, but the garden itself is surrounded by trees and is only accessible through the distant corner of the building's parking lot. 'Whatever,' Frysco thought, 'I'll text her a picture when it buds and then I'll leave it to die. Or maybe I'll put it out of our misery.'

"Yeah. Still nothing." Frysco grumbles, prodding the lifeless dirt. 'It's got something to do with dirt right? Nutrients or something? Hell I have no clue.' The gryphon absently recalls that he had lugged a heavy watering can with him for a reason and drizzles the soil patch. The ground is parched and soaks up his water hungrily. It stares back at Frysco then, refusing to support his plants or clue him in to the methods that might coerce it to do so. The grimace on Frysco's weary face deepens and his wings flutter sharply as they often do when he is frustrated.

"Plants are stupid." He says. Standing, he makes a point of stomping the mound of wet dirt as if to show it who's boss. Frysco turns on his heel and, suddenly feeling the weight of the day, sulks toward his apartment building. "I wish I could make -something- grow. Feels kind of pathetic. I mean you just put water on 'em and then they grow right? What am I doing wronggg--" Frysco's beak closes slowly when he learns that he has been caught mumbling to himself once again. 'Ugh... crap.'

There is a dog in the parking lot. The male, a bull terrier, walks casually toward Frysco. He approaches from the direction of the dead end of the parking lot which houses only the dumpsters. Where could he have come from? No cars had passed and the only other path in that direction is heavily wooded over. The dog wears a mildly ruddy pair of jeans and a white t-shirt which is nearly invisible on his white torso. He walks with an amicable gait, but Frysco soon averts his eyes in his shame and continues on his path which will cross the dog's momentarily.

"Hey, bud. Doing some gardening?" The bull terrier says in a velvety voice. Frysco winces.

"Uhhh, hey." He says, failing to act casually "Yeah just checking on the old seeds. Heh." The gryphon rubs the back of his neck and allows his gaze to wander back to the dog's face. At close proximity though he learns that the dog's eyes are completely black. He stares for a second while the dog is distracted by the garden, but soon looks away. He appears to be otherwise normal. Handsome features, an intelligent face, and the modest height inherent to his breed. He doesn't appear to be one of the creepy hobos that are not at all uncommon in the neighborhood. 'Maybe a trick of the light. Uggh, so creepy.' Frysco thinks.

"It's too bad about this garden. Nothing can thrive here. Almost nothing. It's the soil y'know. It's completely kicked." The dog says, turning to face Frysco. "Grant." He extends a hand and Frysco shakes it merely out of courtesy.

"Hi."

"Hey have you heard of the Mguthi blossom?" Grant says. He is animated suddenly with an exuberance that makes Frysco feel even more drained.

"No? Some kind of African plant?"

"Not quite. It's an amazing organism. With one watering and a little ritual it can spring to life in minutes. After that well it practically takes care of itself." Grant says, digging into his pants pocket.

"That's... impossible." Frysco says, turning to head toward his building. The dog retrieves the item he had been searching for and thrusts it toward the gryphon before he can turn his shoulder.

"Here!" He says. Frysco turns with a sigh to find in the dog's palm a chestnut-sized bulb of some kind. It is black or nearly-black. It's difficult to tell with the light so dim. The surface of it is irregular and if Frysco's eyes weren't deceiving him. The thing appears to be pulsing.

"Oh god. What is that thing?" Frysco says recoiling.

"A Mguthi bulb. Here it's yours. You're desperate to make something grow right? I can see it on your face." The dog tosses the bulb toward Frysco who absentmindedly catches the thing instead of allowing it to drop like he meant to. He was correct, the bulb is pulsing rhythmically. The heft and motion of it summon the disturbing image of a demon's black heart. Frysco grimaces at his hand and finds that the bulb is oozing forth a creamy black substance.

"Gross it's slimy."

"That's a good sign. That means it likes you. Mguthis are very intuitive. Anyone can raise these monsters, but they have a way of showing their affection for the gardeners they deem worthy." Grant says. His expression is indescribable and Frysco can barely stand to look in his creepy eyes. 'So he is a freaking creep,'

"Ooookay" Frysco says. Complacency is the only thing keeping him from returning to his home. He allows himself to be dragged back to his dirt mount by the animated dog.

"Come on, trust me. You'll get a kick out of this. You can text your grandma a pic and be done with it."

Frysco whips his face toward the dog. How did he know about his plan?

"You were talking to yourself remember?" Grant says, with a knowing grin.

'Ohhh right. Did I say that too?' Frysco says, shaking his head. Perhaps he did, he can't even remember. Grant bends over and digs a sizable hole and Frysco soon crouches beside him.

"So what do I do with it?" The gryphon says distantly.

"Same thing you do with most seeds: throw it in the dirt."

Frysco tosses the bulb into the hole carelessly and then covers it with the displaced soil.

"Here's your watering can. Go ahead and give it a drizzle." Grant says. He licks his chops while handing Frysco the can. The gryphon does as asked.

"Oh hey. Nothing happened." Frysco says dryly. His patience is wearing thin.

"You didn't say the magic words, bud. Repeat after me: 'Mguthi essa d'in grattho'." Grant hisses the incantation expertly.

"'Mguthi essa d'in grattho?' Dude this is ridiculous. I'm going home." Frysco says, finally turning to leave. Grant watches him go. Just as Frysco is about to step out of the garden he hears the dog call out.

"But don't you want to see what you've created?" Frysco bristles in frustration before turning to give Grant a piece of his mind.

"Listen I've had a long day. All I want to do is uh- is..." Frysco's words die in his throat when he sees Grant standing some distance apart from a small writhing patch of black that has broken through the soil. It looks like time-lapse footage of a plant growing with its unnatural twitching and sudden spasms. The gryphon is immediately repulsed by the sight of the spooky dog crouched and grinning with childish glee as the unnatural looking plant gropes its way into existence. Yet he can't look away. He stumbles to join Grant and begins to make out the squelching of the rapidly maturing plant and its long, tentacle-like vines.

"Wha- what the hell is this?" Frysco says. He knows a sudden, deep regret. He allowed himself to be coerced into creating this horrifying thing.

"It's your plant Frysco. A strong, healthy specimen too. Still incomplete, but that'll be rectified soon enough." Grant says this with finality. Had Frysco told the dog his name?

"I, no. No this is not right." Frysco says, his beak hanging open. He finds himself shuddering. The plant is massive now. It is a nightmare version of the gigantic, stinky jungle flowers he used to see in biology textbooks with its thick, waxy petals. The flower part of the plant seems to sit atop an impenetrably black mass of writing vines which at this point are thicker than the gryphon's arms and seems to be coated in the same slime that had rubbed off on his hand. "How are you doing this?" Frysco looks around for a camera crew or a set of levers and pulleys. Surely he is being pranked. He prays that he is being pranked.

"How am I doing what?" The dog's voice is deeper now "You're the one who planted it."

Frysco is frozen in fear. 'Grant and the plant he forced on me are wrong. This can't be real.' He steps back from the sinister, towering plant. If he ran could he get away? Is the plant mobile?

"Where are you going?" Grant whispers in Frysco's ear. He had teleported to stand behind the gryphon in a literal blink of the eye. He also has a firm grip of Frysco's shoulders. "Don't you want to complete your creation?" With this Grant shoves. Frysco screeches and tumbles toward the Mguthi blossom which reacts instantly to his approach.

"Auuuugh! No!" Frysco rolls onto his back just in time to see the plants many vines springing to life. They creak in the air unnaturally for a moment before snapping toward the gryphon who can only kick and claw at them in pure panic. The plant has far more appendages than Frysco realized. A slimy tendril winds itself around his thrashing angle and when the first has found its mark the others set to work binding and molesting him as well. Frysco attempts to muscle the vines away manually, but his wrists are soon caught and restrained by the vines. Firmly caught now Frysco becomes aware of the inky slime that the vines are oozing onto him. He finds also that the plant is pulling him toward its central mass.

Craning his neck toward Grant Frysco screams "Help! Please! Why are you doing this to me?! What did I do?"

"I wouldn't shout if I were you--"

"Can anybody hear me? Helll-gllp" A vine, smaller than the others, had stealthily made its way toward the gryphon's face and, while he was crying for help, thrust itself into his beak and down his throat.

"Oops, there it goes. I told you that these are smart plants. You might have been able to keep your beak, but the Mguthi knows to shut up the unappreciative early."

"Hnnngg, Unng!" Frysco pulls at the vine In his beak to no avail. It had slid down his throat with its slipperiness and the gryphon is fairly sure it is depositing something into his stomach. Presumably the same goo that is steadily consuming his limbs. He'd gag if he could. The goo extremely sticky. His hands, now fully coated, are useless black mitts with his fingers stuck together. And still he is drawn toward the body of the plant. Its huge waxen petals shudder in anticipation. The vines lift Frysco into the air and expertly manipulate him. His arms are forced to his sides and once there the goo covering his forearms ensures that they become immovable. His legs are in a similar situation. A particularly burly vine arrives and roughly works its way under Frysco's clothes. It bursts through his pants first and then his shirt leaving him nude except for the goo of course which coats his limbs and sides. The plant moves in a mechanical way, like a venus fly trap. Hardwired by nature to capture victims in its own dreadful way.

Frysco screams into the tentacle blocking his throat as the plant sets him feet first within its receptacle; that writing mass between its petals. He sinks, held erect by the vines, until he is sure that he ought to have hit the dirt beneath. He sinks to about his knees and the gooey mire is forbids him from pulling his legs free. Of course the dozens of vines would only pull him right back in regardless.

"Ah beautiful. This is my favorite part." Grant says, approaching the plant which is uninterested in the dog's presence. Frysco writhes, tugging at his shoulders and chomping on the mouth vine. He makes no purchase and shoots Grant a glare charged with every bit of his malice, fear, and desperation. Grant smiles a wicked grin and waves. The plant is changing tack. The vines have ceased their groping leaving Frysco as the plant's muted, nude prisoner. Now the petals are coming to life. Their waxiness is not purposeless it seems as they are now gushing forth a copious amount of inky goo. They rise and slowly catch Frysco in an embrace.

"Mmmmn! Nnng." The substance spreads quickly now. The petals undulate and bath the gryphon. Frysco first notices a numbness. As the stuff spreads it mollifies. It is not long before Frysco can barely summon the energy to twitch. The ooze invades his body in a number of disturbing ways. It finds its way into his exposed anus and once within forms some kind of apparatus. It tickles the male's interior g-spot steadily and relentlessly. This would be pleasurable, circumstances aside, if the gryphon's penis and testicles weren't affected also. A mound-shaped shell has formed around his privates. Within it his cock is messaged and teased, but due to some affect of the ooze it never seems to approach climax. And climax ought to have been fast-approaching with the anal vine's forced pleasure. Yet, to Frysco's immense frustration, he is unable to climax.

Frysco can see Grant between the huge petals standing tauntingly over him. The gryphon thrashes his neck helplessly before the spreading stuff forbids the motion. He wants to shout, he wants to move, but the plant has designs for him that do not permit his agency.

The goo builds thickly when it reaches Frysco's head. It squeezes his neck and presses on his skull with just enough pressure to ensure that Frysco cannot move without being painful to him. "Nnng! Hmmm--" The gryphon's beak is coated and held firmly shut as the vine retracts itself. His beak is then coated in no less than an inch of the plant's residue ensuring that anyone farther than a foot from the plant will not hear the pitiful groans emanating from within. His ears consumed Frysco is left with only the sound of his frantic breathing and the disturbing squelches of the plant's motions. It ought to be plain now what Frysco's fate is to be. Frysco looks up at the twilit sky pleadingly before his eyes are coated as well. His final sight is of Grant. The evil dog bends over the plant to give Frysco a black-eyed glare that would have scared him senseless were he not awash in existential terror already. Frysco's head is consumed. Grant stands back to appreciate the giant flower. It removes its petals from its prey finally. Frysco has been hybridized with the plant and stands erect in its center as a shiny pistil.

'No, no, no. Come on.' Frysco thinks. He is completely cut off from the outside world. His only sensation within the Mguthi is relentless tension. His cock is harder than it has ever been and he wants so sorely to get off, but he can't. Already this is more troubling to the gryphon than his complete sensory deprivation. He can't shake the anal vine free. It is planted firmly and keeps him constantly at the edge of orgasm. 'Please, help me.'

"I know you can't hear me in there, but you look amazing. I'm not sure I've seen a synchronization like this before. The merging works best when the person is willing. You know in their home dimension there's a group of perverts who do this for fun? My kind of people." Grant's voice rings in Frysco's mind. The sound of his taunting voice is almost a respite from the utter silence Frysco is subjected to.

'What's happening? What is it doing to me?' Frysco thinks.

"You are something like a battery for it. You may have noticed the huge tentacle in your ass? The Mguthi is going to keep you nice and excited and will continue to sap that pent up energy from you for its own sustenance. It won't allow you to sleep though. Trust me this will be full time job." Grant explains this with no hint of remorse. "Well, you finally made something grow. For the first and last time I suppose. Have a good life in there Frysco."

"Wait is that what this is about? What?! No, you can't leave me in here."

Frysco is met with silence. He is met with silence that chills and lasts. His senses are useless except for touch, which the plant happily takes advantage of. After minutes or weeks pass, Frysco lost track of time almost immediately in his disoriented and addled state, the gryphon begins to wonder why no one has noticed the plant or tried to save him. Could they? Is he even recognizable as a person to the outside world? He has no way of knowing of course. Frysco feels like the apocalypse could happen and the plant would still be titillating him and thriving off of his excitement. Another several years or hours pass and Frysco thinks 'Please... just let me cum.' He groans softly, his beak vibrating its hardy, rubbery coating.