FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Sam never liked the attic much. Ever since he was a child the old room atop the stairs had occupied a queer, dark space in his imagination. Everything about it seemed to represent all that was old and neglected. He didn't like the stale, dusty air, the broken rays of sunlight that streamed through the windows, or the eerie, twisted shadows they cast. It was a strange, forbidden place, full of secrets and darkness. And things lurked in that darkness, he knew. Things that clawed and scratched in the middle of the night.

Now much older and much more rational, he became somewhat braver in his budding manhood, forgetting the nightmares that once haunted his childhood.These days it made a good place to smoke pot and jerk off, but he never stayed long ... something about it just gave him the creeps. And yet, here he was. Call it morbid curiosity or disturbed fascination, but one miserable day, the arctic white fennec found himself wandering the attic with an empty head and a playful want for mischief.

He spent an hour or so perusing through old trunks and dusty photo albums, maneuvering through the clutter and found nothing. Throughout the years, the attic had became an unofficial storage area for all his family's excess junk. His grandma's old clock towered in a corner; It hadn't rang for years. His uncle's plastic Santa Clause stood among a pile of moldy boxes, smiling at him with its half melted face. All this junk made Sam think of the tide rolling in with the pull of the moon and the garbage that drifted to shore with it, or maybe a black hole whose gravitational pull drew all things unwanted and damaged to its heart.

About ready to give up, Sam sighed and opened one last trunk -- and paused. He had found something...

To Sam they seemed like any other pair of jeans. He considered them curiously... deep navy blue with bright yellow stitching, a shiny copper looking button and a zipper. He ran his paw down one pant leg, letting it slide through his fingers. The material was soft, worn slightly at the knees from many years of use, carrying a slight hint of dust and stagnation and no distinguishable logo or brand name of any kind. The only possible identifying mark was the eerie symbol of an eye stamped onto the button. He had never seen a logo like that and as an avid shopper of clothes, it hurt Sam's ego slightly to come across a brand he didn't instantly recognize. But, despite that, they were, in short, pants. Completely commonplace and totally unremarkable.

Still... There was something fascinating about them.They had an old charm, something rustic and familiar, like cowboys riding horses down a dusty valley, trail blazers cracking whips and firing powerful handguns. No... that didn't seemed right... these were party pants, he decided. These had seen the insides of groovy clubs in the sixties, a time of bell bottoms, psychedelic flowers and enormous hair. These were the pants of free love and rebellion ... Maybe they were all these things.

Sam giggled at his own silly fantasies and before he knew it he was wondering how his butt would look in them. They're old but... that just means they're vintage. He looked around the empty attic, glancing at the trap door, ears straining to listen for any signs of activity from downstairs.

He was completely alone.

Feeling a little devilish, he stood up, unbuckled his own pants, and let them fall to the floor. He stepped back and held out his new treasure before him. The strange eye symbol stared and he inexplicably stared back. For just an instant he thought he caught a whiff of something, something hiding deep under the lingering funk of dust and neglect, something foul and decaying. He furrowed his brow and, burying his face right in the pant's crotch, he inhaled deeply.

Nothing. Just the smell of old fabric. Then it dawned on him he was standing in his parent's attic wearing nothing but a shirt and his underwear. He quickly bent down, lifted his right leg and slipped it in first, followed by the other. The material glided up his legs with almost no resistance, hugging his calves, his thighs. It felt cool, not quite damp but unusually chilled. He brushed it off. They had been up here a long time after all. Then the zipper went up and the button snapped into place. He smiled satisfactorily, pivoting on the balls of his feet, admiring the way the pants outlined the shapely contours of his legs. They were--he squirmed uncomfortably--a little tight. He cupped his noticeable bulge ... and maybe a little more slutty than he usually wore but... he strode over to an old full length mirror and admired himself.

He looked damn hot.

*

Sam shivered in the cold night wind, bouncing impatiently on his feet. Where the hell is the bus! Did I miss it? He checked his phone yet again. His ears drooped. He imagined his friends screaming and cursing his name. He sighed, ran his paws up his thighs, and lamented that he wouldn't get to show off his new pants. Katy's look of envy had been his most treasured fantasy for the past ten, lonely minutes. Now it was all but a fading dream...

"Fag."

Sam's ear perked up and he looked around.

"Hello?"

The street was deserted. A cool autumn breeze blew a tumbling ball of newspaper down the sidewalk. He watched it for a second before turning to glance down the alleyway behind him. Nothing but garbage and an old dumpster. What was that voice? He wondered...

Just then the bus came rumbling around the corner. Sam's big, fennec ears jumped and a smile lit up his face. He could have squealed with joy!

The bus came to a stop before him, all boxy and ugly, and with a great hiss of air, it descended to the ground, the doors opening with a creak. The driver was an aged bulldog with a grizzled face and sad drooping eyes. Sam stepped onto the bus and smiled at the driver but received only cold indifference. Frowning, he dropped his tokens into the toll and sat near the back and waited as the bus drove forward with a lurch.

Sam looked around, nervously thumping his foot. He hated riding the bus. It smelled, the seats were uncomfortable, and freaks tended to migrate here like it was some kind of convention. But he was alone tonight. Small miracles, he thought, absentmindedly tugging at his crotch.

"Fag."

"Huh?" He jumped and looked around the empty bus, feeling indignant. Had someone just called him a -

Pop!

Sam looked down. The button on his jeans had come undone. Furrowing his brow, he refastened it.

As he watched the buildings and streetlights lazily fly by, his mind began to wander. He thought of the coming party--Danny with her long blond hair bouncing as she danced, Katie making sassy remarks loud, booming music, cheap alcohol ... and maybe even Keith Sanders. That thought brought a smirk to his face. Keith Sanders had been the subject of some of his more dirty fantasies lately. He and the luscious cougar had never really interacted much save for a drunken, sloppy makeout session at Danny's last party. Keith had been cute, shy, and inexperienced, confessing he liked more effeminate guys before trying to choke Sam with his tongue. The thought made his cock twitch. He shifted uncomfortably, tugging at his crotch. He swallowed. His mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed again. He was starting to get hard. His glanced down at his crotch, watching as his swelling cock crawled along his thigh, straining against his jeans. He winced and gave himself a light squeeze, wishing it was Keith's paw groping him.

"Faggot."

That voice again. Sam glared, ears dropping. The bus was empty. It couldn't have been the driver, he was too far, and the voice too close. "Alright," he hissed. "Who's saying that?"

Pop!

He looked down. That damn button again. He fumbled with it for as second before--

"What the..."

He watched in confusion as his zipper slowly lowered itself, exposing his blue and white striped briefs. He tried tugging the zipper back up, only to find it snagged on a piece of material. Shit Shit shit! He quickly refastened the button and it popped open an instant later. Sam started to panic. Fuck I ... I can't get my pants closed! He was hard--uncomfortably hard. A strong urge, like an itch deep deep in his pelvis, began to build. He told himself he mustn't but he couldn't help it. He gave his cock a good, satisfying flex and his enlarged manhood pushed the jean-flap aside and sprung up, stretching his underwear into a long, thick tent.

He sat there for a moment in disbelief. Alright, he calmly told himself, I'm sitting on a bus ... I can't get my pants closed and my dick is out... what the fuck do I do? Good thing I'm the only one here. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if someone saw him like this. For a moment he imagined himself caught, arrested, his name put down on secret lists, his life ruined forever.

His heart stopped dead in chest. As he watched, his shoelaces quivered and began to move of their own accord. He sat up straight, looked to his left, then his right, searching for some explanation to this sudden insanity. When he looked back his shoes had untied themselves--he cried out when they suddenly leaped from his feet. Before he could do anything, his socks began to slide off as well, pulling and pulling until they came away, slithering across the floor like cotton snakes.

That smell again; the stink of something damp and decaying. It polluted the air, filling the bus with a horrible reek. Sam clamped his muzzle shut and tried not to gag on the stink. Then he glanced down and saw something that made his blood run cold...The button had changed into a real eye, the zipper's copper teeth had become sharp and pointed. The eye looked at with an insane hunger and the fly twisted into a demented smile. Sam wanted to scream but terror had paralyzed his voice.

The fly grinned a little wider and the pants started climbing down his thighs, revealing his smooth creamy white fur. Farther and farther they went, bunching up around his feet, before sliding off to join his socks. Only when his shirt began to slide up his back did Sam begin to truly panic. He jumped to his feet and waved his arms--which became much more difficult as his shirt climbed higher up his body. He called out for the bus driver to help, but the bus driver simply stared ahead and continued driving. Why couldn't he hear him? He shouted again, more desperately, but the driver didn't seem to hear, as though he were on the other side of some impassable membrane.

Sam's shirt flew off his arms and fell to the floor. The fox stood there in nothing but his underwear, erection poking out in front of him. Then a sudden irresistible force pulled him down. He slammed back onto the seat, arms flailing behind him. Some of the inaudible murmuring had turned to loud, mocking laughter. The eye was staring at his underwear now, eyeing it dangerously.

"Please don't..." He pleaded. Sam made an attempt to hold onto his waistband but it easily slipped free of his weak, shaking fingers. His cock sprang free off his underwear, bouncing lightly. His last article of clothing soon joined the rest under the seat in front of him and Sam was left completely naked.

The shame, the cold terrible shame. The laughter became uproarious. Sam pressed his hands against his ears, trying to drown out the sound. He hugged himself and began to sob quietly.

This ... this isn't happening! This is a nightmare!

He gasped. What felt like icy fingers poked at his erection. The laughter returned and Sam's blush deepened. Silently he watched as his penis was pulled down and bounced several times to the amusement of his invisible audience. A tiny glistening string of cum flung up on the final spring, splashing the seat in front of him. He bit his lip and stifled a moan. Never had two feeling conflicted so strongly inside him. His body trembled with need and horror; his heart pounded in terror but also hot, sick desire. It took all he had not to just reach out and --

"No..." As if reading his mind, the fingers abandoned his cock and gently took hold of his wrist. Though Sam tried to fight it, he soon found his hand pulled towards his groin and closed around his needy shaft. Sam moaned and, despite himself, bucked into his closed fist. "Wait..." he said quietly, "Don't..." The invisible hand began to pump his wrist up and down. It was forcing him to jerk off!

Images of Keith Sanders flooded his mind. Sam imagined the athletic cougar crawling on top of him, gently batting his paw away and torturing him with long, fluid strokes. He could feel his climax coming. The feeling began to build, climbing high and higher.

He arched his hips and came hard with a loud satisfied moan. Thick strings of pearly white fluid streaked up his stomach, splashing his chin, his face, even in his mouth a little. He collapsed into his seat, panting heavily.

Just like that it was over. The voices had gone silent and the eye was a button once more. Shaking his head, his buried his face into his palms. He felt strangely groggy, as though he had woken up from a deep sleep. The warm afterglow of his orgasm had already started to fade and a creeping sense of horror was quickly taking its place.

The bus came to a slow stop. Sam stared down, horrified at his naked, cum streaked body. He reached down to grab his clothes and for a moment he was afraid they would simply jump away from his hands but he was able to put them on--even the dreaded pants--with no resistance.

I have to get off this fucking bus! I need to get home!

Feeling disgusted and ashamed, he walked with his head down and went for the door. The bus driver suddenly reached out and seized Sam's wrist and there was cold death in his eyes. "Do that again and I'm calling the cops."

Sam whimpered, on the verge of tears. The bus driver let go, and the horrified fox turned around, jumped off the bus, and ran straight home.