FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

There is a quality of life which is expressed very differently in the varying species. In the bacterial kingdoms, we witness this in their incomprehensible capacity to survive and replicate at temperatures well surpassing those in which most life could even begin to function. In protists, we see adaptations rendered as though the creatures were picking from a smorgasbord of evolutionary techniques: phagocytosis, budding, photosynthesis, even forms of respiration. In fungi, their immutable demand to be seen; the capacity to flourish even if it means pushing through inches worth of asphalt. In plants, we consider organisms which will live even when the majority of the being is removed; which will attract ants to protect their root systems; which will take nearly a century to bloom.

Animals are even more diverse in their expressions of this trait. Ants collect in balls to transport their queens safely across rivers. Water bears become torpid for decades until they find water. Snakes will spend an hour eating a single meal. Gila monsters can give birth without fertilization. Dolphins will form up in pods to revenge one of their own.

Tenacity. The determination to not let something go. The refusal to admit defeat. The audacity to challenge Lewis Caroll- to "run as fast as they can," even if it is just to stay in place. To damn the Red Queen.

Organisms are tenacious of life, as we heard Charlotte Brönte say of Jane Eyre. We will not let it go. Snakes will not let go of prey; dolphins will not let go of their kin; ants will not let go of their queen. In humans only is tenacity expressed in an inability to accept shame. A third author, Mark Twain, tells us, "Humans are the only animals which feel ashamed - or have cause to be." And yet, we are tenacious of shame's destruction.

Todd was tenacious of his revenge. I saw him. For a week of still failing miserably to get up the nerve to ask Teva on a date, I watched Todd plotting. Or maybe he was just failing to get up the nerve, like I was. Maybe he had already plotted. But the way he watched me, his predatory intent, made me wary. He wanted to hurt me, and I locked my windows tightly and left the blinds open every night for my own safety. He was stronger than I, by a long shot, and if he caught me by surprise, I was done for.

However, I learned that Todd was not quite as stupid as I once judged him to be. Limbs were being broken; kids in my subculture were coming to school with casts, slings, and crutches. Two or three in the first week, the same in the second. Todd was somehow breaking my fellows' bones without them pressing charges. It must have been through his wrestling buddies, because he and they pushed their victims cruelly in the hallways whenever I was near; they mocked them aloud when teachers were absent. After the third attack, I contacted one of my unaware informants, asking her to come outside behind the school.

"You can't tell anyone; you understand that, right?"

The lemming nodded, her brightly-dyed hair tossing gaily despite the gravity of the situation. She was a bit overweight and was no academic genius, but she did talk. A lot. "I don't understand, Sibra, why is he doing this to us? What did we do to him?"

"What do you mean, ‘we'?" I asked her sharply. Almost too sharply.

She didn't notice. "Like, all of my friends. Me and Amy and Roger and Paul. He just attacked us and said it would be ten times worse if we ratted on him." So they trusted me. But they also trusted Todd.

I finished cutting off her cast and touched the area of her arm where the break was. "Is that it?" She squealed and nodded stiffly. "Hold still."

I took my hands off and fished around in my backpack until I found my portable speakers. Once they were set up, I selected some very soft trance from my mp3-player and blasted it out of the speakers, setting up a resonance with it and replacing my hands.

There is a certain nirvana one enters when listening to music, and I find it especially potent in trance, for obvious etymological reasons. It is a place of the sense of hearing; where aural input is the only input. Recently, I have grown increasingly adept at finding it and attuning myself to it. I mean, it's natural for one as interested in music as I to set up a resonance with the sounds, but that doesn't take away from the extreme euphoria I find in letting go of everything except the pulsing, flowing, yearning universe that is electronica. Sometimes, I have to remind myself of my original intent before I can pull away enough to accomplish it.

When the song finished, I asked the rodent to move her arm. Hesitantly, she waved it up and down, then swung it around, her eyes wide. "How did you do that?"

"It's a gift." After putting the speakers away, I reshouldered my backpack. "Tell Paul I'll meet him out here in three days." Supply and demand had had an interesting effect on the medical industry once magic became marketable. It was very easy to heal a broken arm with magic, as long as you knew what you were doing. However, the price for setting a cast had already been set. Imagine the price of healing an arm in five minutes as opposed to six weeks. Most doctors would have charged many hundreds of dollars to do what I did and would have insisted on textbook procedure. Not only did I not charge because I actually enjoyed the work so much, but I had no textbook to follow. Because I had never developed a recognizable technique, my magic worked on general terms. The downfall was that specifics escaped me; if she had had a disease, I wouldn't have known what to do because I'd work like an antibiotic and kill everything in her system instead of just the infection. In addition, I had to draw significantly on her body's energy reserves so that it healed "naturally"; she'd feel the effects later.

It was a week before Todd realized what I was doing. On average, I healed a person every two or three days so I wouldn't drain myself or attract unwanted attention. Like clockwork, he and his people broke someone's skeletal structure once every three days. We moved in a cycle until he was halfway through my known collection, meaning he had been engaging in intelligence-gathering techniques that far surpassed that of which I had previously thought him capable. By now, he knew my intent. He knew that my goal was to strike down the kind of people whose dogmatic adherence to social procedure and stoic refusal to reason rendered them incapable of ever wreaking positive change in the universe.

Every time our eyes met, fires should have started on the line of contact. He hated me, and I knew why, and he sure by now knew that I knew. It was because I hated him and everything he represented. Mindless machismo. Irrational actions. Worthless goals. I wanted them eliminated and now that my opinion was available to the public, he knew whose heads were at stake, and he wanted to see mine roll first. This was a full-fledged war, waged on grounds invisible to the undiscerning eye. I had yet to retaliate, trying to let it blow over, but he wanted me, and if he didn't want me dead, he wanted me hurt and he was willing to hurt whoever he could to pique my ire.

Todd was, as I said, not working alone. After the track team (a conglomeration of equines and the odd feline or two who allegedly spent half their time running and the other half screwing), Todd had employed his wrestling team. Not only that, though, but he had a techno-guru to counter mine. I had pulled the girl - a blossoming squirrel with a brilliant mind and an obsession with Yu-Gi-Oh - into my confidences the Monday after the rave and let her know that I might be requiring some technical help in the days to come. She was more than happy, especially after I healed her foot a week later. It had been my plan to destroy Todd through the cybernet if he wouldn't cease fire (and once I made that plan, to actually initiate his downfall via the same route). That was one of the many times I wished I had learned computer programming. Otherwise, I'd be hacking bank accounts, school records, rap sheets, and anything else I could find to take them down. But Todd's weapon had already threatened action if we tried anything, and losses to both sides would just be senseless. It took all of those two weeks for him to loose enough pride that he didn't mind hitting a boy too poor to support a broken arm. I healed the kid's unwrapped arm the next day, my teeth grinding as I did it. This was unacceptable.

Finally, I had had enough.

"Todd." It was not a shout, but it carried across the lunchroom.

He turned, as though I were some pest; as though he didn't know what was going on. "What, Sibra?"

"Man to man or as a gang?" It was a required question.

"Man to man." Of course.

"Weapons?" None.

"None." Dance, puppet-boy.

"When and where?" Enclosed space.

"Locker room, ten-thirty, Saturday." He had a key, stolen from the coach's room.

"Audience?" Please say no. But you won't.

He thought about it for a while. "Members only."

I nodded, and stepped across the room towards him. He met me in the middle. We clasped hands. "Get your damned revenge," I hissed up at him, "and let this go. I told you once that I fight dirty, and I won't hesitate to do it again."

"I'll be glad to."

"How's your hand?"

He demonstrated by trying to crush mine, but I had already set my defenses up to counter it, and we equalled forces.

I forced his eye. "Lovely."

The school officials approached us as we parted ways, but then ignored us as Teva, watching from a table, twitched her paws at them. I raised an eyebrow without looking at her. Mind-control. That would be useful. As long as, of course, Dr. McKenzy was nowhere in sight. He was the Thaumatics teacher and could sense it being used anywhere in a room. A good person to passively suck up to, I had learned.

We met at the appointed time and in the appointed place. I had lied to my mother; I was "going over to a friend's house." That friend had been asked very nicely not to let his parents pick up the phone for a few hours in case mine were checking in. Because "they were annoying like that."

So we were standing in the locker room, staring coldly at one another. A slight smile lit Todd's lips in arrogance because I, for fear of my reputation, had commanded that none of my people witness this. However, Todd's techno-guy had brought along a video camera and tripod and ten burly, stinking, muscle-bound wrestlers were crowded into the metallic atmosphere, practically dripping musk. I saw a dark spot on one's pants from where precum had soaked through. Disgusting.

The intent was painfully obvious from the start. Todd had clearly stolen some form of aphrodisiac from his step-dad, because his movements were uncomfortable when he made them around the massive bulge in his cargo shorts. His arms were inflated like balloons, which I assumed meant he had worked out beforehand for aesthetic reasons, and the room reeked of him, which I believe meant he had squirted his seed and urine over the place. He was smart enough, though, even as dumb as he was, that I believe he had done that early in the day, so he would be fully potent tonight. The light was a sickly yellow on our fur and on the utilitarian paint on the lockers themselves, but I don't know why I cared. Forced objectivity, I suppose.

"Sibra."

"What, Todd?" His teammates laughed. They were enjoying this.

"I don't want you to leave here alive."

"I can understand that."

"But if you don't, I'll been in trouble with the law."

"That you will be. Are you going to cock-vore me? Believe me, it's been tried before. It didn't work out too well for the guy; Tor steps light as a fairy-fuck when I'm within ten feet of him." I heard a few hisses from that and smirked.

That had not been a particulalry pleasant experience. Tor was leader of the track team - a Clydesdale the size of a small barn. He was a friend of Todd's and had volunteered to take the first shot at me. He had thrown me into a janitor's closet, locked the door, and opened his pants. With the lights off, all I had known was that the smell had been overpowering and that something vaguely thicker than a beer can had fallen between my legs and started throbbing, the length working its way under my crotch as it hardened and the horse held me still, his breathing coming hot and heavy in the darkness. "I've got you, Sibra. You're all mine," he whispered lustily as his member actually started to lift me off the floor. Unable to ignore his musk, I started getting hard, my balls resting on that shaft through my jeans.

"What are you doing, Tor?" I had asked furiously, quietly, so no one would see me like this.

His thick, sloppy equine tongue had slurped across my face, soaking me with spit. "Eating you," he moaned. By now, I had slid down his pulsating length and it had thickened to roughly the width of my thigh. I couldn't move. He was far too strong. I had tried to bite at him, but he had just let an arm go and walloped me hard enough to make the little vision I had spin.

While still recovering, I had felt myself lifted easily over the length - it must have been three feet long at that point - and my muzzle pressed into the slit, which was slick with precum. The horse moaned disgustingly as my nose slipped easily into that warm depth, and as hard as I struggled, it just sucked me deeper. With the combined strength of his arms and the sudden suction from his cock, the opening had clamped around my neck, its sticky drool dripping over my shoulders. I started panicking and kicking at him, but it only made him laugh through his groans.

"Oh, Sibra, you ain't goin' nowhere. Just give up. You know it feels - ooohhh, God - you know it feels goo-oo-ood..." I had activated all the magic I knew, but he had put a lot of money into something or another; I couldn't break through. I knew it was magic; there was no way he could just suddenly be able to do this. Damned marketable magic. And I was in up to my elbows, and it was getting harder to channel myself air. My lungs burned; the passage was failing. If I inhaled now, though, I would likely get the pre that was soaking my fur and my face in my lungs.

Only a deis ex machina had saved me. In my muffled environment, I hadn't heard the door open and close once more. But I did hear, "What the fuck are you..." Tor's voice cut off suddenly, and warm, padded hands grabbed my waist and dragged me free.

"Can you breathe? Sibra? Hey, can you hear me?" Strong arms spun me around and nearly bruised my chest in their attempts to clear my throat before I felt lips on mine and air being blown into my lungs. I finally had the presence of mind to push my savior away.

"I'm fine," I whispered, steadying myself in the darkness - using his chest, I realized, as support. Without ever letting me see him, someone's rough, warm, broad, feline tongue had proceeded to lick me clean of Tor's juices.

"Good," he said quietly. I heard him lick his lips. "I'm sure you know enough to dry yourself off." Wait... then why had he...? Regardless, I buzzed my wings, the saliva quickly evaporating from my fur, and before I could forumlate a question, he had shoved me to the opening door. "I'll come out in a few minutes." And that was that. I had my suspicions, but they had come to nothing.

Back to the present: "No, even I won't try the same technique twice." His sarcasm dripped off the walls. "I'm just going to rape you to death. Plain and simple."

I barked a laugh. "Now, I believe you that you think you may be largely endowed, but let's be honest with each other: Tor's fifteen inches without magic and I'm still very much alive."

"You keep referring to Tor as though I'm going to copy him." He took off his jacket and shirt in a surprisingly sensual manner, revealing a chiseled eight-pack on a torso almost twice as wide as mine. In a pure test of strength, he would have beaten Voxis. Not without breaking a sweat, but he would have won. "But Sibra, I don't think you realize that what Tor has is a joke."

I arched an eyebrow. "A fifteen-inch joke?"

He nodded, and I felt an odd sensation in my chest. Fear? "A fifteen-inch joke. And he was using magic and lube, if I remember the spell he looked up. You'll only get the lube, and that's only so I can fit inside you."

Now I was feeling the first tinge of fear. Techno-guru was giggling as he set up the camera. "What if we went actually into the gym? Is it necessary that we be this closed in?" I was talking to dispel my momentary anxiety.

"Aww, is the little doggy claustrophobic?"

"No, the little doggy thinks splatter patterns in the gym are more conducive to keeping him clean than those in something this enclosed." I fixated him with an annoyed, harsh look.

He laughed. "I don't think you'll be clean either way, but sure; I can find just as many walls and floors out there as in here. Take your clothes off."

I eyed him warily as he followed me into the dark, echoing gym. All I could hear were the echoing noises of shuffling feet and clothes and the clicking of shoe soles pattering around like rain. He didn't send anyone to turn on the lights. "No."

The fox very calmly picked up his jacket from the arms of a worshipper and ripped off a sleeve, then pointedly looked at me. "Either take them off in the pieces they were sewn in, or buy new ones on your way home."

It was a fairly aesthetically pleasing threat, as threats go. I appreciated his word usage, as much as I disliked the implications. Shivering with the humiliating indecency of it all, I complied with as irritated an expression as I could manage, folding my clothes neatly on a bench. When I turned around, Todd was naked, too, and half his buddies' hands were at their crotches. I did not look at his junk, but said, "What, this again? Are the lot of you gonna cum on me?"

"While it'd be entertaining as all hell, no. I want you to myself," he sneered. "If one of these guys creams his pants, that's not my problem, but if I see more than two dicks dangling around here, I will rip off the extra." He swept his gaze around to his surprised teammates. "This is mine, and I told you before, you only get to watch." He looked at me. "I do have a little bit of honor."

I finally made myself witness his package, and immediately wished I hadn't. It was unreal. Not unreal like, "The drug-enhanced shaft, thick as a beer can, pulsed hungrily with his lust for satisfaction." Not even unreal like, "His dick hung down to his fucking knees." Not in the least unreal like, "zOMG hIs p3n0rz wuz liek 16 in. no joke." No. None of those varying degrees of unreal. Let me explain to you what I mean by unreal.

Sometimes, a person can, in the midst of skimming through a story for the yiffy pleasure of it all, forget exactly what someone means when they say, "erection." The person may think, "arousal," or "musk," or "spooge imminent." But they forget the actual, up-close-and-personal meaning of a full erection. It is a living reality, a tangible force; an emission of power demanding admission of very masculine fertility which can supplement any degree, from Eugene the cyber-dork to any given Mr. Universe, of core strength.

Todd did not require "up close and personal" to facilitate any reminders of what being erect meant, because I was reminded of exactly how pathetic my own version of a hard-on was from fifteen feet away. And while I may not be the most endowed man on the planet, I know what it is to "get hard."

I watched, my eyes riveted in sheer astonishment, as Todd took three steps forward, flexed whatever those muscles are down around your gonads and, from eighteen inches of flesh throbbing in place so fiercely I felt like they should have generated shockwaves, eighteen inches of his-fist-thick flesh harder than marble or granite, eighteen inches of gleaming flesh covered in veins and pointing a thriving thirty degrees out from his chest, eighteen of pulsating flesh over perfectly-formed balls each slightly bigger than most forms of citrus, shot a spurt of precum onto my face.

My jaw dropped.

Spooge imminent.

He laughed at the expression on my face. "Surprised?" he asked, arms akimbo, hips thrust forward to put the beast on display.

"One could say that." I ripped my eyes away. It was like seeing someone playing Van Halen guitar riffs, or watching a real kung fu master duke it out with his tae kwon do equal. There was no way it was natural.

"I know what you're thinking. It couldn't possibly have come about on its own. No way! No way something this pristine could ever come naturally out of Todd, the jerk-off who broke your precious instrument. But it's real." He leaned around it and gave me a sly look, patting it with his hand and getting a trickle of precum from the top. "You wanna pet it?"

His teammates were drooling, and I think one did cream his pants, if choking spasms are any indication. "No, not really." Even though I had come here to give up and let him have revenge, I had not come here to be deep-throated from behind. Could I make myself give up to something that deadly? "However, can I make a statement before we get started?"

"Be my guest." He gestured at the camera, but I looked at him.

I pointed one slow, theatrical finger at him and glowered. "You, Todd, will weep before this is over." Now I could give up.

His cocky grin faded with satisfying abruptness. The only sound was heavy breathing from his squad and a wet splat as a drop of pre hit the ground. I wiped that on my face off and prepared my mind for the stupid amount of pain I was about to endure. Techno-guru giggled again.

Todd didn't even try to move quickly. He knew he didn't have to because somehow, in his small, unenlightened brain, he had realized that I wasn't going to run. He knew that I would stand my ground. As he approached me, my nerves began to fail. I could see his white-and-red-orange balls swaying almost gently as they churned about in his sexual fervor, and felt myself respond. The resultant adrenaline, when combined with my fear of what was about to happen to me, made me quiver in place and my breath came in shallow gasps. I apologize to the reader. I have previously painted myself as more powerful than I really am.

He pulled one fist back for the first punch, and I had to close my eyes and force myself to stand my ground as it swung forward. His cock brushed my chest, leaving a blob of sticky goo where it touched, just before his fist connected with my gasping mouth and sent me crashing to the ground.

I landed on the hard floor and bounced once, only gyrating enough to ease the floor's impact. Putting one hand to my jaw, I tested the blow. The point of collision hurt to the touch, and I drew back blood on my finger where he had again split my lip. I nursed my muzzle and looked up at him, my perception obscured by the throbbing shaft over his chest. It wasn't right, even in its massive state, for it to be so perfectly formed, when his entire mind was so... ugly. "You know, Sibra, usually, I can cum two or three times before I get tired. I think that for you, I can get four, fiveâ€"if I feel extra special, six." He advanced again.

"Are you telling me this to amuse yourself or to give me some kind of end to look forward to? Seems a little humane for you."

He straddled my body, easily covering it with his own, and knelt over me, slickening my chest and breathing hotly into my face. "No, Sibra," he whispered. "It's so that during the first fifteen minutes of agony, you can dread each successive fifteen minutes and so that I can listen to you pray for an end. No one insults me the way you did."

"Seems like I did it twice."

He growled, violently pried open my jaws, and spat in my mouth, then clamped my lips and nose shut. "Swallow it, bitch! Swallow the first taste!"

Don't fight it. Do not fight it. Let it happen; if you fight, he won't have his revenge, and he'll only come back. I swallowed his spit, and his mouth split into a grin as he let me breathe again. He patted my nose and then slapped me. "Good doggy. Now get up."

He stood up, sliding his tip down my chest as he hunched to get off me, and waited. I didn't respond immediately. "Get up!" he roared, and kicked me in the ribs. I felt that contact with a finger, too. It hurt. I got up, for lack of any reason not to. He punched me again, sending me staggering, but not falling. He had pulled it. "What is wrong with you?" he challenged, bouncing on his toes like a boxer. Precum flew off in tiny droplets. I swallowed blood. Not much, though. "Fight me!"

He punched me again in my face, in the exact same place as before, then moved in and got two in my gut. I did tighten up against that; no reason to let any organs get ruptured. "Fight me back!" He pressed a hand to my sternum and slammed me up against the wall I didn't realize we had reached, pushing his cockhead hard into my chest and releasing still more pre. His smell permeated the area around my head. He grabbed my waist and threw me to the floor. "At least say something!"

My body hurt. My chest felt compressed; my cheek was swelling; my abs were bruised. But I would not fight him back. I would not give him any possibility of an excuse to hurt my followers again.

Once more, he straddled me, but this time bent close to my ear. "Please fight me." I gasped, my eyes wide as they watched the ceiling, and breathed in frozen time. He was pleading with me, in tone and in word. I couldn't believe it. "Please. I can't do this to you. I can't just hurt you unless you push back. I want revenge, but I don't want it like this. Can we do this man to man? That was the deal."

"You broke their arms!" I screamed at him, snapping all of a sudden and all at once. I wouldn't have him lie to me like this. That was more humiliating than the beating. "And you don't care if I fight back or not; before, you wanted it that way! Doesn't this make you happy?" I spat in his face, aesthetics, for one time in my life, vanished entirely.

I waited for him. I waited for him to tell me that this was more like it, that this was the kind of fire he wanted. But he didn't. He wiped the spit off and onto my side. "But I knew you'd fight back-"

"What about them? What about my people?" And in that moment, I realized that that was who they were. His targets, the subculture geeks, the computer nerds, the animé freaks, even the creepy emo poets; those were my people. They clearly didn't have the means to unite into any force on their own. At some point, we needed to mobilize. For the moment, I was infuriated, and continued shouting. "They can't fight back, not against you! They haven't trained; they haven't prepared. They're just skinny furs with a little athleticism at best, and you and your wrestling team broke them! You ask me what's wrong with me; what in God's name is wrong with you?" I squirmed out from under him, locking his gaze with mine, but then hesitated. Damn it. He was way too volatile a personality for this kind of treatment. If I got too harsh, he'd cry before he'd had his revenge, and this would just be some sad, sappy cliché. Half my brain begging me not to, I whispered in his ear. "You fuck of a fatherless pup."

"Don't you call me that!" With no warning, he lubed up one hand with his precum, spread my legs wide, and watched my face as he plunged two fingers deep into my ass. I cried out from the burning sensation in a sick duet with the group shouting their approval. "Hurts, doesn't it? It'll get easier before it gets harder, Sibes. I just need you loose enough to let me in, and Sibra, I'm tying the knot every time." His breath like sulfur in my nostrils.

My physical pain, luckily, did not allow me to grow erect, even with the stimulation of his fingers on my prostate. My body rocked back and forth on the floor as he fingered me, and I thanked God that I had forgone eating for the past day so I wouldn't embarrass myself any further. He shoved in a third finger, stretching me still more, and with his other hand began slicking his cock with self-made lube, spreading it over the mass to give it a perversely bright sheen. There was certainly enough of it to go around.

Finally, he decided I had had enough preparation and pulled back on one of my legs while guiding his shaft with the two remaining fingers of the other hand. He then rammed the head against me as he pulled his digits out, snatched my other leg, and lifted me up off the ground with the force of his thrust, just barely pushing in the hot, slick head before his pelvic thrust gave out. I grated out a sound as he put his hands around my shoulders to pin my arms and pulled down hard, trying to fit me over his monstrous rod. He moaned and strained with the effort, his face a scrunched mass of features as, inch by inch, he got the first quarter of it in. And then he began to hump me.

It was like being fucked by a baseball bat (if... anyone has ever had that experience; I certainly haven't.). The amount of flesh moving around in me, even as small a fraction of the total as it was, was enough for a respectable length on any other man, because the girth was murderous. When he pushed, I felt like I was about to be sick and when he pulled, I felt like I was. Not only that, but the stimulation on my prostate was finally having an effect. I got hard. Ridiculously, ridiculously hard, and paining for release. Luckily, he was so into getting as much of himself in me as he could that he didn't notice.

"You don't talk about my dad, Sibra."

I managed to squeeze out, "I didn't" before the next thrust came and I had to clench my abs down to keep from screaming.

He ignored me and looked over at his posse. "Polch - the displacement and distension spell." Then he turned back. "I'm gonna hilt you, Sibra, and that means I'm gonna knot you." He wrapped his hand around the portion of his shaft closest to my tailhole. "That means this is comin' in." I controlled myself enough to not close my eyes and roll my head back in prayer, like I wanted to.

An unfortunate doberman walked over. Ritualistically, but competently, he placed hands over my chest cavity and murmured some words. I felt my organs loosen, but everything still hurt. I say unfortunate because he was found with a kilo of cocaine two days later. That is, he was found with it the instant I could get in touch with my dealer friends. Nothing came of it because he had had no prior incident and a kilo was a strangely large volume of crack to get for a starter kit, so they knew he'd been framed, but it messed up his life for a few weeks. He walked away.

Encouraged by this, Todd redoubled his efforts, sending electricity up and down my shaft in disharmonious counterpart to the shooting pains within me. I came, but I don't know why or when; I just remember the hot seed landing on my chest and feeling Tor's hands rub it in while he worked, grunting and sweating, his very essence inescapably invading my senses. All I could see was his straining face and his broad, ripped chest, moving rhythmically over me as he rammed me again and a again. I had never before smelled so much... male.

He was halfway in. Someone handed him a bottle of real lube - fancy, clear, cold stuff - which he rubbed around my rim with agonizing force. I could tell through my half-closed eyes that he was taking the time to lube up the rest of his shaft, and also that he was doing so because he was so close to cumming. After this long humping, even if he hadn't made it all the way inside, he was still about ready to burst. I told my butt muscles to clench and frustrate him, but they refused.

Todd's breath became increasingly short as he resumed his efforts, with every thrust making it in perhaps a quarter inch more with unendurable slowness. He was a talker: "Oh, God, Sibra, so fucking tight.... YES! Yes, just like a virgin pussy OH, GOD, this is good. Fuck, Sibra, I'm gonna do you... mmmmff! every, fucking, NIGHT." Every movement towards the end was indescribable as that shaft just continued to go, and I could see every second of it as he pushed himself in, my ring stretching around the massive flesh with screaming protest. I did not understand how there could be so much, and dreaded even thinking about what would happen when he blew his load.

And then, while I was considering it, he did. He let out something between a grunt and a howl, thrust his head back in ecstasy, and shot cum like a gun into my body. I don't know how to explain it. It was like magma, searing my insides, warming me from within in an inexplicable rush of heat, a wave of liquid man in my body. He came, and he came, and he came, shooting his load into me like a gatling gunner. "OH, FUCK, Sibra! YyyyyeeeeAAAAHHHH!!! Gonna pop you like a fucking balloon!" Nothing could squeeze past the barrier of his cock, and I felt my stomach growl in protest. Pulses rumbled my belly as it began to fill, and then slowed to a dull throb. Finally, he petered out, giving us both a momentary reprieve. He breathed hotly into my face before, ever eager to reach his goal, he pushed onward.

"I thought you were going to knot me every time," I croaked. He slapped me, bruising again my swollen cheek, and didn't respond.

We hit the knot after an eternity, and his friend passed over more lube. I felt ready to just tear open; there was no way anything thicker could possibly go. My balls were bruised from bouncing against his waist, and my entire hip area was burning as though I had run for miles and miles, just from the effort to keep them taught and not risk torn muscles from a loose bearing. He spread the lube around, though, clearly planning to go on, and smiled. "Praying yet, Sibra?"

It went in with horrific suddenness. I don't remember the event. I remember afterwards, but I do not remember the melon actually going in. I must have passed out, if only for a minute. Holding myself up with the little mobility that remained in my arms from his crushing grip, I began to cry from the overwhelming pain. I couldn't stand it. And it was only the beginning. He had five left to go, if he was lucky. Five more hells to endure. "Why should I be?" I sniffed. "You've already failed once."

He laughed before standing up and, like Tor, lifting me from the ground and holding my entire body weight on his throbbing cock. "Look at this!" he shouted at the camera. "Look at the weeping bitch-Sibra! He can tie the knot on eighteen fucking inches! You see, Sibra? You don't think any of us have potential, but the truth is that we have a lot of fucking potential!" His teammates (all of whom had wet pants by now and had, despite his warning, pulled out their things and were rubbing quickly up and down their own lenghts) laughed raucously as I bobbed around like a fish on a line, just barely hanging on to consciousness. Todd held my waist and began humping in midair, bouncing me mercilessly on his rock-hard knot, his gargantuan balls slapping up against my ass.

I forced my mind away from the situation in a desperate attempt to escape the pain and latched onto something that had been bothering me since the beginning of this episode. Why the theatricality of "weeping bitch?" Why did he have a perfect body? Only perfect people should have perfect bodies. A lot of semi-perfects could hide their failings under clothes, but I had seen everything of him but the back, and there was nothing wrong with him. Out of curiosity, I maneuvered a few bounces so I could look over his shoulder. Nothing. No blemishes. His body was perfect, but his mind was deranged.

And then, he blew my thoughts away as he came again, flooding my insides with hot, heavy jets of his creamy fox juices and roaring with the powerlust. I could feel that he hadn't been kidding. His cock pulsed inside me, hardening my own a second time, throbbing against my chest, through my chest, beating like my heart as it loosed its storm, but it wasn't shuddering; it was just pulsing, like a slowed pneumatic drill, pumping seed steadily into my bowels as his tremendous balls roiled beneath me. He was still potent enough even to make me cum again, and I wasn't rubbing anything.

"That's two, Sibra. Ready for more?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have any good comebacks, because his damned body was perfect. Why was it perfect? He beckoned to another member, and they brought out a sturdy table, one that might be used to temporarily hold weights, so we wouldn't break it. Todd carried me over to it, twisted me around on his cock, and bent me over the table. "Time for a new style, my pretty little bitch."

He pulled me back and forth with his mammoth thighs, slapping elephantine balls against my own and my thighs, both of which were frightfully numb from the treatment. He was holding his glans through my chest and stroking my fur for his own pleasure, and stopped thrusting to continue caressing himself, clearly happily surprised at this breakthrough. I could feel him in my entire body as he masterbated, impossibly, through me. The spell was more powerful than I had anticipated, because I wasn't dead.

Todd's scent backed up through my systems into my throat, and I breathed him completely, nearly inebriated by dumbfounded neurons. As he eclectically came for the third time, I watched tiny mounds pump out from between my ribs; cum blasting forth and stretching my elastic body, then rebounding to fill me once more. Laughing with ecstatic satisfaction, he adopted the more traditional bucking and rutting, his cum sloshing around in my stomach, readying his promised fourth orgasm. "Any of you want a cream-filled dessert?" he guffawed to his underlings. "FUCK this is awesome! Can you feel it, Sibra? Can you feel my seed pumping you up? You like it, don't you, you masochistic fuck, you're enjoying this and you know it! And you're still so fucking tight! God, I want your ass again after this, I don't care if I have stuff your corpse!" My cock filled in a rush and I could feel pressure building, watching my purple cockhead swell with the backwards electricity. His breath was hot on my neck and his chest hard against my back and his arms strong on my waist and for the barest of seconds, held in that twisted embrace by an otherwise incredible body, I thought of Voxis. My world blessedly vanished.

That tiny instant blocked away everything negative I was feeling (or failing to feel). Instead of acknowledging the fact that I was being mercilessly raped, I deluded myself into a strong hallucination about the white wolf. He was holding me. Holding me with his angellic fur caressing my body, gently rocking our hips in swaying rhythm to the pulse, to the steady beat, of the electronic rave. His chin rested lightly on my shoulder, and I could feel him grinding against me, so I pressed back against his hard chest in blissful harmony. Being sure to keep this mental realm far from the physical, I reached up and brushed the wolf's cheek with one hand, holding his hand on my bare thigh with the other. We stepped forward, and it was a tango in the wild, dark, sepulchral rave, and I turned and we bent for a gancho in time and he

whispered in my ear "You're not even here" he choked on the orgasm "are you?!" And my fantasy shattered as Todd pressed his fingers too tightly into my chest, leaving bruises there that would show up in assymetric ugliness. I think he managed to do that on purpose. I came heavily with his orgasm, weakly spattering the table as my cock pumped and jolts jumped through my body of painful, twitching pleasure.

He suddenly began to pull out. Thank God he did; I could feel his load starting to back up into my throat, and I think I burped some into my mouth. "Did you get tired?" I managed to choke.

"No," he growled, straining around his knot and finally pushing me off with a slippery slide, drawing a hoarse, feeble cry from my lips. "I need to go rip off some dicks, like I said I would. Don't move, ‘cuz I've got plenty where that came from." I could tell. It took disturbingly long for me to be pushed off his shaft; the lengths of ribbed, veiny flesh kept sliding and sliding out of my rear end and it felt endless until with a *pop* the head burst free and took with it a shower of cum, soaking the backs of my legs. I could feel my anus refusing to close and pulled as hard as I could to aid it, but the humiliating river of hot, thick white didn't stop until I was shivering to hold myself on my hands and knees in a puddle of it.

Todd's voice was peripheral in the background, as were the fleshy smacks as he slapped and punched his lesson into his teammates. Escaping my pain, I analyzed him again as he walked away, his cock and tail bobbing back and forth with equal alacrity. Why? I could see his back now, and his thighs rose into a perfectly-formed bottom, his spine curved like any good spine should curve, his head was right on his shoulders, he had no disgusting lesions standing out; he had been blessed with a perfect body and was disgracing it. Something had messed him up in the head. There must have been a psychological blockage. He was supposed to be something else. Obviously not perfect; they had their own classification, those angels, of which I would not allow him, in my mind, to ever be a part. Could he be a demon? No; I hadn't defined demons yet, though I supposed I could use him as a basis. Something, probably religion or sexuality, was creating a huge barrier in his brain. I would break it down; maybe I could escape the next hour of suffering.

He came back, sat down, spun me around, and held my nose at the tip of his cock. I watched as the hole dilated and emitted a bead of precum the size of a grape. His entire shaft was damp with our juices, and his balls were soaked and still churning out more. "Sniff it." I did. "Now drink it." Still determined to give him what he wanted, to quell his vengeance, I snaked out my tongue and licked up the ball of salty liquid. One of his hands held him up as he leaned back in classic fellatio position and the other gripped the back of my head.

"I don't know if you can fit this from that end," he said, "but you're gonna lick it until I cum all over your face at least twice, or I'm going to start bashing your head against the ground and killing all of that precious brainpower."

"Todd, I-"

"Shut up! Lick me off!"

How was I supposed to break him? I didn't know how to work intricacies of thought. I couldn't use magic on him for this. In between licks of the gleaming, pink flesh (each of which brought out an appreciative, closed-eye groan from my captor), I whispered, so he'd listen harder: "Do you really think- that- your step-dad doesn't- love you?" Tactic one.

He cuffed the side of my head. "Stop talking about my step-dad and do what I tell you."

"What about- your dad?" I choked as I accidentally inhaled through the clear, viscuous pre and didn't get to finish the thought. Musk inundated my senses for a moment, and the rippling rod of flesh looked tasty for a fraction of a second. SEX. But tactic two, as well.

"Don't talk about my dad!" He cuffed me harder, rattling my brains, then jammed my mouth onto his cock. My jaws strained around the length, but from the spell, the stretched as he shoved harder. "Yeah, that's it," he moaned as my throat worked around his length, desperately trying to get it out while I gagged. Every gag, though, just gave him more opportunity to get more in. Leaning over, I could feel the cum in my stomach wash over the portion of his cock that had made it past my esophagus. How was I still breathing? When I opened my eyes again, my nose was pressed against his horrid knot. And he still pushed.

"Oh, Sibra, yes! Swallow me whole! Take it all the way down! Fuck, you're GOOD at this!" he laughed. The knot hit and passed my lips while he grunted and groaned, clearly trying to hold back his load. His pre was swelling my belly out, and still my throat worked it, until my burning jaws were forced to their limit and his knot, hard as leather, rested between my teeth. Then he came, for the fifth time. I felt each pulse work its way down my throat before exploding into my stomach, and he put a hand on my neck so he could rub himself through it, screaming in orgasmic ecstasy as he did. I felt like I was going to be thrown off, but his flaring head caught on the sphincter of my throat and was locked in me for the duration of the climax while I could do little but make pathetic gagging noises.

He pulled out slowly, bringing a flood of semen with it. He held my aching jaws so I'd have to look at him, with his cum drooling out of my lips, spraying as I huffed and gasped for air, and asked with an evil grin, "Got anything else to say?"

I refused to stop, even in that. It took more than one try to speak past my bruised throat, but I said it. "How about- your mom? What does she- think- about you?" The shaft pulsed and wet my face with the last of his seed. At one point, I had considered letting myself enjoy this, drinking the feast I was being forcefed, but I couldn't. Half the reason I was here in the first place was my own pride. I couldn't lose that.

"Shut up!" He didn't hit me again. Instead, he grabbed my arm, hard. Impossibly, it seemed as though another orgasm was building, with no stimulation. In the back of my mind, where I could sense magic, I knew something had clicked. The climax was drawing near, and his body was shuddering accordingly. His eyes were closed in pleasure as I thrust my head forward and licked him cruelly with my almost numb tongue; it wasn't difficult, given how much length I had to explore.

He squeezed tightly, his grip painful on the limb. "I will- ahhh... break this.. hh!" Suddenly, he erupted in orgasm, geysering the hot spunk directly onto my face. The group cheered. It plastered my features, making me close my eyes as a flood of the stuff streaked out, actually knocking me back with the first blast. However, it didn't stop. He didn't peter out. Something had changed. Apparently, something in what I had said had made a shift, because he began to grow. His tremendous muscles pumped and throbbed larger and larger, veins bulging as they expanded, and as he grew, the spooge volume grew as well. His body ballooned proportionately and swiftly, soon doubling his previous size. His underlings backed away in fear, eventually breaking and running. What had I said? Had it simply been thoughts of his house while under such emotional stress? Because something had clearly been released. I retreated. More accurately, I got the fuck out of the way. I didn't survive that long to be crushed to death.

His spunk was jetting out in torrents, spattering himself and the floor with gallons upon gallons of the stuff, and the temperature in the room steadily increased. His shaft and his balls were growing larger faster than the rest of him, their own veins thick and bulging. By this time, he finally knew something was happening. He had opened his eyes and watched his buddies run, and was now gazing at me in fear and alarm, somehow blended with climactic ecstasy. "Sibra? Sibra, what's happening?" His voice filled the room, and the reverberations stunned me into silence. It was as comforting as Voxis's voice, or Suli's. Had it always been that way? Surely not. My ears hungered.

He was at this point a decent fifteen feet tall, and kneeling as he held his erection, which was, impossibly, still pulsing cum in a mind-blowing deluge. It would hit the ceiling if he aimed and it kept up. "What? You do all that to me and you still turn to me when it comes to matters of the paranormal?" Also, I had no idea what was happening. It was just easier to pretend I did while I thought.

He roared, making me jump, but I realized it was from the intense orgasmic pleasure that had to be filling his massively bulging loins. His fur suddenly began to gain a golden-red glow in the unnatural, but strangely comfortable, warmth. His light filled the darkness of the place, providing a clear picture of himself and the room as he packed it with his moans. The floor was awash with his spunk; the bleachers were splattered with it; one shot hit the backboard of a basketball goal and fell off with a splat as he topped thirty feet and suddenly stopped, his head not too terribly far beneath the atrial ceiling. When his body stopped growing, his cock stopped cumming, entirely shutting off in the breath-filled silence. It shrank with alarming speed, and in under a minute had vanished into his sheath, his lion-sized (and by that, I mean each the size of a full-grown lion) balls still roiling from the sudden change and his whole body still that brilliant hue of red and gold.

I could tell, though, that his physique was retaining the tension and intensity of orgasm even if the essential emissions were done. His muscles were bulging, and seemed to be packed even more as he shifted around to his hands and knees so he could have a better look at me. The fiery brilliance of his fur almost made me turn away; he was casting shadows of himself on the wall. He lifted a hand threateningly through the stress, fixating me with eyes of blazing glory. "Tell me what you did to me." There was a chevron on his forehead.

I wiped as much of my face as I could and threw the stuff to the floor. "You won't kill me."

He thrashed the ground next to me with it, and I fell to my butt, shouting in pain. "But I will make your life more of a hell! What did you do to me?"

"Nothing."

"Liar!" The sound echoed and rebounded around the room, letting my ears hear its pleasant euphony for a full two seconds after he finished speaking.

"I try not to lie, Todd. It's a policy I have." I thought back. Very far back. It seemed that at one point, while perusing random books of magical study, I had come across something very much like this, now that I was thinking about it rationally.

"I never expected you, of all people, to break a policy." He exuded fear-sweat, a fragrant contrast to the musk. I finally breathed happily, even though I could feel the semen that still bloated my stomach gurgling as I did. There had to be a clean way to get rid of it...

"Luckily, I did expect you, of all people, to be retarded. I'm thinking." There was a certain brand of... entities of some kind, that happened to certain people. I say that - an entity happened to a person - because the person became entirely transformed, often because of both birthright and extreme emotional stress. They were born to be one thing, but it took a lot of pain to realize that potential. Apparently, having an orgasm and trying to think about your adoptive father and real father and the strain on your mother will do that.

"How can I change back? I can't stay like this. How do I reverse it?"

I finally remembered, and my heart jumped. "Oh, it's not very hard. In fact, I'll do it just as soon as I figure out how."

"Why? Why do you have to do it? Why can't I do it?" He was getting furious with me, and the pain in his limbs and mine was not helping.

"Because you, Todd," I paused dramatically, smiling, "are a Thought."

He blinked over his solar eyes, bewildered. "I'm a what?"

"You are a Thought. Hear the capital? You're an entity whose potential must be realized, as it has been now, by the skillful interference of a particular individual trained in magic. That individual does not have to be as manipulative as I am by a long shot, but I happened to be the one involved. Whoever fulfills the potential of a Thought gains summoning control of the Thought. In general, a person with one or more Thoughts is called a Philosopher. Thoughts are beings of vast power which must be wielded by a skilled Philosopher." I shakily pointed a finger at my chest, smiling coyly. "Such as myself. When I have a real, pressing need to use your power, the nature of which we'll figure out as we go along, I will transform you into this creature. Most of the time, though, you will be just another normal furred being."

His mind took some moments to integrate this. "What about all of this ‘we' all of a sudden? I thought you hated me. And I definitely still hate you." A growl emanated weakly from his throat, but he couldn't keep it up due to his fear.

I grinned. "You'll find it harder and harder to say that kind of thing as you go along, because you've had a block put on your generally good nature. If you'll notice, it began to come out at various times today. You couldn't beat me up before I actively pissed you off, you disciplined your teammates, you didn't beat me without provocation while you raped me; a number of things. Don't worry, though; that's the procedure with all Thoughts. One must release them to realize their potential."

"So does that mean-" he hesitated on a breath, and the air swirled around me, like the wind playing flutes. "Does that mean I'll get along better with my step-dad? Does that mean... maybe I'll understand some things?" It wavered.

I let his voice finish resonating before I answered. "I think so. And don't worry; I won't use you haphazardly. However, whether or not you want to and regardless of what you think, you will come when I call, from wherever you are. I believe Thoughts have a rather quick mode of travel, and you will arrive at my side, in this form." His brilliance was really quite beautiful. It was good that his body had been made perfect. I was almost giddy. I had thought Philosophy was a lost art. Clearly, it had resurfaced in a titanic tyrant and a parapsychotic mishap, however mismatched we were. Not only that, but with childish joy, I considered briefly the possibility that Philosophers could consort much more easily with angels, who acted in Catholic mythology similar to the Muses of the Greeks. Muses and Thoughts and Philosophers, resurfacing now, hundreds of years after they had been lost... maybe we could get this whole mythology thing going again.

"How can you do this?" he asked, his voice catching. "How can you- a-accept this so quickly? I- I know I said this once, but I thought you... thought you hated me, because I hated you." Past tense.

Again, I smiled. "You're a part of the picture, now. You're not an opponent anymore, because you won't be an asshole anymore. You'll realize that what you've been doing is wrong behavior. So you have completely changed, the way I see it. There's no reason for me to hate you. I mean, I'll be burning that videocamera, but..."

Without hesitation, he crushed it, powdering its contents. Then, he met my eyes. He was on the edge of tears. "Thank you." Very quickly, I amplified my magic through him and thrust all the mess in the room and on our bodies out of the doors and deep, deep into the earth, so it would boil and turn into whatever it might become. I also healed my own wounds; there was no reason not to, as long as it was his vast storehouse of energy I was using. Then, before he could realize what was happening, I jumped up his body and pressed the chevron on his forehead to change him back, and then he was crouching in front of me, shaking. A body that big and powerful, so recently arrogant beyond belief, trembling with emotion. He would find harmony with his family. He would find harmony in his relationships. He wouldn't be so confused anymore as to why he was always so angry. He would be happy.

Todd sprang forward and grabbed me, holding me crushingly close against his chest. "I didn't- want you... to be right..." he sobbed pitifully, just barely out of synch with the steady dripping of semen from the basketball net. I had left that there in a moment of mischief, just for my own entertainment.

As I felt his tears on my shoulder, I could only smirk wryly past his ear and think that I had warned him he would be crying before the end of this.