FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The last block or two is always the worst. The older sedan does its job, and it does it well. It ferries me from corporate employment to home. From hell to refuge. From Death to Life. I sit in Detroit's metal confines, my mane a bit matted and frayed from the stress of a long day, the antiseptic feeling of cubicles, mission reports, and presentation slides grinds my soul to a dust so fine, not even the best microscope can find it.

The engine silences, the door opens, a brief taste of nature assaults my muzzle until finally my paw reached the brass handle and turns the cold metal. The soft click of the latch is the first moment in my day that I realize, 'Everything is all right.'

My hooves scrape the worn mat just inside the door, and I hear the sound of padded feet, Bennie, our Labrador, greets my ears which swivel at the familiar sound. The excited yellow feral canine is always a welcome sight after the long day, and I lean down letting him lick my muzzle and wriggle against me for a moment until I stand up, put my laptop case, brief case, and coat down and turn.

Oh fuck it's nice to be home.

There he stands a light smile on his lips as he meekly has his black bushy tail curled around his ankles. It's gotten a little bushy over last several months. The little minx! Well, he'd be a minx if he was one, but the canine smirks at me. He's wearing my favorite 'welcome home' clothing.

Nothing.

Ahhhh...just like I ordered!

The young shepherd steps smartly forward and looks at me under a bashful forelock. "Hello sir!"

Never have two words rejuvenated someone more. Well except "You're free!" And even then, the previous punishment of jail is nothing to corporate America. Those soft words, spoken with such sincerity and feeling make my day. One more word and there would be a loss of depth. Too much icing on the cake. It's only our ritualistic greeting, nothing more, but there are so many hidden meanings and depths to those words!

I sigh and smile a little, warmth coming to my muzzle for the first time since I saw his green eyes this morning. They're full of mischievousness, and always wanting to push. Push boundaries, push limits, and push my patience. Oh, I have no idea how many times I've come home, pulled him behind me, one paw gripping his wrist in mine as I positively drag him to the den, sit down, and bend him over, and then begin to administer a punishment fit for a king. Well, in his case a prince.

Over the last several months he's gotten better. Oh yes, so very much so. The equipment that has helped us along has been making a steady encroachment into our daily life. Simple things first. A shirt with "Dad's Toy" on it, a pair of favored briefs I like to see him in, and recently, well, attire not made of cloth.

Leather. Supple, sweet, rich scented, and it just melts in your paw its so soft. Strapped first to his lithe hips, curving to accentuate those deliciously plump curves of his hips and ass. The strips hugging him in a brutish 'jock strap' form. Oh, but after the jock came the next item. The harness. Thicker straps, steel (stainless) rings, buckles, straps, all of it. All mine if I wanted to just reach out, wrap my strong fingers around the convenient garment and pull him in. A hug? Kiss? Slap on the ass? Blowjob? It mattered not. The leather a pathway to greater pleasures. But not today. His furred black and brown form are all that's there in front of me. For the most part.

Ah, and speaking of, now we come to the best. The little metal cage. Pure stainless steel and chrome. A brass lock with intricate key (guaranteed for 3 years or your money back) locked the mechanism. The whole thing containing the fat little German Shepherd nuts, his beautiful knotted cock, the stink of it a most delectable treat (when I occasionally decide to dine on canine). But the best part is yet to come!

See I neglected to say how all of this is the perfect recipe to a long day of drudgery and facing things I would rather disappear! And it is. Seeing him 'suffer' makes my drudgery seem palatable.

How that little cage holds that predator in its confines, the flesh willing, but unable to do anything other than rattle and press against its metal confines for release. Four months so far. He's been locked in that device for four months. Each week that passes he becomes more placid, more tractable, and willing to do anything to please me to ensure his eventual orgasmic freedom.

Oh but do I ever wish to let him be free? To just arbitrarily let him loose would be like firing a gun into the air for no reason. Sure, it's fun, but there is no effect. No bullet penetrating an object, no target punctures. And I'm all about targets! Oh yes.

He stands there demurely, the sun catching on his coat, giving it a light shimmer. Those eyes again capture me, and I walk forward and rest one of my large black paws on his head and smile wearily.

"Ah...Son! Thanks, such a long day. You are a sight for sore eyes!"

The smile I give him turns bright by the end of my short comment. He beams as if he just won first place in a decathlon. All tooth, curved lips, wagging tail.

"Thank you sir. Would dad like his usual?"

Oh those words, so sweet, so delicious, and the way he ducks his head. I cup his chin and force those eyes into mine.

"What do you think my boy?"

He chuckles a little good naturedly and pads off.

It's not long before I'm ensconced in my chair with my bourbon, and he's sitting in front of me, at my feet. Sitting on the floor as if this was a campout with his arm resting casually, familiarly, on my leg. I notice absently his little claw tracing my inner thigh. I can't help myself.

"Boy!?"

He stops, frozen, as if he'd been caught stealing.

"Yes d-dad?"

"Did I spill wine, or rum on my leg?"

I glare down as the news drones on (the only TV I abide).

"No...no sir?"

He sounds confused. I try so hard to not show any emotion. I am filled with emotion, feelings of dominance. I need to take him, now. Open that muzzle of his and flood it with my cum. But no. This is not a rutting party. There is some nuance required here, so I play along.

"Did I happen to have an itch I ordered you to scratch?"

The poor green eyes are wide, the brow is wrinkled.

"Ah, no sir?"

Before he can move I'm on him.

Oh how I live for this. The predator is turned meek as the prey turns on him. The little horse is now a threat it seems, a very close and real one as I lunge, his ears turn back, he whines a little. A quick scuffle and I pin him on the floor on his back, his tail trapped, his arms akimbo, my hands on his chest holding him down, feeling the panicked heart beat bellow.

"Then why the fuck were you feeling me up boy!?"

He stares, confused, trembling. Wasn't this what he was supposed to do? Please daddy when he comes home?

"Ah I see!" I snarl. "Alone all day, nothing to do, clean the house, do your studies, and then, daddy comes home. Better please your stallion. Maybe he wont notice you were looking at the neighbor's yard guy all day."

Ah....that delicious look of fear. I had him. I had him good. Ah he's such a good little canine, and who could blame him for looking at the hunky jock wolf? That bushy mostly black fur (now that it was winter) buffed him up and made him look more muscular than he was, though the base was awesomely built!

"S-sir! I....."

He faltered. I snapped at his cheek and caught some fur in my teeth. With one paw I reached down. And unhooked my belt. The sound of it racing through my belt loops known by all 'bad children' across the world, the words 'You better run boy!' spoken in hurried tones by many a father.

I'm not his father, but I am his dad, big difference. One is family, the other, isn't. Decidedly not. But he has his special rules, and they need to be followed. And my little shep has been a bad pup! Time for a little lesson!

The khaki pants slid off my hips quickly and rumpled against my thighs. With a quick jerk I pulled my jock down as well letting the equine cup slip free and the tip of my shaft to emerge from its sheath. The smell of stallion began to fill the room. Showers every day, twice a day at times, but a real stallion smells. Its not something we can help. I saw his nostrils widen, his eyes glaze a little as his instincts kicked in. Oh they weren't like my own stallion instincts, nor those of a canine bitch. They were somewhere between. I could read the dialogue:

A stallion! Get him!

Ah...yes get him...get him to mount me!

Fuck! Must fight!

Must fight to hide....hide...no...can't let him see I want...

It was a matter of moments but I saw the surprise move to challenge to desire, to submitter, to a self-denial I knew he loved. Fuck I could read him.

I could smell it then. Pre. Canine pre. Strong, and nearby. I glanced down and his poor cock, the knot bulging, straining in it's part of the cage's confines. Oh the pain he must be in, but could do nothing about. The lock was in place, the hard metal confined him, and the key was far away. He'd know if he really had it. I'm not a monster, and there are provisions for accidents but....he doesn't know that.

But his pre soaked caged cock is not my goal. Oh...fuck no. His shaggy fur gleams in the weakening light coming through the window. The soft smell of something in the kitchen reminds me that while I appreciate his form, his smell, his taste, his sex, I don't want to undo everything. A hoss has to eat and it smells like I'm short on time.

Damn!

I feel the snort of impatience come from my nose as I lay atop him, my hips grinding into his! His rump is plastered on the floor. Oh such a nice thick little rump it is. So plump and delicious. I can smell it from here. But no...again I must curb my need. That will come later, his breeding. Along with other desires. For now, no, dinner awaits and it's time for Daddy's appetizer!

I pull off him and whinny a bit in frustration. The little ass had to make something delicious smelling. I could smell meat and sweet apples. Oh if he made that apple and pork pie I like so much...oh two or maybe three thick loads of stallion in his hole before bed will be a nice reward for him!

I shook my head. Focus! I pull myself up and sit on his hips, the tip of my cock brushes his muzzle. Without asking his tongue slips out and gently wraps across my bumpy flare. I can't still the moan from my lips and I don't even try.

"Fuuuuuuck!'

Its deep in my chest. Guttural. I hear the whimper in his throat and a light whap to my wrist near his side belies his pleasure as the tip of his tail tries to wag. I take a moment and admire his coloring. The classic German Shepherd. So handsome, so masculine, so mine.

I whicker as he takes half of my cock without urging. Oh! Looks like our training is playing off. I quickly wrap my forearm around the back of his head. "Ahhhh pup! Fuck yes....I told you leave that fucking wolf alone! He's not for you! Mr. Anderson said so!"

Yeah, another part of our little secret is out. Mr. Anderson, the Elk neighbor. He has Chris come over a few times a week to mow. I know why. That little camera on the eve. Mr. Anderson has known about my little pup here for a while. He knows when my little shep is looking, and lets me know. In return, well, if my webcam on my laptop in the corner happens to be on right now, well, let's just chalk it down to being neighborly! Besides, my own cam catches the intelectual elk being railed by the jocky lupine once in a while. Turn about is only fair right?

Soon my cock is sliding against my shep's delectable tongue. I can feel him lap against it, curling around my fat length and rubbing my medial ring. Then....oh yes then. My favorite part of oral play. I shiver as I feel his tongue delve into the folds of my sheath, digging around, cleaning the musk out. It was a long day, the funky rank of my stallion meat coating his lips, tongue, muzzle.

"S---s---sorry sir!" He yelps gulping down my cock as far as he could.

My hips bucked. Fuck! Here I am, thirty five, and he turns me into a randy little twenty year old ready to bust in his muzzle.

"Fucking better be boy!"

I bellow. I can hear the crack in my voice, but the hand on his head forcing his muzzle down to the rich part of my pubes and sheath lips is persistent. He gags a little, a tear forms in his eye.

Fuck this.

I quickly straddle him and begin a deliberate skull fuck. Both hands on each side of his head I ram in hard. I can feel my heavy nuts slap into his chin. "Fucking little slut!"

It would sound cheesy if it weren't for the inflection. I'm even a little surprised at my roughness. I blame Todd Johnson at work. Really? An hour on Dynamic Interflow Rates!? I'll show you interflow...

Or my pup here will know the meaning of the term.

I thrust in and out, hard, deep, I catch myself nickering and snorting as I drive into his maw, my cock beginning to flare, then it begins to hit.

It's a slow build, a stallion of my age learns to enjoy this part. The raising of my orbs, the tightness in my legs, the sweat on my forelock, the tenseness of my grip next to his ears, and then the euphoric shock as my first rope lances his throat and tongue. He tries to swallow.

Tries.

Stallions cum, and for a stallion, well I'm a bull amongst them. I bellow and whinny my pleasure at marking my son so thoroughly. I buck my hips, I hear him swallow and moan. His tongue laps at my shaft, curling under to caress my balls, milking them of every drop.

I'm still. I'm spent. I straddle him still, my cock softening in my pup's mouth.

"Ahhhhh!"

It's a sigh.

He smirks up at me, pleased with himself.

"Is daddy happy now?"

I nod silently.

He leans in and nuzzles my musky crotch.

I smile down at him.

"Yeah son, it was a long day, it's getting better though."