FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A simple text message sent because there was no way the foxwolf had the balls to ask the same question in person or over a call - and also intentionally sent in the middle of a day he knew the recipient had off, so that there would be no time to back out or change his mind. At first look and to anyone else, his message would have seemed innocuous enough. But, when considering what this foxwolf, Rachen, had done this past month in regards to the content of that message:

"Hey, can I play with your dog?"

Gordon, the recipient's name was - though he generally preferred "Mr. Bronson" and "sir". Rachen had found this out after calling him by his first name (or moaning it, rather) one on of their first times 'hanging out', taking place in the backseat of Bronson's car. His punishment had been to ride the big older wolf, a teacher at the local high school, through three orgasms in a row without being allowed to one of his own. And, damn, had he been able to feel it for the rest of that week as well as the one following.

And then there had been this past month, throughout which he and Bronson's dog had gotten to know each other quite well, inside and out - perhaps a little better than Rachen had known Mr. Bronson at that point in time. They'd done all of the same things, after all, and more: the big wolf wasn't particularly partial to having a tongue under his tail, while his dog seemed to rather enjoy it.

He'd responded to his message with a "yes", of course, and within the hour brought his mutt Marvin over - alongside a set of conditions that Rachen had been too horny to say no to. These were why he stood where he did now, his brother's nice camera in one paw, phone in the other, and Marvin lapping at a dish of water by his feet... as he had been doing for at least the past two minutes now, and showed no sign of stopping.

Rachen touched his thumb to the phone screen and pulled down to look through his messages with Mr. Bronson. Other than these two, it was almost entirely pictures sent from the wolf's phone: pictures of Rachen on all fours, Marvin mounting him from behind; of his lips pressed to the end of the dog's sheath, paw squeezing behind the bulge of his knot under the skin; of his mouth held open by one of Bronson's friends while marvin used that muzzle as a good spot to empty his bladder... _that_had been a taste that had lingered until halfway through the next day, regardless of how he'd brushed his teeth four times as often.

Feeling a familiar tight stirring in the front of his pants from looking through these pictures and remembering them, Rachen looked down at the dog lapping at the water in front of him. Marvin was large all-around, probably due to his mixed breed: long muzzle, tall ears, fluffy tail, thick coat, thick sheath, plump sack visible hanging down between his legs and swaying gently with his breathing. These last two were - of course - the parts of him that the foxwolf had gotten to know most thoroughly, and he'd done so in front of a small party of the wolf's friends.

That day, the number of people who had seen Rachen naked and hard almost tripled, and he had his first taste of feral dog rump, piss, and cum, which he'd been desiring for quite a while. That had started with exploring some websites on the internet, which had of course led to downloading pictures and videos and written stories - and when Rachen had noticed Mr. Bronson's dog when visiting his house, and seen the fat sheath and sack that hung between the beast's hind legs...

Maybe the wolf had been able to smell his sudden hike in arousal. It wouldn't surprise him. Right after that, he'd asked him the question of whether he'd be willing to put on a bit of a show for him and his friends, with Marvin being the other half of that show... and just like with today's conditions, Rachen had been too damn worked up to say no. Touched and licked and fucked and filled by more guys than he'd ever had in the past, at least one of them feral; the foxwolf had gone home that day with a full, warm belly, with the piss of three (or was it four?) of them soaking into the fur of his muzzle, neck, and chest, and a slightly-stretched tailhole after being knotted by the mutt. Did he regret it?

Well, here he was now, peering over the top of his screen at that same dog. His mind kept flashing back to the first time he'd lifted that dog's tail and put his lips against the puckered flesh of his tailhole; back to when he'd rolled him onto his side and slid his tongue into his already-moist sheath against the flesh of his length; when he'd run his nose up along the warm skin of his balls; when he'd parted his lips for that first taste of his mark, bright and rich, almost too much for him to take. But, he did as told and took it, and loved it.

He certainly loved it afterwards, as well. Every night for the following two weeks, he'd go to bed with his hard cock in his paw and memories of that day fresh in his head - and then he'd inevitably wake up later in the night and have to paw off again. He'd been told that some of the other guys had taken pictures of the whole thing, and it was possible that some would make their way to him; once they did, he made sure to save them, and then started all over again.

Other than the quiet humming of the house's air conditioning and the occasional rise-and-fall of traffic on the nearby highway, the only sound that tickled at his ears was in Marvin's continued lapping at the water, flp - flp - flp - flp. There was certainly something to be said about dog tongues: some of his favorite videos were the ones where the person kept the camera focused down between their legs while a dog lapped at him, licking them straight to orgasm without any contact from their own paws - and there were countless uploads of feral dogs licking beneath tails, shoving their noses and tongues up against slick ridged puckers. These past few weeks, Rachen had been scanning through his favorite sites and forums to see if he could recognize either the rump being licked or the dog licking it - and, of course, he planned for more of that to come this weekend.

He had asked Mr. Bronson today in particular because he knew that he'd be home alone this weekend, and he wanted some time on his own to do what he wanted with this beautiful beast - though the wolf's condition of "take pictures and video of whatever you do with him. You still owe me, remember" went against that, somewhat. Still, though: an entire weekend... he slid his phone back into his pocket, stood away from leaning against the kitchen counter, and stepped over behind the dog.

What was the point of looking at pictures if he had the real thing right here? He remained standing for another moment - Marvin's ears had perked up and flicked back to him with his movement, but the dog did not lift his head - and then lowered himself down, first to his knees and then the rest of the way down, legs crossed in front of him. At this height and slightly hunched over, the smooth curve of Marvin's back and the base of his tail came about even with Rachen's nose - and as if sensing the friendly foxwolf's closeness, that tail lifted up a little and started swaying back and forth, tickling his nose and whiskers enough that he had to reach up and hold it off to the side.

Good thing, too. His paw ended up positioned just right so that the pad of his thumb touched up against the skin of the feral's tailhole, intensely hot, faintly moist, twitching and throbbing with his pulse. This was a well-trained dog, too: as soon as Rachen started to run his thumb around that tailhole, Marvin half-stepped back and flagged that tail even higher, giving him a better view. The foxwolf set his camera in his lap, reached forward, scratched at the dog's haunch with a soothing "thaaat's a good boy" on his lips, and then moved that other paw down as well.

This was probably the sight that he'd wanted to see the most. The flow of Marvin's fur culminating back here, closing in from either side of his body and along his legs to a ridge coming down from his tailhole and then hanging down along the back of his sack, a spot where the foxwolf's muzzle had been before. Sure, it still felt a little bit dirty enjoying a feral dog like this, but... the already-throbbing erection straining against his pants shoved those worries into the back of his mind. He'd gotten permission for this, after all. Mr. Bronson had said it was okay.

As long as he took pictures, he remembered. Rachen swallowed, eyeing the squashed diamond of brownish-pink flesh for another moment as he reached down to pick the camera back up and aim it. Bronson lived with this dog, so he probably knew his looks well enough already... so Rachen figured he'd take some pictures for his own enjoyment. One of the whole thing, raised tail and pucker and hanging sack; two of just the last of these, with his paw cupping the warm, heavy orbs and fingers brushing against the sheath in front; and then he brought his thumb to his lips, coated it with saliva, and pressed it back against the dog's tailhole...

That was what caused Marvin to stop drinking, and instead of barking or stepping away as Rachen had first expected, he just stood there, turned his head to look back at him, and wagged his tail in his paw. He could feel the steady clenching and releasing, clench and release of the feral's tailhole, stronger and stronger as he continued to press in - until the rim of that tailhole slid around his thumb and squeezed hot, wet flesh around it. That was one picture he decided to take, and then another when he pulled his thumb to the side to stretch the dog's rump a little bit, to see the reddish-pink slick flesh inside his tailhole that glistened with the flash of the camera... and, then, he couldn't help himself.

Tepid, nervous breaths first as he started to lean in, the short fur along the underside of the dog's tail making his nose twitch. But, then, he touched his lips to that stretched tailhole, already slightly wet with the saliva from his thumb... and closed his eyes and swallowed. He knew he wouldn't be able to emulate the way that Marvin licked at his tailhole - but then, why would he? Just dragging the flat of his tongue up along it, over and over... instead, Rachen swirled his tongue around and around the ridged skin, slowly coming in towards the center still held open by his thumb. It was a simultaneously sweet and bitter musk that quickly crawled across and clung to his tongue, as well as one that remain in his throat unless something heavier washed it down. Which, seeing how much the dog had just drank, he had no doubt of.

Rachen set the camera back down against the floor, then, so that he could bring his other paw up to pull Marvin's tailhole open from the other side as well. He could just press his tongue in until it squeezed past the clenching rim of it, but this way he could get there faster and easier - and that bittersweet musk turned to one tangy and almost salty, familiar from the last time he'd shoved his tongue beneath this beast's rump. And throughout it all, Marvin remained obediently in place, broad flat tongue hanging out of his mouth and no concern shown on his muzzle: for all Rachen could tell, he enjoyed it as much as the foxwolf did.

When he did drop his paws from the dog's rump to work his tongue against the tailhole, he reached forward first to gently rub and squeeze his hanging sack, also twitching and pulsing with his heartbeat, and then up to his sheath... out of the end of which peeked the tapered end of his cock, moist with liquid musk and arousal.

As he churned his jaw against the feral's rear, Marvin's cock continued to slide further out of his sheath and between Rachen's fingers. There was just something about being able to not only feel, but also taste the slick musk of his tailhole on his lips and tongue, as well as the wet warmth of his sheath and cock on his fingerpads... last time he'd played with Marvin, he'd ended up with too many different things all over himself to be able to enjoy the focused scent and taste of one or two things in particular. Were he not already thoroughly worked up with something else in mind, he'd sit back and rub one out while pressing those fingerpads right up against his nose... or, hell, while pressing his nose right up against the source of that scent, at the lip of Marvin's sheath.

Digging his tongue up against the dog's tailhole, still tightening and releasing in that same rhythm... Rachen pressed in when the ridged flesh pushed back against his lips, and then curled his tongue up when it then squeezed around it, a good full inch inside the dog's rear. Somewhat idly, he wondered if Mr. Bronson had felt this same hot, wet clenching around his cock before, all eight-something uncut inches of it, base to tip... the foxwolf certainly wouldn't mind offering a tongue and muzzle to that.

This feral dog wasn't _quite_as emotive as a person with a tongue shoved up under their tail, but Rachen could still feel it. The increase in pulse, most noticeably in the moist walls of his rump; the change in his breathing; the slight thrusts into the paw on his cock, and back against the muzzle beneath his lifted tail. And then on top of all that, a palpable change in his musk from his natural scent to one bearing the rich spice of arousal.

Remembering his duty again, the foxwolf reached over somewhere behind him to grab the camera, claws scrabbling clumsily over the tile floor. He moved back for a quick moment to find the Video button - and then (hopefully) directed it towards his face as he moved back in to repeat his thorough treatment of Marvin's pulsing tailhole: tongue swirling around the rim and then pressing against the center, digging as deep in as he could for a full sloppy kiss, lips to slightly protruding pink flesh.

As much as he'd love to continue burying his tongue into this feral's rump, his jaw started to ache. The tile floor was none too friendly on his knees, either, so after spending a few more seconds cleaning up his mess of saliva that rolled down the dog's backside, he flicked the camera back off, wiped his paw across his muzzle, and stood up. As soon as he did, Marvin turned to face him and got right back to wagging.

Even standing up Rachen could see those first few inches of rich reddish-pink flesh hanging down beneath the dog's body, glistening and gently pulsing. His own pants were getting rather uncomfortable... so as he made his way into the next room he unbuttoned and unzipped and pulled his own length out, giving it a few slow, sweet strokes. Felt so damn good after being restricted in his pants, but still he wasn't done: Rachen sat down on the couch in the next room and patted beside him, sitting upright. Marvin looked at him for a moment but, as he continued to pat there, got the idea and hopped up-

-and with his paws pushing on the dog's rump, Rachen turned him around so that he could slide up sideways beside him, nose and lips just a few inches away from that twitching cock. A good, obedient dog, Marvin remained standing for his partner while Rachen just... inhaled the scent radiating off of that cock, flat and heavy but undeniably musky and tantalizing. After that first day, whenever he smelled something even vaguely similar to that - like wet dog smell but sharper, spicier - he'd have to shove his paws into his pockets to hide his inevitable 'complication' that came as a result.

Hell, his mouth was watering from being so close - and that wasn't from what he'd just finished doing with his muzzle beneath Marvin's tail. One paw braced out against the couch cushion to keep himself up, Rachen moved forward, positioned his head beneath the dog's stomach... and flicked his tongue out against the end of that tapered tip, lapping off the clear bead of salty pre that had gathered there. The taste of that quickly spread out over his tongue and mixed with the heavy musk of the feral's rump, and while it still did make his whiskers twitch like last time, he loved it.

So, of course, he dove further down along the side of it, running his tongue along the underside as he went. He brought his other paw up to rub and squeeze at the smooth supple skin of Marvin's sheath, with the bulge of his knot just barely starting to form; he could hold there and roll his sheath back with his tongue, briefly sliding it beneath the lip of the skin and into the hot musky moisture lingering there. Soon, though, there was no room for him down there, between the top of Marvin's sheath and the skin of his belly, so he moved back up to close his lips on that cock.

It was always amazing watching how this dog grew out of his sheath: pointed tip flattening out, and then moving on in a smooth contour that steadily widened and bulged out... all the way to the little arc inwards right above where his knot would eventually balloon out. Rachen always felt a little worried about squeezing Marvin's sheath for fear of handling it too roughly and hurting him, but - the more he squeezed and rubbed behind that warm lump, the more the dog thrust forward between his lips. He'd always heard that feral canines didn't particularly like a mouth around their cock, but... this one didn't seem to mind.

He had to hold himself back as he slid down along that length, keeping his lips pursed and tongue cupped, and repeatedly swallowing down the salty pre. It had started to leak out onto the back of his tongue in rhythmic weak bursts, a precursor to the jets of cum that would soon start; this only reminded him of _another_scenario he'd pawed off to many times before, the thought of having his clothing and fur soaked through not with piss (though that, too, was a favorite fantasy, and one he'd actually been through a few times before) but with the runny liquids of a feral dog's pre and cum. The smell, the taste, both magnified and concentrated here beneath the big mutt as he thrust into the foxwolf's muzzle and paw, half-swollen knot pushing its way past the rim of his sheath...

Sure, this was a weird position. Already his jaw started to hurt again, as well as his neck and back, but - God, did he enjoy it. Marvin did too, clearly: the taste of the juices spurting out into his muzzle had changed slightly and picked up in force, now spraying directly out against the back of his throat.

The feral dog thrust fast and hard into the muzzle and paw along his cock, knot still continuing to swell out as he went. Rachen had felt that thrusting firsthand beneath his tail, driving deep into him and filling him first with firm flesh and then with some volume of hot, slick cum, the same sort of which he now swallowed down. He opened his eyes again and looked up: fingers evenly spread beneath the dog's knot with his thumb resting against the hot, wet flesh, he could feel it straining and pulsing in his cupped paw-

And then, a bit frantically, Marvin moved to change his position. Hard, blunted dog claws scraping against Rachen's shoulder, brushy tail fwapping across his face... and then again he was looking at the mutt's tailhole, still slightly moist with his saliva. Now it pulsed even stronger, just like the foxwolf had seen in videos so many times before.

Rachen's own knot had taken shape in his sheath, the skin of which he rolled back with a deep shiver. Feral dogs, he'd discovered, tended not to last very long... but that just meant he could enjoy himself a little more. He had moved back off of the dog's full throbbing cock when he'd turned around, and now just watched it as it continued to spray ou little jets of whitish cum into his shirt and the fur of his belly. Every time he tugged behind that thick knot, the dog responded with another huff of breath and a little raise of his hind leg.

The foxwolf leaned back against the couch cushions to watch the pulsing tailhole and cock as he pawed himself off. Sharp, musty taste of both of those still on his upper lip and the back of his throat, regardless of the pre and cum he'd swallowed down... not enough to fill his belly and warm him up, though. That would come later. Again and again he flicked his tongue out over his lips, paw sliding steadily faster along his slick length. Had hardly touched himself at all, and already he was close enough to feel the hot pressure of his approaching orgasm. If he lifted his hips and paw up just enough, he was able to catch those spurts of feral seed on his length and use it as a warm, slick lube, the kind that stuck to his fingers and soaked its scent into his fur.

What he did with Marvin today would stay in his mind and fantasies for a long time, perhaps more than the time at Bronson's house with his friends. Once more, the foxwolf's ears perked: speaking of Mr. Bronson... he let go of Marvin's cock to reach for the camera. Released from his paw, the dog's cock flipped back under his belly and continued to spray out against the other cushions of the couc. That was fine; Rachen could clean it up later. After grinding his nose against the stains, of course.

When he focused the camera down between his legs, he made sure to catch all of Marvin's best side in the shot: red-fleshed length visible throbbing past that heavy hanging sack, balls pulling up a little bit with each throb, and the diamond shape of his puckered and also-pulsing tailhole. Every time it relaxed, just how fiercely he'd shoved his tongue into that rump could clearly be seen in its slight gape, rim only squeezing all of the way shut with each throb...

Hell, if Mr. Bronson didn't upload these pictures and videos, then Rachen would probably just do it himself.

Bright pleasure rising, building up... he tried to slow his paw to keep his fast climax at bay for another moment longer, but still felt it coming, and as such picked his pace right back up. Paws full, he couldn't lift his shirt up out of the way before he bucked up - and emptied his own load out across his bellyfur and the fabric of that shirt, each spurt squeezing a low moan out from between his lips. That was fine, too. After what he still had in mind with Marvin, his clothing (as well as the foxwolf himself) would need a good, thorough washing.

The foxwolf let his head fall back, mouth hanging open. Damn rare for pawing off to leave him as exhausted as this, with the deep pulses of his climax still rippling through him and making him shiver. As he caught his breath, Marvin sat down, lifted a leg to lap at himself - Rachen raised his head back up to watch that broad tongue flicking over the reddish-pink shaft, knot still preventing it from sliding back into his sheath - and then hopped down to the floor.

After another moment, Rachen realized he hadn't yet hit the button on the camera to stop recording. A whole weekend just to himself and his dog... he hoped that he'd get to know this dog even better than he already did, if possible. Still, though, the encroaching sleepiness that always followed a damn good orgasm loomed towards him still lying back on the couch warm and satisfied. With the whole weekend, there would really be no point to rush things... so, slowly-softening cock still drooling into his bellyfur, the foxwolf stretched out and closed his eyes...

...and then found himself stirred back awake some time later by the sound of repeated scratching on the back door. His half-awake mind struggled to discern just what that could be, until he remembered: dog. I'm watching Mr. Bronson's dog this weekend.

And this dog doubtless has a very full bladder after all that water he drank earlier.

Rachen could feel another little stirring in the base of his sheath as he realized this. When he stood up to let Marvin out, he didn't even bother doing his pants back up; again, they'd be coming off soon anyway.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes on the way over. The big mutt on the other side of the kitchen gave a little wag when he saw him coming over. Kind of cool outside today; it would be damn nice to be able to warm a bit - which just added to that stirring in Rachen's sheath, and then even more as he let his eyes wander down to the dog's backside again.

That back door - glass, sliding - moved smoothly and clicked into place with some pressure from his paw. The day had only further cooled down since he'd met Mr. Bronson at the door earlier in the day; Rachen looked out over the slightly-unkempt backyard and the darkening grey sky overhead before stepping out to follow Marvin.

Faced with a new environment, the dog was of course running bac and forth acros the yard to sniff at everything, but still Rachen picked up his pace. He wanted to be there from the start, he wanted to catch the first drop... and, actually, it looked as if Marvin wanted him to, as well. He'd heard of dogs that wouldn't go whensomeone was looking as well as those that wouldn't unless they were being watched, but... one that wouldn't go without someone right next to him?

Marvin looked like he'd picked a good spot to raise his leg on, but made no move other than to look back at the foxwolf and bark. Rachen swallowed and came forward, dropping down to his knees as soon as he saw the feral start to hike his leg. And, then, just like that the foxwolf had to swallow and bite back the urge to lean forward and press his tongue into the end of that furred sheath, jiggling slightly with the dog's breathing; he held Marvin's leg up over his head with one paw, he licked his lips, he looked between the large hanging sack and the plump meat of the sheath-

-and then recoiled slightly at the sudden burst of hot, fresh piss against the front of his muzzle. It smelled and tasted terrible just like last time, regardless of how much the dog had drank, but... still, it worked Rachen up like nothing else. Hot, slick wetness flowing down the fur of his muzzle, dripping down his chin, splashing into the grass between his legs... he swallowed again - that just brought that taste to him more fully - and parted his lips, head half-tilted so that he could fit underneath the mutt's belly.

His other paw had to be kept braced against the cool, wet grass beside him, but if that weren't the case... the foxwolf swallowed again and opened his maw wider, leaning in closer so that he could catch more of the feral's stream on his waiting tongue. Every inhalation brought the sharp, acrid musk of the dog's piss to him even stronger than before, enough to make him shiver and hump at the air.

The stream rose and fell, rose and fell with the dog's breaths, to the point where it just splashed against the foxwolf's lips and nose and flowed down out of the sides of his mouth. So, he squeezed his eyes shut, closed his mouth, and... swallowed once, twice, a third time, a fourth time, having to bite back the sharp taste each time. It just felt so damn good to have that slick heat roll down the back of his throat and fill his belly, all the while splashing against his closed lips and soaking into his fur there.

After his last swallow, he opened his mouth again and tilted his head up, spreading his tongue as wide as possible for the dog's piss. His other paw fell away from Marvin's raised leg, which remained up, and slid back down to his own hard length. His shirt clung to his fur, both soaked through with the warm mark that still came in force. If he wanted to keep up, he'd have to keep on swallowing - so, of course, he did. Eyes shut and muzzle stretched open, it was just like how he'd been the last time he'd visited Mr. Bronson.

The dog didn't seem to mind at all about this foxwolf underneath him swallowing down his piss fresh from his bladder - but then, why would he? He'd already thoroughly_marked Rachen once in the past, inside and out; what would be the harm of doing it again? Every exhalation from the foxwolf came out as a panting moan, heavy with desire and arousal. The last time he'd worn Marvin's mark on his tongue, the taste stayed with him throughout the rest of the night and the following day, and _this was a lot more... even as he felt his thirst diminishing and belly becoming full, he still continued to swallow it down, mouthful after mouthful.

As he did so, he moved in closer and closer to the dog's cock until his lips pressed up against the rim of his sheath, to drink directly from the source... and also to catch the last of the drops and anything that came afterwards, once that stream inevitably started to taper off into a lazy drip, and from there, stop completely. Still, though, he prodded his tongue into the slit at the end and against the soft, warm flesh of the dog's tip, still hidden within that sheath. All he could smell and taste was that piss, sharp and musky and heavy, not exactly his idea of pleasant but still damn nice.

And, then, suddenly - he realized he'd left the camera inside. Rachen swallowed down the dog's musk and leaned back, paw sliding across his length now with that slick piss as lube. Bladder emptied, Marvin remained above him with his leg lifted for a little bit longer, and then padded off to get back to sniffing; Rachen remained in the puddle of piss he'd missed, enjoying the scent and taste rich on his muzzle.

He looked over at the dog, large balls swaying behind his hind legs as he walked. That, too, was perfectly alright: Rachen had been planning to do this at least once more during the weekend, anyway. That would give him a perfect chance to catch it on camera.