FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Nobody had ever gone to Andrea's gym feeling deceived. The fact that she was an overdeveloped amazon with a dick was obvious in every advertisement, and especially the television ones. She didn't outright say she had a penis, but her shorts were always tight enough to show it, and the camera had a tendency to pan downward when she flexed and told the viewer exactly the results and personalized experience they could expect.

When the new kid showed up for the janitorial job, she was up-front about how cute she found him. He was most things she liked in a guy: small, quiet, pretty and he often stole looks at her crotch which he thought were sneaky. Andrea was a tall white tigress whose forearms were thicker than the boy's thighs; she liked to be noticed, and she expected it. When she caught him peeking, it wasn't cause for reprimand. He was just doing what came naturally.

It couldn't have been a surprise to him that Andrea wanted her dick in his body. He was a fox, or at least mostly one, and as far as she was concerned, that eliminated the need for consent beforehand. His name was Desmond, but it might as well have been hey you, bend the fuck over for as much as she wanted to stick it in him.

Near closing time on a Friday evening, the end of his first week, Andrea was winding down on one of the exercise bikes. Thick, throbbing muscles under silver-white fur rippled, sweat leaking into her coat and making her shine. Her chocolate hair was tied back in a ponytail and her yellow eyes were intense, staring ahead at nothing in particular. It was only her and Desmond, and the foxcoon was presently wiping down equipment with a rag. She kept an eye on him when he happened to wander into her view.

Finally Desmond sashayed over to her, a spray bottle of disinfectant in one paw, a sweat-stained rag in the other. He smiled timidly. "Last bike to clean is yours, miss Andrea."

"D'you always talk like such a faggot or is it just 'cause I sign your paychecks?" She kept pumping, lifting herself up like pedaling in the Tour de France. Inclining made the jiggling view down into her sports bra irresistible; Desmond stared at her boobs a few long moments before turning away. "Well, you like looking at my titties," she puffed. "Guess you're not a total homo. Unless it's just my prick you're after."

Desmond chuckled modestly. "I wouldn't presume on you like that, miss Andrea."

"You ought to," the tiger snapped, settling onto the seat which squished underneath her sweaty taint. "Here, boy. Clean this up."

The fox was onto the bike as soon as Andrea dismounted. She grabbed the towel slung around her shoulders and patted her face and neck, lifting her hair and swabbing underneath it. Watching Desmond spray and wipe on the bike left her sneering. He was mopping up sweat that had rolled down her ass crack; dripped off her balls. "Hey. Kid. You missed a spot."

"Well, I mean, I haven't fin--."

Like a high school bully, Andrea grabbed the back of Desmond's skull and shoved his girly, long snout into the seat. He shrieked and squirmed, but Andrea was more muscular than he could have ever hoped to be. She pushed him in hard, making her soaked-in sweat ooze from the seat's pores. It ground into his fur, marking him with the stink of her exercise. "Don't act like you don't fuckin' it that, sissy," she hissed, grinning enormously. She was getting hard.

Desmond pushed against the frame of the bike, whining but swishing his tail so fast it was nearly wagging. Over the ambient stench of musk and sweat permeating the gym, a more feminine smell was rising. Andrea rightly pinned it on Desmond, but she was mistaken about the precise source of it. Moreover, she didn't really care what the foxcoon smelled like.

The bitch yanked Desmond back and pulled him along by his shirt collar, outright dragging him as if she were a caveman when he didn't walk in time. She was growling and purring, tail lashing in line with her predatory and sexual drives. "I'm gonna fuck your sissy ass so hard it's gonna feel like you're sitting on a sack of marbles for a month, boy."

"Oh, shit--, miss Andrea, you need to know something!" Desmond started, but Andrea was having none of it. She trudged into the locker room where Desmond's uncooperative feet glided on tile instead of dragging on floorboards.

She sat him on the bench, outright manipulating him with both muscular paws on his shoulders, and then she pointed severely at her crotch. "Tug 'em down, fag. You go-o-ot," she glanced at the clock above the lockers, an analog one, "twenty seconds to lube my dick up all you can. Best get to it, 'cause time's running out right fuckin' now."

The foxcoon fidgeted, yanking down Andrea's gym shorts without thinking. Underneath was a jockstrap the same striking hues as a yellowjacket - yellow on the pouch and black on the elastic. He pulled that down too, and Andrea's dense black meat sprung free, bopping his nose and smearing precum across his nostrils.

Desmond thought her penis was gorgeous as it was threatening, and he started to gulp and slobber it, squeezing the rest and ushering his drool down it. It filled out his maw and then some, wedging between his canines and pinning down much of his tongue, but he tried.

Andrea called out unhelpfully, "Fifteen seconds!"

With a gasp, Desmond pulled back and took a furtive look at Andrea's eyes, then her breasts, then her cock again which glistened with his slobber but had by no means a complete coating. "Miss Andrea, please!"

"Ten seconds," she hissed, paws on her hips. Nose pointed slightly up, she looked down at the fox with an aloof air.

So Desmond went at it again, not sucking but slobbering, hawking and spitting as much drool onto her as he possibly could. He smeared it on with his tongue, resisting the urge to let his paws and the porous fur on them near his precious lubrication.

Overhead and breathing firmly, Andrea counted down: "Five, four, three, two...! And that's enough, boy!" she snapped, smacking a paw into his crown, claws out and jabbing into his scalp. His shriek made her snicker. "Pants off, bitch-ass! Spread them cheeks!"

The foxcoon had tears in the corners of his eyes, wetness which had sprung up with Andrea claws pricked him. He wanted to feel his head to see if he was bloody (he wasn't), but he was moving automatically to kick off his track pants, uttering no useless words which he knew she wouldn't listen to. And underneath the pants, thick and black and throbbing just like Andrea's erection, was a canine vulva. Near the pink split breaking up its blackness was a smear of juices gleaming with a dull finish in the fluorescent light.

"What in the fuck--?" Andrea blurted. Half her mouth twisted into a grin. An eyebrow shot up. "Is that a fucking pussy? And here I just figured you were a sissy boy."

"I am a sissy boy," Desmond grunted, adorably indignant. "I'm not--, this doesn't make me a girl. It's hard to explain..."

"I bet it is - good thing I don't give a shit." She knelt on the bench and grabbed his thigh, briskly stuffing two fingers into him, claws mercifully retracted. He gasped and bucked into her touch. "Real nice cunt either way. I've never seen one like this." She stretched him with her fingers, spreading his cuntlips until the opening was a humid, pink yawn. The foxcoon squirmed on the bench, harsh shudders wracking his body. "Wish I'd have known about this sweet little box sooner... I woulda nailed you on your first day."

Desmond gnawed his lip for a moment, gripping the edges of the bench. "I--, fuck, I try not to tell people about it... they treat me differently once they know."

The tiger was candid. "They should, it's fucking weird." She shot him a grin full of sharp teeth and extended her claws before drawing back her fingers; she took care to rake them only softly along his vaginal flesh, and she noted with great pleasure how completely (and wisely) he stiffened. When her fingers were out, she sniffed them, and then climbed over the foxcoon.

Fist around her dark meat to guide it, Andrea bumped her cockhead into his folds and hissed to him, "Pull this goddamn sports bra up for me, would you?"

"Um, yeah." In the same moment Desmond peeled it up from the bottom, Andrea pushed her cock in, gouging open snug black lips, causing him to clench his teeth and curl his toes. The tears at the corners of his eyes grew enough that they started to streak down the sides of his head. "Uhn, be gentle with me, please," he bleated, yanking her bra up, taking his frustrations out on it. The fat, white breasts hanging in his face did nothing to comfort him.

"That word ain't in my vocabulary, pussyboy," the tiger said, her words tight and masculine. Desmond's cunt resisted her; she gripped one of his shoulders and gave herself leverage with her foot still on the tile, pushing and defying his uncooperative vagina. "Chri-i-ist, that's some primo pussy. Fuck cleaning up the gym - you're just gonna be my dick sleeve from now on."

"Oh, god," Desmond whined. He put his paws on her breasts, one clumsily sliding down to her flank. He found her so thick as to be impossible to grip, but even when he found the purchase to shove with his back against the bench, she was immovable. Her cock bottomed out in his tight young snatch. "Miss Andrea--! It hurts, please..."

She bit her full lip and started to pull back. It gave Desmond no relief. He believed she wasn't doing it for his sake, and he was proved immediately right when she bucked back in. And she pulled back and mashed it in again, and then again. She fucked him using short strokes, her body vibrating with a subtle purr better felt than heard. Every chiseled muscle in her tall, hard body was tightened up and stiff as stone, but her soft breasts brushed against him with the more vigorous grinds.

To Desmond's credit, which Andrea noted, the fox was being rather subtle. She knew it was a rape; that had never stopped her before and she didn't intend for the policy to change with Desmond, but usually the boys were louder. There was, of course, the fact that she was always doing them anally. Desmond's silky black muff was made for sex, a concept she found apparent with just how smoothly her penis glided in and out on a cushion of vaginal secretions. He was still tight, simply too small for her, but that was no obstacle to a woman who could bench press a short ton on a good day.

Andrea licked her lips and paused for a moment, remaining bottomed out in Desmond. She liked the feeling of his plush pussylips spread around her and crushing into her loins. She pulled her outstretched leg onto the bench and stretched its twin, making use of that one for her leverage then. As she settled back into her rhythm, she dipped lower and nipped Desmond on the cheek, ripping out a whisker and prompting a shriek. Her prey drive unchained by the cry, she snarled bestially and doubled down, mashing her unstoppable hips harder and harder in the foxcoon's unusual cunt.

"You're hurting me," Desmond plaintively said, and he choked with a sob. He held her fast by the flank, his other paw squeezing the bench with white knuckles under black fur. "Please... please stop."

In a tone which was gentler than her usual cadence but still gruff, she said, "I'm gonna nut soon. Shut the fuck up 'til then."

She closed her eyes; bit her lip until it whitened; let her bucks lose some rhythm in favor of ferocity. She had never had a canine cunt, hadn't even seen one in person or on the internet, but she was a changed woman. The plump pussy currently wrapped around her dick was easily in the top five holes she'd ever plugged, and she was still test driving it. "I wanna meet your folks and high-five 'em just for this little hotbox of yours," she sighed. "Feels like a sponge on the outside, but goddamn, it's so fucking smooth inside. It's like sticking my dick in some hot lycra." She laughed in his face, spraying spittle. "Boy, I'm gonna ride you more than that fuckin' exercise bike!"

Desmond grimaced away from her. Where her prey drive was being driven wild, his latent instincts hated everything about this situation. He was too civilized to panic and piss and attempt to run, but his body was telling him of the danger he was in through a rich tapestry of hormones and anxiety. The metallic flavor of fear was bubbling up in his throat. He began to whimper and more openly sob, saying nothing articulate but making many sounds nevertheless.

Desmond's blubbering only reinforced Andrea's dominion. She grinned with the face of a demon, all her teeth bared up to the gums and ready to tear the boy's neck open. She never broke countenance when she snarled and drove her forearm into his neck.

He gagged and arched his back, pussy clenching like a vise. He raked his claws down her sides; tits; arms; cheeks. Weeping slits appeared wherever his small, but sharp fox claws dug in, but Andrea didn't notice them. She watched the cords in Desmond's neck bloat and pulse and listened to what could have been his death rattle as he struggled to breathe, and it made her incredibly horny.

The tiger bore down with more of her weight and pounded the fox, bruising his vulva with her hips. Wet and lurid sucks began, plunging noises to accompany every buck, and they passed flatly through the locker room with nobody to appreciate their absurdity. Desmond was too certain he was being fucked to death, and Andrea was so incredibly aroused and on the verge of going feral that she would have had a hard time recalling her own name. She raped Desmond; it was all she could even think of doing. Wants and needs were not a concept she could fathom.

Deep, brutal grunts escaped Andrea. They were neither masculine nor feminine, but simply the labored vocalizations of a beast about to spread its seed. Her muscles locked and her claws extended, digging into the bench and making ruts in the waxed wood. She snarled into Desmond's face, drool spraying across his slackening features, and she blasted into him with incredible potency.

Thick ropes of feline cum gushed into Desmond, overfilling him and backwashing across the bench and her aching ballbag. She shuddered and arched her back, momentarily putting more weight on his throat before she pulled her arm away and held herself up on either side of the bench instead. Desmond gradually came back to life, beginning to sputter and cough, breaking a rope of foaming drool falling from the corner of his mouth. Andrea didn't care about how narrowly she'd avoided an accidental murder; she was slipping into her afterglow and purring in its embrace.

"Gawd, that's a fine pussy," Andrea puffed, looking down at Desmond without caring how plaintive he appeared. She ran her fingers through her hair, sweaty but still tightly bound in a ponytail. Sliding out of Desmond prompted a gush of semen and his vulva stayed gouged for the moment, hints of a purplish blue visible in its ebony surface. She paid it no further mind and lifted the fox up by an armpit like a little girl with her favorite ragdoll. "We're gonna go shower up," she said to the quietly crying fox. "You can lick the sweat off my asshole while we're at it. If you can give a good rimjob, that plus your cunt's gonna make you my new favorite bitch."

Desmond, it soon turned out, was in fact Andrea's favorite bitch after that night. She hired a new boy to take over his old job.