FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"The camera loves you," Molly said plainly and honestly, idly bouncing one folded leg atop the other. Her latex leggings creaked with each tense and release, every little shift, giving even her simplest movements an unmistakable sound of authority. Anybody who understood Molly knew that this suited her like blue suited the sky. "And your name was Desmond?"

"It is, yes ma'am," said Desmond brightly, although he looked at the poodle with uncertainty in his naive, green eyes. They were windows into a very simple soul, one which Molly had collected from a college campus with her vague young models needed fliers posted near the male dorms. "Um. I have a question. Well, more of a... an affirmation I suppose." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his muzzle and Molly found herself thinking he was very cute. It was a legitimate thought, but the undercurrent of it was the fact that she had movies to make and a smutty empire to run. The fresh-from-Virginia foxcoon in her viewfinder, standing in his spotless briefs and square-rimmed glasses, had been selected because he was exactly the kind of naif her audience loved. That his tongue unfolded to a very impressive nine inches was a big point in his favor.

"Do you?" the black poodle asked, smiling to humor him. Since Desmond's co-star wasn't in yet, she didn't consider this to be wasted time. "Well, go on. I'll answer you if I can."

Desmond tried to look into Molly's eyes, but she was leaning to the side, peering through the viewfinder on the presently idle camera. So he tried to look through it too, but from five feet away and the wrong side. All the effort did was leave him slightly inclined with his paws on his knees, a vaguely naughty yet unintentional position. "Well. This isn't exactly on the up-and-up, is it? Not a legitimate modeling gig?"

"Yes and no," Molly said noncommittally, and sat back in her director's chair. "Am I legitimate businesswoman who intends to monetize what happens in front of this camera? Yes, I am. Will you be compensated for your work? Yes, you will." Now her smile turned nearly sinister, a toothy demon's grin gone in only a flash. "But is it just modeling? Not entirely. I'll be taking stills of you for publicity, but you're about to star in an avant-garde art film, one portion of a much longer piece I call Tongue of Beast."

The fox stared at her, thinking in his innocent way she was very pretty, but deeply frightful. Her answers provoked similar ambivalence, leaving him both assuaged and fearful of the dog. He was in his underpants in a chilly warehouse with a camera pointed at him by a self-identified dickbitch whom he guessed, if her height and muscle tone were any indication, could bend him backwards like a twig until his life ceased to be. But Molly actually didn't seem threatening, if anything coming across as polite but obviously evil. It was her strange combination of charisma and imposing, unfeminine beauty which had gotten him this far.

Before more uncomfortable questions and vague answers could be uttered, the side door creaked open on old hinges, throwing a sharp squeal of metal on metal into the spacious warehouse. Molly and her young star looked over at once to see an unremarkable Labrador Retriever girl, a quiet but efficient employee of Molly's named Maria. A chain leash was wrapped twice around her small fist, looking like a knuckle duster. Walking close to her, leaving slack in the leash, was a four-legged Bernese Mountain Dog of typically monstrous size. It seemed Maria was a small girl, but in fact she was six feet even; the Bernese's withers were as high as her breasts.

"There we are. Thank you, Maria," said Molly with a respectful nod. "Desmond. Meet your co-star. This is Sutter, I believe," she said just as the dog approached Desmond, tail wagging in friendly delight. The foxcoon revealingly backpedaled before tentatively touching the dog's crown, but he flinched back when Sutter licked his wrist. Only excited further, thinking the fox wanted to play, Sutter barked once then seemed surprised by the echo he caused.

Maria unhooked the chain from the dog's collar, left it with Molly, and took her place behind the camera without a word. She sighted the pair in diligently.

"Seems like you two get along just fine," the poodle said. "What do you think, Desmond?"

"What do I think of what?" the naif asked, trying to push the giddy dog back without much luck. The Bernese was a great, muscular dog and he nearly matched Desmond's weight. He barked again, then whined, trying to slobber the fox. Puppy-like affection informed his actions. Sutter was clearly a dog who knew only love and fondness.

"Of him," Molly cryptically said. "Maria. Are we ready to film?"

"Whenever you are."

"Great." The black poodle smiled, almost smirking, and folded her gloved paws across her lap. The latex creaked. "Desmond, he's pretty tall, but you need to level the field for him. Kneel down so that-."

Desmond cut in with a whine. "Kneel down?"

"-he can get his tongue in your mouth," Molly said over him as if he had never tried to interrupt. "And I want to see you slurping back, don't you be passive about it. You've got that big tongue, you're gonna use it."

"What kind of screwed-up gig is this?" Desmond plaintively asked, looking down at Sutter with splayed ears.

Molly unfolded her legs, only to refold them the other way. Again her latex creaked, and how she loved that sound. "Nobody is forcing you to stay here. Your clothes are in the locker where you left them. No kissing means no pay, of course. Business is business. I'd like to think two thousand dollars would be very useful to a jobless college student, but if you want to back out... Maria, where's the laptop? I guess we'll have to pick one of the other applicants."

Desmond grimaced. "I'll do it, all right? Okay? Please?"

Seated in her director's chair, a smile on her face, Molly said nothing. Her expression, however, told Desmond that he was firmly under her thumb. He knelt on one of the mattress toppers on the cold cement floor, and still felt the cement even through that. It was inconsequential once Sutter descended on him, slobbering his muzzle with delighted, loving laps which caked down his fur with saliva and smeared the lenses of his glasses. He recoiled, wincing but pouting out his cute jowl-lips. Maria began to film and Molly offered simple but effective direction: "Open your mouth, Desmond. He's an eager boy, he'll get you started."

I really can't believe I'm doing this shit, thought Desmond, his inner monologue far more coarse than he would ever dare speak. He tried to look at Sutter but the dog's appearance was unfocused into the broad strokes of an oil painting by all the saliva on his lenses. So he closed his eyes, but opened his mouth, gingerly at first. The Bernese's tongue slopped against his inner jowls and over his teeth. The dog seemed not to notice the new textures at first, yet when Desmond opened his mouth wider, the dog finally noticed when his tongue started to catch on the foxcoon's upper jaw.

Sutter recoiled momentarily, and then he started lapping with fresh new interest in the fox. He attacked the insides of Desmond's mouth so eagerly that it seemed there must be peanut butter smeared on the fox's palate. His tail wagged and he whined in his puppy-like delight.

"That's good. There you go," Molly said with a hint of warmth in her voice. "Now you can close your mouth around his tongue, just a little bit. Leave some room for him or he'll balk. Try to keep it in there, use your own tongue on it."

Molly's sagely advice painted Desmond's immediate actions. He eased his jaws slowly shut around the dog's tongue, slowing eager doggy licks into more thoughtful laps deep in the narrowing cavern of the fuzzy stranger's maw. Desmond, with indignation running hot, grabbed the burly dog by his forelegs and pulled him in closer. Sutter waddled in eagerly, and the thick pad of his nose bumped Desmond's. Nostrils flared and fat runners of drool slopped from their slack muzzles, dripping into the mattress topper.

Desmond began to stroke through Sutter's coarse, warm fur, finding appreciation for the dog's muscularity. His tongue, though long and pretty according to Molly (which was extremely high praise coming from her), was not a match for Sutter's loping fire hose of a tongue. It was all wonderful fodder for the camera however, which recorded the slow wrestle of canine and vulpine tongues in high definition at one-hundred-and-twenty frames per second so that every little detail could be seen by the animal-kissing enthusiasts who purchased Molly's work.

At that moment, as he gulped on Sutter's tongue and unintentionally swallowed the happy dog's saliva, Desmond had a hard-on in common with Molly. His briefs were tented a humiliatingly small amount. The dickbitch herself was much more impressive, her knotted penis jutting obscenely from her lap like a black model rocket, and it drooled along itself just as her two handsome stars drooled all over each other for her amusement and that of her home video audience later on.

"Good, Desmond. Very good," she said, a small amount of lust creeping into her voice now. She dragged her tongue along her lips, wetting them and the surrounding fur. Her tongue was very nearly the size of Sutter's - a thick pink slab wet with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of drool. "Get your lips against his. He might balk a little - just hold him close. He won't bite."

It had never even occurred to Desmond that this giant dog could bite. He was so friendly and warm that it seemed impossible, but Molly's new direction made him leery. He took the sides of the Bernese's head with trepidation and pulled him closer, at the same time thrusting forward his own narrow snout. Sutter whined, voicing his confusion, his dark but loving eyes growing wider as Desmond fully consummated the kiss by going jowl to jowl with him. Now the Bernese felt trapped, his tongue supplanted by Desmond's or so it seemed. He whined again, then grumbled, very minor noises of distress and aggravation. Desmond wisely let him go and their saturated muzzles came apart, tongues left hanging past the mouths which they belonged in by many inches for a mere moment. A beautiful close-up of their gaping, panting maws a few inches apart would make for the perfect closing scene, Molly thought. "Cut," she said. Maria stopped filming.

"Good work, Desmond. Fantastic. I thought you'd be a natural."

Desmond rocked back on his knees. He wiped at the saliva on his lips, but there was so much of it. His efforts only smeared it around like grease, and he gave up after a single wipe. Sutter seemed able to tell that the moment for kisses had passed. He sat heavily, still panting, his beautiful tongue dangling from his maw like a strip of taffy. Desmond knew then and there he would never be able to see a dog's tongue the same way again.

"I-, um. I didn't think I'd like that so much," said the foxcoon, looking longingly at Sutter's bobbing tongue.

"It grows on you," Molly said. The poodle toyed with her cock, stroking down its top with a latex finger. "I have a second position available. This time with a stallion, for another two thousand. But, oh, I won't put you on the spot to decide right now. Go on, get dressed," said the poodle, and gestured toward the door. "Don't call us, we'll call you. Great performance, now go."