FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1

Much like his more feline ancestors, Percy enjoyed rolling himself up into what the internet now dubs the "cuddle ball". No more comfortable pose existed to a cat, and cheetahs, whether strolling about on two legs or four, were essentially nature's biggest house cats. At this moment, he tucks his head down to his belly and lets his tail swish comfortingly over his form, hands gripping his smartphone. His eyes light upon the next image deigned potentially of interest to him by the great algorithm gods of PerfectFurMe, a dating service specializing in uniting anthropomorphic critters (and those with an interest in them).

The profile is barren of many personal details-a horse girl carrying a few extra pounds stared at him with the sort of overzealous eyes that Percy swore only existed in whatever passed for anime these days. Caption: "Like hi fellas! Who could pass up such a cutie eh? Let's show those other bois what they been missin!"

His thumb slips to the left before reading another word, though his tongue offers some choice ones: "Attention whore." While she wasn't exactly unattractive, that gotta-prove-shit-attitude was already exhausting Percy before he'd even met...NeighNeigh2937. He didn't know what depressed him more-that apparently there were at least 2936 other individuals who thought that naming themselves after a fading dance fad was appropriate given their species, or that this particular NeighNeigh had thought, "Eh, I don't care enough about my profile to come up with an original tag so I'll just use that one!" In the end apathy triumphs over burgeoning depression, and Percy casts his glance back upon the screen.

Greeting his eyes now is a house cat anthro, calico by the look of her. Not even bearing to read further, Percy slides left before registering her eye color. Somewhere in his phone he likely still harbors errant selfies, groupies, and solo shots of Nina, despite his many, many, many, many (MANY) attempts to cull the traces of the capricious calico b...now he was bothered by the word he'd nearly conjured. Was bitch appropriate for non-canines in today's increasingly complex world of politically correct parlance? Queen was the scientific one, at least he vaguely recalls from the depths of fourth (or was it second?) grade knowledge lodged somewhere between his last meal (tuna) and his first kiss (kindergarten, Nina, sloppy and unplanned and innocent). So yes, Nina was a queen by that term, but fuck if he was gonna afford her royal pain in the ass such consideration. Bitch would do. And unfortunately, the wicked bitch had burdened him with the sort of gag reflex toward calico patterns that might normally be reserved for five year olds and broccoli.

"Looking for a helping paw to-" Skip.

"Ride me cowboys!" Cats need not apply.

"I'm a nice girl, looki-" Been there, saw the subreddit, one way ticket to Nopesville.

"Transhuman looking to explor-" While he had no issue with the burgeoning transhumanism movement, the idea of dating a willfully furless...was that an otter?...didn't much appeal to a cheetah who definitely did not and never could possibly have a textile fetish.

Percy throws his phone against the wall (lightly, for he's just the wrong kind of well-off: enough money in the family that he didn't qualify for financial aid at the university, but not quite the amount needed to adjust one's monocle while considering the tuition bill and say, "Pippip, cheerio young lad, there's a good cheque for the schooling, run along!"). Frustration mounts in his chest and an adorably irate purr starts up; call it a nervous tic. Percy sure does.

Whether fortunately or not, his phone rebounds to his paw, a proverbial bobo doll drawn back to him inexorably. He huffs, still purring under his breath. "I suppose all the good people in the world are taken already?" Percy grumbles. But then, if you don't cast your line, how will you catch any fish? And just like that his stomach joins his mouth in grumbling.

"Just one more," Percy sighs, hefting the phone back to his eyes, tail now swishing with urgency.

Of all of the profiles in all of the world, he had to scroll through to hers. A lupine muzzle smiles meekly to the camera, bright amber eyes overlooking silver fur cascading down her neck like a mane. His...posture...stiffens a bit as he takes in her attributes-she's overselling the "plus sized" label. If anything, whatever fat holds to her body merely accentuates a sort of effortless physique. Nature had seen fit to grant her sumptuous teats (breasts, yes, but his animal centric education still preferred that particular clinical term), which she graciously hid from the world in a v-cut evening blouse, exposing just enough to whet the appetite and invite the viewer possibly maybe in for some creamy dessert? The photo resembles the sort Percy imagine of a casual exit from a party: carefree in her posture, the uncertain smile a message that, perhaps, she's caught off guard by the camera's sudden flash.

There is no perfect quote in her profile that draws Percy in. He reads it all anyway, and what he's struck by is not eloquence or panache-it's honesty.

"I got purple streaks that my stylist has to dye each couple of months. For a few days my fur feels sticky in spots, so if you try to hug me around the treatment just expect to get some purple of your own. Not here looking for a miracle or nature's gift to the vagina, though if you can do the former or provide the latter, don't bother messaging me cuz your ego ain't worth my time. What I do want is simple-you. No, not the you you put on to show your friends and family you're a well heeled animal. Nor the one you bring to class or work with ya. I want to know the guy behind the guy (I was gonna say the guy inside the guy but if you're inside a guy, why you browsin my profile you creep? Go enjoy the other thing! Oh and ladies, I'm not excludin' you, there's just fewer puns for us. Currently accepting applicants of all stripes). So, pm me something about yourself that you think makes you different from the potentially dozens of others who message me. And if it does, I'll do the same for you."

Percy's purr is now motivated by genuine enjoyment. The obligatory swipe right brings a small winged, tailed heart emoji sailing across the screen, with the words "Message her!" trailing behind in a comet of cupids. His paw pads linger, first contemplatively, then with a growing worry, over the keys.

"Hi! I'm Percy, and..." And I already tuned out of that greeting, he thought to himself.

"I set the record for my school's hundred meter dash ba-" What guy doesn't brag on himself and his accomplishments?

"I read half of War and Peace in one sitting." That one he nearly sends, until he remembers other people consider it an act of insanity.

Huffing, the cheetah stares at the cursor on the chat window, his tongue absently grooming a patch of fur on his right arm that needs no attention. Each potential opening is shot down by a countervailing consideration-too cutesy, too forward, too aloof, too clingy, too much or nowhere near enough. The temptation to hurl the phone with a greater initial velocity this time nearly overcomes his reason, but Percy refrains, the purr digressing from a pleased purveyance of potentially powerful pursuits to a drumbeat tic reflecting his descent into a nearly manic shyness.

There's nothing easy about talking with someone who wants to talk specifically about the you you don't want you to show, Percy muses, trying to use a mental tongue twister to ease himself out of the shy spiral. She wants me, he thinks. Me, and the me that me sees when that me sees me.

So, he closes his eyes, counts to some number, and brings up his phone to type, "I spent nearly half an hour trying to think of something witty to say or write that would make you chortle, think, or just get your attention. But you asked to get something unique for me. Well, there's a lot that is, but none of it comes out well in a short introductory message. And I was wondering if maybe burgers would be a better place to discuss it."

Before his mind can weasel its way into an excuse to kill yet another introduction, he sends the go command to his thumb, outracing the doubt and self flagellation that might normally prohibit such communications. The message passes beyond his control into the ether of space beyond, carried by what might as well to his ken be magic itself.

Agonizing seconds of self reflection follow. Unseen, the notifier says.

Could I delete it? Plead with the CEO of PerfectFurMe to erase the very essence of that cursed attempt to bridge the gap between-

Read at 8:09 PM.

Percy's tail stops. His heart threatens to follow, perhaps before it remembers that it needs to pump or the cheetah supporting its existence will quickly cease to do so (said cheetah might prefer such an end to whatever could come next). A sickly warmth spreads through the cheetah as he sees the three most dreaded things in the world: ellipses. Here it comes, he thinks.

"Loser, I don't wanna talk."

"LOL everyone says that."

"Go back to the shadow."

"Hey sexy babe wanna hop onto this link with me and we can continue this conversation somewhere better?"

"Hi."

Any of a number of the infinite combinations of letters that would lead to, one way or another, the cessation of conversation. Each moment those ellipses dance below the chat bar is one that etches years off the end of his life, any longer and...

And a familiar chime sounds, the phone signaling message received. The screen lights up in his paw as he traces the familiar unlock signal.

"Burgers sounds good. I got a grill in my complex. You free this weekend?"

2

Turns out Percy is. But while his time might well be free from constraint, his heart is convinced he's running the famed sixty miles an hour cheetahs are known to achieve. Not that he's been making use of nature's gifts of late-a philosophy major has little use for such prowess (yes, yes, he's heard each and every joke concerning his interest, and no, the one you're pondering wouldn't be original or, come to think of it, funny). So, the race his heart is running currently threatens to win no medals unless you count whatever is inside a pacemaker.

That was Tuesday night. Wednesday he sits through a lecture on Socrates, which almost bores him as much as Thursday's discourse on modern philosophical thinkers. He had never considered that it was possible to be simultaneously bored out of one's mind and convinced that he's one beat away from a quick anatomy lesson administered by Dr. Paddles Defib, Mobile Device. That rumbling purr returns, some hidden car engine turning over time and again inside the cheetah as he walks about campus.

All the while, messages flit from Tessa to him and back again. On the one hand, none of those conversations were all that illuminating-indeed, to a casual observer, they might be mistaken for mundane banality. But, and this is key, that observer wouldn't know how much Percy enjoys the simple pleasure of shooting the breeze with a girl. Errantly, he wonders if all things in life just get better if one adds the phrase "-with a girl" to their ending.

Staying home sick...with a girl.

Going to the vet...with a girl.

Getting caught in the rain...with a girl.

Concluding that his hypothesis might have some argumentative thrust, Percy ponders publishing his findings and gaining universal acclaim (at least among the sexually repressed heterosexual male population, which he granted, might account for a decent amount of sales). Tessa quickly shoots him down with a playful prodding of his purveyed pondrance.

"So what if I were a gay guy??"

"You'd have the same taste in men?" Percy sends back, wondering if their relationship was at a stage where playful barbs (which, upon consideration, is not the mental phrasing he should be using juuuust yet, a thought that peaks a fang out from his flattish muzzle as he smirks) would be appreciated.

Turns out they are. "Oh like, you wanna see the porn gay guys like? Compare and contrast to what I think is sexy in a male?"

Percy rolls his eyes, before clapping a paw frantically over the screen as he tries to find the lock button to stem the tide of incredibly stereotypical gay smut she blasts him with. A frantic glance around the lecture hall reveals that the people behind him are all too stuck in their screen worlds to pay any attention to Tessa's attempts to shame her potential boitoy-or the lecturer, even. Huffing and letting his purrs smoulder down into a manageable engine like consistency, he risks a peak inside the impromptu clamshell created by his paw and the desk, scrolling through images defying description (and in many cases reality) until he can finally find a series of texts beneath the dirt.

"Didn't get ya in trouble for that did I?" An emoji of an innocently winking devil face lingers beside the message.

"Oh shit I didn't did I? Purrsy ya still there?"

"Prrrrblies?"

"Here, maybe you can't look until I show a happy otter!"

And lo, there is a playful picture of a frolickin' feral otter splashing into a pond, pushing the porn northward to the oblivion a chat's message history affords.

"While I appreciate your attempt to broaden my sexual horizons," Percy writes back, "I think I'm secure enough in my heterosexuality to say: ick."

"Oh come on, that doesn't do it for ya?"

"Only cock I find of interest happens to be...well that's..." Percy cuts himself off, backtracking on that whole mess of a message before sending a simpler reply: "If you're gonna send me pics, I would love to see more of those regal purple patterns you got!"

"Slow down boy-you might be a cheetah but you're gonna get to take a nice, sloooooow safari far as those are concerned." A winky face helps confirm that she is taking the remarks as the jest it was meant to be.

"So it's settled-burgers and good company." The damnable purr bedevils the cheetah another few moments before Tessa's thumbs up icon emerges through the messager, along with her apartment's address.

And so it goes. Percy sends quips. Tessa quips back. Occasionally porn is exchanged. But time soon catches up to the pair. Thursday becomes Friday. Friday gave way to Saturday...and now? Well, now Percy is staring at his closet. While romcoms adore the scene where a girl needs to debate every aspect of her outfit, measuring her tail to ensure that it would be able to slip free of whatever skirt best matches that fetching blue top, Percy's perusal of his paltry wardrobe would rival the best indecisiveness on camera.

"A t-shirt? Yeah it's nice and clingy in the right places but...could I look anymore casual? That button down...hmm...well your tail does have a nice range in that one but...the color doesn't do much with my spots. Oh but those slacks!" He dives into the closet, clothes comically erupting from their neatly folded life in bins as he rifles through everything in search of...YES! Prom night came and went, but Percy didn't-no date, and a nasty mite infestation besides. Still, he remembers the eager trips with his dad to the mall to get fitted for his suit, squirming as the tailor's tape scrawled across his form to yield the measurements that produced, without a doubt, the most PERFECT article of garmenture ever developed: a single pair of deep grey, flat slacks. Cotton, all the way through, caressed his fur at every opportunity, and despite accentuating his musculature, it never clung so tightly that he couldn't exercise his full range of motion. Hugging the pants in a cuddle ball, Percy rolls about on the floor, purring practically spilling from his delighted lips.

Rolling about thusly, he spots a shirt that is the perfect partner to those most glorious pants-a sleek button down, simple forest green, with a poppable collar and plenty of room to open up on a gentle white undershirt beneath. Shoes proving unnecessary thanks to the great fortune to possess paw pads, Percy smiles into his mirror and fluffs his button down out. "How choo doin?" He snickers, doing his best to appear as smarmy as possible (and failing miserably-you can dress up the animal, but at the end of the day, a cheetah doesn't change his spots, and Percy is the biggest kitten at heart).

Confidence buoyed and spirits high, Percy bids farewell to the catastrophe that is his closet floor. A pleasant vibration signals an incoming message.

"Burgers on the grill!" Photographs attesting to these truths accompany the words, and Percy shoots back a thumbs up selfie.

"And a brand new kitty to boot," Tessa adds. "Might need to take him to the vet though...I bet he hasn't been fixed yet."

"Ain't NOTHIN here in need of fixin," Percy shoots back a nope emoji.

"Only one thing I can think of: You not being here." Well, when a girl's right, she's right.

"Fixin' that now," Percy smiles, updating her with his location. He'd never owned a car before-his dad had always said that there's no need to give a teenager who can already run sixty miles an hour a car that can go a smidge faster, at best-and while teenage Percy had turned that particular molehill into a mountain worthy of germ warfare, slightly not teenage Percy recognized the wisdom in walking or running places. Free exercise, more time to think, chances to meet people and try to overcome the oft crippling apprehension he experiences at the mere thought of socialization beyond the knowing head nod exchanged between two people passing each other with but one certainty in their lives at that moment-that they will never see the other again.

Tessa's apartment complex rises two stories off the ground, and sprawls out overlooking a centralized green space, each room afforded a balcony. Most of the residents are doing other things this Saturday night, but a few loiter by the poolside, exchanging beers, memories, and smiles. Raucous laughter overcomes one group at some story that, apparently, has left a red panda and a human girl extremely embarrassed.

Of course, these things exist. But Percy has eyes just for one among the many, and really, one separate from them all-outside the fence enclosing the pool is a grill. Picture the rusted out metal hunk with a collection of charcoal dating, perhaps, to the days of colonialism, and then imagine at the helm the well bodied form of Tessa, tail wagging as she whistles some nonsense tune to herself. Each wag of that tail teases the hem of her skirt, letting it rise just to the point where the trained eye might be afforded a glimpse of...well, if residents of Victorian England found kneecaps scandalous, then they might simply die if a furry rump were to present itself in the manner Tessa's hinted at its presence.

Though, as much as he sees her, and the grill, Percy's muzzle picks up two odorous notes that he wishes to explore in depth. The first is a perfectly charred (and, if he's not mistaken, juicy rare) set of burger patties crisping on the open flame. Some herbs intermingle with the savory je nu speak French of finely cooking meat without ever overwhelming the true star-the actual meat. Sinking his teeth into that...well, his mouth's watering for a couple reasons. That's the first.

The second? Recall, if you can, a time when someone worked their tail off to get your attention and it worked. More'n likely the first detail that comes to mind should be a scent, that most memorable of senses. At this moment, Percy experiences Tessa for what she is-a gorgeous wolf, dressed neatly in a spring skirt that follows her swishing tail, wafting back and forth...fanning the air. That simple motion spreads forth a combination of scents. One, perfume, serves as the herald-it announces Tessa's presence with the sort of cleanly simplicity of a breeze tumbling through a flower-filled field, catching bits of the aerosolized oils bumbling on errant air currents. It signals that she is beautiful, to all the senses-though eyes alone would've reported the same.

But beneath that announcement of health, beauty and hygiene lives a tang. Percy cannot place it, but it's...it's not artificial. No company could ever bottle such a simple attractant (and many would kill for the privilege). Besides knowing that he should be flattered to be in the presence of such a perfect scent, Percy's nose simply says "That smells good. Let's get closer and smell it more."

Had Freud been present, he likely would've been having a field day for many reasons beyond Percy's predicament, but he could easily have described the young male's id, raging at the cage of decency thrown around it by his more civilized ego. Percy wanted this girl. And, he reasons, with a smell of that caliber echoing on the wind, it isn't a stretch to conclude that she wanted him, too.

"How do you like your burger kitty?" She calls over her shoulder without looking. "Now, the first question on your mind is-how do I know it's you? Easy P, I am a wolf. I got more feral ancestry than ya, so scents are like an open book. An intoxicating, lurid sort of fantasy novel...ech, it's a bit hard to explain. But bottom line? I smell better than you~" She smirks, flipping the burger with one paw while she looks back over her left shoulder at the startled expression on Percy's maw.

"And the second question is, how is she flipping burgers without looking? Dad taught me how to grill when I was a kid. It was his rite of passage for me: he adored having a baby girl but it was no secret that he always kinda wished I'd gotten his y chromosome," she shrugs. "So the question you should be asking is, how come I ain't flippin' two burgers without lookin?"

"I don't suppose I'll get a chance to talk much now will I?" Percy laughs, watching with wide eyes as her own amber ones lock to his even as she proceeds to flip both burgers several feet into the air, each smacking down on the grill with a viscerally enticing sizzle.

"Hon, if you wanted to do more talkin, you'd date guys," she says matter of factly, a satisfied nod joining her wolfish grin (which, even had she not been of the lupine persuasion, would still be the apt adjective).

"That a fact?" Percy's eyebrow arches, his feet leading him forward as he looks down at a wooden fold out table beside the grill. Cheeses, onions, tomatoes, all sorts of fixings rest upon its surface, along with some sliced kaiser rolls patiently waiting their turn for access to the charcoal.

"Y'all guys always go on about how it's the girls that make eyes and act moony, but damn if you can put a sentence together competently," she chortles. "If a girl doesn't carry the conversation, a boy wouldn't know how to!"

"We truly are the weaker sex," Percy throws up his paws in mock surrender.

"Damn tootin," she affirms. "So, kitty cat, what's your pleasure? Melty cheeses? Aromatic onions? Crispy bun or softer?"

It takes Percy entirely too long to get his mind out of the gutter and process her questions as being about burgers. Yes, Percy, burgers. Meat, cheese, veggies, the things you can eat?

"Ah...well, I like a toasted bun, lettuce. No onions-smell is nice but my stomach rumbles like a thundercloud for hours after. And two slices of cheese if'n you please!"

"Expensive date-two whole slices of cheese, why I nevah!" She feigns a horribly stereotypical southern drawl, which Percy all too eagerly picks up.

"Well now, the menfolk always get saddled with such hefty checks on dates! Only fair the ladies find themselves stuck with a check e'ry now and then."

"Heavens tah Betsy, a man who holds to the tenants of equality of pay!"

"Only iff'n the women folk are payin' bills, but heaven forbid we pay them equally," he teases.

"And I ask ya kind sir, just how exactly would my job performance improve if I had a penis?" Her eyebrows flutter wildly, and she guffaws a bit. "Damn, ain't had cause to bust out that shitty ass accent since I did Oklahoma in high school."

"You? An actress?" Percy smiles warmly. "You don't strike me as fake enough."

"I can fake fakeness when fakin' is called for," she winks, following the innocent gesture with a more sultry tone, "but I am hopin' I won't have to with you.~"

Ah. Now we come to the phase of a date experienced by many and dreaded by all-the expectations game. Percy's limited sample size aside, he's already handicapped in his ability to read women by virtue of two things: he isn't one, and he's a bit...well, on edge doesn't quite euphemize horny in quiiiiite the right way for this situation. But it'll have to do. If she's making jokes about fakin' it and not wanting to with him...does she want sex? How much of that perfume and scent is simple enticement...and how much an invitation? Where is the subtext and why, exactly, is Percy wasting time thinking about this? The male soon realizes, expectations are meaningless. The future will happen. Enjoy this moment, his penis tells his brain which relays the message. If people actually did have little lightbulb moments, Percy's would be brighter than the sun right about now.

"Well it's like your profile says," Percy retorts, stepping behind Tessa smoothly, peaking his muzzle over her shoulder to stare down at her handiwork on the grill. "Just like you want the real you, I want the real...you know this sounded sexier in my head," he laughed a bit.

A reassuring tail strokes over his midsection, tending downward with its absent minded caresses. "You know hon, if you're so uncertain about how to use that cute little muzzle of yours, I have the perfect solution," she yapped playfully.

At a skeptical glance from the boy leaning over her shoulder, Tessa hoists the finished burger onto a toasting roll and loads it up with the afore-requested lettuce and two whole slices of fake, oily American cheese. "Stuff it into this!" The innocent expression on her face masks nothing, though not for lack of trying. Her own burger, complete with thinly cut tomatoes, onions and, alas, a single slice of cheesy goodness, finds its way onto a plate as Tessa shuts off the grill's burner. A short distance away is a picnic table, strewn with natural detritus-a sweep of a wolf's arm clears away the most intrusive bits-and she plops down onto a bench, eyes locked with Percy's. "Come, have a seat!"

3

Juices dripping down his maw, Percy wipes the back of his paw across his muzzle, that rumbling purr perfectly coinciding with his left paw rubbing circles round his belly. "What did you say you did for a living again?" He mewls, a small grin lighting up his expression.

"Oh, I'm still a student," Tessa smirks, her tongue lapping at her own chops gingerly. "But of late I am developing my culinary prowess."

"My compliments to the chef," Percy blows her a kiss, which she playfully catches in her left hand. "Easy on the eyes and on the stomach. You're quite a catch."

"Aren't I just?" She barks excitedly, bringing a hand to the paper plate soaked in the rich fluids that was the sole physical remnant of her meal. "Mind helpin' me clean up so my landlord doesn't fine me for slovenly behavior unbecoming of a tenant?"

His eyebrows arch and an errant digit flicks his whiskers idly at her remark. "He's that-"

"Don't even get me started on how archaic that lease I signed is. Might as well have been printed by the pharaoh's scribes on the finest parchment this side of China," she laughs, hoisting herself to her feet as her tail wags, skirt beginning to chase after the errant appendage while she leans over the picnic table, broadly casting her arm about the surface to gather up the plastic plates, soiled napkins, and greasy serving cutlery. "But hey, he keeps the water and electricity on so what do I care?"

Nodding in time with her words, Percy does his part to assist with the table, grasping his discardable materials in his lithe arms and cradling them twixt his paws. "So um, where-"

"C'mere hon, there's a dumpster not too far from my apartment. And um, could you come back with me inside? I made a bit of a mess with some baking trays earlier." Come back inside? Percy's little tail swished excitedly, his nose ruffling at the familiar thrill of...well, the hunt isn't just quite perfect but...it fits here. He's not looking to eat her (not every bit at least, just...some specific parts), per se, but he's on the prowl for that most elusive of prey-an opportunity. The cheetah's purr might very well be audible from space as he keeps right on her heels, smiling on the way to the trash receptacle for the complex. "Oh, I wouldn't mind helpin' with any mess of yours."

"Careful cutie, might just take you up on that," Tessa flashes him a winning, inviting grin, and subtext becomes...text. While less experienced than many, Percy possesses the same intellect nature affords even a simple insect. Mate, receptive.

"Wouldn't mind if you did," he licks his muzzle, that tingle of his rough tongue tip-an odd fluke of his breeding, only the very tip of his tongue had characteristic feline barbs, while the remainder was smooth, pink and only shaped like his four legged ancestors'. "Got just...the right tools to handle any situations."

"ToolS?" Tessa cocks her head, hoisting her load of rubbish into the bin, then helping Percy do the same. "Most guys hardly even have the one...broom."

"Brooms, mops, some cleaning fluids," Percy replies deadpan, as if listing off the contents of a janitorial closet. "Anything necessary to rectify a mess in need of attention."

Where once his reticence might've prompted caution, hesitance, now his nose calls to the fore his need. Hers, too, if that scent swishing through the air in time with her tail's many...many passages along the rim of the skirt is anything to go on. "I'll just...need to get you situated then," she growls. Her finger crooks back toward her paw, conspiratorially summoning Percy through the parking spots lining the walkways through the apartment complex. For all he knows, Tessa might be leading the poor cheetah into a sinkhole not two feet away. His eyes are devoting themselves to the appreciation of how her lightly colored clothing perfectly accentuates the visible purple markings-his nose, simply immersing itself in a succulent bouquet of odors whose very nature all understand, and none can articulate. Even...yes...even his ears notice something. A plip. The faintest of sounds, fluid on stone...but it IS there. And there. And...well, in many places along their walking path. Tessa, by his nose's reckoning, should be not only just before him, but astride beside him, and several feet back. Her...musk, he knows the word, and his conscious mind is simply choosing now to begin using the language his animal side normally howls into oblivion...

She must've opened the door in the recent past. How else would Percy be standing inside her living room? Details are irrelevant-Percy certainly doesn't notice or care what color she has her walls, nor the fabric on the sofa, or even the number of chairs in there. No, for now, he's moved beyond the den into her bedroom. Sunlight dimly streams through a slit set of shades, simply strung along the window, permitting only small crepuscular beams of light passage. But this detail only becomes relevant in discussing how the light plays on her strands of fur, ethereal on their own, and undeniable on their body. Ah, yes-his own body responds in that most predictable, throbbing of ways when his eyes relay to his brain, "uh, command, we have boobs." See, while Tessa might carry some meat on her bones, it's gone to all the right places, and her succulent, firm breasts pouting in the evening glow merely affirm that they ARE the best place. Little rows of nipples stream below them-testament to her own heritage, he knows, on some academic level perhaps operating in the dim darkness of willful ignorance on the part of his much, much needier primal self.

"Boobs acknowledged," his brain might be interpreted as saying. "Missile primed. You are go for launch."

The two take each other in their arms and kiss. Not in the messy, uncertain way humans do. No, humans divorce themselves from their animal sides when possible. But Percy and Tessa could never dream of that, for they are, fundamentally, animals of a different breed. And...in this moment, the beginnings of their yielding to lust, they are in perfect unison. Percy's now naked, slightly spined organ thrusts into the soft fur of Tessa's lower belly, a presage perhaps of that which he expects to come soon. Tessa's grin turns positively lupine as she presses the eager cheetah back, lowering him onto the bed. Below the wolf, it's much, much easier to take in that glorious scent dripping, quite literally, from her pulsing slit. Just as Percy is about to plunge into her abyss, however, she teasingly reaches down, stroking at his organ while straddling him...in a most unusual way. Instead of letting her legs spread and come to rest atop his spire, she instead angles to place her groin against his muzzle tip, pressing downward onto his pointed nose. Now, when that fluid drips, it has only one place to go-directly into his nose. Seeping into his mouth. Coating his tongue.

Wordlessly, Tessa growls and begins bucking up and down her mate's muzzle, and Percy is left blind, mostly (though he now knows just how far the purple stripes extend into her fur, and the small part of his observing caring self asks, who exactly does she trust to stylize those?). His hips buck upward, perhaps expecting to find...something?...wrap around his cock. Mission parameters have changed, apparently, a fact his brain is only just beginning to get used to as his muzzle is tantrically climbed, and then collapsed upon. Pussy enjoys the taste of pussy though, and as she falls upon him once more, Percy allows his tongue to flick out, grazing the wolf's clitoris lovingly, playfully inviting her to speed up her ministrations. It's an invitation she is all too eager to accept, and respond aggressively with a high pitched, halting howl. The girl is already convulsing above him, her pussy rippling along his maw as she pins him to the bed, that hungry cunt clutching and releasing at bits of his fur and whiskers.

"H...heh...babe...get those...haha...whiskers outt...outta me!" She squeals, and Percy realizes just how ticklish the female cunt might be. It's a detail that fails to escape even his lusty notice, and the young male utilizes the motorboating technique of jiggling his muzzle between her fleshy folds, letting the nasal point dig into her soft flesh, probing for spots that elicited a squeal (all of them), a jolt (some of the deeper ones) or even a lovely burst of feminine juices (precious, precious few). Letting his hand slowly stroke himself to a furor by degrees, Percy continues to explore the meaning of the word "deep". Deep can mean plunging all the way down to his chin, which, though a tight fit, he manages to do in a motion against her bucking...thrust up...then pull back...usually rewarding him with plunder (read: juices squirting into his open maw) and joy (a consummate cry of ecstasy from the mate above). And, while still buried beneath a seemingly bottomless well of...well, bottom...Percy let one hand keep at her clitoris, flicking and caressing, tugging when needed, all eliciting the sweetest of moans and the most pleasing trembles about his muzzle.

She shakes, she howls, she flaps that tail at speeds challenging the theory of relativity against the bed (and occasionally his head), all the while teasing her partner's furred belly with a hand that she used to steady herself against him. Percy doesn't mind, and uses his clitorally devoted hand in a divine stretch north to her lower teats, twisting playfully and tweaking sensually to bring forth more of the heated lupine's wild side (which, at this point, is already all too eager to come out and play). One howl turns into two, and soon Percy loses all interest in counting how many times she orgasms-numbers have no meaning here. One pussy. One cock. One pair of mates engaging in...well, a mostly one sided pleasure fest.

Percy lets himself cut loose within her gushing pussy, his muzzle fur drenched in her wondrously musky fluids. "Damn grrrrrl," he purrs deeply when a burst of femcum coats him to the pectoral muscles leanly presenting themselves at his chest. "Y...you been pent up!"

"Less with the talking, more with the tongue," she jibes, pressing down onto his muzzle. As you command, he thinks glibly, easing out his rough tipped tongue into her yielding pussy. Lapping forth, he feels the entire bed shake beneath them, creating a whole new series of vibrations. Finally, when Tessa had screamed her last, and the fluids began to eek out a stream where once they had been nearly torrential, the wolfess collapses atop her mate, her muzzle falling squarely on his throbbing rod. A neat wrapping of it in her smooth tongue, coupled with a lightly suctioning, practiced effort on her part, brings his stimulation to new heights.

While Percy is more than eager to...ahem...allow her to partake of his own fluids, his experience with oral ministrations is far, far less expansive than her own. Most of his previous work had been penetrative, and while he was penetrating at this particular moment, it isn't the hole he's accustomed to being inside. Thrusting upward awkwardly, he nearly drives his tip into the back of her throat, sure to prompt an unpleasant gagging sensation. A sure and steady hand presses against the young male's chest as she slurps on his cock, as if to say "Cool it, I got this."

And boy does she. When he ceases thrusting, her job is made all the easier-slipping up and down his spiny length, her tongue caresses every careful inch. Percy lets out an uncharacteristic whine as his cock is lavished with attention, throbbing inside that warm, moistening maw, muzzle draped over his flesh in totality. The fluids continue to drip from the pussy still precariously positioned above his own mouth, and he's just...too...enraptured by that tongue, those teeth, and that wondrous suction to even lean upward. Until he has no choice.

A familiar set of spasms rain upon his body, directed by convulsions in his pelvis. Tubes are compressing, elongating in time with his heartbeat, and soon...David can feel it. A rush of colors invades his vision as his eyes squirm shut, golden dots spreading across his blind field of vision. A surge of fluid charges down his internal tubing, finding the urethra and then signalling a full advance, which is only slowed when she applies the gentlest of pressures to his pulsating rod. Grinning, she knows just how to keep Percy in the throes of ecstasy long enough to prolong the plateau of bliss...before finally allowing him to crest. Given how many fluids of hers he just swallowed, she feels it's only fair to return the favor, lapping up his tangy kitty seed and musk as he mrowls loudly, that nervous purr tic paying one final visit in the moments following his golden one.

4

Of course within minutes of coming down in all the senses of those words, both Percy and Tessa are entangled in her sheets, tapping away at their respective phones. Young love, right? But only for a little while-each finds it impossible to take their eyes off the other.

"Your profile never did mention you had a heat cycle, you know," Percy chides playfully, showing her PurrfectForMe page and its distinct exclusion of that detail.

"It did, once. You know how many wackos message you with 'heh beb you in heat?' if you put it on there though? Here's a hint: take 100% and do absolutely NOTHING to that number and there's your answer." The smile on her face is betrayed by a small twitch of her lips-clearly, a problem she's dealt with too many times to find it all that amusing.

"Fair. Though I knew a stag friend once-similar problem with him and rut."

"Bitches be cray," Tessa shrugs.

"Dicks too," Percy agrees sagaciously.

"Though your little soldier-"

"LITTLE?!" Percy mewls indignantly.

A small chuckle escapes Tessa's muzzle as she plants a kiss on his cheek. "Sorry. Your big, burly marine is quite the gentleman!" A pouting look from Percy prompts an eye roll. "Purrrrrcy, you got nothing to worry bout down there. Animalistic traits like those little barbs you have-and I'm damn well not correcting this instance of little, cuz fuck, if those were big you and I would not be doing the sex-drive me nuts."

Assuaged, mollified and happy, Percy leans against Tessa and lets his fingers trace along those purple lines. "Any meaning behind these?"

"I look good with em?" She yaps teasingly. "It's the same thing as a human brunette going blonde or a tabby going black-cuz we can and it makes us feel more like us. I notice you shave off the anthro hair atop your head."

"Ah...no actually, I never had any. More animalistic ancestry precludes some more human traits, like head hair," he smiles sheepishly. Originally, as a kid, he'd always been teased for his "uniqueness" (kids, as it turns out, are cruel). But over time most came to envy that animal flair he possessed-and the ladies (and more than a few gentlemen) found their eyes drawn to that nature.

"All the better. You wouldn't want to deal with it anyway-can clash with your natural fur tones and such," she rubs his head, prompting copious purring on the kitty's part. "And that is perhaps your most adorable trait. You're not doing that intentionally are ya?"

Fighting down the purr so he can speak, Percy shakes his head. "Nrrrpe! Just haaarrrpens."

Twinkles in her eyes portend the arrival of her smile, and Tessa's muzzle turns to glance down the sheets, where their musky bodies marinate beneath the resting material. "I think it'll happen again."

The end!