FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The buzzer; then the knock; then the pizza.

That was how the night was supposed to go. Pizza and a movie, maybe video games, and maybe while he looked at porn later that night. Cold pizza and edging went well together, so thought Pheeze.

Instead, the routine had changed. Buzzer; knock; hello would you like to step inside while I get my wallet?

And the pizza boy, that sweet little thing, he knew that he was getting a special routine. How couldn't he know? Pheeze saw in his eyes that the boy understood what was about to happen. He was all but certain that the pizza delivery boy knew exactly the rapacious gaze he was receiving, because he had seen it in the eyes of so many other men, customers and pedestrians alike. It seemed impossible that such a fine-looking boy wasn't regularly stopped for at least a visual once-over hidden in a tepid conversation about baseball and weather.

"Awful nice apartment," the pizza boy said, opening the insulated bag. The smell it let out was dense with faux-Italian flavor, and it inspired in Pheeze the expected amount of hunger, but the pleasant stink of cheese and spices could not suppress the other, baser smell filling his kitchenette. This smell was pussy, and the otterdog with the invitingly plump but not offensively jutting gut could smell that from a mile away.

"Yeah," Pheeze said absently. "It's an apartment." He dug in the pocket of his shorts for his wallet, having forgotten the twenty he'd taken out and left on the counter for when the pizza arrived. "S'your name?"

"Aw, who, me?" the boy asked, gesturing at himself with a flourish which silently repeated the question. "Gosh, ain't nobody asks me that. Name's Desmond, sugar." His accent turned his name into Deyuzmund.

"Deyez-mund, huh?" Pheeze asked, teasingly affecting the southern-swish accent. "Looks like somebody like you oughta be a model or something."

"Or somethin'?" Desmond asked, smiling wanly.

Oh, he knows. This little swisher fucking knows what's up, thought Pheeze, dragging his doglike tongue just across his lower jowl-lip. Time for a prod; a calculated risk. Make it or break it, what's it gonna be, Pheezey-boy?

"So, uh, tell me somethin', Desmond," Pheeze calmly began, as he strode across the kitchen and brushed against the small, inoffensive fox-raccoon looking boy on the way. He picked up the remembered twenty he had left on the counter and turned on his heel. Tugging the wrinkled rag paper straight amused his fingers. "What's that smell? In my little kitchen here?"

Desmond smiled. "Why, mister Pheeze, sir! Whatcher smellin' happens to be," he gestured at the pizza box on the counter as though he were Vannah White unveiling a shiny vowel, "a hand-tossed, garlic infused crust with all-tomato sauce, mozzuh-rella cheese made from real milk, pepper-oneys, sausage, olives and jalapen'yos."

Pheeze smiled back. He felt like he was playing a high-stakes poker game. His current wager: the possibility of getting his pecker wet. "Hey, you're good. You're really cute, y'know that?"

"People keep tellin' me I am, so maybe true, maybe true," Desmond tutted, rocking on his heels. His paws were clasped behind his back. The thermal bag bumped his undulating legs. "Well, y'know, much as I like watching a handsome man finger some money, ya' think I could have that payment and be right along my merry little way, mister?"

God, he's sweet as honey. Bet he fucks like an animal, too. Well, he is an animal, sure. Bet he'd know how to take a knot, though. Either hole, I bet, I bet.

"How's abou-u-ut I give you this money and you take your tip out of it, like you were gonna," the otterdog said, moving closer, "but you stick around a little bit. Say, twenty minutes?"

Desmond eased the bill from Pheeze's fingers. He looked up along the towering body of the otterdog, but if he was intimidated, it never crossed his face. "And, mister Pheeze sir," Desmond's smile became a little more wan, perhaps even creepy in its unreadable slyness, "why would I be stayin' here twenty minutes?" His accent warped why into w'ah.

The owner of the apartment, rudder swishing, nipples stiff under a sweat-stained wife beater, leaned over Desmond and cracked his own nasty grin. "You want it coy, or you want the straight shit?"

A smooch from Desmond made Pheeze blush. Partly surprise and partly infatuation, Pheeze lowered his ears for it, but only slightly.

"Gimme the straight shit, handsome. Been too long since a good-lookin' man gave it to me clear. Always trying to be all cute like I'm some delicate fucking flower..."

There it was: consent. Maybe not explicit, but it was implied as hell. Pheeze lunged for him, and if the boy had any concerns, he kept them as hidden as his maybe, maybe-not intimidation. He let himself be pulled into the otterdog's massive arms, and he let the smooching, slobbering kiss on his cheek happen. "Straight shit? Twenty minutes of me smashing that pussy. Don't think I didn't smell it, smelled it as soon as I opened the door."

"Gawd," Desmond puffed, losing his composure for one crucial second. He gripped the sides of Pheeze's vaguely canine head, tugging at fur which was both plush as a doggy's and sleek as an otter's. "Don'tcha pull no punches on me, now, right? Betcher hung like a fuck'n horse under them shorts, ain't you, babe? Yeah, I bet my car's gonna gimme trouble for twenny minutes'r so... guess them sammiches and pizzas are just gonna be a lil' cold when they get there."

Pheeze took Desmond to the floor. The door to the hallway was still wide open. It wouldn't be the first time he had nailed someone in full view of his fellow tenants.

"Gimme that cunt. Christ, it's all I can smell, even over that nasty-ass pizza." He groped at Desmond's tacky uniform, sliding his fat fingers under the boy's shirt. Smooth, eggshell-hued fur sluiced through his fingers; warm flesh tensed beneath, puckering with gooseflesh. "Gonna sme-e-ell you. Pack my fucking nose in and snort that pussy. Snort your ass too, I oughta do that. Bet you smell good sittin' in your car, driving with the heater on to keep that greasy food hot."

Desmond tittered, overwhelmed by the otterdog's depravity as much as his affections. He let himself be disrobed - from the waist down. Pheeze didn't care about the upper half past his tender, sprawling rubs. First his unfortunate, racecar-red corduroy pants came off to expose pink, but not the kind Pheeze was hungry for. This pink was Desmond's panties, and the otterdog pulled them downward in a loping swipe.

"Oh my fucking god. Just yes." A plump, black vulva protruding luridly from the foxcoon's loins was Pheeze's prize. Vaginal wetness oozed from between its fat lips. A stink emanated from its exposed flesh. The odor of estrus was vulgar and disgusting, and Pheeze loved it. He crammed the pad of his broad nose into the boy's cunt with the suddenness of landing a dart in the bullseye. His nose parted the folds somewhat, like opening a door into a dark chamber. The outright stench of heat flooded Pheeze's sinuses. His penis rose from its sheath eagerly, drawn out of a semi-doze by the overabundant smell of ready and willing pussy. And not just any pussy, but a bitch's pussy, a goddamn fortune cookie - so nicknamed for its uncanny resemblance to the proverb-filled treat.

"Ooh, golly-gawddamn, you're a weirdo, Pheeze," Desmond panted. "I happen to know-, I happen to be self-conscious of the fact, that that pussy right there stinks to high Heaven on account of this heat thinger I'm going through. And you're smellin' me!" He laughed sharply. "Whassit now, honey...? Ten minutes of you snufflin' my boxy-box and ten minutes of you fuck'n it?"

"Some-, something like that," Pheeze said from miles away. His rudder swayed and swished like a dancing snake, batting sometimes into the island counter which the pizza rested on. "Uhn. God." He drew in a deep sniff, sucking in moisture as well as stink. A shudder raced through his body. His penis pushed hard enough against the tile that his hips were slightly elevated. "Let me fu-u-uck you... I wanna knot the shit out of this pussy," he said, his tone slightly nasal from his current predicament.

Desmond grinned at the ceiling, but his paws played across Pheeze's broad head, rubbing pert ears and coming through highlighted hair. "Mmh, yeah. Fuck the daylights outta me, ya' big ol' box-sniffer. Knot me rea-a-al hard. Betcher packin', ain't you? Ooh, tell me you're big!"

"I'm so fucking hung," Pheeze said arrogantly, but honestly. He sniffed again, gently; tasting the wine with his sense of smell. Even that small toot of such vulgar pussy nearly sent him into spasms. He pulled his nose upward, dragging it through the cleft in Desmond's cuntlips so a stripe smeared across his nosepad. Without thinking, he rubbed a fat finger on the boy's cuntlips. He licked it, tasted the residue on it, sucked it, and shoved it into the boy.

The rub was enough to make Desmond croon, but the sudden stab of the finger made him yowl. His legs tensed, parting. His toes curled. "Mmh, gawd! Give a girl a lil' warning."

Pheeze curled the finger into a come-hither. A cruel smirk twisted up his lips, but his eyes were still stoned from the estrus stench. "Easier to ask forgiveness than permission."

"Dick," Desmond tutted, meeting Pheeze's icy blue gaze.

"Comin' right up," Pheeze said triumphantly, ripping back his finger. He missed Desmond's cute wince because he reached for his shorts with childlike impatience and giddiness. Their breathable, sweat-stained fabric jutted around his truly impressive erection.

The reveal of Pheeze's ebony rocket warranted an angel choir, at least in the humble opinion of the southern swish. The boy did not see it spring loose from the otterdog's shorts gracelessly, slinging precum against its owner's gut. He only saw it when Pheeze, fully invested in his showmanship, bumped its knot broadside to the fat lips of Desmond's cunt like the apple in a suckling pig's mouth. Its matching shade of black made it seem like the perfect key for Desmond's hole, but its grisly size conveyed otherwise to the casual observer. Desmond was used to big things in small places, and Pheeze was an expert at the dumb, dirty work of pounding until it popped. Following Desmond's lustful gaze at the otterdog's prick, they shared a knowing look.

Needlessly, Desmond purred, "Y'eup, hung like a fuck'n stallion. Gawddamn." His paws played across Pheeze's pulsating manmeat, tracing popped veins which trailed the penis like lightning bolts.

Precum fell inconsistently from the pointed tip of Pheeze's cock. Its potent, all-male smell added to the musk miasma created by Desmond's slightly parted and fully engorged vulva. Desmond masturbated Pheeze lazily, giving him but four firm pumps before he cooed, "Ya' gonna waste that twenny minutes, sugarpie..."

"I reckon we've still got at least ten," Pheeze said noncommittally. A big, toothy smile split his jowly lips, and although his was a friendly, doggish face, his lurid eyes were his tell. He lowered his gaze as he pulled back, dragging his penis through the cleft of those pussylips. Precum had already streaked down his penis and made it slippery, but he picked up a smear of Desmond's rank honey along the way.

"Mmh," Desmond huffed at the slow drag. The tip of Pheeze's cock managed to tweak his clit, and Desmond groaned in miserable lust. "F-u-u-ck me-e-e. Ten minutes ain't enough for that much donger, sugar... shit, gonna take up ten minutes just-."

Pheeze nocked his meat into the split of Desmond's cuntlips. The boy squeaked mid-sentence and bit his lower jowl. Pheeze laughed in good humor, thinking Desmond was just about the cutest thing he'd ever put it in. "Ten minutes just... to what, exactly?" Desmond began to speak, and Pheeze urged it forward, slipped it in, shut him up again with a soft cry.

Thick as a beer can even before its formidable knot, Pheeze's all-doggy dick eased into Desmond's tender inner walls with its point before its girth rapidly took over. Through soft cries but generous urging from the boy, Pheeze worked it in deeper, deeper. This boy isn't just a fine, sweet-talking pussyboy, thought Pheeze as his black meat became one with the cookie before him. Nah, this boy fucking trains that pussy. I bet this little Swisher Sweet's got himself a box full of fake wieners at home and a couple hosses and bulls on booty call speed-dial. 'Cause there's no fucking way he's just this easy.

Pheeze was half-right about Desmond's sex life, but he'd never know which half he'd guessed. He really didn't care one lick about how Desmond prepared the pussy so much as the fact that it had become his pussy, and its musky stench toed the line between lust and revulsion. Pheeze loved the overwhelming, heady smell of such a fat box in estrus, and had he been a bit more erudite, he would have likened its acquired flavor to a fine cheese. He settled on something simpler: Desmond sported the best-smelling cunt he had ever had the pleasure to pack his snout in.

The knot of Pheeze's cock bumped Desmond's box, and he kept going with it. Instead of accepting the gigantic bulb, Desmond's cunt squished against it, causing the boy no harm, rather giving him notable pleasure; his toes were already curling from the entry, but having his vulva compressed brought him to new heights.

A strained, mewling noise warbled past Desmond's lips. He twisted and contorted his slim form with dexterity even a marten would have found impressive. "Ah'gawd," he bleated, running his paws aimlessly down Pheeze's body. He palmed the otterdog's muscular breast and plump belly, found a hairy armpit and lingered briefly. The sheer, vile sweatiness of Pheeze's body enthralled him. "Mmh, sheee-it, fuck me already, sugar..." His drawl was so complete that sugar, as he said it, was simply shug'ah.

"I am loving that little accent," Pheeze laughed, almost giggling with basic delight. "Shit, that's cute... just so fucking cu-u-ute."

The otterdog leaned over Desmond, eclipsing him. Desmond threw his arms around Pheeze's neck and the burly hybrid rumbled appreciatively, rudder swaying like a cattail in a marsh breeze. He started to fuck Desmond slow, but the boy muttered, "Faster'n that, baby. C'ma-a-awn. Gotta get back t'work."

So Pheeze upped the pace, and he upped it again when Desmond all but demanded as much in his syrupy way. Pheeze just went for nailing Desmond, pounding the pussy which had wandered into his apartment and wound up wrapped around his dick. Wet sucks, vulgar sounds which seemed more like immature imitations of sex, flooded the apartment - and the hallway bared by the open door.

Pheeze ripped it out and plugged it back in, never stopping, moving like he was some primal fuck machine. His heavy, hairy, and tastefully pierced scrotum scooched along the floor, its ring occasionally clinking on the tiles. His pistoning cock leaked into Desmond as recklessly as a busted spigot; its length and width dragged out heavily scented juices which drizzled across Desmond's winking anus and the fluff of his big, bushy tail.

"Mmn'gawd, aw heck," Desmond mewled, squeezing Pheeze's neck and pulling himself up closer. He smooched the stupidly blissful face looming above him, pecking the otterdog right on the lips. Pheeze kissed back, first a smooch and then a lick which left viscous slobber on the boy's lips. "Aw, c'mon, kiss me. Gimme a whole buncha sugar, handsome," Desmond whined for Pheeze, speaking between needful nips.

"But I like-," then Pheeze stopped talking when he felt the box begin to give. His knot nearly slipped in but was denied by the sudden, harmless flattening of Desmond's vulva. He did not linger on this near-victory, and he picked up where he left off clumsily. "I like to-, ah, gawd... I like hearin' you say things in that cu-u-utiepie accent, babe."

Desmond surprised Pheeze with a riotous giggle. "Hell, sweetie," he said, the curse warped into two mushy syllables. "You're serious 'bout my accent, huh? Just a-," the foxcoon squeaked in toe-curling delight as Pheeze's prick jabbed most perfectly across his g-spot, "uhn, it's just a dumb lil' twang."

Pheeze's balls were pulling up tight as if hiding from something instinctively feared. Beads of sweat rolled off of them, the humble beginnings of which were higher up in his ass crack. To anybody standing behind the otterdog - such as the single mother hare next door who was passing by on her way out - the view was beautiful in a horribly lewd way; Pheeze's pink anus winked and clenched as he exerted himself, and musk-laden sweat dribbled across it, rolling down his crack and taint and the back of his balls like raindrops on smooth rock faces. The single mother gave him a brief, interested look, and this was far from the first time she had seen her handsome neighbor in hasty mid-fuck. A small shiver raced up her spine, and the unrealized desire to eat some sweaty man-ass tried to make itself known in her mind, but it was an alien idea and one she banished quickly. Good women just didn't do those nasty things. She walked along on her way, and would never admit to how hideously she wanted Pheeze.

Anal otterdog musk, foxcoon estrus stink and gooey pizza vied for dominance in the little kitchen. Pheeze and Desmond tasted each other so heavily in their noses that the scents were becoming tangible flavors, and they had both forgotten about the foxcoon's need to get back into his car in a speedy manner.

Desmond's groomed claws raked through the coarse fluff down Pheeze's neck, untangling micro knots in pops of pain the otterdog did not notice. His slender legs kicked and bucked wildly around the broad male's flanks, making him resemble an inexperienced cowboy searching for the footholds on a saddle. His tail, gigantic and bushy and stained with fragrant sexual funk at its base, thrashed without any kind of rhythm off to the side.

Pheeze, catching sight of the tail despite near-tunnel vision for Desmond's adorable expressions, thought now that's a pretty tail, bet I could put that around my neck like I'm a rock singer. He reached for it, pawed at it, but its soft bristles passed through his fingers like the ether of a specter. He gave up on the tantalizing tail, putting his eyes firmly upon Desmond's emerald leer. The sound and stench of heated sex was rotten in the tiny apartment kitchen.

Plump and fat and easily sharing the girth of an apple, Pheeze's knot abused Desmond's box. It dutifully smashed soft dark flesh made with extra sponginess for just this occasion. It so often crushed Desmond's vulva without managing to enter that both the pizza boy and his customer had begun to think of it as some unattainable prize in a rigged game. The knot pounded Desmond's cunt, pulled back, pounded it again, doing it over and over again in a way that should have bruised the hell out of the squealing, moaning boy, but the foxcoon's big black box was as sturdy as the other kind of black box, so it seemed.

"Mmnh, gawddamn, you gonna put it in me or wha-a-at?" Desmond whimpered, laying the southern syrup on so thick that Pheeze wondered if he wasn't embellishing. Not that the otterdog minded it if he was. "Come a-a-awn..."

Pheeze nipped Desmond's cheek, bending a wiry whisker. His breath washed across the boy's snout, pleasant save for the estrus stench still on his lips. "I'm gonna do it," he said, sounding particularly labored. His days were numbered and he knew it: he was about to bust a good one inside the foxcoon, and the knot wasn't tied yet. "I got this, I fucking got it," he hissed, speaking to himself in a mental pep he hadn't meant to voice.

The otterdog pulled back his snout, straightened his body, but left his hips canted down to meet Desmond's. He grabbed the squirming fox, a hip in either paw. His meathooks eclipsed Desmond's little body. "I'm gonna knot the fucking shit outta you!" he proclaimed, and the sissy swish didn't have a doubt in his mind that this handsome beast with his big muscles and plump belly meant every word of it.

"Gimme that knot," the pizza boy yowled, attracting attention from down the hall. Another one of Pheeze's neighbors, a pachyderm widow with exceptionally plump proportions which Pheeze wanted to know very intimately, turned an ear to the din. She went back to her crime novel just three seconds later. Pheeze's exploits were tolerated in the building like a leaky radiator, but secretly appreciated like an alleged ghost. His neighbors knew all about his sexual tastes whether they wanted to or not.

Pheeze worked Desmond on his dick like the boy was a sex toy, using him as some porn shop fucksleeve, but the accented squealing and begging was the real treat there, almost as good as the plump pussy.

He rocked Desmond on his cock, pulling the boy in tighter and tighter, crushing the pussy like a sponge every time. It seemed hopeless for Pheeze, whose tongue was hanging out of his mouth and whose ears were splayed down, because here he was about to bust a nut, and he couldn't get the knot inside.

But then it happened, occurring with the same wonderful surprise as a puzzle piece notching in after what seems like hours trying to fill in a solid blue sky. Desmond's cunt compressed... and then Pheeze's knot parted it, dilating it massively. The boy shrieked like there was a murder going on (no sir not a murder, damn good stabbing though) and then there was peace: the foxcoon mrowled and mewled, squirming and panting. He was squirting, pushed over the edge by the bulk of the knot. His wetness tried to slip out around the otterdog's plugging prick, but the knot was massive, stopping everything which tried to leave as if it were some vaginal firewall.

Pheeze shuddered, not squirming like Desmond, but savoring the moment in the same primal way. His balls pulled tight; his asshole clenched into a smooching pucker. His fingers squeezed Desmond's thick, almost womanly pelvis and he came, shooting fat and fertile spunk deep inside of a body he had only met - he glanced at the clock absently - twenty-two minutes earlier. The ropes spewed and the pressure built, filling up Desmond's infertile yet deeply receptive boybox in a way comparable only to a stallion or a very stout dragon.

Desmond crooned, purring, splaying and squirming on Pheeze's floor in minor convulsions. His hair sprawled around his head in a shimmering wave of gold. His pussy throbbed angrily around the base of Pheeze's penis because the impossible had occurred: Pheeze had actually bruised his durable little box, but the pain was a pleasure of its own. In it was satisfaction.

"Mmmn, gawd. Tha-a-ank you, baby," Desmond said, sighing the words as if he were deflating.

The otterdog, his nut successfully busted, glanced at the clock guiltily. He cracked a sheepish grin and decided that if Desmond wasn't going to bring it up, he wouldn't either. "Anytime you wanna do this, so long's you bring that accent along," he said with the cool ease of a casual fucker.

"Just a silly lil' twang," Desmond reiterated, grinning in what Pheeze thought was smugness. It looked damn good on the boy's face. "Now, uh," the smugness dissipated very quickly, "how's about you pop that knot out? 'Cause from the looks of that clock there, my car done gave me a whole shitload of trouble."

Pheeze nodded. He dutifully tugged at his cock, yet the knot was socked into Desmond hard. He gave it another tug and the foxcoon winced and tensed, his back arching as if he had become momentarily feline.

"Ow! Owww! Stoppit!" he snapped. Then, resigned, "Aw, fuck... I'mma lose my job."

Pheeze, being at least half domesticated dog, had a knack for turning frowns upside down. He doubled over, putting his lips near Desmond's grumpy face. A playful lick across the snout at least dragged a laugh and a poorly-suppressed grin out of the boy.

"You'll be fi-i-ine," Pheeze said. "Just charm your boss. Don't even have to fuck him. I bet you could sell shit in the sewer with that accent."

"Maybe you're right... shit, I hope you're right."

"Then again," Pheeze smiled, "maybe I'm wrong, and I'm just a sucker for dumb lil' twa-a-angs." He mimicked Desmond's syrupy southern accent as best he could, but he overshot it and sounded like he had a mouthful of wet grass.

"Awful offensive when ya' parrot me like that," Desmond tutted. "Gosh, and I thought we were gonna be friends."

The otterdog smiled winsomely. His rudder swished. "Hey, we are friends!" He smooched Desmond's nose, leaving a ring of slobber on and around it which Desmond instinctively wiped away. "And as my friend, I'm telling you - you can always couch surf here 'til you find another job if it comes to that!"

Desmond grinned. "Real sweet of you to offer me that, sugar. I'm gonna assume here that you're sayin' that so's you have access to this little somethin' right b'tween my thighs, but it's still awful sweet to say."

It turned out Desmond got to keep his job, because a forty minute delay caused by supposed car problems was mild compared to the two-hour-plus waits most customers endured for their pizza from the other drivers.

Desmond never did fuck Pheeze on the job again, accepting a smooch or a grope or an indulgent sniff of the otterdog's asshole at most, but a ritual was eventually born. Once a week, when he got off work come Friday night, Desmond took a lukewarm throw-out pizza with the least-objectionable toppings to Pheeze's apartment, and he spent the rest of the night with Pheeze enjoying something smelly, greasy, messy, and all-around nasty.

The pizza was always tasty, too.