FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Frosty puffed as he hurriedly rushed from the train station. Due to an obstruction on the tracks, his commuter train had arrived later than anticipated. Thankfully the delay had been brief, but it only added to the anxiety of ensuring he wouldn't miss the chance to meet his friend. He frequently checked the time and scanned his phone for new messages, but nothing had come through in several minutes. That could be good or bad news. His spotted tail swished quickly in time with his steps, hoping that nothing further would interrupt their plans.

He'd been looking forward to this vacation for months, but had finalized plans to meet up with Fomo at the last minute. A steady stream of disjointed text messages had eventually come to fruition, and the mouse would be picking him up at his motel for a night on the town. The only issue was, the agreed-upon time was 10 minutes prior. The cheetah grumbled to himself as he picked up the pace, lifting his gaze to see his motel approaching. Just as he approached the street corner near his destination, he felt his pocket hum. A white hand immediately snatched up his phone, and he was thankful to see an update from Fomo. He had mixed feelings about the message, however; both a sense of relief and exasperation.

Stuck in traffic. Be there in 20 minutes.

Well, it could be worse, Frosty told himself. At least they were both running late, and now that he was only half a block from his motel, he could slow his pace, and probably had enough time for a quick shower. He let Fomo know he'd be ready to go as he rushed in the front door to the elevators. After a long day running around town with his family, he was ready to get away and unwind for a bit. His backpack was unceremoniously dropped on the bed and he immediately began to strip off his sweaty clothes for a hot shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the white cheetah stepped out and toweled himself off. The fragrant aroma of vanilla now filled the bathroom rather than the heady musk from a humid afternoon. Checking his phone, he noted the lack of new messages while he proceeded to dress into a fresh t-shirt and jeans. His fur was still slightly damp when he returned to the motel lobby and settled into an overstuffed, but cheap-looking chair. His fingers anxiously fumbled with his phone while he gazed out, eyes scanning each car that passed with eager anticipation.

The cheetah's ears perked when a red SUV turned in and slowed by the main entrance. Though he could vaguely see a figure with large, round ears through the tinted windows, he grumbled when the car continued past to the parking garage. False alarm. He turned his gaze back to his phone to check the time again. Fomo should be arriving any minute. Just as his eyes returned to the street outside, he felt his phone jump in his hands. A message flashed up on the screen.

Okay, I think I'm here! Want to meet me at the garage, or should I swing around to the front?

_ _ "It was him!" The fact that Frosty said it aloud so excitedly drew the desk clerk's gaze, but the heavyset panda simply rolled her eyes and returned to her duties.

After a hurried text, the cheetah leapt to his feet and rushed out the front door. He was greeted by the same SUV, and a closer look confirmed the driver's identity. The passenger door was opened for Frosty from within, and once he was in the seat his arms immediately wrapped Fomo up in a fond hug that made the grey mouse squeak in surprise. One arm came around the cheetah in return while the other maintained hold of the steering wheel.

"Hehe, good to see you too, Frosty! Been a while, huh?"'

"Way too long," he agreed. "Figured this was as good a chance as any, while I'm up here."

"Well, I hope you enjoy your time here! Shall we?" Fomo gestured to the road.

He was met with an enthusiastic nod. "Absolutely! I haven't had anything since lunch, and after walking all day I feel like I could eat a horse."

An empty, scarcely-audible rumble rose from the mouse's belly in response, prompting a glance. I feel like I could eat a cat. Fomo kept that thought to himself while he offered Frosty a crooked smirk. "I know what you mean. Hope you like Thai food, because the portions are huge."

* * * * * * * * * *

Dinner was every bit as satisfying as they could have hoped. As promised, the plates were more than generous, but somehow the two managed to finish what had been placed before them. Frosty felt like he might have overdone it a little, but it was worth the mild discomfort for good curry. The two lingered after dinner to gossip and share stories, giggling amongst themselves and earning a few scolding looks from time to time.

"So, save room for dessert?" Fomo eventually asked, peering across the table while Frosty reclined in his seat.

An unhappy gurgle from the cheetah's swollen belly was soothed by a gentle massage, shaking his head. "Oh, I don't think I could eat another bite. I'm stuffed."

That prompted a cheeky smirk. My favorite. "I'm sure I could...squeeze in a bit more if I tried. But I think we can get out of here. I know a good barcade around here, if you're interested."

Frosty's ears perked, quirking an eyebrow while his head tipped. "A what?"

"You know, arcade games and drinks? They're open late if you're interested."

The cheetah's tail flicked to either side while he glanced at his phone, fingers tracing his belly. "Well, my folks will probably be getting back to the hotel..." He trailed off for a moment and furrowed his brow. "You know, they can deal with me getting back late. I'm in. We'll figure out dessert after."

Unknown to Frosty, dessert plans had already been made.

Fomo's eyes followed Frosty as he rose from his seat, admiring the cat's cutely-rounded gut for a moment, then his rump. It was hard to believe that anyone so petite could manage to eat more than a sandwich, much less an entire plate of curry. Fomo was in the same boat, though a vigorous exercise regimen and lightning metabolism meant he'd be hungry again in no time. That was one of the "drawbacks" of life as a rodent, if one could call it that.

The pair arrived at the arcade not long after, which was already dimmed and strobing with neon lights and loud music to cater to the late-afternoon crowd. It reminded Frosty of retro arcades from his childhood days, though the drinks offered here were much stronger than simple soda. While Fomo began feeding bills into a change machine for tokens to burn, his friend perused the menu, back turned to the mouse. Fomo's eyes wandered when he noticed Frosty propped against the countertop after ordering, hips subtly moving with the beat.

It was quite a sight to behold, and he found himself staring for a moment, fingers buried in golden tokens in the dispenser. Snug-fitting jeans seemed to hug the cheetah's curves impossibly well, and the way he was wiggling seemed almost deliberate. Though they'd just eaten dinner, Fomo could almost hear his belly growl over the steady thump of the music. When Frosty glanced to the side, there was a glint in his eye that made Fomo suspect he might've been caught looking. His cheeks flushed and he resumed scooping his tokens into a plastic cup, the image of his friend's backside branded in his mind while his ropey tail flicked about. Cheeky cat.

Though nothing was immediately said, the knowing smirk he wore spoke clearly enough when Frosty approached with a pair of glass bottles in hand. He knew the mouse had been peeking his way. Quick inspection of the bottles confirmed that it wasn't alcohol, and Fomo accepted the cream soda he was offered with a grin of his own. The other hand jingled coins in his cup while he watched Frosty obtain his own tokens, sneaking another look when the svelte cat bent down to gather them. The only thing that stopped him from squeezing Frosty's hip was the fact that his hands were full. He couldn't help wondering if that was deliberate, too.

More than an hour later, the two were passionately engaged in a game of Space Invaders that proved to be quite competitive. Despite the cooperative nature of it, they kept trying to outdo one another to get the high score each round. It was impossible not to get completely absorbed when the arcade "weapons" were modeled after alien blasters, accompanied by dazzling pixelated explosions and reverberating sound effects that shook their seats. Fomo was amused to discover that the cheetah's sweet, innocent demeanor was lost entirely as a result.

"C'mon, my grandma's faster than that!" Frosty teased, snatching a powerup right under his friend's nose. Despite his best efforts, Frosty had swiftly beaten him every time at the kart racer.

"We'd be doing better if you'd bother to aim!" the mouse shot back. His tail lashed behind him, feigning mild agitation despite the fact he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It was all for show.

As the game became more hectic each round, the playful banter grew more heated, but they both knew it was good-natured. When Fomo began to pull ahead in the individual score they quickly found themselves being overwhelmed by invaders. In a last-ditch effort to retain bragging rights, Frosty leaned over and tickled between the mouse's ribs while the other continued to shoot. The result was an outburst of giggling and mousey squeaks as Fomo hunched over to defend himself, dropping his "weapon" in the process.

Frosty exploited the momentary distraction to fire off a volley of shots, but the lack of a partner meant he was quickly overrun. In mere seconds, an explosion rocked their chairs, followed by a colorful "Game Over" screen. Once the scores tallied, the white cheetah stood in his seat and threw his fists into the air. He'd "won" by a mere hundred points.

"Yes! That's what I'm talking about!" Frosty shouted victoriously, loud enough that nearby heads turned despite the arcade's music.

"Spottycat, you dirty cheat!"

Twisting in his seat, a grey and white blur lunged across the gap to pounce his celebrating friend. A startled feline yelp escaped as they tumbled sideways out of the chair and landed on the floor. Regular sparring meant Fomo had little trouble putting a feminine cat on his back, straddling Frosty's thighs with wide hips while leaning in to pin him by the shoulders. He was so blindsided by the maneuver that he didn't have time to consider resisting. Leaning in, Fomo drew close enough to make their noses touch.

"I should eat you for that stunt." The mouse's thin tail lashed behind him as he spoke, and his ominous assertion was followed by another deep rumble.

Frosty's muzzle flushed, staring into a piercing blue sea with wide eyes. H_e couldn't be serious. Mice don't eat cats_. A determined gaze suggested otherwise, and Frosty knew he was lying to himself. His chest fluttered nervously while his mind raced to find an appropriate response. When Fomo eased up and parted his lips, Frosty reflexively flinched. A warm tongue rolled up the cheetah's pink nose and brushed over the bridge of his snout, leaving a glossy streak and causing his blush to visibly darken.

Before anything further could be done, however, a shadow loomed over the two. "Uh, you guys done with this machine, or...?"

Fomo peered over his shoulder as he sat upright, looking a touch annoyed at the interruption. He was met by two regulars, a tall ebony rabbit and a diminutive tan cat that barely reached his chest. Both were looking somewhat startled at the sight. His stern expression slowly melted to a devious smirk and he nodded. "All yours, guys." As he lifted himself, an audible sigh of relief made him chuckle.

Frosty's heart was still racing when the deceptively-nimble rodent rose to his feet, allowing him to sit up again. As he did so, an eyeful of the mouse's hips caused his cheeks to go red. It was a feature that Fomo was especially proud of, and was conveniently positioned right in his face. A mischievous wiggle let him know that his friend was well-aware of his situation. The jingle of tokens snapped his focus away from the mouse's backside, and a moment later Fomo was standing beside his friend.

"We've still got a few coins left, and plenty of time. Are you gonna play nice?"

"Y-yeah," Frosty replied meekly. He glanced away after nodding, ears laid back.

Fomo was satisfied enough with the response. He offered a hand and helped Frosty to his feet, then drew the cheetah into a close embrace to show that there were no hard feelings. Soft words purred into Frosty's ears made him fidget, however.

"Just be glad I let you get away with that. Anyone else would've been eaten on the spot."

The thought stuck with Frosty for some time, even after several spirited rounds of air hockey. Did he really mean that, or was he just trying to get under the cheetah's skin? Mental distraction aside, Fomo proved to have a clear upper hand on the table; fast reflexes weren't the cheetah's strong suit. His friend was soundly beating him every match. Eventually Frosty was forced to surrender, lightly panting in the warm atmosphere of a bustling arcade. He passed his striker down the table to signal concession, bouncing it off Fomo's paddle in the process.

The gesture made Fomo chuckle. "Too much for you, spottycat? Thought cheetahs were supposed to be quick."

"Yeah, rub it in," he laughed. "Catch me when I haven't been running around town all day." Frosty reached into his pocket to verify how many tokens were remaining. "Think I've got enough coins for one more game, then we can call it a night."

"Sounds like a plan. I used up the last of mine dominating at air hockey."

Frosty stuck out his tongue at the boastful response, then gestured to a machine in the far corner, punctuated by a large plastic rifle. "Mind if I try my hand at a little target practice?"

Shooting at hordes of zombies was almost a pastime for them, so it seemed the perfect fit to wind down the evening. The goal of the game was to score as many kills as possible in the allotted time. While Frosty deposited the last of his coins into the machine, Fomo removed the "weapon" from the holster to confirm everything was in working order.

"Hopefully you're better at this than you were at Space Invaders," the mouse teased.

Frosty huffed as the gun was passed to him. "Still came out on top."

"Oh? Did you?" Fomo challenged. "I seem to remember a mouse coming out on top of you."

The cheeky retort was effective. Frosty momentarily opened his mouth to respond, but turned away without a word while his cheeks flushed. Giggling to himself, Fomo folded his arms victoriously and stepped back to give Frosty some room as he leaned in to sight the rifle. This also allowed him the opportunity to admire the cat's curvy figure again, something that Frosty was oblivious to. His attention was focused down the scope, familiarizing himself with a city street littered with broken down vehicles.

For Fomo, the view got even better when the shooting began. Frosty naturally leaned in and hunched down, bracing himself against the game console while unwittingly putting his rump on display. His tail anxiously flicked back and forth while he concentrated, so focused on his task that he didn't notice the audible growl that came from Fomo's stomach. Or the fact that the mouse was openly licking his lips now. Blue eyes followed his friend's spotted tail, memorizing the rhythm. He cautiously snuck closer while drooling at what he was about to pull off.

As the difficulty of picking targets increased, Frosty's mind became more absorbed in the hostile environment laid out before him. He didn't initially notice the gentle tug at the end of his tail. Nor did he lose focus when the tip became increasingly wet. The distraction served Fomo's intents well, openly sampling the white cat. He enjoyed what he found. A subtle waft of vanilla that had teased his nose all evening tasted equally as good as it smelled. Fomo's craving prompted a soft gulp, squirming with anticipation as a flicking tail dipped into his throat.

The grey mouse was halfway up Frosty's tail by the time he took notice. He briefly drew his attention away from the scope to investigate, but returned to his game just as fast. It wasn't enough time to fully register the threat. That changed when a pair of hands clapped firmly over Frosty's feminine hips. He let out a started chirrup as he twisted to look over his shoulder, only to be met with a smug, predatory gleam.

He instinctively pulled to dislodge his tail from the mouse's throat, but Fomo ensured he couldn't wiggle away so easily. Just as his muzzle approached the base of Frosty's tail, his fingers tightened to pull his friend off-balance. The cat's butt was promptly met by yawning jaws, accented by flat rodent teeth that glistened in the neon lights. Frosty grabbed the console in front of himself to avoid toppling, which enabled Fomo to get his mouth almost entirely around the cat's hips. Large grey ears laid back as he crouched, determined to make a statement that mice could, indeed, eat cats.

"H-hey, what're you...nnnh!" Frosty's protest broke apart when his friend's tongue flexed, passing up the inside of his thighs. Though his jeans were an effective barrier, the proximity made him flinch and flex his body into a timid curl.

Fomo was quick to exploit the cheetah's moment of vulnerability. A greedy shove forced his jaws uncomfortably-wide, discovering the spotted cat's hips to be a mouthful. Hunger spurred him on despite the challenge, eagerly longing for the gratification of a squirming gut. The effort it took to finally wedge Frosty's generous rump into his throat brought tears to the corners of his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if he could pull it off; perhaps he'd quite literally bitten off more than he could chew.

Glllllllk. Frosty's stomach jumped when he felt himself dip. What seemed like an impossible feat was becoming reality. He was becoming increasingly helpless, the mouse's advancing jaws forcing him into a cramped, rather compromising position. When Fomo swallowed again, he nearly lost his grip on the console - his only lifeline to avoiding being consumed. Frosty whimpered when his slimy "seat" rippled again, allowing him to slip farther into the mouse's jaws. Wiggling only seemed to benefit Fomo, doing nothing even more so.

Drool was liberally applied to the cheetah as he was devoured, both to taste the vanilla cat and ease his passage. It was gradually becoming easier for Fomo, body adjusting to his friend's bulk as he took another heavy swallow to drag him deeper. His teeth nibbled up Frosty's back, making him fidget at the intermittent jolts of sensation. A pleased squeak only added insult to injury, reminding Frosty that he was halfway down a mouse's throat, of all things.

Frosty was struggling to find words, mind racing from a potent blend of anxiety and excitement. The dark corner and dim atmosphere ensured that few might notice a grey mouse devouring his friend. His chances of escaping Fomo's belly were increasingly slim. His feet were very-nearly straddling his head due to being folded against himself and Fomo was showing no signs of relenting. His tail was already curling up in the mouse's belly, girlish hips not far behind.

A deep, pleased groan filled Frosty's ears when his flexed butt finally settled into the mouse's steamy belly. Ominous gurgling accompanied his arrival, slimy interior walls spreading around his body. Though it seemed impossibly-tight already, Fomo's white abdomen readily expanded as he claimed more of the delicious cat. His fingers rolled up the sides of Frosty's neck as he approached his shoulders, rubbing the base of his ears and making him murmur conflictedly.

"Mmmf, c-c'mon, you've made your point," Frosty whimpered under his breath.

Not nearly. Fomo's opinion was reinforced with a deep, lengthy swallow, admiring the shamefully-pinned cat ears and wiggling toes protruding from his muzzle. He savored the sight while his hands groped over his belly, feeling out the shapes Frosty made. It always felt amazing to have a live meal shifting in his gut. Knowing it was a cat only sweetened the deal. His tongue slid over his bottom lip, tracing along Frosty's bell to make it jingle before it continued up his neck. As the tension built, Frosty watched his view of the outside world be framed by large incisors and a curling tongue.

"W-wait, m-mousey...!"

The potential plea went unheard. Fomo's lips sealed around his friend's toes, suckling wetly before a heavy swallow forced the last of his meal into the slimy abyss. His hands followed Frosty down, kneading gently as if to aid his descent. An impressive bulge continued to sag into Fomo's lap, abdomen squelching lewdly to protest the excessive meal. Though it caused mild discomfort to be this full, the personal gratification of eating a cat more than made up for it.

"Ohhhh, so good..."

Fomo's back arched, pushing down on his belly with both hands before wrapping it up in a greedy hug that made his passenger grunt. It also worked up a crass belch, tainted with the flavor of vanilla cat and working loose several flecks of stray fur. A giggling squeak followed, licking his lips clean.

"Urph...nnh, 'scuse me. Such a tasty kitty...you're the perfect dessert." Fomo's ropey tail lashed excitedly, reveling in his victory.

His belly thrashed in response, the panicked cheetah stretching and groping in the darkness in a futile search for a way out. That only fueled the mouse's excitement, pinning his swollen gut between his thighs and body to restrain Frosty somewhat. He was grinning as he listened to muffled mewls, dominated by wet gurgling as his belly got acquainted with his newest meal. Their activities had worked up quite an appetite.

A tight clench made Frosty wince, steamy walls smearing his body with hot fluids. It was almost suffocating, nose burning from the caustic fumes. He could feel the viscous secretions pooling around his hips, continuously worked over his frame each time the walls compressed. It was already beginning to itch and burn in places. To add insult to injury, he could hear Fomo groaning approvingly each time he moved, and even elicited cute squeaks from time to time. There was no doubting how much the mouse was enjoying this; enjoying him.

Frosty's surroundings clenched and he was tossed about when Fomo reluctantly rose to his feet. It took a moment to gain his bearings with the weight of a stomach nearly bigger than him. Propping himself against the game console, Fomo gently stroked his gut as it gurgled loudly and worked up another soft burp.

"Mmh, much as I hate to get up right now, I think it's time to start heading back. But keep wiggling, kitty. My belly really likes you. If you're lucky, you might even make it back to my place."

His taunt earned another delightful squirm and a defeated mewl. Frosty was already losing steam but not surrendering just yet. He cradled an arm beneath his swollen gut, hand idly groping his friend while he ambled to the door with the cheetah in tow. Uneasy footfalls kept his friend in motion, disoriented and growing dizzy from the increasingly-stale air lingering in Fomo's gut.

The constant shifting began to rub loose wet clumps of fur, aiding the natural rhythm of the mouse's abdominal muscles. By the time Fomo reached his car, the squirming cat had begun to relent. In his exhausted state, there was little Frosty could do. His muscles were feeling heavy, and a pleasant euphoria was encouraging him to relax. The idea of drifting off, consigning himself to the mouse's belly, grew steadily more appealing despite the outcome.

By the time they reached the highway, the steady jostling of the car bumping over the road had taken its toll on Frosty. Try as he might, it proved impossible to stay awake in such a hostile place. Stifling heat and a frighteningly-efficient metabolism ensured that Frosty _wouldn't_be making it home as he drifted off. The cheetah's surrender made Fomo squirm in his seat, tempting fate to knead his softening gut with one hand, the other maintaining the wheel.

Fomo was rather pleased with himself, letting the music drown out the sounds of his stomach claiming another cat. He occasionally pressed and kneaded his belly, feeling it gradually lose definition as the pooling acids began to soften and gurgle away the hapless cheetah. There would still be plenty of cheetah to digest when he got home. Maybe he'd soak in the tub, just to revel in the moment and help the process along, or curl up in bed and sleep off his feline dessert.

The result would be the same, either way. Given time, Fomo's digestive tract would reduce the cheetah to unrecognizable softness on his hips that would inevitably be worked off at the gym, or flushed away. For now, he settled back into his seat and let himself settle into a comfortable driving rhythm while he soaked in the predatory afterglow of a perfect night out...