FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

There are many predators who are content to subsist on ferals, and even a few misguided folks who even try to derive nutrition from plants. But there are some rare individuals who can only be satisfied by that most taboo of meats: anthropomorphic flesh.

To most, we are nothing but stories, something that happened in the past or in distant places. On the rare occasion that one of us is caught, there's a brief story in the news and then the masses forget within the month. I don't mind, it's easier to hunt when the prey don't know you're there.

Another perk of being thought of as myth, those paranoid enough to actually look for us end up expecting someone completely different. We're almost always thought of as either hulking half-feral brutes bloated with prey, or suave sexual predators who seduce you and devour you after making love. With those stereotypes who would expect a petite little fennec?

Generally I prefer to hunt in places where anthros traditionally go to meet one another: bars, nightclubs, sci-fi conventions. It's best not to hunt at the same place too often, and so I was scoping out a bar I'd never visited previously. I was wearing a short red strapless dress and looking a bit out of place among the regular patrons. With the mix of truckers, frat boys, and listless middle-aged men, I must have looked like either a prostitute or ironically, prey. I wasn't afraid. The odds of running into another of my kind were unlikely and meals who underestimated me were always the easiest to snatch.

Discretely I scoped out the selection. What I could see wasn't promising to be honest. A pack of college boys, well marinated and fatty but a risk, if I separated one and he never came back his brothers might remember me. There were truckers, meaty, but not lightweights and tough to digest. That left the older men, well matured and fattened, I just needed to figure out which ones wouldn't be missed. I passed over a bored looking horse in a workshirt and a small group of friends before spotting a mouse staring wistfully into his beer.

My prey in sight, I headed for a table not too far but not too close, and well within his view. I sat displaying my profile to the mouse, swirling my drink as I waited for him to take notice. Let them come to you, I thought. After nearly ten minutes of waiting, and one rebuffed proposition by a random barfly, he took notice of me. I pretended to just take notice of his gaze then and returned it with a smile.

He became intrigued and perked up, starting to rise before hesitating, unsure. With one hand I beckoned him over and his reluctance vanished as he walked to me.

I didn't bother to remember what we talked about; it's always some variation of the same old script. "What brings you here?" Followed by "Oh, that's too bad. Want to come back to my place?" It took less than fifteen minutes of listening to his sordid tale, something about a wife wanting to leave him, before we were leaving for my house.

Well, a condo really. Some think that an isolated cottage out in the country is best, but I find that regular visitors draw more attention from the neighbors where the population is sparse. In the city you just need to make sure the walls are soundproofed.

After I made sure the front door was locked securely and all the windows were shut with the curtains drawn, I started to undo the zipper up my back, struggling visibly so that my prey would come in close to help. As soon as the hapless mouse drawn my dress down over my breasts I shoved his face in between them, and led him into my kitchen. He did not protest as I bent him back over the sink. I spotted some disappointment in his eyes as I pushed his face back out of my cleavage but it turned to excitement as I reared back. Then, before he could react I turned my jaws onto his neck and sank my teeth into his trachea.

His carotid spurted hot blood across the stainless steel counter as his windpipe crunched between my jaws. I relished his dying gasps almost as much as I savored his succulent flavor; I so enjoyed the taste of mouse meat, probably thanks to some primal urge. My head wrenched back, taking a chunk of his throat in my mouth, causing him to choke on his own blood while I swallowed.

As he died I wriggled out of my dress and tossed it into the next room. Blood would not show on the red fabric but it would smell, and bodily fluids were a pain to clean off without bleach. Once his gasping had ceased I set to work tearing the meat from his skull, there wasn't much but no point wasting it. The lips and cheeks ripped off easily, taking small strips of muscle with them. The eyes I scooped out with a spoon and popped in my mouth like grapes. I worked my way back to the thin little ears and set aside the worthless pieces of cartilage and gristle. I peeled off the scalp and scraped the flesh from it with my rough tongue, then I took an electric knife from a drawer and began to saw off the top of the cranium. As his skull was opened the sink became littered with shards of cast off bone and filled with blood and cerebrospinal fluid that spilled from the brainpan as the motorized blade sunk deeper. Finally, the knife sawed into empty air and I deftly caught the severed top of the skull in my free hand then licked the fatty brains out. There were so sweet, but so quick to spoil.

After cleaning out the top of the skull I wrenched the remaining half back up and plunged my muzzle in, lapping up the grey matter greedily. When I reached the thin membrane at the bottom of the brainpan I set it aside and moved down to his pectorals, ripping away at them with my bare claws. I tore off strips of muscle and dropped them in my mouth, tearing and shredding the bloody flesh with no more concern for the mess, lost in the feeding frenzy. By now my stomach was visibly bulging, to the point one may have mistaken me for being several months pregnant. I knew it would take days to digest this meal. My hunger sated for the time being, I decided that I would set aside the rest for later. I drained the remaining blood and other fluids into a pitcher; you would be surprised how many recipes include blood. I picked up another knife and began to carve away the rest of his meat. I pared away narrow steaks from his abdomen, deftly cut the biceps off his arms and the calves from his legs. His muscles and liver were saved in a series of large plastic bags, a rather large bag in the case of the liver in my opinion, then I began to crack open the ribcage so as to remove the heart. Most of the remaining internal organs were of little use to me, I'd probably just throw them in a lake for the fish later. I cut his hands off whole, the fingers would make good snacks. The large bones would have to be crushed and ground into powder once I'd sucked out the marrow, but that could wait, for now I just needed to rest and digest.

I wrapped the bones in foil and almost carelessly shoved them into the cupboard below the sink. That done I slipped off to my bedroom to sleep off the meal.

Some time later I was roused from my digestive coma by a loud banging on my door. Groggily I lurched off of the mattress, and absent-mindedly threw on a robe before going to the door.

"Where is he?!" An angry female voice demanded from the other side of the locked door. Instinctively I identified the speaker as a mouse, in retrospect I would realize she was probably my dinner's wife or ex-wife, but at the time I was too tired to register that fact. Back then I just thought of her as a weak prey species that I could easily scare off. I unlocked and opened the door a crack to tell her off and was greeted by the silenced barrel of a gun.

The sight of a middle-aged mousewife bearing an expression of abject rage and brandishing a handgun might have almost seemed comical, were it not for the fact that the gun was aimed straight at my forehead. I couldn't see anything else to do but back up and hope she gave me an opening to counterattack.

As I backed away and opened the door I slowly straightened up, unintentionally emphasizing my still-distended gut. Her eyes darted to my stomach, her face fell, and she pulled the trigger.

A hammer blow to the belly, followed by another to the breast seconds later. I slumped back against the wall, bleeding from the two wounds as I felt bile rising in my throat. As I lay there heaving up the thick stew that remained of this crazy mouse's mate I wondered briefly what made her react so violently before I blacked out.

There are a lot of legends concerning anthros who eat other anthros. For instance, they may believe that we shapeshift in order to blend in with our prey, or that we can enthrall our victims. A popular one is that we can live forever so long as we keep consuming anthros or something like that. Most social psychologists think that it's because anthro-kind has tamed all their natural predators but retain this instinctive fear of being eaten that requires an outlet. So they invent fictional monsters that science hasn't yet managed to slay.

Too bad they're wrong on that count.

I regained consciousness as the bleeding stopped and the holes in my body started to close. I was sitting in a pool of red-tinted stinging fluid. Blood trailed from my stomach and my right breast, at least she had missed my heart, that would have been troublesome. I could feel the second bullet still embedded in my lung, but I could handle it until I could find a doctor who wouldn't ask questions. The first one was just barely visible among the bile and meat chunks on the floor, it had been stopped by the contents of my stomach. After evaluating my own physical condition I realized that the robe I'd been wearing was wet with blood and digestive juices, I'd have to burn it later.

A crash from the area of the bedroom told me that the mouse was in the process of tearing my home apart in search of her husband. She re-entered the kitchen, quite visibly frustrated at the lack of incriminating evidence. I decided to cut her off before she did too much damage "try the cupboard under the sink", I managed to croak out.

She brandished the gun at me again, I just sat there grinning like an idiot but she cautiously opened the cupboard with her foot and then bent over to pick up the foil-wrapped bundle with her free hand. The package was too heavy for her and she dropped it, sending brown bones tumbling out onto the floor.

The live mouse dropped down among the remains of the dead one, rummaging until she found the skull with its top sawed off. As she stared in shock and recognition I took the opportunity to cast off my soiled robe and get back on my feet. "You," she gasped, "you're a... a..."

"An anthrophage." I completed for her. A generic term, I know, but more accurate than "cannibal" and without the annoying romanticism of "vampire" or "werebeast", or "ghoul" as they called us back in my homeland. Really, the only difference is in hunting strategies. Those who called themselves vampires starved themselves on a bit of blood to just barely satisfy their need for anthro protein and minimize their chances of getting caught, while werebeasts prowled remote areas and gorged on lost hikers once a month, ghouls were a bit somewhere in between.

She returned her gaze to my naked bloodstained body, standing despite the wounds slowly knitting back together as she watched. I willed my claws to grow longer and my lips to curl back, prominantly displaying my fangs. Looking in horror from her mate's monstrous killer to his remains she became overwhelmed with despair. Slowly, she lifted the gun again and began to aim it at her own temple.

"No" I thought, this uppity little prey animal wasn't going to be escaping that easily. She had stolen my meal from me, after I had eaten it even! She had to be punished. Swiftly I pounced on her, forcing the gun away and tossing it over to the far side of the room. My unnaturally long claws tore her blouse open, and she screamed as my teeth sank into her breast. The next slash ripped straight through the fat layer protecting her intestines. I tore away the mouthful of meat and swallowed, then began to dig into her guts and showed them to her as I ate. By the time I had hollowed out her lower abdominal cavity and moved up to the liver she had no breath left to scream. She simply stared off into space with her mouth hanging open as she bled to death.

When I was sure her chest had stopped moving and the light had faded from her eyes I stood back and looked at the mess we'd made. The floor was covered in the bile and blood of two different species, interspersed with mushy chunks of mouse meat. Out of curiosity I went back for the discarded gun and unloaded it, just the one bullet left, why had she only taken three? She'd spent two bullets on me and so far as I could tell she'd been planning to murder her husband and his lover, so what was the third one for? Was it simply a spare or had she been planning a double murder-suicide all along? But that still didn't explain why she'd wasted a bullet on my stomach.

It wasn't important now. I dismissed the idea, and went back to the kitchen. It would take all day to clean it all up, but I still had time before the smell became intolerable. For now I could just sit back and appreciate my good fortune, it had been centuries since I'd managed to net two fat prey in as many days. I'd spent too much time being cautious, the prey had become numerous enough to gorge myself as much as I wanted. Time to feast!