FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Tell me you're fucking kidding!"

A primly dressed ferret shook his head, looking over his glasses at the bull and Clydesdale stallion standing before him, and sniffed at the bull's outburst. "I'm afraid not," he said tersely. "Site rules, gentlemen. It's for your own safety."

The bull snorted, and held out a pair of bright orange trousers. They could not have looked more different to his thick, pitch-black hair. "How the fuck," he growled, "do these keep us safe?"

"In the event of an emergency," the ferret said calmly, "bright clothing ensures all contractors can be readily identified." The stallion rolled his eyes, and the ferret's own narrowed. "I do apologise if our desire to protect the lives of our employees is an inconvenience for you..."

"Nah, man," the stallion drawled. "Ain't that." He stared at his own pair with a thoughtful look, holding them high and looking them up and down. "Just looks fuckin' dumb, right?"

"Yeah!" the bull agreed. "What's wrong with just a hi-vis jacket, huh? That's all we've had to wear on other sites!" He dropped the trousers with a snort, his breath steaming in the cool morning air. They were far up the mountainside, well into the tree-line; snow lay on the ground only a few tens of metres higher up. "And," he added, "it's fucking cold! That shit looks thin!"

"The temperature warms significantly a few hours from sunrise, and you may wear them over your other clothes if you--" the ferret began, before a guffaw from the stallion cut him off with a raised hand.

"Shit, guy," the equine said with a disbelieving smile. "Look at us. You think that's gonna work?"

That gave the ferret pause. He pursed his lips, fine fingers clutching his clipboard, looking between the bull and the stallion. The two males were enormous: tall, bulky, muscled lumberjacks who each looked capable of not only felling a tree, but also single-handedly carrying it back to the yard. The stallion was picking at his teeth as he watched the ferret, having to stretch his fingers a fair bit; his mountain of a bicep stopped him from flexing his arm all the way. His long legs were already straining the jeans he had on, and it looked like a single too-rapid breath might pop every single button off his chequered shirt. The bull was in a similar position, with thighs thick as the trees he chopped for a living, and a neck like someone had dropped a car's tyre around a bollard. Both of them were outsized, even for their respective species; no other clothing would fit onto their massive frames without a struggle.

But company policy was immutable, it seemed, and the ferret sniffed and shook his head.

"You may search through the storeroom for the best-fitting pairs -- but if you don't agree to wear them, I cannot have you on my site."

The bull looked at the stallion with questioning eyebrows, and the horse stared back before sighing. "I got rent, Hesten," he said apologetically, and the bull took a deep breath and snorted it back out.

"Fucking fiiiiine," the bovine sighed. "We'll wear your fucking clown clothes."

They spent a few minutes digging through racks of orange clothing in a dimly lit shed to find pairs that fit. The horse finished first, and was leaning against the side of the building -- looking like an overripe nectarine -- when the bull emerged, wearing not only his own set of ill-fitting safety clothes, but also an uncomfortable look. His friend grunted at him.

"You good, Hest?"

"Yeah, I just..." The bull's face frowned, and he tugged hard at the crotch of the orange trousers. "So fucking tight...shit!" He looked down in dismay at a small tear he'd made in the fabric. "Mitchell, this fucking sucks."

"Forget it, man," the stallion told him, pushing himself to his hooves and walking with his friend towards the tree line. "We can just dump this shit once we're in the woods. They won't know." He grabbed an axe from a rack on the way and handed it to the bull before taking one for himself. "You'd fuckin' think a fancy artisanal fuckin' timber farm could afford a couple more sizes, huh? Who've they had chopping here before now? Fuckin' hobbits? First no fuckin' chainsaws, and now this shit." They entered the trees, axes slung over their broad shoulders, the sounds of the mountain immediately fading away as trees and leaves and brush surrounded them. "The furniture they make better fuckin' have magical powers after all this shit, or they're just ripping people off..."

A path -- marked in great wide swaths of agonisingly luminous yellow paint on both the ground and the trees to either side, as if sheer boldness of colour would act as an incantation against accidents -- led through the immature trees to some location deeper in. That'd be where the ferret had told them the adult trees were, the stallion observed sagely to his grumpy friend. They walked along the neon-bright trail as birds twitted in the trees and a breeze whispered through the leaves. Mitchell walked ahead of the bull, still grousing about the plantation's strict rules, but not getting an answer from the bovine. Now and then he'd hear a grunt or a curse behind him, followed by the rustle of vinyl as the bull adjusted himself.

Eventually, they broke through the brush into a sunlit glen filled with tree stumps and surrounded by looming trunks with numbers painted on them. The stallion dropped his axe to the ground and rested a foot on the head as he looked around. "Alright," he said. "Those ten, then. Big fuckers. And hardwoods. So...I figure, hour and a half each?" He squinted up at the sky. "About eight now. Won't get 'em all today, so might as well say two hours apiece and make it two days. Whaddaya think?"

He paused for an answer, then looked over at his friend. The bull was bent over, looking down at his body with an intense expression, hands gripping the sides of one trouser leg, trying to stretch the material. "Hesten?" the stallion asked. He dropped the handle of his axe and walked closer, slapping the bull lightly alongside his head. "Hey!"

Hesten snorted and jerked upright, nostrils flared. "What!?"

"Did ya hear what I said, man?"

Blushes didn't show on the bull's dark face, but they did on his lighter ears. Their pale skin darkened to crimson, the bull's nose-ring misting with condensation as he snorted hotly. "Sorry, Hest," he apologised. "It's just these _fucking p_ants..."

"So take 'em off!" The stallion reached for his own waist and started squeezing out of them. "We'll put 'em back on when we go back for lunch and shit. That pencil pusher won't know." But the bull's askance look made the horse pause and take a deep breath. "Well, shit, Hest," he said resignedly. "What now?"

"I didn't fit," the bull said in frustration. "These fucking doll clothes they got. I tried to make it work, but I'm too fucking..." He waved his hands in frustration at his lower half. "I got nothing on under this, Mitch. Nothing!" Now that he pointed it out, the stallion could see the outline of the bull's generous genitals against the fabric, unimpeded by denim. "Only way it would go on," he mumbled, then frowned, his ears flattening against his head as his friend started laughing hysterically. He gave the equine a thick middle finger. "Thanks for the fucking support, horse!" he growled. "Asshole."

Mitchell pointed at the bull's straining crotch with a shit-eating grin, tears of joy twinkling in his eyes. "I dunno...you got plenty of support there already, man." He snickered and finished shucking off the orange trousers, tossing them aside before taking up his axe again. "Let's fuckin' get to it, though. I want my rent. You can work orange or you can work nude, Hest, so long as you work."

The bull made an agonised sound, and pulled at his crotch one last time before shouldering his own axe. "Yeah, fine, alright," he said. "Let's just do it." He pointed at one of the marked trees. "You get the back, I'll get this side."

For a while, the only sounds were the rhythmic impact of steel axe-head against hard tree-trunk, the grunts of males working up a sweat through heavy manual labour...and the intermittent swearing of a bull. Mitchell rolled his eyes at the invocations his bovine friend made against everyone and everything involved in the creation of the orange trousers, all the way from the factory that made the vinyl to the driver that delivered the final product. When the stallion paused to take a breather and a drink of water, he called out to the bull.

"You surviving there, Tangerine Man?" he asked with a grin. The bole was too wide for them to see one another, but he could imagine the finger being aimed right at him. "I'm about eight inches in, how about you? Had any time to chop between the cursin'?"

"I can fucking do both if I--" There was a ripping noise, and the bull's grumble cut off and was replaced with an agonised scream. Mitchell's blood froze and he dropped everything, dashing around the tree, heart pumping, prepared to see his friend with an axe-head sticking out of somewhere it shouldn't be -- and then stopped short. The bull had staggered back from the tree, hands raised in disbelief, looking down at himself with a shocked expression.

Hanging casually out of a large new tear in the crotch-seam of the orange trousers were two hefty, wrinkly bull nuts, swinging gently from side to side.

There was silence for a few seconds, and then...

"Give me a fucking break!" Hesten screeched, the falsetto cutting through the cool forest air. Squirrels fled for shelter in the branches overhead. "Are you fucking serious with this right now?!" He looked up, wide-eyed, at the sound of his stallion friend desperately attempting to muffle a choking laugh with his hands. "What the fuck are you laughing at?" he screamed, his voice breaking a little at the end.

Mitchell's eyes were squeezed shut in mirth, tears running from each corner, his fingers pressed to his mouth as his body heaved. "Y...you..." He shook his head, the laughter building again, oozing out from between his fingers despite his best efforts. "L...looks..." He turned away and bent in half, letting the hysteria play out, peals of laughter rolling through the air. When he finally recovered and turned back to face the bull, he was met by a flat expression and crossed arms.

"You fucking done?" his friend said evenly. The horse wiped away his tears and nodded, still chuckling. "Fucking wonderful. I'm so glad my balls amuse you so fucking much."

"N--nah, man," the stallion said with a giggle. "It's just..." He framed the outline of a rectangle around the bull's crotch with his fingers. "Dark balls on an orange background...it's like modern fuckin' art, man." He sniffed and wiped at his nose. "Sorry, bud. You were just so fuckin' angry, and then the balls underneath..." He stopped speaking as the laughter threatened to return, and the bull sighed.

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do now?" He snarled and kicked a pebble into the woods.

"This was the only fucking pair that fit even a little!"

The horse shrugged in vast amusement. "I dunno, man." His eyes dropped to the bull's crotch, and a smirk crawled up the side of his face as he watched them jostle about. "But how about we figure that out later, and I spend some time apologising for being such a rude friend..."

Mitchell sauntered closer to the bull as he spoke and slid a hand under the bull's nuts when he reached him, his head tilted to one side, smiling pleasantly at Hesten. The bull's annoyed look faded to curiosity, and when he felt the hand cupping his nuts, it turned into a smile. He glanced around the clearing. "Now? You fucking horndog." But his body pressed forward, into the hand fondling him.

"What can I say?" the stallion asked breathily, blowing against the bull's nose-ring before meeting his lips in a sensual kiss. His hand rolled the bull's testicles around in their dark sack, the skin only barely lighter than the bull's sooty hair. He broke the kiss and sighed. "Your balls make me so fuckin' horny, man."

"Yeah? More than my dick?" the bull said playfully. They both knew the stallion's fetish. His tone turned husky. "Lemme see them on your lips then, stallion-slut."

The stallion grinned and went to his knees, hands sliding down the bull's sides as he descended. He leaned in, pushing his nose against the bull's balls and breathing in deeply. "Ohhhh..."

"How do I smell, horse?" Hesten asked, resting one hand on the stallion's head and pushing himself forward, into the equine's muzzle.

"Like a fuckin' stud," the stallion moaned. "Musky and horny and fuckin' delicious. Sweating like a breeding bull, with the balls to match..."

"Fucking right," Hesten growled. "You like my big balls, huh, colt?"

"I fuckin' worship your balls," the stallion countered, rubbing the sides of his muzzle against the dark skin of his friend's scrotum, feeling the wrinkled surface and the smoothness of the huge orbs within; bulging the bovine's sack like he had two goose eggs suspended below his three long inches of loose sack. "Best, biggest, tastiest nuts in the world..." He opened his mouth and ran a tongue roughly up one side of Hesten's sack, slurping noisily when he reached the taut folds of skin at the top, as if he was sucking up the taste. "Big lumberjack bull's worked up a real fuckin' sweat," he moaned. "He needs a wash."

"Yeah, he does. So clean my balls real good, colt." The bull's fingers gripped the horse's mane and pulled his friend's face inwards, pressing his large nuts hard against the stallion's muzzle. "Every fucking fold."

The horse blew a warm breath against the loose skin of the bull's testicles in response. His long tongue slid under and around the hanging weights, covering them in spit that shone in the bright sunlight. Each nut was so big, as he nuzzled and licked and suckled on one, he'd heft the other in his palm and stroke it with his fingers, gently tugging on it to make the skin go tight. Then he'd slide his tongue across to lick it from base to top, filling the valleys of skin with saliva that dribbled down like small white rivers across the bulge of the weighty nuts below before dripping off the underside.

Hesten's breathing grew coarser as his friend's attentions increased in intensity, and his grip on the stallion's mane grew firmer. He reached down with his free hand to rip the hole in his pants wider, allowing his rapidly thickening cock to escape. He flopped it over the stallion's head, the horse giving a loud and lusty moan of pleasure as he felt that thick mass landing on him -- and then another as the bull began grinding his ballsack even harder against him, making the testicles jostle and slip around in their home. The bull watched them with delight, loving the sight of his enormous nuts rolling around and across the stallion's face. Mitchell's eyes were tightly shut, focused on his other senses; Hesten shuffled his legs further apart and tugged his friend's face in closer, pressing the horse's long muzzle deep between his legs and letting each ball flop onto one of the stallion's eyelids, covering them.

The bull could feel a slight coldness on his thighs as the horse's sharp breathing sucked up what must be an incredibly powerful musk, stuck as his nose was right between the bull's thick, sweaty legs. Hesten chuckled. "How's it smell down there, colt?" he asked the stallion. A half-moaned, half-gurgled answer. "Bet it's fucking potent by now. What you getting? Lemme guess the vintage. Hmmm...notes of crack, and thigh, and ballsack? Fresh on the nose, tart on the tongue? Your favourite. And don't you look pretty with my glasses on, too?" He shook his hips, making his balls slide about a bit on the horse's face. "You must've done tennis at school, colt, because you're a fucking good ball-boy..."

When he was done entertaining himself with testicle spectacles, he pulled the stallion back and was greeted by a pleasure-addled face as his tumescent cock slid off to the side. He tapped the horse gently on the side of his muzzle and smiled down at him as his eyes fluttered open.

"Nice?"

"Fuuuuuuuuuck..." was all the stallion said for a while. Then: "You gotta let me do this more, man...your fuckin' smell is fuckin' amazing." His tongue reached out, trying to lick along the bull's cock. "I wanna taste your dick now, man..."

"Bored of my balls already?" Hesten teased. "It's not even been an hour." Not letting go of the stallion's mane, he hefted his half-hard cock in his other hand and slapped the tip against the stallion's lips, back and forth, watching him gasp and desperately reach for it with his tongue as the bull's firm grip on his mane held him in place. "Come on, colt," Hesten taunted his friend, his wet cock-tip making a lewd noise whenever it hit the stallion's tongue. "How's it taste? Or do you want more?"

"More, more, more," the stallion groaned. "Please, fuckin' more, I gotta taste it--hurk!"

A choked gurgle was the only sound he managed as the bull suddenly pushed his cock against his lips -- forcing it inside his mouth -- and then thrust, driving half his fat, equine-looking prick down the stallion's gullet in a single action. The horse's eyes shot open as his airway was invaded, but just as quickly they crossed over in befuddled joy and fluttered shut. The bull felt his ersatz fucktoy relax, every muscle going loose to let the bull proceed with minimal effort. As he always did.

Hesten smirked and reached behind the horse's head to grab and pull, forcing his cock deeper into the stallion without so much as twitching his hips. He stared down in pleasure at the visual of his thick pink cock disappearing between the stallion's dark lips as spittle oozed out the sides and ran down the stallion's chin. "That'll be cum soon enough," he murmured to his friend, and felt the shiver run through the body he was holding. "So much bull cum, colt," he groaned. "Every drop my big balls can pump out, all of it going into you, just like we both want..."

He hilted inside the stallion, the Clydesdale's white nose smushed deep into the bull's musky crotch. Mitchell didn't waste any opportunity to smell more of his friend; the bull could feel the air running across his skin as the horse sucked in all the scent he could. His airway was probably three-quarters blocked by cock, but that wouldn't stop him. What a fantastic fuck the horse was. So willing. Always up for worshipping the bull, or for a nice, rough, throat-fucking.

Hesten pulled half his cock back out, feeling his tip sliding silkily along the horse's throat. He groaned in delight. "So hot, stud," he husked. "You fit me like a sleeve." A whimpered answer, and two stallion hands gripped his inner thighs. Back in, then, just as slowly; savouring the heat, the way the stallion's muscles gulped and tightened around him on every motion. So much nicer than an ass, in Hesten's opinion. Plus, he got to watch the stallion's face up close, and see how he looked as he felt the bull's fat sausage going into him. That single in-and-out was all the stallion got, however; just one test, to make sure he was ready, and then...

The bull slammed himself as deep into the stallion's mouth as he could, the fingers holding the horse's mane gripping together into a fist and pulling upward roughly to straighten his throat, hips exploding into frenzied action. "Take my cock, colt!" he yelled, fucking his friend's face as hard as he could. "Take my big bull dick, you horny stallion fuck!" The stallion was making noises that sounded alternately like choking and the gurgling, as fifteen inches of bull prick slid in and out of him every second. The velvety-soft equine tongue rubbed the underside of the bull's cock as it rammed in and out, which only made Hesten grit his teeth and fuck harder. He fucked like he wanted to break the horse in two, like he was driving a chisel of pleasure so deep into the horse that it would cleave the stallion apart. His cock was throbbing, the veins growing firmer as he swelled inside the horse, the scraping of flesh against flesh only fanning the fire that burned in the bull's crotch, desperate for release. His nuts ached like they were in a vise, but they still hung low and loose in the stallion's grasp, their potent seed swirling within, always virile, always ready.

They would not rise until the very last moment.

The bull lifted his head to feel the sun on it as he fucked Mitchell's throat as hard as he ever did, his big balls swinging around crazily, bouncing off the stallion's chin and his thighs and anything else that got close. Suddenly, that included the stallion's hands; his friend had released his thighs to take a hefty nut in each palm, stroking and teasing them, even squeezing them ever so gently. It was agony, bliss, torture, perfection. The bull fucking loved it. His lusty pounding ratcheted up in speed as the horse's hands touched his balls in all the right places; he felt their need to empty like an electric spark, stabbing up into his body.

He was there already, he was right there...but the horse, the stallion, the fucking greedy little whore was holding his nuts down with his fingers, pulling the sack taut, keeping them from rising. This was torture, and the bull repaid it with harder fucking. Every second that his orgasm was delayed was another half-inch deeper he tried to fuck into the stallion's throat. The electric sparks became a thunderstorm, lightning in his balls. If he didn't cum soon, he would die. The agony was starting to overwhelm the pleasure, and someone was screaming into the heavens. Was it him? Oh, holy fuck, it was too much, he had to cum, the horse had to let him cum, he couldn't bear this, he would die, please, please, please

"...please, please..." He only heard the end of his own whimper because the horse's hands dropped from his balls, and for an instant, time stopped. He felt weightless -- or was that just his balls? The bull's testicles rebounded as they were released, hurtling up into his body cavity like tiny glowing meteors, and slammed home...

And the floodgates opened.

Hesten screamed in pain that was bliss, his body clenching and bending forward over the stallion's back, his cock buried as deep as it would go, his balls like two suns that had ignited in his sack. The heat of his orgasm exploded throughout his body, blasting away every lesser feeling, replacing most everything with a white-hot glowing thrum that throbbed and sang and made every single extra second of torture before this point worthwhile. The bull had never experienced orgasms like the ones the stallion could give him with his expert throat and sneaky hands. He knew just what buttons to press to push the bull to the edge of what he could handle -- and then suck him back into the heart of it all, to a place they both shared, to a single pinnacle of pleasure for them to exult in together.

He couldn't feel his arms or legs; he barely sensed the stallion under him. His cock filled his mind, like he could feel every single individual atom it was made of. His cum pumped out like he'd attached an oil pipeline to the end of his prick; it had already filled the stallion and was squirting out around the edges of his dick in great wet spurts that landed on himself as much as anything else. And his balls roiled in their home, their tension finally easing, their load expended in all its volume. The stallion would be drinking it as fast as he could, gulping down great mouthfuls of his cum, hating every drop that he did not catch. He loved the taste, he said, and the heat, and how it felt to feel the bull's dick pumping it out fresh, straight down his throat and into his belly without him even having to swallow. He was such a fun fuck. He knew all his favourite spots...

The bull's arms spasmed as his body tried to recover from the overwhelming climax, and he slipped and fell back, tugging his cock out of the stallion's throat like some sort of huge cum-soaked lozenge. He fell back onto the forest floor with an oof, suddenly blinded as he looked directly at the sun, blinking to clear his vision of the spots. He was numb, but wonderfully so. His cock was still flexing, sticking up from his crotch, pushing out a few last drops of bright white bull spunk to dribble down the shaft and onto his balls. His nuts had already dropped out of his body and down to their usual altitude -- but they buzzed with the incredible aftershocks of their work, and would do so for hours yet. Every time.

He fucking loved his balls.

A warmth surrounded his sack, and he pushed his head up to see the stallion already suckling on them again like fine fruits, cleaning them of the mess the bull's ultra-cummy orgasm had made. That was fine; the horse could spend all day down there, for all he cared. It felt fucking fantastic.

He let his head fall back against the leaves and twigs. "Fuuuuck me," he groaned, and felt a cheeky finger at his tailhole. "No, please!" he begged. "I'm fucking kidding. My balls can't handle another fuck yet..."

"They just need a nice warm massage," the stallion said with a chuckle. One of the bull's balls was gently sucked into a warm, wet mouth, and he moaned in happiness. "An hour of this," the horse said, indistinctly, "and you'll be good to go again."

Hesten lifted a hand to rest it on the stallion's head as he suckled on his balls. "We gotta do the trees, bud," he said. But not too intently. His friend's mouth was so nice, and the warm sun drying the sweat on his skin made him tingle all over.

The horse gave a dismissive snort, and a bull testicle plopped out of his lips. "Trees can wait," he said. His tongue ran along the entire length of the bull's cum-covered dick. "I can hear your ass calling for horsecock..."

A petite cough startled them both, and they turned to see the ferret supervisor standing a short distance away with a severe expression. His eyes took in the scene, and with a sniff, he snapped his clipboard out and began writing.

"Did not wear requisite safety clothes during risky activities..."