FSE

Furry search engine

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She found herself alone with the wolf, whose name she learned was Roland as she listened in on her captors' prior conversations. He was tall-- a great deal taller than herself, by a head at least, and well-built. Though she didn't exactly know how old she was herself, she knew enough to guess that the wolf was several years her senior, but definitely younger than the governor who had previously held her prisoner. He had a soulful gaze, if not rather intense, that was like pools of clouded rainwater, so dark they were nearly black. The sleek black hair that fell across his face and down to his shoulders would surely feel as soft as silk if only she could reach out and touch it. He looked rather different from other wolves she'd seen, and there was something in the way in which he carried himself that managed to set him apart.

The girl hoped that this household would be a more welcoming place than the last. It certainly had a cozier atmosphere than the governor's manor. The house's inhabitants had treated her with some semblance of consideration so far, and she hoped things would stay that way. Hope was all she could muster, though at this point she often thought it foolish to feel such a thing. She had no say in her fate here, or anywhere for that matter, nor any right to expect better from her new captors.

Roland was no Governor Tyson-- not in the way he looked, dressed, spoke, or behaved-- and this offered the girl some relief. That wasn't to say she didn't feel terrified standing before him in the empty kitchen. Her cheek still stung in the spot where he had slapped her-- a less-than-gentle reminder of her place. Still, it was hardly the worst she'd ever received. She would simply need to quickly adapt to this new environment like she had countless times before if she hoped to remain in one piece.

"You're going to need a bath," Roland said, beckoning for her. "Before Jannick comes back and makes a scene again. This way."

The girl nodded. She followed him down the hall, then into a room where a staircase began. Climbing the steps roused an ache in her knees from the days spent huddled on the floor. Everything ached, really, but complaining never got her anywhere. Like all things, pain was a temporary product of imagination. With a certain focus, one could dissipate the sensation. Sometimes, letting go was easier than fighting a battle already lost.

When they reached the second floor, Roland led her into the bathroom. It was sleek and spacious, with a long vanity and a mirror on one wall, a shower, a toilet, and several bureaus on the wall adjacent, and a window pane and tub built into the wall opposite. He dimmed the lights to a comfortable brightness for the late hour, whose glow was accompanied by the faint orange gleam of the moon in the sky. Its beams struggled to penetrate the smog which still hung heavy; nevertheless, they managed to grace the house's inner chambers.

"I'll wash this," Roland said, reaching for the girl's rag. Her fingers remained tightly closed around one corner end, not giving away to his light tug. Clearly, she had no plans to part with it, no matter the grime and wear.

"Okay then," Roland sighed, his hand dropping to his side. "Don't take too long."

She watched the wolf turn away and close the door behind him, leaving her all alone. As far as she could recall, there was never another instance where she has been allowed this much freedom. However, it could have very well been a test, and so she approached the tub with caution. Her fingertips trailed over the surface of one edge as she looked it over. On the wall directly above the tub's faucet was a screen, several buttons, and a large dial. There were inscriptions on each component, all of which she couldn't understand.

The girl drew her hands away. She didn't know how to operate any of these controls, nor could she confidently guess, and she wouldn't risk punishment from experimenting and possibly making a mess. She had been hosed off countless times before, but never could she remember using a bath on her own. Stepping away, she scanned her surroundings and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She stared into her own reflection, hardly recognizing the person that stared back. It had been so long since she had last seen herself, not on the surface of liquid, or the shine of glass, but in an actual mirror. It was then that she was able to have somewhat of a grasp on her existence. She looked quite a bit older than she did when she saw last, and she was indeed filthy. Some dried blood easily flaked away as she scratched at a spot on her chin.

Turning her gaze downward to inspect the vanity, the girl wrapped her fingers around the handle of a large drawer. Inside, she found folded towelettes and some soap bars. She pushed it closed and continued to look around. All the while, her ears strained as she listened intently for any sign of approach from beyond the closed door. Presuming she may be allowed this same amount of freedom in the future, it was essential for her to know how to find potentially useful items, whether it be to treat a wound or otherwise care for herself.

She found several things while rummaging about-- nail clippers and combs, toothpaste and toothbrushes, hair products and cologne-- until her hand settled on a metal handle. She drew the pair of scissors from their place, holding them up at eye level. The blades glistened against the light cast by fixtures over the mirror. Bringing the scissors back down, she pressed a sharp edge against the inside of her opposite wrist. The sting was cold, like a thin line of icy fire across her skin, beads of red culminating in its path as a wave of nausea washed over her.

She might never get a chance like this again-- a moment's worth of agency, a droplet of control in a sea of chaos, which was promptly stolen away once more when she heard a knock at the door.

Roland still hadn't heard the water running. The door cracked open, and he found the girl standing on the other side, just as dirty as she was when he left her. He came in and closed the door behind him.

"Why aren't you taking your bath?" Roland asked.

The girl kneaded her rag between her fingers, breathing deeply and shutting her eyes in shame. "I'm... not sure how, sir."

"So you can speak," he quipped, slight surprise hidden behind a veil of causticity. Her voice was soft with a light twang to it.

She nodded slowly.

"Hmm. Well, I suppose I can show you," Roland said, leading her back towards the tub. He placed one hand on the edge and beckoned. "Step inside."

Hesitantly, the girl lifted one leg after the other over its walls, standing still at its center. She dropped her rag over the side. It fell to the floor without a sound.

"This button will turn the faucet on," he explained, pressing the large button central in a ring of smaller, inscribed ones. "Don't worry about the others. Now, sit."

She sank to her knees, quickly switching to a cross-legged position when they stung with the pressure of her own weight. Around her slowly rose the warm water.

"Use this dial to adjust the temperature," he continued. "I prefer these settings, but you may change them."

The screen flashed with different strings of characters. That particular component remained mysterious, but ultimately inessential to her understanding of operating the controls. She stared down at her hands, turning them slightly as she felt the sensation of liquid swirling about her digits. Tendrils swept over her body, and she could feel her fur flow freely with the warmth. She closed her eyes as the water continued to rise.

The water offered a unique comfort, like an enveloping embrace with barely a feather's touch. It soothed her sore muscles and made her usual routine a nearly effortless feat. Letting go wasn't always this easy. The whole world became hazy and unrecognizable, much like thoughts do before and after the abyss of sleep. The events around her still occurred, but she would numb herself to them as much as she could, to a point of peace and nothingness. Her body would dissolve, and she too would become one with the shapeless haze that existed somewhere outside of the current reality. There was no pleasure, and there was no pain, nor being or self or other. Only the unrecognizable, featureless plane truly was.

Roland shut the faucet off when it began to near the overflow plate. Unfocused with her fingers outstretched, the girl appeared almost blissfully unaware of surroundings if it weren't for the tired bags beneath her eyes. When her eyes opened again and she sat unmoving for several moments, it was clear to him that this was something he would have to take into his own hands.

"You're quite dirty, so you're going to need soap and shampoo to take away all that grime," Roland sighed, unbuttoning his coat and folding it atop the surface of the nearest bureau. He rolled up his sleeves and reached for a tall bottle, pumping the viscous gel into his palm.

After wetting her hair with a few handfuls of water, he swabbed the shampoo over the top of her head. It was frizzled and oily, bubbles forming as he worked the gel in. She held perfectly still other than the slight swaying in accordance with his movements.

When the soft bristles of a bath brush swept across her shoulder, streams of soap began to trail down, and with that, she eased back into the present. So quickly did every pleasantry of escape disappear. Each cut stung sharper than they had initially. The scrapes felt as fresh as they did hours and days ago. Her vulva felt rubbed to a blistering rawness with the fire of irritation. She jumped backward, water sloshing around her with the sudden action.

Roland was startled, slightly jumping himself at her delayed response. He withdrew his hands and watched quietly as she clung to the opposite end of the tub, heaving while she stared wide-eyes just over his shoulder. Stepping away, he knelt at the floor and rubbed the moisture from his hands on a towel that hung beside him.

"Sorry, sir," she whispered after a moment between breaths.

Roland inched forward with the brush's handle held out towards her. She held it with a loose grip before pulling the brush into her lap. She twirled it around in her hands a few times, then dipped it in the water to dilute some of the soap. The bristles gently scrubbed away caked dirt, blood, and sweat as she moved from her back to her shoulders, over her chest and stomach, and down each limb, carefully maneuvering the spots of broken skin around her sensitive areas. After swirling the head around in the water, the girl went through her hair and over each inch of her body again, the soap washing away with less pain. Once finished, she brought her hands up to her face and massaged away the remaining filth. Then, she set the brush aside and waited.

The wolf took the cue, passing a round bottle to her. She flipped open the top, applied a few drops to her fingertips, then looked to him for guidance.

"Conditioner," he said simply. "That'll fix up your damaged hair and spotty coat. You might as well leave it in."

The girl nodded, running her fingers through her forelock, and over her body. The oily substance didn't rouse any discomfort, to her relief. Roland stood and pressed a button on the interface, draining the now-murky water from the tub. He lay a towel over the floor and offered another to the girl as she stepped over the walls.

As Roland helped drape it over her shoulders, she murmured, "May I ask a question?"

He nodded. "Ask."

"Am I going to stay here now, sir?"

Roland was quiet for a moment. "Yes."

"What are my duties, sir?"

"Cleaning, most likely," he shrugged. "We'll... work out the details later."

She hesitated before inquiring further. "Is my master looking for me?"

Roland paused, unsure of how to proceed. He settled on the truth. "I don't know."

"Why did you take me from him?"

"No more questions," he answered. "That was far more than just one anyway."

She nodded shyly, then began to pat down the areas of her body that were still wet. Roland bent over and retrieved her rag from the floor.

"Can I wash this?"

The girl's eyes flashed to the piece of cloth that hung between his claws, and she thought for a moment. "Yes, sir."

Roland folded his coat over one arm and walked to the door, looking over his shoulder to see to it that she was following him. He brought her down the hall and around a corner to a guest room. It was small, but not immodest, and furnished with a bed, an alcove window seat, a desk, a dresser, a large screen, and several paintings. As she stepped inside, the girl felt as if there was some kind of trick being played on her. The room was fit for a noble, if her imaginings were anything close to what that might be. She approached the window, looking out at the endless black expanse of night sky.

"Stay here," Roland said. "I'll get you some clothes."

When he left the room, the girl took a seat. She could feel the cold that radiated from the glass against her skin and pulled the towel around herself more tightly, shivering. Turning away from the view outside, she admired the rest of the room itself. It was mainly black and white, with accents of deep blue. She rather liked the color blue-- it was so often a calming color, as was green and earthy shades of brown. Nevertheless, she still found it hard to believe that the room would be her own.

Roland soon returned with several pieces of clothing in hand, sans her rag. He laid each out on the bed-- a long sleeved sweater, sweatpants, boxers, and socks. The girl got up and inspected each item before pulling the sweater over her head. She was no stranger to clothing, though it had been a while since she had last worn them. Everything was far too big on her, especially the boxers and the pants, which were prone to slipping down if not tied tightly, but all of it still returned a sense of security that she had not felt in so long-- even in spite of the anxiety-rousing scent of wolf that was laced with it.

The fabric was soft against her skin, and as she ran her hands over her limbs, her fur felt the softest and cleanest it had ever been. Only the ugly, raised lines that tainted her skin interrupted the sleekness, and she then so deeply wished she could make them disappear. They were the one part of her that she hated the most, for they reminded her of the worst moments in which she had been so desperate to reclaim control over herself, over something. The few times she could dig into her own body were the few times she could exert greater power than that of even the most demanding master, such as Governor Tyson. He had touched her in many ways, but never like Roland had done so today. He was an unusual beast that she still had yet to understand.

"I'll leave you to it then," Roland said, approaching the door.

A cold surge of panic shot through her chest. The room no longer felt welcoming-- only large and empty and alien. Thoughts that whispered throughout her mind became deafening howls. Each shadowy corner felt like an entire abyss that contained unearthly and unseen horrors. To be left in isolation was more terrifying than to be left in a confined space with a predator that could easily rip off a limb or three if he so pleased-- or, if there was no better use for her, more specifically.

"Sir," she interjected, more forcefully than intended. "Wouldn't you like me to service you for the night?"

"No, I don't want that." he answered lowly, one hand over the doorknob.

"Wait, sir-- please, I'll do whatever you want," the girl beseeched, clenching her hands into fists around the ends of her sleeves in attempts to conceal her tremors.

"I don't... want anything," he insisted, his voice faltering.

Roland turned to face her. He narrowed his gaze, looking her over. The girl's ears were flat against her head as she chewed at her lip with fearful wide eyes.

"I suppose I can stay here," he offered. "At least until you fall asleep."

"Yes," she answered immediately, nodding with enthusiasm.

"Alright then," Roland said. He took a seat with his back to the door and watched as the girl climbed into the bed.

It felt the way she imagined a fluffy cloud from a painting would-- so bouncy and form-fitting and comfortable. As much as the girl would want to stay awake to avoid the inevitable nightmares, she was so very exhausted. As she gave in to the lull of the night, she imagined herself laying in the warm sun beneath a side blue sky. She could almost feel the dampness of the grass against her cheek, the light midday breeze over her fur, and her daughter at her side once more.