FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Used

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by AngelOD

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Tristan smiled to himself as he worked away in the kitchen, which, despite him being there all day, was sparkling clean. The only evidence that he had been cooking and working and hustling to make the home as nice as possible for his girlfriend was the mixing bowl in the sink. It lay there in testimony to the cake baking in the oven for her - Lili's favourite - and he leaned over the hob, scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn mark that had been there for as long as he could remember.

"It's got to be right, it's got to be perfect..."

The words teased from his mind and his lips as if they were meant to slip forth and the German Shepherd anthro grunted, needing to brace himself. Maybe there could have been better results had from using a cleaning spray but there was something about good old-fashioned elbow grease that he knew pleased her more. He could make sure it was disinfected, safely, later but Lili would know, she'd know that he did a good job, that he was a good pup for her.

It was all he could do and, sometimes, everything he could do as his lovely, sweet feline girlfriend grew more and more distant from him. That was just why Tristan had to work hard, so very hard, do everything that he possibly could to make their anniversary the best one ever, one that she would always remember.

He grunted, shifting his weight onto the heels of his hind paws, wearing house-slippers that she'd chosen for him. Everything he wore had been chosen for him by Lili but he had donned only jeans and an apron for cooking, not wanting to sweat while he was waiting for her to come home. She had liked to find him like that, once upon a time, yet her eyes had strayed from him more and more and more in recent days, weeks and months, to finer, fitter fruits, other males that even Tristan knew, hopelessly so, that he could never match up to.

And then there was her ex. Jake. Even the sound of his name in Tristan's head made the dog shudder, plunging his rubber-glove clad paws deep into a sink full of soapy water. Best not to think of that stag with a cocky grin, the way that he tilted his antlers just so. He didn't like to remember just how Lili swooned for him, fawned over him, constantly came home reeking of his musk and aftershave...

The door slammed and Tristan's head jerked up, tail wagging. Finally! She was home! Nothing bad had happened after all and his sweet, sweet Lili was coming home for their anniversary!

His lips parted in a smile as he half-turned, calling out to her even as the greeting died on his lips. Lili, his loving, purple-furred feline girlfriend, stood framed in the kitchen doorway, one paw on the wall and her hip pushed out jauntily as if she was trying to draw his eye. Tristan gulped but it was too late to deny just where his eyes had gone, the skirt flattering but tiny, so very short, up the length of her shapely legs, dangling a pair of strappy shoes with a shocking heel from one paw. It was her gaze though that set him on the back foot the most, hard and unyielding with demanding cruelty, the shimmer of anything softer decidedly lacking even as she pointedly, so very pointedly, looked him up and down. Tristan didn't have to ask whether she liked what she saw, stiff and barely able to breathe, heart racing: da-dum, da-dum, dadum, dadum, dadumdadumdadum.

"What have you been doing all day?" She demanded, an eyebrow raised, though the smirk on her lips told a wickeder tale. "This place is filthy."

It wasn't. Of course, it wasn't. But Tristan's ears drooped all the same. What had he missed? Was that the reason why she'd been so distant lately? How had he not done a good job? Did that mean that she was going to walk out on him again? The dog shivered. Was she could to sleep elsewhere again?

He didn't want to think about that. Lili scoffed and padded across the kitchen, dropping her shoes carelessly in the middle of it, her bare hind paws making not a sound as she found every last speck of dirt, however minuscule, that Tristan had missed - and even some that he was sure, in hindsight, that she'd made up on the spot. The cat pursed her lips and shook her head, though her tail curled back and forth delightedly, adoring catching him and putting him in such a predicament, all to see her mutt squirm and fidget anxiously.

"Dirty," she said, whiskers quivering as she ran the tip of a single finger across the windowsill. "And to think I trusted you to have this place neat when I came back."

It should have made the canine's stomach churn and there should have been a whine on his lips but all he could see was her, the purple of her fur filling his vision, her shirt a little too low-cut to be presentable in the majority of public settings. And yet Tristan knew too with a sick, dull pound of his heart that she had very much been out in public or at least with someone who would have very much have been able to take advantage of her skimpy, gorgeous attire.

Jake. Of course, she reeked of him, the stink of the stag laced into her fur as she stood too close to him, so close that she had to be doing it deliberately. The German Shepherd froze, heart in his mouth, breath tight and closing up his windpipe. She wouldn't... She couldn't... And, yet, Lili should do anything she wanted to, his desires in conflict with hers.

Scoffing, the cat raised an eyebrow.

"Well? Aren't you going to greet me properly?"

Tristan jumped, swallowing hard even as he tried to step in, to do the right thing, attempting to put his arms around Lili with his lips softening in anticipation of the kiss that was to come. The faint aroma of mint wafted across his nostrils and Tristan's brow furrowed, wondering at why it was there. It wasn't what she usually wore and who would want to smell like toothpaste? Yet even that was not good enough for her as she snatched up a handful of his dark hair, allowed to grow a little longer just for that purpose, a yowl bursting from his lips as she hauled him off-balance that a slight fur of her stature should not, truly, have been able to achieve.

"Not so fast..."

Smirking, she sucked up saliva in her mouth and he knew just where it was destined to go as she stomped on his hind paw, his cry of pain offering her the perfect opportunity to let loose that spit in his mouth. The mixture of phlegm was not solely as he may have expected it, eyes watering from her casual cruelty, which was delivered as simply as if she was merely touching his shoulder, drawing him in with a hug. He hadn't had a true hug from her in a long time and it was humiliating how it made his loins churn with a deeper need, turning his muzzle from her as a thicker, muskier taste swam in his mouth, the cat keeping his maw open for another dribble of spit that by no means was purely of her essence alone.

Tristan shuddered and whined. He knew the taste of cum too well. It had to be his, had to be Jake's.

"Serve dinner."

The order came naturally and Tristan could only obey, head hanging as he served up dinner, a steak and vegetable dish that was cultivated and slaved over. He had waited for the meat to be perfectly tender and rare, only cooking so very briefly, but that was just how both of them liked it. It was one of their favourite meals with honey-roasted vegetables and creamed spinach that once made her moan as if he was eating her out - but that had been in the early days of their relationship. There were no more sweet sounds like that for him to hear, unless he was playing voyeur to Lili, his girlfriend, caught up in the lewd paws and arms of someone else.

He dressed in a smart shirt but she didn't bother to change: her pup was not important enough for that. But as soon as Tristan scooted his chair in closer to their little dining table, she took her knife and fork up and scraped half of his food - more than that! - off onto her plate! His jaw dropped as if he was about to protest but he was too well-trained after their time together for something like that, swallowing his pride and turning his muzzle away as she left him with a corner of meat, nothing like the fine cuts that she'd roughly claimed for his own.

That was not the end of it, however, as she giggled and leered at him, sliding a jar or something pale and orange onto the table, the edges darker where the rancid fluid (maybe it had once been solid?) clung to the inside of it. Even through the glass, he recoiled visibly, pulling away, though it was only when the lid was removed with a seductive flick of her paw that the reek hit him.

Tristan grunted and stared on in horror, unable to turn his muzzle away. He didn't want to believe what she was doing but the evidence of it was right there before his eyes, the rancid stench of stale cum - gods, how long had it been in there? Was it even his? - taunting his nostrils. Despite the reek of it, she did not seem bothered, but that could have been where the minty smell came into play, his craft little feline. The crème de la crème of it all, however, was the casual tip of her paw, drowning what was left of his food in it as he whined and whimpered, sinking back into his chair in horror as if he could hide from the anguish of what was being done to the meal that he had prepared for them both.

"There..." She cooed, although there was nothing gentle in Lili's voice. "Isn't that better now?"

Tightly, Tristan could only nod but his eyes were averted, breathing shortly and shallowly, gag reflex already tweaked. But he had to be good, had to do what she wanted him to do, and that lay in the point of his fork, which she nudged towards him, his stomach roiling as she offered him a gravy-boat that was filled with lighter, creamier fluid. Distracted, however momentarily, Tristan frowned. He hadn't done any sauce to go with the steak...

"This one is yours."

He gulped and shook his head. That was worse, that was so much worse, it had to be worse, and yet Lili only smirked at him as she lifted the gravy-boat that held nothing that he would have considered gravy. Fresher cum poured out over his meal, drowning it in a slop of bodily fluids, and yet part of him could not decide whether the mixing of fresh and stale would make the whole thing easier to bear through, to push through, or impossible to, in the end.

Fresh...but not quite. His muzzle screwed up and she pointed her fork at him in a silent threat to keep eating, to take the gift that she had given him. Like with so much else in their relationship, the canine was left without any choice in the matter. His paw trembled as he cut a bit of his steak and she eyed him viciously to make sure that he got a good helping of viciously stale cum and her own brewed concoction on his fork. Her eyes bored into his as she devoured his delicious meal, the meal that she had ruined for him, and he knew that he had to do it, had to eat, heartbeat pounding on his eardrums, ears slipped back to his head.

Parting his lips, he stuffed a dripping forkful inside and chewed quickly. It didn't help.

It was as vile as he'd anticipated and his muzzle being screwed up did not help him any at all, sickening flavours tangling with one another. One would have been bad enough but there were stale pussy-fluids in there too, he was sure, which the tartness made all the worse, gagging and hacking as he retched, his stomach trying to repulse what he was so very intent on forcing down into it. Somehow, he didn't know how, he managed to swallow, green around the gills and slumping weakly, his stomach gurgling and churning, anxiously striving to force back up what it knew too was bad for him.

As if Lili would have allowed that.

"Eat."

He could only obey, always obeying, sniffling and whimpering his way through the meal. One more bite, just one more bite, bile rising in the back of his throat. He could manage one more, surely, trying not to chew too much before gulping it down, not letting the bitter musk and grossness of it all linger on his tongue for any longer than it absolutely had to be there.

Lili, however, was not paying him any attention at all and he wondered later if he could have gotten away with just pushing his food around his plate as she giggled and stared at her phone the whole time, texting away. Her paw even dipped between her thighs, tugging her string panties, almost a thong but with a scotch more sexy coverage that tempted the eye, to the side. Tristan's ears flicked, catching the squelch of her fingers pushing into a pussy that had to, already, be achingly wet to make such a sound. What had gotten her so worked up? Who was she texting?

Lili moaned and he tried to focus on that as she muttered something about "fucking" and "pounding" under her breath. If he didn't think too much, maybe he could block out the taste of it, slimy cum soaking the steak, rolling down his throat with the viscosity of sludge. It was worse than sludge though, so much worse, and he could not imagine that she could have found a more horrible thing for him to eat, her pleasure in being cruel to him underlying everything. And yet Tristan knew too as he set his cutlery aside, stomach lurching and heaving, that his own leaning into it did not help his case, his shaft soft but ready to go, her moans having the desired effect on him as his ears could not help but perk up all over again. His stomach twisted, rumbling and groaning, the ill-gotten, wasted meal sitting heavily there. He wasn't even hungry anymore. Tristan doubted that he'd ever again be hungry after what she'd forced him to swallow.

Her plate was clean. Fixing her eyes on him, Lili smirked, tail curling back and forth contentedly, wickedly.

"Glad you liked an extra treat, pup," she laughed, shaking her head at him mockingly. "Cum, cunt-juice... I thought the scat would turn your stomach but look what a useless thing you are... Just a thing. You'd do anything I told you to, wouldn't you?"

Tristan's eyes went wide and his stomach turned all over again but he clenched his jaws against the rise of bile, the sickening sense that he was going to lose his stomach when he, by no means, wanted to taste any little bit of that meal ever again. His feline, by some stroke of fate, didn't see that look or that he had left the "sauce" on his plate, avoiding as much of it as possible. Which was all the better for him, of course, considering what other bodily waste was in there... He trembled. Scat, most likely, was the least of it, if she was only revealing it then. The taste rose in the back of his throat, cloying and musky and rancid, and he thrust it down, pressing a paw to his stomach even as it gurgled sickeningly.

Just don't think about it.

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As if it was that easy.

"I have an anniversary present for you. Go to the couch."

Her tone was lightly flirty and he could not hide just how his heart lifted to hear such words coming from her lips. Maybe she did care about him after all! Maybe Lili did love him! Oh, how he needed something softer and lighter to balance out the cruelty, the dark wickedness and twist of her heart. Tristan was up and moving to obey as she walked ahead of him, the curve of her buttocks showing through the skirt, though she had it hiked up around her hips and showing off an expensive pair of panties with tiny diamonds across the front that he'd bought her in but a moment.

The dog gulped, though immediately regretted the action, sweeping his tongue around his mouth. They didn't look like the panties that he'd bought her, hiding a little but showing a lot, soaked through with a reek of cum and her sexual arousal, the slick mess of fluids reducing the integrity of the silk and lace. There was little such a garment could do to hold up to such treatment but he supposed he was glad that she had gotten good use out of them too, in a way, as she straddled his face on the sofa. Forcing her submissive puppy to lie back, Lili grunted and arched her back, grinding her cunt down against his face, forcing him to use his nose to pleasure her.

"Lick them!"

The demand came with an urgent snap and he hastened to obey, the fabric reeking, infiltrating his nose, though it was a blessing, at least, that it was not old and rancid stuff. Fresher, yes, fresher was better and it was sad indeed that he had sunk so low as to think that, panting and trying not to breathe too heavily as the first hints of urine tickled at the back of his throat.

Once he'd noticed that, however, it was impossible to ignore, licking and lapping with long, smooth strokes of his tongue, the hints of piss growing stronger and stronger by the second. He could almost get into that, liking it, thinking of just her, not what she'd done to him, her obedient little puppy-dog that was but a slave to her, something to be used and abused and, of course, cast aside too when she was good and done with him.

Yet it was his own fault for getting too into it as she moaned loudly and ground down onto his muzzle, a cruel giggle rising from her lips. That should have been Tristan's first warning but, alas, he was not a smart pup in that regard and he was too caught up in the moment to care anyway. Licking and lapping, he suckled lightly on the engorged flesh of her clit through the fabric, not even caring that he was ruining it too, destroying what he had picked out with such great care and love for her and her alone. Why had he had to partake in it too? Tristan screwed up his face. Why did Jake have to enjoy what he'd bought for her? Why couldn't the deer just butt out already?

Lili, however, had no intention of allowing him to enjoy himself, even if he could force all thoughts of Jake from his mind. His scent was laced too deeply into the fabric and her fur to be ignored but all that was to be swept away in something even more potent as she arched her back and bore down on him, not giving her pup any warning at all as she pushed up hard to his muzzle and released a stream of urine.

Tristan spluttered and fought, though the cat only laughed at his predicament and pressed down all the harder, thighs tight around his head so that any hope of escape was woefully left by the wayside. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, a hot rush of piss splattering his muzzle, soaking his fur, streaming into his nose. He gagged and hacked and tried to cry out for mercy, for her to stop, though it was hardly as if she was barely paying him that kind of attention. The cat's piss flooded his mouth, streaming between his teeth and over his tongue, though it was hardly a better kind of taste than the old, thick cum that he'd been forced to eat when it was drowning him where he was.

Tristan thrashed but the German Shepherd was out of shape and, in such a position, she had his legs stretched out, one flung off the sofa, straining for balance. His shoulders were more easily pinned by her legs as she knelt on him and trapped his head there, head thrown back and laughing wickedly, enjoying his debasement as she did everything she possibly could to soak him in her essence.

"Doesn't it taste good?"

Her cry was the only thing that cut through as she streamed across his face, clearly having held her bladder for some time beforehand. But it all came through to sweet fruition for Lili as he thrashed and squirmed beneath her, whimpers moving his lips enough to press to her pussy-lips and tease her cunt, underwear well and truly ruined, a lost cause, by that point.

He tried to gulp down air, lungs burning fiercely, but that was only to his further detriment as urine flowed straight down into his lungs, sending the dog into a hacking, coughing fit, eyes watering, the stench of urine unbelievable. That would have been bearable but not the need to breathe, lungs too tight as more and more flowed into his lungs, Lili hissing and lifting her hips only slightly.

Relief! It was enough as he coughed and coughed and coughed, making all manner of ugly faces as he tried to come back to himself once again. She wasn't trying, of course, to give him any moment of respite but was more taking advantage of everything for her own pleasure, whiskers quivering as she avidly watched him suffer.

With her paw on her pussy, Lili hissed through her teeth and stifled a moan, though that was only because she wanted to hear his gasps more. Let him struggle, let him fight... He would fall before her as he had every time before.

Her clit throbbed up against her fingers and the feline pressed down on it, ready for climax, her need having risen to a fever-pitch of desire. Alas, with the encroach of such arousal came a tapering off of the stream of piss, her body distracted even while she could have pushed on through the tightness in her loins, muscles working against her as she grunted thickly and groaned in the back of her throat.

"Useless mutt..."

Lili could frown all she liked but the words were only there to hurt him as he spluttered, her bearing down on him still too much for the canine to even hope to drag back good breath into his lungs. Her arousal was evident and he was only there to serve her as she hissed and rocked her hips, using him as nothing more than a living sex toy to please her body, though it was debatable as to whether she even considered him to be living at times either. Maybe the German Shepherd would have done better for her if he had been an inanimate object, something that couldn't talk back as he sputtered and struggled, fighting for the mere act of breathing.

An object would not have to breathe.

The stream of piss eased off completely - it had only been a trickle but the end of it - and she ground down onto his muzzle, forcing him to please her even though there was still very much fluid in Tristan's lungs. As much as the dog coughed and spluttered against her pussy, however, Lili was not about to let him get out of pleasing her, hissing and yowling as she rode his muzzle, using him for what little he was worth. It was one of the things, after all, that he could indeed do to please her, her head thrown back, need rising, thrumming through in the quiver of her hide, her back up, moaning loudly, needing him. It was one of the few ways in which she did truly need him and the feline was not about to let her need go untended to when she had a muzzle to grind on at the very least.

She screamed out her climax, back arching as she humped and thrust down onto his muzzle as if she was trying to put on a show, although Tristan was quite sure that there was no one else there at that moment. He panted and wheezed, lungs crackling and sloshing with fluid in a sickening twist of sensation that should never have been present, chest heaving for breath that was not to be his. She squirted, bearing down against him, though it could have just been the pressure of her pussy and folds around his muzzle that made it look like that, slick arousal trickling over his nose, into his nostrils, threatening, once again, to cut off his very means to breathe.

And, through it all, her eyes were on him, sharp and cruel, taking more and more pleasure from his suffering, Tristan's abject debasement. He was right where she needed him to be, wanted him to be, and that was just how it would be as she laughed coarsely, a rough chuff rising up from the back of her throat.

She didn't dally as her orgasm tapered off, tail lifted so that she could show off the sodden mess of her panties, though that was only for a moment. They slid down her legs and she stuffed them into his muzzle a moment later, letting him wheeze for breath through the soaked fabric, though the musk of cum, so thickly potent, was still there beneath it all. And, like the good, obedient dog that he was for her, the only one that mattered for him, Tristan let her.

"Clean up this room," she said with a smirk that promised more to come later. "I'm heading back to Jake's... He knows how to fuck a cat. Don't wait up."

The implication hung heavy in the air between them but she was already gone, the clack of he heels, which were returned to her hind paws merely for show as she would not be doing much walking at all in them, striking across the kitchen floor and down the hall. He was left there, panting and wheezing, wondering if he should roll onto all fours just to get the last of her piss out of his lungs. There was no one there though to smack Tristan on the back and help him through it as his eyes watered, the knowledge that his lover was off with another male, a better stud, pulling him down and down and down, despair swirling around.

But he had a job to do as he wheezed, tears streaming down his face. He had to be a good boy, yes, a good pup. And good pups did what they were told, regardless of what their mistresses were off doing. She had every right to use someone else of her pleasure if he was not good enough for her and that was the crux of it, ultimately, in that Tristan doubted very much that he would ever again be good enough for her pleasure and him alone.

She'd always leave him behind, even as he tried to do her bidding with her sodden panties crammed into his mouth, soaking his tongue, reminding him of her. He cleaned and relentlessly tidied the living room, even though he'd thought it was spotless, that it was up to her standards, searching for something, however small, that could please her in the end. There was the kitchen too but he dawdled before heading in there, not wanting to see the mess and remains of their meal together, one of which had been delicious and not thanked for and the other, well... He shuddered bodily, tail twitching. He didn't want to consider just what had happened to that one.

And yet it was there, as he had always known it had been, the two plates on the table, although one of them had not been licked clean. Instead, there was a note set beside it written in red ink, striking like blood even though he wondered that his pounding heart had any left to force dully around his veins, driving his body to live even when he wondered that he did.

It was her handwriting. He read it out loud, only then removing the panties from his mouth, though his paw trembled as he placed them, reverently, on the table.

"For later xoxo."

Tristan shuddered. Of course. Of course, she had not forgotten. He had a kitchen to clean and part of it was to be with his tongue, raising the plate slowly, obediently, even though she was not there.

I'm a good boy...

_ _

He tried not to think, licking and licking and licking, tears streaming down his face, soaking his muzzle, though they wouldn't do anything to wash away the reek of her arousal mingled with urine. That was too strong, yes, but there was too much grossness all tangled up, sickeningly intertwined, the German Shepherd grunting and whimpering and whining as he did what she had told him to. He always did what she told him to.

Whether she used him or not, he was hers. Her panties, soaked with the stud-seed of another, bore witness to that.

Shuddering and sobbing, Tristan bowed his head, tongue lapping and working, obedient to the last.

Always used.