FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Rocinha: the largest favela in all of Brazil, built atop a steep hillside overlooking the neon skyline of the country's capital, Rio de Janeiro. From the declining boulevard I just entered on, any of the thousands of lower-income residents or criminals or homeless furs could see the entirety of a city that abandoned them. Thanks to the stolen electricity continuously lighting up the buildings and some of the littered zig-zagging streets, any fur could navigate around the slum. That didn't mean they weren't safe, even if they weren't a foreign outsider like me.

Day or night, I always viewed Rocinha as the colorful mud cracks surrounding Rio, which itself is an oasis of safety in a harsh desert. The roughness surrounding what men believed to be diamonds. However, to Rocinha's underdeveloped credit, it held more solid infrastructure and sanitation than the other slums my coworkers and I had heard about in other parts of Central America. It also helped that the gang that ruled over Rocinha paid us well to protect their drug farms from rival organizations (though hopefully not the Brazilian police in the future), while also providing handouts like Robin Hoods.

My eyes remained vigilant in the twilight, but my penis continued straining harder at the thought of the night's upcoming activities. Very lewd activities that locals frowned upon, even in the sanctity and privacy of one's own home. God, I could already imagine the lad's canine lips around my shaft already.

Between shifts, I liked to visit a certain feminine bush dog that wore tight clothing, one who was rumored by some to be a Viado, a homosexual willing to discreetly service foreigners in exchange for cash. No tabs allowed, depending on how nice one was to him.

He simply liked to be called Anjo, or 'angel' in the native language.

Finally, I arrived at the right dwelling, a rusting green intermodal container stacked between two brick buildings in what used to be the alleyway separating them. I could even smell some of the decaying garbage hidden on the other side of the metal, as well as see the wires and a metal antenna peeking through the roof. Somebody outfitted this container as housing.

Stopping by the door, I paw froze mid-knock, and my tail arched as I suddenly snarled.

"Do not even try that," I muttered aloud in clear Portuguese.

I craned my neck to see the shirtless, white-bellied bush dog, a canine somewhere in his early twenties dressed in only sandals and a pair of torn shorts that smelled of too much bleach and...cum. The way his slender yet toned body tense at my glare, and how he still smiled while retracting his fingers from my back pocket made me wonder how brave he was.

"Apologies," he replied in the same language, nervously circling me to grab the door. "I did not realize it was you."

"You did not realize the dark-furred wolf foreigner before you was the same dark-furred wolf foreigner you've been--"

"Maybe," Anjo chuckled as he snatched a key from his pocket, then opened the bicycle lock keeping the container's door shut. He opened it slightly, waving for me to follow.

The interior did not hold much. As Anjo locked the door behind, my eyes wandered from his ass to what he called his home. Two chairs surrounding a simple television built eight years ago, a refrigerator, some imported wooden dressers, some Christmas lights lined along the ceiling to illuminate the place in greens, blues and reds, a working air conditioning unit embedded into the wall, plus a comfortable bed in the far corner strewn with some unused clothes and Brazilian magazines.

"Sorry about the mess," he muttered, clearing his bed for us. "I forgot you were visiting tonight. I did not think you would arrive after the ruckus from...from last night."

By 'ruckus', he referred to a shootout that occurred between me and some rival mercs who were unfortunate enough to be hired by the wrong side. The echoing gunfire could probably be heard across the favela, but luckily, none of us were injured in the short standoff.

"Now then," he murred, guiding me to the bed and licking his short lips, "let me help 'service' you one more, Mr. Mercenary. Hehe."

Smiling softly, I then reached into my back pocket and handed him the 500 Reals for the night. As I watched the bush dog wag his stubby tail while leaning down to hide the Reals away in one of the wooden drawers, the air suddenly seemed to grow hotter, and it had nothing to do with the sweltering evening heat outside.

I backed up onto the bed and lay down onto a surprisingly soft pillow, my paws anticipating by my sides. Anjo teasingly peeled his shorts down to reveal a nice brown member between his short, toned legs, but I was more distracted by his lips once they wrapped around my throbbing shaft. I kicked my trousers and underwear off the bed before widening my legs for the pup, my tail tickling his white-furred belly when his tongue lavished the underside of my leaking wolfcock.

Anjo was a handsome little canine. His well-maintained brown, black and white fur helped him stand out from the other gutter rats offering their services for a foreigner's exotic pleasure. His dark eyes had literally twinkled in awe at the size of my member when I first undressed and fucked him raw in a random alley. The sexy little thing didn't give me his true name, and neither did I. We were just simple furs with needs; I needed to fulfill my carnal desires for male flesh, and he needed the cash. Funnily though, Anjo insisted I return regularly for a discount of sorts (he'd never taken my kind of 9-inch dick before, at least in size).

My fingers tried grabbing onto the bush dog's small, rounded ears while I started climaxing, but it was no use. Instead, I grit my canines together and snarled as Anjo moaned all over my throbbing shaft. Spurts of wolf seed trickled down his chin. He gulped the rest down at giggled at how spent I already was.

"Care for Round Two?" he asked me, cleaning his chin with his tongue. "I know you want to, as the Americans say, 'do me'. Hehe, not just in my maw either..."

"I...I don't know," my panting wouldn't cease. The powerful orgasm still left me spent, my legs feeling heavy and sweat accumulating beneath my black undershirt.

"Hm," Anjo smirked, then shifted to straddle atop me while one of his paws tried grabbing the hem.

My right paw gripped his nimble wrist, though gently.

"No," I told him, still panting slightly while letting go to grope his left butt cheek, one of my fingers even teasing his shivering tailhole. "...the shirt stays on."

Although he did cock his ears up in bewilderment (not knowing I kept a bulletproof vest under my shirt, even when between shifts), Anjo complied. Still, it did not erase the earlier mood at all, not with his sultry charisma. A wiggle of his hips on my torso and against my shaft, and we were back in business.

Danger usually lurked around every corner of worlds like Rocinha, and death almost always followed it like a lost pet. Police and the Brazilian government rarely ventured in here, unless the drug lords or organized crime rings somehow angered enough of Rio's residents to push for action. Tonight though, I did not fear death. I feared dying without experiencing the simplest pleasures in life, like indulging in this victimless sin. In short, this made a good distraction from the possibilities of death, whether I died tomorrow or a week from now.

I simply relished in this moment, in the sounds and smells and sensations. His moans of ecstasy that chorused throughout the dwelling wouldn't stop echoing in my ears. This was perfect. Unbearable humility and a tight ass bouncing on my condom-covered cock. The only thing I required was a discounted bottle of Cachaça to make this night even more special.

However, I wasn't complaining. Not one little bit. My calloused paws fondled both his soft cheeks, spreading them farther to accept my incoming knot. I was too lost in the moment to even prolong it as I climaxed once more into the lad, our pleasured grunts mixing together in audible passion.

He moaned, cumming all over my shirt as well. "Ah! Ah! AH!"

"Fuck!" I unknowingly growled in English. "Oh, shit..."

We lay together in a pile of fur and sweat, his fingers tracing my muscles and mine along his lithe thighs, waiting for my knot to grow flaccid. He didn't seem fazed by it--by the sex, yes but not the act itself--and neither did I. The instinct to breed didn't care about 'romance' or 'making a night special'. I needed release and distraction from today's stressful shift. Fortunately, until I could pull myself free and thank the bush dog once more, until I could leave to go back to the barracks, being stuck gave me time to think of a good lie for why I needed to wash my vest and clothes tonight.

Especially with Anjo's male seed all over my uniform shirt.