FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The dual-envelope dirigible hung in the air, seemingly in defiance of gravity or the progress of aircraft design. The majority of its shape was dictated by two elongated ovoid structures side-by-side. On top a shallow glass dome spanned the space between the two, and beneath was slung the bridge, lined with windows set at an angle to provide better views down. The exterior was painted a dull green color with embellishments in brass, styled in the geometric designs of Art Deco. Propellers held out from the body of the rigid frame spun rapidly, keeping the ship moving against the winds high above the clouds, while others appeared to be providing extra lift, positioned horizontally in counter-rotating clusters.

The rear hatch lowered on a pivot from its base, revealing a long, narrow bay between the two envelope frames above the bridge. The large door unfolded once, then telescoped out to make the resulting protrusion from the ship nearly three times as long as where it had fit into place.

An emerald green biplane came out of the cloud cover below about a quarter of a mile away. The antiquated aircraft soared upward and then came in an easy curve down towards the extended platform.

From the same section of clouds, a pair of gyrocopters emerged, the propellers supporting both obsolete craft easily, along with a line between them, sagging into the clouds. As they gained further altitude, the weight on the line was revealed, an enormous crate, near to the size of a shipping container. The pair of gyros followed the path of fixed wing craft towards the lighter than air fortress ahead.

The pilot of the biplane cut the engines just before the wheels came down on the middle of the three sections, smoothly rolling on the tires into the open compartment. The airplane was still moving at too rapid a pace for the remaining length of the flying hangar, but this too had been accounted for. Large Teflon straps held up in the biplane's path deformed and slid on rails to either side of the landing strip, gradually but quickly bringing the viridian vehicle to a halt.

As the crew brought over a ladder to the side of the first to land, the gyros changed formation. They went from side by side to one in front of the suspended crate and the other taking up the rear. They increased their distance from one another, reducing the slack and bringing their cargo closer to the level of their landing gear. With precise movements, the first gyrocopter entered the bay and titled to halt its momentum. The other at the rear decelerated, but had to 'keep up' with the airship rather than stop.

The crew set a broad sled into place between the crate and the hovering craft. Once all were clear, the lead gyro lowered to the deck. The shared line became a zipline between the two gyrocopters. Something incredibly dangerous in mid-flight, but this was a practiced maneuver.

The crate came down onto the sled, centered precisely. The sled slid rapidly with the forward momentum, but then the sound of braking came from the tracks imbedded in the deck. The cargo came to a halt with plenty of room between it and the landed craft. The second gyro followed as the hatch began to retract, telescoping in the furthest segment and only folding in on itself when the whirligig had passed.

The gyro landed lightly and cut its engines while the hatch finished closing up behind.

The pilot of the biplane stood out of the cockpit and dramatically placed a hoof directly on the top rung of the ladder set out for him. He shifted his weight in front of the metallic brass paint on the side of the craft reading 'The Old Envy' as he pivoted out to face the crew. "Another excellent landing, boys!" He was a nubian goat, his long ears allowed to flap from beneath his flight cap as much as his scarf did from his throat. The white silken accessory contrasted the dark green of his flight suit that he wore beneath his brown lambskin aviator jacket. The lapels revealed the soft fur that lined the insides of the coat, adding to the bulk there.

The goat himself was slender and tall, his height only accentuated by his swept-back horns. With a flourish he pulled his flight goggles up onto the black leather of his cap, revealing a viridian green domino mask. Brigadier Horne, the scourge of the skies above Apex City, had returned to his mobile base.

Horne climbed down the ladder with a dashing grin, stepping away from it quickly. The caprine sighed happily, putting his fists on his hips. "The museum of history will pay handsomely for the return of their already plundered treasures, eh, boys?"

The deck crew cheered, the half dozen anthros in jumpsuits each throwing a fist in the air.

From the two gyros, the other two pilots emerged, removing their helmets as they approached their superior officer.

A vole in the deck crew jumpsuit eagerly called out to the dashing supervillain. "How went the heist, Brigadier?"

Horne chuckled, the goat holding out a hoof-capped hand towards each of the gyrocopter pilots. "An excellent job all around! We took the crown jewel of the Pagan Gods and Idols exhibit: The Solid Gold Fetish of Mammon!" He dug into his coat and pulled out a golden idol of a squat, seated boar, the rounded belly sticking out as far as the end of his hooves. The artifact's mouth was particularly detailed, looking as though it were slavering in its open position.

He held the figure out. "Bet you tomorrow's paper will be me holding it out the side of of Ol' Envy, right?" Carefully, he stepped down the ladder to the metal deck, setting his prize onto a soft cushion held by one of the deck crew. Horne turned his attention to the two men he brought on the heist: A lynx and a caracal. As he looked over his grinning henchmen, his stomach let out a low, empty rumble.

The sound seemed to echo throughout the air of the closed hangar bay, impossible to be ignored even over the ever-present drone of the dirigible's engines. Each member of the deck crew and both other pilots abruptly blushed at the sound.

Licking his lips slowly, the goat let his linear pupils drift up and down the two felines. "You two did so well today, you deserve some time under the suit." He patted over his flat midsection with one hoofy hand, the stomach calling out for sustenance once again.

The pilots' eyes dilated as one at this news. Both cats twisted to hand off their helmets to a crew member, before they started undoing their snug flight suits. The caracal was first to peel himself free, revealing a snug, horizontally striped tee and comfortable shorts. The lynx wore the same beneath his suit, watching his colleague approaching the hungry leer of their boss.

Horne grasped the caracal by the taut collar of his shirt, grinning. "In you get~" The goat gaped his jaws wide and summarily tugged the gyro pilot's head into his open maw. He reached down with his other hand, grasping his subordinate's beltline for leverage, already swallowing easily.

The caracal let out a muffled yell, but the tone was anything but alarm. The bulge that appeared in the goat's throat showed an expression of unbridled glee, even easier to see when Horne lifted and tilted his head back as far as his horns would let him.

With gravity on his side, the supervillain efficiently swallowed over his henchman's shoulders and to his waist. The next swallow displaced his hand from the belt, but he reached out to gently hold the caracal's tail against his legs. His stomach distended against the inside of his taut flight suit, the material stretching easily to accept the added volume, but remaining taut and showing little detail. The straps strained with the shape beneath, digging in on his expanding belly.

The deck crew all stared with rapt attention to every moment of the practiced consumption. They walked away from what they had been doing when their leader gave his short speech, gathering around to get a better view.

Horne swallowed a pair of feet and a fluff of tail, patting on his distended middle with a happy sigh. He perked, looking around at the gathered half-dozen henchmen, all staring at him. "Can I help you with something, boys?" He smirked and played coy. He knew very well what was on each of their minds.

The vole from before swallowed audibly, fiddling with his fingers. "W-we did well too today, right?"

The Brigadier chuckled warmly, his stomach already loudly gurgling. "Someone has to secure the cargo and vessels, you know."

The whole deck crew seemed to deflate, disappointment radiating from the grown men like a child who was refused their treat.

Horne grasped the lynx in the same hold he had the caracal, even as his stomach was visibly shrinking under his suit. "Well, you all won't have anything else to do until after we're back at base..." He winked, before lunging his jaws over the second pilot's head, starting to devour the feline as easily as the first.

The half-dozen anthros gathered around cheered, watching the lynx get sent to the stomach that had handled his cohort in under a minute...

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The Brigadier stood in the lift of the flying fortress. He adjusted one of the straps on his flight suit, loosening a bit around the hips. The elastic material was hugging to his newly added curvature nicely, highlighting just how much eight henchmen had added to his figure. The goat's formerly trim midsection was a gentle curve pressing out from his front, while the straps on his thighs had started to strain.

Horne adjusted the tension on a few more straps, before the lift came to its destination. The highest point of its travel, in fact. The soft-padded goat stepped out into the observation deck, comprised of a tinted glass dome over a series of stations for his cartographers, navigators and long-range sensors. While it was a workstation for his subordinates, it was also lavishly decorated, a plush blue carpet covering the floor as well as the platform at the center of the chamber, which stood as high as any of the stations individually.

It was this position of prominence that the masked aviator strutted towards.

A panther with a radio headset on his ear had perked up as the supervillain entered, "Sir, there's been no communication from the hangar bay since confirmation of your safe arrival." His uniform, much like the pilots' beneath their suits, consisted of a striped top held snugly to his top and comfortable shorts. However, he also wore a long blue coat past the bottom hem of his lower garment, as did each of the other henchmen on this deck.

Brigadier Horne arrived at the center of the platform, planting both hooves into place. "Not to worry. I ensured that all was secured myself before I left." He patted over his obvious belly with one hand. The other balled into a fist against the front of his muzzle, muffling the belch that percolated up his throat shortly thereafter.

The comms officer blushed deeply, his dark furred cheeks shifting in color just enough to be seen. His mouth curved into an admiring, far off smile. "Y-yes sir."

"Meteorology." The imposing caprine turned his head to another station. "Any weather systems to avoid on our route home?"

A maned wolf saluted as he was addressed. "Clear weather on all projected paths back to base, Sir."

Horne nodded, idly drumming his hoof-tipped fingers across the curve of his belly. "Navigation, which route have we used the least in the last ten missions?"

The chameleon at the map table punched a few mechanical keys capped in brass at the side of his station, receiving a small printout. "E, sir, but that..."

"Yes, is closest to how the crow flies." The goat rubbed his chin with his thumb, thoughtlessly shifting his hips in a way that gave Comms and Meterology a show of his rear as it quickly wobbled to a halt. "Pretty sure there wasn't an aerial chase, but that doesn't mean they haven't scrambled... Radio?"

A fennec fox stood up, saluting. "No radio chatter on known law enforcement or league channels." The short vulpine's coat nearly hung to his feet, which were currently atop a stool to allow him to look at anything but the top of the Brigadier's horns from his station.

"E it is then." Horne chuckled, his gut bouncing from the action. Shortly after, the viridian-wrapped paunch let out a rumbling groan of hunger.

Each of the officers blushed, attention drawn back to that belly.

"Well, set a heading." The goat patronized playfully, as if he had no idea why his henchmen were distracted.

The chameleon at the map table began typing rapidly onto his keypad, one of his swiveling eyes staying locked on the caprine's plump midsection where it parted the panels of his flight jacket. He finished quickly, his other eye swiveling back to the Brigadier's face. "Done, sir." The scales under his eyes darkened further as another empty, yearning call came from beneath the supervillain's suit. "D-did... did we do well, sir?"

Licking his lips, Horne strutted down the steps between Meteorology and the map table, walking towards the chameleon. "Of course, all of you have~"

The other officers trembled with anticipation as their reptilian colleague began his descent to join the deck crew.

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The main engine room of the dirigible was separated from the main body of the craft, and most importantly its envelopes, by a set of redundant blast doors. The large metal plates slid apart, the orientation of each perpendicular to the last until a square doorway was available to pass through.

Brigadier Horne stepped through into the engine room, his frame wobbling more pronouncedly since his time on the Observation Deck. Most notably, his handsome face had grown rounder, cheeks plumping out to frame his features closer to the shape of the high collar on his flight jacket. His scarf had also clearly been loosened. When the goat looked down from the entrance platform into the engine room, his double chin became unable to be ignored.

The team of engineers, whose uniforms were accentuated with round goggles, large leather gloves and aprons, all stood to attention towards the supervillain.

The hefty ungulate smiled at the half-dozen henchmen who were in charge of in-flight maintenance. He opened his jaws, about to speak, before a roar of a belch blasted from his jaws, carrying a distinct blue coat out into the air.

The drenched garment landed on the grating in front of the goat, steaming visibly.

Horne grunted and bent down to pick it up, bundling the coat into a ball. Standing back upright, the goat stuffed it back into his mouth. The supervillain squished the bocce ball sized bolus into his cheek. "Report." His voice was unimpeded by the foreign object held in his mouth. He tilted his head back and swallowed the coat back down to join its wearer on his hips.

The team of engineers stared openly. They all knew the uniforms of the other departments, and they saw how heavy he had gotten... A monkey was the first to speak, taking a step forward. "Engines're humming like a beehive, Brigadier! Oil levels nominal, heat exchange at peak efficiency, fuel lines to propulsion motors showing no signs of loss."

As he listened, the goat tugged on one of the straps across his belly. With a grunt, he let it out a few more inches, allowing his gut to sag that much more. The material didn't dig in and force a deep divot any longer, either.

One of the other engineers, an anaconda, slithered closer. "Last scheduled maintenance in flight has been concluded, Sir."

Shifting his weight, Horne pivoted his attention to the serpent. Even over the rumble of the engines, everyone in the room heard the anticipatory rumble resound from the supervillain's midsection.

The legless engineer swallowed, his scales lighting up with a deep blush. "Of course, at base a cold inspection will need to be done. But with what we can monitor up here, there's n-nothing else to do till then."

For a long moment the Brigadier was silent, his lips appeared to be pressed into a sideways capital 'i' from how plump his cheeks had gotten. The corners of his mouth curved up as he gave a playful eye-roll, starting down the steps into the maintenance bay. "Well, I am still hungry. C'mere you delectable noodle~"

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Underneath the small, fluffy tail, Horne's cheeks were fighting for space in his suit. The fatty globes of his rear bounced and knocked each other out of prominence with each heavy step. The goat's thighs ground together with a distinct slick noise of the suit's material rubbing against itself. It was almost enough to keep someone from noticing that the horned supervillain could no longer fit his plump arms into the sleeves of his flight jacket, instead draping the article over his shoulders and letting the sleeves dangle.

The crew of the bridge of the airship stood when they realized the resounding thuds were the hundreds of pounds of force behind each hoof-step. On the bridge, the crew wore the most paired down version of the Brigadier's men's uniforms, just the taut striped shirt and trousers. The five crewmen stared openly while at attention as their butterball of a leader wobbled his way around to the front of his reserved chair at the center of the room.

Pivoting on one hoof, the supervillain raised his twin basketball backside over the seat and brought his weight down. With a loud creak, he halted higher than he anticipated. Horne looked down to find that his hips had gotten stuck between the arms of the chair. He frowned and shifted his weight from side to side, inching himself lower. Grunting with frustration, the goat kicked his legs out and tried to bounce, his mass wobbling and jiggling from the action. All at once his mass dropped into the seat of the chair, the whole frame letting out a groan of complaint.

Brigadier Horne cleared his throat to regain his composure and set one hand atop the curve of his broad belly, drumming along it as he turned his attention to the saluting crewmen, all of their expressions supplanted by the sheer glow of their blushes. "Well, are we cleared to land at base?"

The crew all quickly got back into their positions. To the goat's left, the bridge communication officer saluted again in his seat. "Base tower says all is clear." The white lion fidgeted in place, but kept his paw at his forehead, pads facing the supervillain.

"Then what are you waiting for? Take her down." Horne chuckled, turning his attention out the front windows. The main frame of the dirigible took up the top part of their view from the bridge's placement on the airship, but this afforded a far better view of the ground. From his seat, the corpulent caprine could watch the ground rise up to meet him in a smooth, practiced way.

Once the ship made contact, clamps rotated up out of the landing pad, gripping onto the frame to lock it in place.

The Brigadier grinned. "There it is, boys, another heist successfully concluded."

The still blushing crewmen applauded, turning to face their leader as he continued to practically overflow from his chair.

"Now, to get onto solid ground for a bit..." The goat shifted his hips, his seat groaning in protest. He scrunched his muzzle a bit, lips pressed to one side as he worked on getting the leverage to stand back out of his seat.

The lion rushed, headset getting pulled off his head by the attached cable as he moved to help the Brigadier. He took the goat's hand and pulled firmly.

Horne grunted and pulled in return, nearly causing the flustered feline to faceplant into his soft frontside.

The helmsman grasped onto the lion's waist, the penguin gripping tight as he added his weight to the effort.

A gecko approached from the side and dug his fingers into the arm of the ornate chair and pulled it outward.

Seeing this, the last member of the bridge crew pulled on the opposite arm, a low creak filling the space. The donkey gritted his teeth, straining to give the supervillain the clearance to stand.

With a sudden lurch, Horne's hips came free, setting the goat onto his hooves. Still holding onto the white lion, the masked caprine pulled the crewman upright as well, preventing the penguin from getting pinned under his weight. His flight jacket remained sitting on the chair, but he didn't seem to mind. The way he was looking over the feline henchman, accompanied by the low, yearning growl of his insides told all the reason why. "You know, boys... you all deserve some time off-duty..."

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With a rumbling belch, the Brigadier waddled into the mess hall of his hidden base. Even though his belly had just released excess gasses, it was growling, begging for more to turn into padding on the goat's body. Horne appeared to be reaching the limits of how much his suit could stretch, each strap loosened to the point it hardly engaged with its buckle.

The chef, a portly horse in a chef's coat that almost fully covered the uniform striped shirt, moved to intercept the masked goat. "Brigadier, sir, how can I help you?"

The rest of the kitchen staff peeked out through the windows that the henchmen regularly received their meals from.

Smirking, Horne brought a fist up to his muzzle. "I'm starving." A low grumble percolated up his throat, the gasses stifled into his clenched fingers. His eyes turned towards the rest of the kitchen staff, and the signs above the open windows reading 'pick up food here'.

Stammering, the chubby stallion shifted to stand between the supervillain and the door into the kitchen. "Sir, if I let you at the stores when you're like this, we'll have to order new supplies again."

With a chuckle, the masked goat curled his hoof-capped fingers into the collar of the horse's chef coat, then squeezed, pulling him snout to snout. "I'm not hungry for the stores." He parted his jaws wide, giving his suddenly quite flustered chef and his team a good view of his gullet before the plunge.

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Suit straining and creaking everywhere from the mass of the downright pear of a goat desperately trying to be freed from its containment, Horne stepped through the doorway into his quarters. He halted abruptly as his hips got stuck, just highlighting how wide he'd grown since he left his biplane. The supervillain couldn't remember a time he had gotten this stuck.

The Brigadier shifted his weight and twisted, his belly squishing into the frame as he pulled his hips free. Wobbling, he side-stepped into his bedchamber. Scarf barely draped over his shoulders, it was easy to remove. A careless toss sent it sailing to drape over a coatrack. The suit, however...

The goat reached and began to undo the clasps of the various straps entirely, rather than just loosen them. Each one allowed his bloated, pillowy frame to expand a bit more, especially when he undid the ones around his waist and hips. The flight suit creaked and groaned with the stress.

Reaching up under his chins, Horne found the zipper pull and dragged it downward. Like a blossom, his mass expanded all the further, pushing the suit apart eagerly. The goat huffed, watching his belly surge into the open.

Painted across every inch of the heavy dome of caprine flab were the smiling, blushing faces of his henchmen. Each and every one that had crossed his lips and added to his mass. The panther, caracal, cerval and lion headed up a feline contingent on his love handles. The various reptilians of his crew, such as the chameleon, anaconda and gecko, had settled beneath his navel. The canines such as the fennec and maned wolf from observation formed a ring amongst all the various faces. A crew of flightless birds like the penguin on the bridge had settled at his solar-plexus. And other hooved henchmen, like his equine chef and the donkey, were front and center above his navel.

Once he got the suit to peel off his arms and hips, the supervillain was free to let his hands roam over the tapestry of flustered faces, groaning in bliss as he felt every last pound that his crew had added to his body.

In the corner of the room an antique telephone, painted fire-engine red, began to ring.

Groaning, Horne stepped out of his suit, wobbling nakedly to answer. His underarms jiggled heavily as he snatched up the phone, before he daintily grasped the receiver bell and put it up under his ear. "Brigadier Horne."

"Horne, according to our Henchman Monitoring, each and every one of your minions has been digested." The familiar tinny voice of his connection at the Guild spoke through the small speaker. "Is that right?"

The goat couldn't help but grin smugly at that. A percolating rumble rose in his chest, before blasting into the microphone bell as a full-throated belch. "Yes. Yes, no one left to help me rub all this luxurious flab I seem to have developed..."

The sound of a keyboard being typed on came through the connection, before the voice in the receiver spoke again. "Oh. Horne, did you touch the Golden Fetish of Mammon with your bare hands?"

The Brigadier chuckled, sending all his folds of fat shaking and giving all his henchmen a good bounce. "Of course! Had to get a good photo op for the papers."

Groaning, the Guild connection sounded as though he had put his head in his hands. "That explains this level of gluttony..."

As if tipped off, the guts below the myriad smiling faces let out an empty, needy rumble. Loud enough even to be picked up by the antiquated telephone. "Could you.... Perhaps... send me some more henchmen?" Horne waited, smiling hopefully as he held the telephone in place, his tiny tail flitting over his monstrous backside.

The response from the Guild was short and to the point. "No."