FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The warpstone coals in the brazier crackled in tongues of green flame that illuminated the subterranean room with an eerie light. Long ago this had been the personal chamber of a mighty dwarf thane, but its ancient splendor was no more. A thick animal smell hung in the air, the ancient runes and intricate carvings on the walls were hidden behind a layer of greasy filth, and the floor was littered with gnawed bones and rotten scraps of half-eaten food. But although deserted by its former inhabitants, the room was still home to a powerful lord. In the center of the chamber stood a high dais crudely adorned with severed skulls, battered shields, torn banners and other grim trophies. Atop the dais sat a huge rat, tall as a well-built man, with fur black as night and glowing eyes red as blood. His armor was red too, its crimson surface scratched and dented by a hundred blows but still unbroken. In his disturbingly human-like hand, the gigantic rodent held a great spiked hammer forged from a dark grey metal. The weapon looked heavy enough to fall an ox in one blow, yet the rat wielded it as if it were a mere toy, occasionally swinging it over his helmeted head or striking it at an imaginary enemy in front of him.

Queek Headtaker, Warlord of Clan Mors and Conqueror of the City of Pillars, was restless. This, in itself, was nothing unusual. Even among a race known for its twitchy nature, Queek stood out as a torrent of boundless and volatile energy. But lately his stamina had found few outlets. The dwarfs who occupied the higher levels of the city were hunkering down behind the thick doors of the citadel, out of reach of Queek and his warriors, and would not come out for battle despite the many threats and taunts he screeched at them. Denied his fight, the black rat had sought to quench his bloodlust on the greenskins who shared the lower levels of the city with the skaven. Alas, the cowards were nowhere to be found, having retreated deep into the maze of dark caves and tunnels that served as their fortress. Queek would have gladly given chase and dragged them out of their hideouts but he was under strict orders not to leave the city, and even he dared not disobey the commands of Lord Gnawdwell, the supreme ruler of clan Mors.

And so days and then weeks had passed with barely a skirmish. Deprived of a proper fight, Queek had grown more and more restive, to the point where even his closest officers shied away from his presence, knowing instinctively that the lightest spark would ignite his pent-up rage. The lull in fighting was only temporary, they told him, but these reassurances did little to improve the impatient warlord's mood. Disturbing thoughts were starting to race through his idle mind. Why was there no fighting? Was this part of a plot to rob him of his glory and make him lose Gnawdwell's favour? Were his jealous chieftains colluding with the greenskins? His bared incisors shone in the light of the brazier as his grip tightened around his weapon. Perhaps it was time for heads to roll.

A sudden draft of air blew into the room and snapped Queek out of his ruminations. The faint smell of an approaching skaven had touched his nostrils. Alerted, the warlord lifted his nose, sniffed the wind and then sank back into his throne, reassured. The scent was a familiar one. It was the musky smell of a big black-furred skaven, a stormvermin. Of course, there were thousands of such rats in the City of Pillars, but this was the only one who could stand in Queek's presence without squirting the acrid musk of fear. Soon, a huge form appeared in the door frame. Without a word, the visitor formally requested an audience by thumping the dull end of his halberd against the stone floor. Queek nodded in acknowledgement and bid him in.

Ska's armor clinked as the massive warrior stooped to pass the threshold. Queek was exceptionally large for a skaven, but his bodyguard stood a full head taller than he. Large and strong as an orc, the stormvermin was a mountain of jet-black fur and muscle with glaring eyes and a ferocious muzzle in which two chisel-like incisors glistened. Walking with slow, heavy steps, Ska crossed the room and knelt down respectfully at his master's feet.

"Rise, rise, Ska," Queek said, "Tell-squeak what brings you here?"

"Mightiest-greatest of lords," the stormvermin replied with a voice that resonated through the stone hall, "Your servant has come to report on the status of your armies."

Queek snarled audibly. Not again! He was a warlord, not some scurrying rat-scribe. Why should he suffer through these boring and interminable reports? All he cared for was that his armories should be kept well-stocked with sharp weapons and his elite regiments ready for battle at a moment's notice. Anything else was best left to underlings.

The armored giant flinched at the vicious growl, unsure of what he had done to incur his master's annoyance and not daring to ask. Shuffling uneasily on his feet, he darted furtive looks in Queek's direction until their gazes crossed. Immediately, the red mist which had clouded the warlord's brain lifted. No point in lashing out at his faithful servant, he told himself, better get on with it. After all, lord Gnawdwell had told many times that he should pay more attention to the business of running an army, and not just fighting.

"Easy, Ska, easy," he said, baring his teeth in something approximating a smile, "Queek has a lot on his mind, but he will listen-hear your report."

A flash of relief illuminated the skaven's eyes. From a pouch at his belt he took a thick roll of parchment, raised it to his eyes and, very slowly and laboriously, began to read it aloud.

"Chieftain Veek sends his most respectful-humble salutations to your highness and reports that his forces urgently need more rations. He also squeak-swears that there is no truth to the vile-ugly rumours that he appropriated and sold the supplies previously sent..."

Queek let his head fall in his paws. Maybe teaching Ska how to read hadn't been such a good idea. The stormvermin was a superb fighter, with mighty strong limbs, a broad and muscular chest and a deep cavernous roar that struck fear in the hearts of the enemy. In truth, in body and mind he was second only to Queek. They should both be in the thick of a battle right now, splitting skulls and chopping off heads together instead of wasting time with petty issues.

"...hundreds of clanrats from Sittrik's clawpack are ill-sick from eating spoiled rations. The clawleader blames the quartermaster, but the quartermaster said the clawleader..."

Ska's voice became a droning mumble in Queek's head. His mind began to wander as his gaze lingered on his bodyguard. Truly, Ska was an exceptional specimen. Even at rest, his fine, taut muscles were visible under his short-cropped lustrous black fur. His massive legs were firmly planted on the ground, and his thick, scaly tail waved behind him like a banner. His face was crossed by a long scar which started above his left eye and cut over his snout - a mark received while fending off a blade intended for his master - but the wound did not disfigure him, quite the opposite in fact, thought Queek.

"Enough!" the warlord interjected, his sharp voice cutting the air, "If these small-tailed mice cannot solve their own problems alone, they are not fit to serve the glorious-mighty Queek. I will flay-scourge the first chieftain who bothers me again with such trifles."

Ska almost dropped the parchment in surprise, but he quickly composed himself and bowed his head respectfully.

"Yes-yes master, I will relay this order to all clawleaders at once."

He was already turning towards the door when a loud, manic cackle stopped him in his tracks. "Did I tell-order you to leave, Ska? Queek still needs-requires your services."

"Of course, mighty lord," Ska acquiesced, "What is it Queek desires?"

"There are important plan-schemes I wish to discuss with you. But not here, in private only, far from prying eyes and noses," the black rat replied, licking his chops.

Ska began glancing around the room, a bewildered look in his red eyes. "But Ska does not see-sniff any spies."

Queek's grin widened, as if Ska had just told an exquisite joke. "But who said-squeaked anything about spies? I meant that certains matters can only be discussed in a more intimate setting."

Without warning, Queek leaped from his seat and landed in front of Ska.

"Yes-yes, my faithful servant," he whispered, "It is time for us to have a whiskers-to-whiskers conversation. I have great plans for you."

Ska nodded his big head. Without a word of protest, he allowed Queek to relieve him of his halberd and guide him by the hand to an opening in the wall behind the throne. There, hidden behind a thick steel door and out of reach of burrowing assassins, was Queek's personal lair, a roughly circular room carved out of the bare rock. Its walls were covered with trophies and banners, each severed skull or axe-cleaved helmet silently proclaiming the Headtaker's martial valour, but the nest was otherwise spartanly furnished. Queek took little interest in the frivolous luxuries that skavens of his rank usually craved.

In the middle of the room was a pile of cushions, rugs and blankets, all rumpled and covered in black hair. Letting go of Ska's hand, Queek jumped on his makeshift bed and started undoing the straps of his armor with quick, nimble fingers.

"Ska should make himself comfortable," he said as his breastplate slid off onto the floor, revealing a chest of lustrous dark fur.

Ska was indeed nervous. He could count on the fingers of his paw the number of times he had glimpsed the Headtaker's personal nest from a distance, and never before had he been invited to actually enter the room. Queek's scent was everywhere, hanging around the chamber like a greasy shroud and making the warrior squirm in awe of his boss. He had remained the Headtaker's right-paw and favourite for much longer than anyone could have expected, but he never allowed his attitude to slide into familiarity. Experience had taught him that being in Queek's presence was very much like stepping into a trapped hallway.

Before the stormvermin could open his mouth, Queek pulled a flask from under a pillow and uncorked it with his teeth. Then, after taking a hearty swig, he casually tossed the bottle to his companion, who caught it in mid-air and sniffed its contents. Ska grinned as the enticing scent of skavenbrew penetrated his nostrils. He put it to his lips and took a long swallow, feeling the fiery liquid pour down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. A sonorous belch escaped his mouth. It was the good stuff! Not the watered-down muck that clanrats drank. Before he knew it, he had drained it all. The stormvermin stared confusingly at the empty bottle, then at his master, but Queek simply smiled and patted a cushion next to him, an invitation to sit.

Ska let himself fall heavily on the bedding. The room was spinning, and he had to prop his hand on a pillow to keep himself upright.

"So," said Queek, resting his paw on his bodyguard's knee, "What does Ska think of his master-warlord?"

The innocently-toned question pierced the haze that clouded the skaven's brain. An icy shiver passed through his chest, was this some sort of test?

"Queek is mightiest of black-furs," he blurted, "Conqueror of Eight Peaks, favoured of the Horned One, deadliest-bravest in battle-fight..."

"Oh, you big oaf-fool, Queek already knows that," he chuckled, running a claw along his bodyguard's breastplate, "I meant what do you think of me personally. Queek has been good to Ska, hasn't he?"

A thick knot formed in Ska's throat. In battle, he was without fear or hesitation, slashing and slaying at his master's command. But now the giant felt as helpless and blind as a newborn whelp. This was a game he didn't know how to play.

"Queek, Queek is..." he stammered, "A great-mighty chief and generous mentor. Queek leads the skaven to glory-fight and much loot."

"Yes-yes, all true..." the warlord purred as his claw deftly loosened the remaining straps, sending the rest of the stormvermin's breastplate tumbling from him, "But what else? What does Ska feel when fighting alongside mighty Queek?"

Ska took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to put his feelings into words. He remembered the last time they fought the hated dwarf-things side by side. The battle was little more than a red mist of fury in his memory, a confusing blur where he relentlessly hacked one foe after another until his entire body was drenched in gore and the ground around him littered with sliced limbs and mangled bodies. Yet throughout the carnage he never lost sight of Queek. Of course as a bodyguard it was his duty to protect his master, but this wasn't the whole story.

"Ska loves fighting for Queek. Other skaven are always double-faced, always say-squeak one thing and mean another. They think Ska too stupid-thick to notice but Ska knows. With Queek things are simple. Things are fair. No plan-schemes, no talking behind the back, no hidden daggers. Queek says to fight, so Ska fights Queek's enemies. This makes Ska feel useful, feel valued."

"And also," he continued after a silence, "Ska thinks Queek is very beautiful in his armor."

There was a violent jump in his heart and he immediately covered his mouth with his paw. Why had he said that? How dare he be so familiar with his master? The brew must have lowered his guard. With a sinking feeling, he turned his eyes towards the skaven sitting at his side.

Queek's snout split into a wide, toothy grin. "Took you long enough to admit it, eh?"

He punctuated his statement by giving the stormvermin a hearty slap on the back with a force that would have felled a lesser skaven. Without giving Ska time to recover from his surprise, Queek slung his arm around his neck and pulled him even closer. His claw deftly loosened the leather strap that held his companion's pauldron in place.

"Great-mighty lord," rasped the blackfur as the piece of armor fell at the side of the bed, "Ska didn't mean any disrespect."

"Don't be shy-shy," Queek whispered as his snout brushed against the warrior's armor, "Queek is not going to eat you." His incisors snapped, neatly cutting another strap. Ska's breastplate fell away to reveal his barrel-like chest.

"What would you do for your beloved master?" The black rat grinned, his fingers playing with the big skaven's right nipple.

This time the answer came without hesitation. "Anything! Queek need only tell-order me."

Queek's hand reached out between the stormvermin's legs.

"Anything?" he laughed, squeezing the flesh through the fabric of the loincloth, "Good-good, I'll tell you what Queek wants. Queek wants to add a new trophy-prize to his rack."

Ska's body was faster than his thoughts. His cock began to stiffen and swell under the groping touch.

"Master," the huge skaven fumbled, "what does this mean..."

Queek grabbed his snout with his free hand and gently clamped it shut. "Ssshhh...", he said, clasping his clawed fingers around the bulging erection and stroking it slowly, "You trust your good master-friend Queek, do you?" Ska nodded his head. "Then, take what's left of your clothes off."

The rest unfolded as if in a strange dream. Ska got up and unbuckled the tassets that hung to protect his thighs, then the greaves that covered his legs. The pieces of armor joined breastplate, helmet and pauldrons in a disordered pile. Taking a deep breath, he finally removed the red cloth wrapped around his waist. A cool draught of air caressed his exposed sack.

"Not bad at all," Queek scoffed. He had removed his own armor and clothes with rather less hesitation than his comrade. He jumped on his feet, put his hands on his hips and smirked obscenely. "But even down there Queek is the biggest-greatest."

The two ratmen were close enough to feel each other's breath. Ska nervously dropped his head to avoid the warlord's gaze and his eyes fell on their breeding parts. The sight made him swallow his saliva audibly. Ska's member was in proportion to his massive physique but Queek's was truly enormous, thick and meaty as a dwarf-thing sausage, with a heavy head that was already half-swollen. A sudden rush of blood made his penis twitch, and their dangling manhoods briefly bumped against each other.

"Yes-yes," Queek said as he groped the stormvermin's shaft and stroked it to a full erection, "We are both mighty-strong warriors, chosen children of the Horned One. It is only fit that we look to each other for comfort."

Queek pressed his hardening anatomy against Ska's and slowly rubbed them together until both rats were sighing and letting out small chittering noises, their furry bodies rustling against each other. Ska thought that it felt both odd and comforting. A fat glob of clear precum oozed from his cocktip. Queek collected it on his clawed thumb and brought it up to his lips. "Tasty-treat," he commented, "Now, do you know what Queek would really like-like?"

Ska stared at his master and racked his mind, trying to figure out what Queek could possibly mean. The mystery exceeded his flustered brain's capacity, and he shook his head nervously.

"Well," Queek proceeded, licking his lips, "I want you to..." He put his hand on the stormvermin's shoulder, turned him around and slapped his ass loudly.

"Down on your paws and knees," he ordered, "And open the gate to the Warlord of Eight Peaks."

Ska was more confused than ever. He had heard that some skaven used other skaven that way, but they did so because females were out of reach. Queek, on the other hand, could have as many breeders as he possibly wanted. Did his master prefer him to his breeders? He lifted his tail, still unsure if this was all real or if he was in the midst of a skavenbrew-induced hallucination. If the latter was correct, he dearly hoped it would continue for as long as possible. He heard the sound of spitting, then the wet schlick of a paw stroking an erection. Finally Queek grabbed the base of his tail and poked his tight pucker with his cocktip. "Yes-yes, Ska knows his rightful place," the warlord cackled, "And that is serving under Queek!".

There was a sharp stab of pain as Queek rammed his meat past Ska's sphincter and inside his rectum. Taking it from behind was almost a rite of passage among new stormvermin who joined a clawpack, but thanks to his gigantic size Ska had always been a giver, not a receiver, and it was a virgin ass that Queek's rathood pounded. The black rat began to squeak loudly as he was being deflowered, the high-pitched cries almost comical coming from his barrel-sized chest.

"Is that all my right-claw can do?" Queek barked, "Show some vigor. There is no glory in conquering a weak-meat."

The stormvermin ground his teeth and pushed back against the rock-hard shaft, burying it deeper in his ass. Queek let out a squeal of surprise and pleasure as he bottomed out inside his lieutenant. The hole was deliciously warm and incredibly tight around his erection. "Yes-yes," he grunted between thrusts, "Much better than a breeder." He groaned and clenched his hands on Ska's buttcheeks, sweat forming on his brow as he fucked the big round butt. Ska was also panting and huffing loudly, the pain of the first few minutes giving way to a strange fulfilling sensation he'd never known existed. His stiff member swung and twitched between his legs, leaking a steady stream of rat-juices on the bare stones of the floor and bumping against his furry belly.

The black rat clamped his anus down on the pounding member, gripping and milking it as hard as he could until a warm current surged through Queek's loins. The warlord's eyes rolled in their orbits and his toes curled as he shot his load deep inside Ska's welcoming ass and painted his innards with greyish seed until his cock throbbed dry.

"Mighty Queek claims another stronghold," the warlord sighed smugly as he extracted his swollen meat from Ska's distended anus. Ska could feel a hot wetness sloshing around his guts, and as soon as the dick plopped out a hearty amount of rat semen leaked out of his hole to trickle down his sack.

The stormvermin sat facing Queek, the coagulating goop slowly forming a small puddle on the stone floor. He glanced at the warlord like a puppy expecting a treat, his unsatisfied dick bobbing between his thighs, but Queek shook his head and tsk-tsk'd negatively.

"Queek is not done-finished yet," he said as he slowly rubbed and squeezed his slimy, half-erect tool. "Clean-lick my flesh-meat. Then perhaps you will get your reward."

Ska stared at the glistening meat-sword and gulped, but the thought of disobeying never crossed his mind. In truth, the scent that wafted from the dripping breeding-bits was intriguing. There was his own familiar musk and also Queek's lustful arousal-smell, the two odours thoroughly mixed in a potent blend. It felt oddly reassuring, almost intimate. He got on his knees, grabbed the dangling cock that had just visited his own ass, sniffed it deeply and gave it a first, hesitant lick. The rich, earthy taste filled his mouth, making him grimace and sputter a bit. It was dirty, but also appetizing, and Ska began to lap and suck more enthusiastically, his big agile tongue cleaning the soft flesh and coating with a shiny layer of drool. The stormvermin was eager to please and, as an extra treat, he titillated the little hole at the tip of his master's dick, molding it with his tongue until he was rewarded with a salty drop of rat-seed.

Queek purred with contentment as the adoring bodyguard honored his triumphant manhood. Slowly, the sound turned into a moan in his throat. His cock twitched back to life and hardened under the warm, wet touch. Before long a stiff rod stood almost straight up from his crotch, spurting small droplets of precum that splattered on his bodyguard's nose. Ska kept lapping obediently until Queek raised his hand to stop him.

"On your back, hurry-quick!" he huffed.

The stormvermin meekly lay on his back and grasped his legs below the knee, holding them up high to expose his cum-oozing tailhole. Queek lowered himself over the big skaven, drool dripping from his panting maw, and buried himself to the hilt in one savage thrust. His bodyguard squeaked again, this time more in pleasure than pain. By now his well-lubed hole was comfortably loose and well-able to accommodate Queek's meat as it slid in and out furiously.

For several long minutes the room echoed with the grunts and squeaks of the two overgrown rats. Steam rose from Queek's body in the chill underground air, soaking his dark fur and filling the room with an acrid smell of sweat. Ska pushed back against his master, head arched back, his brain overwhelmed by the sensation of the huge cock breeding him and filling him with superior seed. He could feel Queek picking up pace as he edged closer to a second orgasm and he braced himself for another rush of warm sticky fluid. But at the last second the warlord pulled out, grabbed his swollen cock and exploded with a deep groan. Greyish ball juice spurted in wild, thick streams from his crimson tip and coated Ska's furry belly and meaty thighs. Another orgasmic shriek of ecstasy and pride hissed past the warlord's sharp fangs.

"Truly, Queek is the most potent of warriors," the rat gloated between labored breaths. His cock was finally softening but Ska's was still pointing towards the vaulted ceiling, the neglected erection almost painful in its intensity.

"Oh, yes-yes," Queek nodded as if remembering a minor detail. "Queek did promise something to Ska, didn't he?"

The black rat scooped up some fresh cum from his companion's pubic mound and rubbed it between his fingers until they were slick and wet. His clawed hand closed around the turgid shaft and began to stroke it lightly, his thumb massaging the purplish cockhead and tracing its ridges and valleys with exquisite slowness. "Other warlords would not stoop so low as to please a subordinate, but isn't Queek the kindest, most generous of masters?"

He held his hand still and let the question hover in the air for a moment while his companion squirmed. Ska felt like his balls were about to explode, and it took a long moment for him to gather enough wits to repthe fangleadely. "Queek is noble, Queek is bountiful! Ska thanks his master for his blessings," he wheezed.

A wicked smirk crossed the warlord's face. "Truer words have never been squeaked-spoken."

His hand began to move again, at a faster pace this time, making wet sounds as it worked the shaft. Ska felt himself on the edge but a nagging thought prevented him from tipping over. What if this was some sort of cruel test in the end? Was it really proper for him to coat his warlord and master with his rat-juices? Then Queek lowered his snout and started to lick his balls and tickle the base of his cock with his tongue. The warm, raspy touch sent a surge of heat into his body. The stormvermin bucked his loins and his steel-hard rod erupted with cum. One, then two thick ropes of semen spurted high into the air and drenched both ratmen with a messy shower of warm droplets. His cock stood still for a moment and then a final heavy load arched lazily from his tip and landed on the dark leathery skin of his scrotum.

Time stopped flowing as the warrior closed his eyes, breathed deeply and allowed himself to bask in the afterglow, for once feeling safe and at rest. The den was filled with the robust, awe-inspiring scent of the warlord but the musk now felt familiar and reassuring rather than intimidating. He would have fallen into a content slumber had the clank of armor not dragged him from his reverie.

"What are you doing? Do you think Queek has any use for good-for-nothing lazy-meats?"

His bodily hunger sated, the Headtaker had already turned his mind back to more martial thoughts. "Enough rest! Summon-gather the clanrats and stormvermin. Today we slay-kill the short-things and green-things once and for all! Today Queek will conquer all of Eight-Peaks!" he shrieked, waving his gouger uncomfortably close to his bodyguard's snout.

Ska jumped to his feet, all too conscious of the folly of trying to oppose his boss's wild outbursts, no matter how unreasonable. "It will be done at once, Oh ever-glorious leader," he fawned while clambering back into his armor with nervous, jittery gestures.

As he scurried half-dressed towards the exit a vigorous slap landed on his still-bared bottom. "Good war-council today, my faithful right-paw. Maybe you have greater potential than I thought. Serve me well, and we will spend more time together."

Ska bowed as low as he could and shuffled out of the nest. More than one skaven twitched his nose as the gigantic warrior blasted by them in the narrow corridors but none was foolish enough to comment on his unusual aroma. The stormvermin paid them no heed anyways. Queek's words kept echoing through his skull. The two of them? Spending more time together?

His mighty tail wagged in excitement as he contemplated the implications. Yes, Ska vowed to himself, he would serve Queek and serve him very well.