FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

WARNING: This chapter involves a character being revealed to own content of an illegal, immoral, and vile nature. None of this content is given descriptions, but it is important to note that the author & his protagonists do not condone such content. Viewer discretion is advised.

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"--perpetrators responsible for last night's incident at the Traveler's Inn were two canines: a twenty-five-year-old golden retriever named Danny Mckenna and twenty-three-year-old Harry Solomon, the latter of whom reportedly died of blood loss from a knife wound before swerving his vehicle into a brick building. Witnesses suggested a hulking figure from the shot-up motel room had given chase, but inconsistent descriptions have LPD puzzled. It's currently unknown what exactly to the incident or what the canines' criminal intent was. However, the lack of street cams in the area has prompted some civic residents online to call for additional funding to fix public infrastructure in the city's low-income areas.

"In other local news, Lakertown residents are preparing for the upcoming mayoral city election set this November--" I changed the channel to a WWII documentary.

They didn't suspect me. Good.

It was almost one o' clock in the afternoon, and considering my guest sleeping soundly on the recliner, I decided to cook him a complementary meal for the both of us. The refrigerator had been mostly empty, considering the past fortnight spent on contracts, and I'd hoped to stock up the next morning. Then, the whole events of the previous night occurred, and it seemed the only ingredients I had were a small container of unexpired strawberries, three eggs, some flour, waffle mix and half a quart of milk. Just enough to make two large batches of pancakes.

The sound of footsteps could be heard minutes later, followed by a pair of lithe arms wrapping around my bare torso. I only wore some boxers, meaning his smaller frame pressed against my ass and lower back. He didn't nuzzle my stitched shoulder.

"Good morning," Cherry chirped aloud.

"It's afternoon." I deadpanned.

The well-rested feline laughed, "Whatever. Do you mind if I use your shower?"

"Go right ahead," I murmured, wondering inwardly why he would even need to ask at all. "Already took mine before you woke up."

"I can tell. I love lavender shampoo too." He sniffed the air and playfully poked his cold nose at my back, making me shiver slightly. The ocelot giggled all the way to my bedroom without even giving me the chance to turn around.

I rolled my eyes at his humor.

A lone shower for Cherry gave me enough time to make the pancakes (I even mixed in the strawberry slices in, recalling how the lad once mentioned how he once went to a restaurant that served the same thing), the ocelot stepped into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of blue underwear and a black t-shirt two sizes too big. His stature made the hem droop down to his toned knees in an innocent yet sexy manner. It made me half-tempted to toss him onto the granite counter and fuck the daylights out of his beautiful body.

I decided against it, sadly. "Did you sleep alright?"

"...not really..." he murmured tiredly. His eyes trailed from me to the plate I placed beside mine, and a second form of hunger could be seen on his expression. "Mmm, tasty."

"The pancakes?"

"Oh yeah, those too." Cherry smirked before hugging my side (as well as cup my package) for several seconds. "Thanks for letting me sleep over. And thanks for going out of the way in...helping me, last night."

I half-smiled. "...you're welcome."

"If there's seriously anything I can do to repay you...like say..." the lad peeled my underwear to fondle my hardening black shaft. The air suddenly turned electric with raw, male musk and tense sexuality, trickling further to life with how Cherry winked up at me, "I have an idea."

"I told you it won't matter," a stern yet lustful chuckle escaped my throat, "but if you're really insistent, we'll talk latter about 'payment'. We will also need to talk about possible leads for whoever sent the two boys last night. For now, let's eat first."

The ocelot's stomach loudly growled through his oversized shirt. "Sounds like a plan, hun."

I nearly did a double take at Cherry's words. Did he seriously call me 'hun'?

"...sure." Came my wary reply.

We sat down at the granite table and quietly dived in. It'd been some vague amount of time since I cooked anything that was unhealthy, but it was a welcome taste, nonetheless. Cherry certainly didn't mind the excess sugar and carbohydrates, especially while covering it up in butter and maple syrup I conveniently possessed.

"These're so good!" he moaned between bites. "You're such a good cook, Markus!"

"Thank you." I nodded and silently ate into mine.

"So, if we're in this together," the ocelot asked all of a sudden minutes later, "can I at least know your name?"

One of my ears twitched in confusion. "You already know it." I replied bluntly.

Cherry rolled his eyes and laughed shortly. "I know you told me your name was Fergus Cormic, then it magically transformed into 'Markus' the moment I got shot at. What's up with the multiple names?"

A sigh bellied its way from the pit of my stomach.

"My birthname is Markus Faoláin." I simply stated to him. "Fergus Cormic is the name this apartment is rented under, and the civilian identity I've been using in Lakertown. As far as the government is concerned, I pay my taxes with story commissions. Well, that is, the taxes that Fergus Cormic pays. The rest are in off-shore bank accounts, in case of emergencies."

Having him in my life is an emotional risk, I tried telling myself repeatedly during the rest of breakfast.

"Where did you even learn to cook like this?" he pondered, "I thought you were a hitman."

"Even killers like me have good tastes in food," I wanted to say, only to instead mutter by accident, "I uh...I watched Martha Stewart." Either way, that caused Cherry to elicit a laugh.

Cherry cleaned his plate with his feline tongue, some time later.

"That was very delicious," he chirped happily. "

"You have some syrup on your cheek," I pointed to his right side.

"Here?" He pointed to his left.

I furrowed my brow. "No, your right side."

"Here?" he pointed to his lower jaw.

"No, up a little more?"

"Am I missing it?" he asked sheepishly.

I shook my muzzle stoically. "Damn it...I'll get it."

Before I could even stop myself, I leaned forward and licked the syrup clean off his cheek. When I pulled back, our eyes connected once again, spellbinding me.

In less than an eternal minute, I had Cherry gripping the countertop while ramming my slick cock in and out the lad's lubed tailhole. He'd apparently prepared himself after bathing, considering we were cockblocked last night by the two assholes who shot up his motel room. So, there I stood, spreading his cheeks apart with a prophylactic on my manhood, then started roughly fucking him to make up for lost time. And like a (or my?) good little prostitute, Cherry mewled and gasped and moaned and arched his tail and clenched around my large knot when I finally came inside him.

We cleaned up soon after, him planting a kiss on my lips before I decided to get to work. It would take time to get prepared, and my wound needed time to heal anyway.

"So then..." I cleared my throat. "Who do you think wants to see you murdered?

***

Five days had passed since then.

The bus ride to my first suspect took about an hour and a half.

While the ocelot distracted himself with a random TV show in the living room of the penthouse, I'd spent some time researching the two boys who the night before had tried shooting me and Cherry in his motel room. My work laptop--a new model that utilized Tor, not one but two passwords I changed monthly and an impenetrable firewall for communicating with various clients over the years--also allowed me to become a decent black hat hacker whenever the job required me to do so.

Often, this skill became essential for hiding my online pawprints.

Cherry's would-be-assassins were Daniel Mckenna and Harry Solomon, a golden retriever and coyote respectively who recently graduated from university (that much could be figured out through news and police reports), but they never knew the ocelot. After examining their social media pages, then their bank statements thanks to the dolts using similar passwords, I knew they were on-and-off on employment, had trouble with money and were very behind in their rent for two months before a mysterious benefactor suddenly deposited two years' worth of rent to their checking accounts. More than enough to pay their landlord.

No records on the police database indicated they found a letter from the fur who hired them. Either the bastard Mckenna had been lying through his teeth--though unlikely, given the golden retriever's raw performance before I sliced his neck open--or the mysterious contractor instructed them to burn the letter after reading it over. Either way, I only had leads thanks to Cherry's memory of previous Johns.

The first suspect was Kendall Osbourne, a jock who had regular liaisons with the then-teenage ocelot before getting caught by the stallion's then-girlfriend. Apparently, Kendall came from a semi-prestigious family but was considered the black sheep following two criminal counts of drunk driving, as well as a rumor of catching an STD from a certain ocelot. The last part was untrue, according to Cherry.

After further research, I found out the stallion lived several towns over. He'd gone to a well-respected university for a couple years in a different state, excelled in college football to the point of NFL player scouts turning their heads in his direction, but was expelled for some undisclosed reason. Not surprising for a blueblood. The parents most likely bribed the university's dean one final time before cutting their youngest son out of his inheritance.

A single day, one trojan email and forty-five minutes of scouring his hard drive from the distance of my penthouse later...I found out why. And it made me want to send an anonymous tip in to the cops at that very moment. First though, I had to know.

So, I dressed myself up in casual clothes, a pair of rugged jeans, plaid shirt, tinted sunglasses and a belt buckle with longhorns embedded into the metal. Cherry certainly seemed to like my disguise ("Wanna let me ride you when you're back, cowboy?"), though I managed to get myself on a bus before the ocelot could tempt me.

By the time I got into the town outside of Lakertown's limits, the first place I went to was Kendall Osbourne's day job.

"Hello and welcome to Burger Knight, sir." The stallion droned tiredly behind the cash register, sleep clearly absent from his eyes and a forced smile figuratively stapled across his snout. "May I take your order, or would you like to look over the menu?"

"Yah, I'm ready!" I tirelessly faked a thick Minnesotan accent. "Yah, I'll have the Combo with a uhhh, mushroom-and-Swiss burger with orange pop and some cheese curds."

Kendall sluggishly typed in the order from behind his register, barely glancing up to me. His smile faltered between keyboard strokes, like the poor fur had been doing this mundane task all week and hadn't gotten enough rest due to the stress of his job. Not that it mattered anymore for him though. Soon, the stallion would be plentifully wide-awake.

"That'll be $11.43, sir..." he replied after several seconds. "Got the money?"

"You betcha!" I pulled out my wallet and fished out a ten-dollar bill and two ones, as well as a small piece of paper hidden between them. "Keep the change, alright?"

Kendall blankly stared at me for only a second. He wordlessly grabbed the money from my paws and handed me a number and my receipt, then telling me to find my seat. Once he opened the register, I turned away to an empty table before the stallion could say anything about the piece of paper. Confident and unabashed by the crowd, I only licked my muzzle in a goofy, country-like manner as I placed the number before me.

Our eyes remained connected, his more confused than mine. The fast-food restaurant was crowded today. Families talked in clusters and friends joked amidst a baseball game playing on a TV nearby, but I could spot it. The look of vulnerable horror on Kendall Osbourne's long snout when he opened the note and read it.

_Osbourne, if you don't want anyone to know what's on your computer, text this number.

XXX-XXX-XXXX_

From my table at the other end of the restaurant, I watched the large stallion frantically tell his boss he wasn't feeling well and needed a break. The employer, an older lion, relented and angrily said something, likely asking him not to take too long. Then, Kendall disappeared like a ghost into the back of the Burger Knight. At first, I thought he'd fled the scene, but then I saw the stallion's figure peek through the backroom of the restaurant, sitting in a chair.

My flip phone vibrated.

**Kendall: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU????

<unknown>: Answer my questions, and your secret is safe with me. Confront me now and I guarantee the whole world will know.

Kendall: Idk what your fucking talking about.

Kendall: How did you get my number? Who are you?

<unknown>: I'm talking about the JPEGs and PNGs you have hidden on your computer's hard drive. The one you had hidden in a compressed ZIP file nobody would quickly see.

<unknown>: Let me ask you something.

<unknown>: How young are those little boys and girls? Elementary? Middle school?**

I willed myself not to let my emotions show. The wound in my shoulder flared for only a second, then receded back into the background. It felt like my stitches wanted to crust free from my skin and constrict themselves around the stallion's neck until he went limp.

**Kendall: If you want money, I can give you whatever much you want.

<unknown> Not a chance, burger boy. Just answer these questions and I'll leave. Did you hire Daniel Mckenna and Harry Solomon for a contract murder?

Kendall: Those two on the news?

Kendall: I don't know what you're talking about!

<unknown>: Don't lie to me.

<unknown>: I am good at telling when somebody is lying. Fib to me, and everybody from Illinois to the Dakotas will know what a sick, demented fuck you really are.

Kendall: I'm not! Why the fuck would I hire them to kill someone??

<unknown>: You come from a prestigious family, correct? You have the money.

Kendall: My folks haven't spoken to me in years, goddammit! I'm a failure to them. I also got hacked of all my savings last night and I can barely even afford rent, so whatever you're rambling about doesn't make sense!!!**

He had a point. Unless the 'black sheep' suddenly managed to convince Mommy and Daddy to lend him thousands of dollars, why would this stallion waste it on paying two years' worth of rent for the assassins? One lead was off the list.

At the very least, I managed to covertly steal all of Kendall's online savings, which consisted of about $4,500 from his bank accounts. As a part-time hacker, it helped to know how to secretly transfer money onto a cryptocurrency before converting it once again into untraceable USD. If only I could've seen the look on the stallion's face when he realized how broke he really was the night beforehand.

Sure, it was chump change compared to what one of my clients charged. Yet still, I think Cherry would love to go on shopping sprees or something. Maybe even buy some Jacob Candle DVDs or some of the countless TV shows he'd been recommending I watch.

**<unknown>: Understood.

Kendall: Please don't call the cops. I'll do whatever you fucking want.

Kendall: I didn't mean to hurt anybody ok? Its just pics! I didn't take them!

Kendall: It's not murder for fucks sake.**

Wrong. What he did was the murder of a cub's childhood innocence.

**Kendall: Please im begging you! Don't call the cops!

Kendall: Say something!!!**

Right as a waiter finally arrived with my tray of food, two police officers entered the restaurant, asking the assistant manager where they could find a stallion named Kendall Osbourne. He had a warrant out for his immediate arrest.

<unknown>: Sorry, but that ship sailed thirty minutes ago. Good luck in court, K.

Later, I would go to the nearest trashcan, break my flip phone in two, toss the first part away and then walk a block before tossing the second part into another trashcan. I would deliberate about the next suspect, tour downtown a bit and then ride back to my penthouse on the last bus before dinner. Just in time for me and Cherry to cook something together.

For now, I watched the devastated, almost-catatonic stallion get dragged out the doors in handcuffs. Then I enjoyed my lunch with a satisfied smirk etched across my muzzle.